Disclaimer: Everything Harry Potter-related belongs to J.K. Rowling.
A/N: The plot bunny for this was, oddly enough, spawned from an episode of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer", hence my little nod of thanks to Joss Whedon in this chapter.
For Gil, Anne U and happy_daze88, for the encouragement and the wonderful writing that continues to inspire me. *glomps*
Complicated Chapter One: It Takes a Stranger
The man stood alone, staring out with brooding eyes over the sea that was currently reflecting the slate-gray of the sky.
The man was young but there was something about him that gave people an impression of maturity, of age.
Perhaps it was because of the faint lines around his mouth that spoke of a troubled past. Perhaps it was the directness in his gaze or the wariness and suggestion of restrained power in his stance at times. Or perhaps it was the cloudy shadows in his eyes that spoke of seeing much and surviving much, of ordeals that aged the mind and soul as well as the body.
There was something severely solitary about the man that kept other people at a distance from him. It was as if they sensed the dark thoughts going through his mind, the memories that kept him in their grip.
He was glad it was cloudy today. Cloudy gray days were more congenial to his thoughts than bright sunny ones and he had discovered that he found the frequent sunny days to be irritating, as well as the persistently warm weather.
Cloudy days reminded him of England… And whatever the memories that he couldn't bear, the people he couldn't bear to think of, he found he missed England.
Oh yes, he missed it, missed it so much that there were moments when he almost resolved to return, to end his self-imposed exile. But then, the dreams, the nightmares, the memories returned and he knew he couldn't. He wasn't ready. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
He sighed and turned away from the ocean.
He was alone and he would stay alone until… Until he overcame the power of his past.
He dreamed of her that night.
She smiled at him, the smile that came straight from her heart and always brought a warm feeling to his chest and the assurance that he had one person who would always be there for him.
He smiled back. "Hermione," was all he said, softly, holding out one hand.
But instead of taking it, she turned with a glance at him over her shoulder, her look saying she wanted him to follow her.
She walked down away from the castle, towards Hagrid's hut and into the Forbidden Forest, with him following. The forest was as dark as it always was, except for occasional shafts of sunlight that had managed to break through the thick foliage of the trees.
He expected the centaurs to challenge them but they continued on until they reached a small hollow where there was a clearing and he realized she had led them back to where Hagrid had kept Grawp so many years ago. One of the many adventures they had both shared, drawing them inexorably together, insensibly, subtly, making her seem the natural partner of any experience…
She stopped in the clearing and turned to him, holding out her hands, which he took. Their eyes met, hers warm, shining with reassurance and, well, love, drawing him nearer, almost involuntarily. His head lowered and his lips brushed against hers, the softest of touches, barely a kiss at all. He heard her breath catch but then forced himself to draw back, as images flared in his mind again, the images that haunted him day and night.
No, he couldn't do this…
He awoke, alone as he always did now, alone and feeling the cold emptiness in his chest.
He returned again to the ocean that day. Something about its ceaseless restless movement, the sound it made, was both comforting and appealing to his own restlessness. He could stare out at the water for hours, did so in fact, until he reached into his pocket and pulled out what was possibly his most precious possession in this place where he had very little other than his clothes and some money that he had never really cared for.
The picture was worn at the edges and crumpled, a reminder of the times he had wanted to stop feeling, tried to rid himself of what was haunting him, connecting him to the world and the past he wished he could forget. He stared at the three young, smiling faces looking up at him, himself, Ron, Hermione. His best friends…
It happened when he was least expecting it.
"Harry Potter."
The voice was unfamiliar, that of a young woman, and it came from right beside him.
The hand holding the picture flew to return it to his deepest coat pocket while his other instinctively searched out his wand.
"Do I know you?" he asked warily, studying the woman.
She was young, around 20, he guessed, with short reddish brown hair and blue eyes.
Something about her somehow reminded him of Hermione and he relaxed slightly.
"You are, you really are, Harry Potter." The girl laughed one of those I-can't-believe-this laughs, before smiling at him directly in a friendly fashion. "Sorry. I'm just a little amazed that you're, well, you and you're here. I- I'm Katrina Whedon."
He shook her offered hand somewhat awkwardly. "Hello, uh, Miss Whedon."
Katrina laughed and shook her head. "No, no, just Katrina or Kat is fine."
He felt himself smile almost before he thought of it. "I'm Harry." He paused before adding, "You're a witch." It wasn't quite a statement but it wasn't quite a question either.
"Yes, I am. I just couldn't help talking to you when I realized who you were. I know what you've done." She stopped, looked uncomfortable. "Everyone knows what you've done. And yeah, I just wanted to thank you."
The words took him by surprise. He didn't think anyone had ever thanked him, not really, no one except for Hermione, that is.
He had a sudden memory of 6th year, just about to return to the Dursleys again and Hermione stopping him with a hand on his, saying simply, "Thank you, Harry… for everything." And she'd smiled at him, what he thought of as her heart-felt smile and kissed his cheek.
"You're welcome," he had finally answered softly. She had smiled at him again before turning to her parents…
He shook himself mentally, returning to the present. "You're welcome," he said, smiling at Kat who grinned back. "I'd say, any time, but it'd be a lie," he added dryly.
She laughed. "If you don't have anything to do, can I take you to dinner?" She blushed slightly and added hurriedly. "I mean, not like a date or anything, I just figure it's the least I can do for the hero of the Wizarding world and all."
