SiM Fic: Untitled #6 [Beyond the Sunrise]

Oct 05, 2004 13:08

Title: Untitled #6
Rating: PG, if that.
Characters: Harry. Again. Warnings are as last time.
Summary: He’d never wanted to be a saint nor a savior.
A/N: It is very hard to write stories like these without subscribing to any particular shipping agenda, I tell you. Also, apologies. I do not mean to constantly write Harry (mostly because I do not know how to write him), but for some reason or another this is what came out, and as I have a class in 20 minutes I couldn’t really afford to be picky about it.


When it was all over (in a simple flash of light that wasn’t even green, and that left him blinking heavily for the next five minutes), all he could think of was how tired he was.

The next couple of days he spent in a daze, sometimes wondering if the fatigue that seemed to ooze from his bones was really worth this newfound freedom he hadn’t even had a chance to taste yet, busy as he’d been sending away reporters and convincing his remaining acquaintances that yes, he was fine and all he wanted to do was sleep.

He was already used to not being able to go out in the street without people gawking at him; now he found that they also wanted to shake his hand, cry at his feet, marry him (on some occasions, anyhow) and for some strange reason he could never fathom, they wanted him to bless their children. He politely but stubbornly turned them all down; he’d never wanted to be a saint nor a savior.

After a few days of hushed murmuring outside his open window (it was summer, it was hot, he wanted to sleep and his old wand had been reduced to ashes) he owled Olivander, who replied by saying that no, the wand chose the wizard, and if Mr. Potter found that his old wand no longer suited him, he was more than welcome to Floo or Apparate to Diagon Alley, where they would surely find something adequate to his new necessities.

Instead, he owled Lupin and asked for Sirius’ wand; the one the veil in the Department of Mysteries had, mysteriously enough, spit out the morning after Voldemort’s defeat and that had been returned to his old professor because no one had any idea what to do with it.

The wand arrived in a tightly-wrapped parcel with no letter but Harry didn’t let that bother him. The first thing he did after unwrapping it was swishing, flicking and casting one of those handy energizing spells he’d found while researching for the DA; for the first time since the final battle he felt more like himself and less like the waking dead.

The second thing he did with the wand was Apparating, always east, always farther and farther away from home. He stopped for a few days in a small island near Santorini, then found the tourists too irritating and kept on going until Thailand and Vietnam and the Orient loomed before him, humid and green and mesmerizing. He didn’t surrender to it because of that, though, but because if people stared at him it was because he looked pale, pasty and underfed, not like a war hero.

After a while he owled Ron and Hermione, and Pansy (and hadn’t that been a surprise) too, told them he was fine and not to worry; in a stroke of purple prose he said he’d gone beyond the sunrise and they really shouldn’t worry about him, but instead live their own lives, now that they finally could.

length: somewhat substantial works, series: scene in mind fic, random: only losers title fics, fandom: the boy wizard

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