A Changed Man - Harry Potter -- PG-13
Fandom: Harry Potter
Title: A Changed Man
Characters: Harry
Rating: PG-13 (for implied violence, death)
Word Count: 736
Summary: For avalon76 who requested: Harry Potter fic. Something sexy and decadent involving Harry himself. -- So I'm not sure I hit either sexy or decadent...more dark and self indulgent really...but it's what wanted to come out when I insisted Harry talk to me...so here you are: Harry reflects on the changes in his life in a lull between battles.
A/Ns & Warnings: I think I said dark and self indulgent, yes? Okay so there's implied but unspecified character death.
It had to be close to midnight. The night sky was dark with clouds and thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. He was hidden even in the dark, under the heavy weight of his father’s cloak, high on the parapet of Gryffendor tower, alone.
He wasn’t supposed to be there, but then again, there were a whole lot of things about Mr. Harry Potter that weren’t supposed to be. Even the fact that he was alive was something of a mystery. It wasn’t as though he shouldn’t have died any number of times over the years, starting with the night his parents died. Sure, he had ten years or so of peaceful enough existence, if one could call living with the Dursleys peaceful. At least his life hadn’t been in danger. At least he hadn’t felt the pain of a loss so acute, he wasn’t sure how to recover.
Not like tonight.
He hadn’t gone to be seen by the doctors with the others. His wounds were minimal. He cradled the bloody hand to his chest under the cloak. Hogwarts was nearly empty. Somewhere below he knew Filch was dozing by a fire, and Madam Pomfrey was fussing over the overflow of wounded in the hospital wing. Hagrid was down in his hut, hunkered down with a jug of something stronger than pumpkin juice.
It was self indulgent, this wallowing he was doing. He knew it and didn’t care. The wizarding world could get along without him for a few hours. They’d done it for years before. Tonight, more than any other since he’d learned the truth about himself, he longed to be anyone else. Anyone other than the boy-who-lived, or the man they were counting on…anyone other than Harry Potter.
He was seventeen, and felt so much older. He hadn’t had the time to mourn, not since Dumbledore. He wouldn’t indulge the desire to do it now. Like the wound in his hand, he held the pain close to his chest. Cradled it to him and used it to buoy his resolve. It was time for the war to end.
At least it was time for his part in it to end. He had no delusions that killing Voldemort would solve all of their problems, but it would be his final act. If he survived it he was trading in enough of his parent’s legacy to buy himself a nice little place somewhere in the Muggle world and live out his days there.
He’d had enough of magic for one lifetime in his six years since first coming to Hogwarts. He’d lived a dozen lifetimes in those years, faced uncountable dangers and changed. He sighed as he leaned on the wall, staring out over the lake. Changed. He hardly recognized himself anymore as that wide-eyed boy of eleven who first came to this strange place.
He’d lost that innocence…little by little over the years…little by little, until tonight. Tonight he’d surrendered the last of it for them. Them. Tonight he’d stepped out of the shadow of the boy-who-lived and became the man-who-killed.
And no one knew.
Not tonight.
They would, come morning. When the wounded had been tended and the dead pulled from the field of battle. There would be questions, and he would answer them.
But not tonight.
Tonight was about them. The ones who fell. The ones who died. The ones he’d never see again. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, slowly standing upright and sweeping the cloak off his shoulders. The plain black of his clothes was unbroken, but for the Gryffendor scarf around his neck, more from habit than necessity. He was done with hiding. He was done with being the boy everyone expected because of some legend that only barely bore any resemblance to his life.
He turned on his heel and made for the stairs. There were survivors who needed comfort and friends who needed to know he was alive. There were parents to be told of the death of their children. There was a final battle to plan…but more than any of that, there was an enemy to kill.
Harry Potter descended the stairs of Gryffendor tower for the last time, head high in challenge to anyone he might cross on the way…but even the ghosts were quiet. Fitting he supposed. He walked out of Hogwarts alone, so different than how he’d arrived…a changed man.
