*****
Colour Me . . . .
***
Harry stared quietly out the window with only his own thoughts as company. He was tired of the reporters, the well-wishers and those who were just grateful everything was over and done with. He was tired with the wizarding world, the Muggle world; hell, he was just tired.
"You're still in here." He heard a familiar voice call out. He pulled himself a little closer into the shadows. He knew he was dressed in enough black to make her have to look for him in the darkened room. If Grimmauld Place was good for anything, it was hiding in the shadows. He was really starting to like the shadows. They were unassuming and created an anonymity he never had the chance to enjoy. They let him just be Harry, not The Boy Who Lived, not The Worlds Defender or any of the other stupid titles the press had come up with for him.
"I know you're here. Somewhere."
Doubt. That was something he wasn't used to hearing from them but he was used to doubt itself. He always doubted. He doubted he'd be able to live up to all that was placed on his shoulders. He doubted the claims that all the death was not his fault.
He heard his intruder moving silently through the room, trying to seek him out. He heard the soft footsteps on the ratty carpet and he stayed put.
"They've all gone home." he heard. "Draco took Ginny home shortly after you disappeared."
Draco. Now there was something he hadn't seen coming. Then again. He hadn't seen a lot of things coming. He hadn't seen the attack on Hogwarts, or Diagon Alley or even Muggle London. Draco had come over after the attack on Muggle London. He was all talk in school, had always just been talk. He had watched, a couple of times, as Draco tried to physically remove the dark mark from his arm.
"Ron is still downstairs. He's worried about you. We all are." Harry sighed as he stared out the window.
The rundown buildings were doing little to make him feel better. All he could think was that it was his fault they were
like this. He hadn't gotten there fast enough to stop the destruction and the death. Death. Now there was something
he was familiar with. He hadn't really thought about death much before all this started. Professor Quirrel's
demise wasn't really death at the time it happened. But as he looked back on things, it was murder.
He had murdered someone at 11. Sure, he wasn't a nice guy and was trying to kill him as well. But he was misguided
and wasn't thinking for himself, wasn't thinking at all really. Quirrel was blindly following Voldemort. Harry
turned slightly as he heard the containers on a nearby table being moved around.
"You. . . . You're not going to do anything stupid, right?" He heard the tremble in her voice. Ron had
been up here earlier and their conversation was still on his mind.
***
"Go on then! Be the tragic hero again! Poor, poor Harry Potter!" he yelled as he stomped around the room.
"Just leave the rest of the world looking for a little bit of stability, then. Forget that all we need you to do
now is sit on your ass and look pretty."
Harry stayed quiet, staring blankly at Ron, the anger starting to bubble just bellow the surface.
"You don't understand!" He burst out suddenly. "I have the blood of innocents on my hands! Hell, it's everywhere! I got you father killed, both of Hermione's parents killed because I'm Harry Potter. I got Sirius killed because of some stupid prophecy Trewlaney had to have 25 years ago."
Ron and Harry stared at each other for a moment.
"Get out," he said as he turned his back on Ron. Ron stood there for a moment, somewhat shocked at what had just happened. Harry had never been that angry before. He blinked a few times before slinking out of the room, feeling like a heel.
"Well?" Hermione asked as she saw Ron come back down stairs. She got now answer as Ron headed to the fireplace.
"The Burrow!" he called as he took a handful of Floo powder and threw it down. She watched as he disappeared.
Hermione frowned and grabbed her own hand full of Floo, throwing it in before sticking her head into the fireplace. She
then yelled at Ron for a while, finally leaving after Ginny had assured her that she'd bring him back later in the
evening.
***
"Who am I?" Harry asked, finally breaking his silence. This threw Hermione for a moment.
"What do you mean?"
"It's a simple question."
"You're Harry," she answered, not knowing what else he wanted from her. "And I think that maybe you're a little lost right now," she answered quietly as she moved away from the table.
"A little lost," he mocked.
"You never fly anymore," she remarked, seeing the abandoned FireBolt in the corner. She ran a hand over it, wiping away months of dust and cobwebs.
"I can't fly anymore," he answered softly. She clutched the broom in her hand.
"You can't have lost your soul," she said as she turned to him.
"I must have, there's no other answer. I just feel so numb all the time. I've . . . . I've become so numb without a soul," he told her. They looked at each other for a moment before she hesitantly approached him. The broom still in one hand, she reached the other one out slowly and ran it through his hair, over the side of his face and down his arm until she grasped his hand.
"You don't feel numb to me," she whispered quietly. "Maybe in need of a good scrubbing," she said with a smile.
"I. . . I just . . ." he started. She dropped the broom and just wrapped her arms around him.
"I know," was all she said. "It's not your fault. I know that doesn't mean much, I just thought
you should know."
*****