He looked at her, his smile fading, a little taken aback. "Oh, er, alright." He added with more confidence, "That'd be nice."
"Great." She smiled and began to walk down the pier, leaving him to follow her, in some bemusement. One thing he would say about Americans, they certainly were friendly.
It was during dessert when she brought up the question he'd been rather dreading. Until then, the conversation had been kept onto neutral matters. She'd told him about herself and her life. He had talked a little, briefly, about where he'd been, told some old stories from Hogwarts, about Ron and Hermione, the few memories he still allowed himself to think about… They had talked about Quidditch, since Kat loved it and had actually been the Keeper on the team at Salem Wizarding Academy.
"Why are you here, Harry?" she asked quietly, breaking the silence that had fallen.
He didn't pretend to misunderstand the question. "It's complicated," he finally said, his voice grown cool, distant.
Katrina narrowed her eyes slightly at his evasive answer. "Of course, it always is. Well, I've got nothing but time. Try me."
He looked at her, noting that her expression was completely serious, her eyes devoid of the sparkle he'd already noticed was habitual to her. And suddenly he realized he trusted her. He needed to tell someone. Who better than someone who was a part of the Wizarding world but had been uninvolved in everything?
"I had to leave England, had to leave the people I knew, the ones that survived at least…" His voice trailed off, as his eyes darkened again with painful thoughts. "They were making me a savior, planning grand parties in my honor. I didn't want to be there for that. I didn't feel like celebrating."
Katrina frowned at this, opened her mouth to speak but decided against it and closed it.
"Voldemort was gone. He wouldn't be coming back, either. But that left me… I didn't know what to do with myself anymore. I'd lost my purpose. Maybe I had saved the world, as they knew it, but really, it hadn't been me."
He paused, staring broodingly down at the table, as he played with the straw in his glass. "I'm the same as Voldemort," he said in a low voice. "I'm the same. That's why I was the only one able to defeat him. It's because we're the same. I- I killed Voldemort. I am Voldemort."
He fell silent, still toying with his straw, now nearly glaring at the table.
"And you're a coward." Katrina's quiet sentence cut through the silence. "You feel guilty and so you left, so you wouldn't have to deal with it. That's not honor, Harry, that's not virtue or anything. That's just cowardice, plain and simple. And I have to say, that's the last thing I ever thought anyone could accuse you of."
He looked up at her, eyes hard and flat as gemstones. "You don't know what the bloody hell you're talking about," he said flatly.
"Maybe I don't," she admitted coolly. "But I know this. You've got friends, people who care about you and that you care about, back home and they're probably all wondering and worrying about you right now. Go back, Harry, and face your demons. You'll never get anything done wandering the world the way you've been doing."
People he cared about… He thought of Hermione, thought of Ron, the Weasleys, Hagrid, Remus, Tonks, even Professor McGonagall… He could see Hermione in his mind's eye, smiling, laughing, frowning, crying… He deliberately pushed the image away.
Could he return? Could he face everyone again? He didn't know.
He looked up at Katrina. She looked sympathetic now, her brief flare of anger having died.
"Go back, Harry. I don't think you'll believe me, considering you just met me a few hours ago, but you shouldn't feel guilty either. You're not Voldemort. I suspect your Hermione will tell you that better than I can, though."
"She's not my Hermione," he protested automatically, his mind preoccupied with the notion of returning to England.
Katrina raised a skeptical eyebrow. "So you say," she said carelessly though her expression conveyed her disbelief.
She pulled out some Muggle American money to pay the bill, standing up as she did so.
He stood as well. "Thanks for dinner. I would say, thanks for listening, but I'm not sure I'd really mean it after being called a coward," he added with a somewhat forced smile.
Katrina grinned at him. "Trust me. It's good advice."
"I'll take your word for it, since I'm fairly certain it wouldn't be healthy to disagree," he said, forcing a lightness he didn't really feel. "I can Apparate from here," he added. "Thanks."
She put out her hand, which he shook, smiling at him again. "Think about what I said. Look me up if you're ever in this area again. I'm glad I got to meet and talk to you, Harry Potter."
"Bye, Katrina," he said softly, as she stepped back and disapparated with a pop, before he disapparated as well.
He couldn't sleep that night. His thoughts were too confused, too muddled. He had believed for the past year that he could do this himself, that he could overcome his own memories and his problems alone. It was his task, just as facing Voldemort had been his task. He had been alone; he was alone. Or so he had thought.
Katrina had reminded him forcibly that he really wasn't. He never really had been. He had always had Ron. He had always had Hermione. Hermione…
And for the first time in months, he allowed himself to remember…
Remember those years at Hogwarts, those wonderful, terrible years… Remember a hug, in the depths below the castle, after a nearly deadly chess game… Remember a young boy looking at his parents for the first time in a mirror… Remember a veil fluttering in the center of a large room and Sirius's expression as he fell behind it… Remember Hermione, lying so stiffly on a hospital bed, clutching a piece of paper that had solved a puzzle… Remember a kiss on the cheek at King's Cross Station… Remember Hermione, unconscious in the Department of Mysteries… Remember so many moments in so many years of friendship, of faith, of unwavering loyalty…
Yes, he remembered it all, would never forget.
But could he return to where it had happened, the people who had been through it all with him, who still believed in his being a hero? He didn't know.