Title: A Changed Man
Characters: Harry
Rating: PG-13 (for implied violence, death)
Word Count: 736
Summary: For avalon76 who requested: Harry Potter fic. Something sexy and decadent involving Harry himself. -- So I'm not sure I hit either sexy or decadent...more dark and self indulgent really...but it's what wanted to come out when I insisted Harry talk to me...so here you are: Harry reflects on the changes in his life in a lull between battles.
A/Ns & Warnings: I think I said dark and self indulgent, yes? Okay so there's implied but unspecified character death.
It had to be close to midnight. The night sky was dark with clouds and thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. He was hidden even in the dark, under the heavy weight of his father’s cloak, high on the parapet of Gryffendor tower, alone.
He wasn’t supposed to be there, but then again, there were a whole lot of things about Mr. Harry Potter that weren’t supposed to be. Even the fact that he was alive was something of a mystery. It wasn’t as though he shouldn’t have died any number of times over the years, starting with the night his parents died. Sure, he had ten years or so of peaceful enough existence, if one could call living with the Dursleys peaceful. At least his life hadn’t been in danger. At least he hadn’t felt the pain of a loss so acute, he wasn’t sure how to recover.
Not like tonight.
He hadn’t gone to be seen by the doctors with the others. His wounds were minimal. He cradled the bloody hand to his chest under the cloak. Hogwarts was nearly empty. Somewhere below he knew Filch was dozing by a fire, and Madam Pomfrey was fussing over the overflow of wounded in the hospital wing. Hagrid was down in his hut, hunkered down with a jug of something stronger than pumpkin juice.
It was self indulgent, this wallowing he was doing. He knew it and didn’t care. The wizarding world could get along without him for a few hours. They’d done it for years before. Tonight, more than any other since he’d learned the truth about himself, he longed to be anyone else. Anyone other than the boy-who-lived, or the man they were counting on…anyone other than Harry Potter.
He was seventeen, and felt so much older. He hadn’t had the time to mourn, not since Dumbledore. He wouldn’t indulge the desire to do it now. Like the wound in his hand, he held the pain close to his chest. Cradled it to him and used it to buoy his resolve. It was time for the war to end.
At least it was time for his part in it to end. He had no delusions that killing Voldemort would solve all of their problems, but it would be his final act. If he survived it he was trading in enough of his parent’s legacy to buy himself a nice little place somewhere in the Muggle world and live out his days there.
He’d had enough of magic for one lifetime in his six years since first coming to Hogwarts. He’d lived a dozen lifetimes in those years, faced uncountable dangers and changed. He sighed as he leaned on the wall, staring out over the lake. Changed. He hardly recognized himself anymore as that wide-eyed boy of eleven who first came to this strange place.
He’d lost that innocence…little by little over the years…little by little, until tonight. Tonight he’d surrendered the last of it for them. Them. Tonight he’d stepped out of the shadow of the boy-who-lived and became the man-who-killed.
And no one knew.
Not tonight.
They would, come morning. When the wounded had been tended and the dead pulled from the field of battle. There would be questions, and he would answer them.
But not tonight.
Tonight was about them. The ones who fell. The ones who died. The ones he’d never see again. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, slowly standing upright and sweeping the cloak off his shoulders. The plain black of his clothes was unbroken, but for the Gryffendor scarf around his neck, more from habit than necessity. He was done with hiding. He was done with being the boy everyone expected because of some legend that only barely bore any resemblance to his life.
He turned on his heel and made for the stairs. There were survivors who needed comfort and friends who needed to know he was alive. There were parents to be told of the death of their children. There was a final battle to plan…but more than any of that, there was an enemy to kill.
Harry Potter descended the stairs of Gryffendor tower for the last time, head high in challenge to anyone he might cross on the way…but even the ghosts were quiet. Fitting he supposed. He walked out of Hogwarts alone, so different than how he’d arrived…a changed man.