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Harry stood on the roof, gazing up at the stars. The meteor shower was truly stunning, but it did little to make his mood better. The Ministry had hosted another gala, but it was in honour of the rare astronomical meteor shower this time. As usual, he had been coerced into attending as the chief guest. As soon as he left his house, he was swarmed by a horde of reporters and people wanting to catch a glimpse of their precious Saviour.
It wasn’t much better at the gala itself, which was why he had slipped out to get on the roof of the venue, hoping for some peace and quiet.
As he breathed in the fresh air, he cautiously lowered his Occlumency barriers. Although Snape was shit at teaching both Potions and Occlumency, he had given some good book recommendations. At this point, Occlumency was literally the only thing keeping him away from a mental breakdown.
The only problem was that it made him feel ever so numb.
As the tell-tale rush of emotions threatened to overwhelm him, he took a deep breath in. Tried to relax his tensed muscles, ignoring the soft click of the entrance's door. In and out. In and out.
He distractedly mused on his definite overuse of Occlumency. He had been ready to die ever since he learnt of the prophecy, and after that he had become hyperfocused on ending Voldemort, ending the war. Everything else became secondary. He pushed away his friends, his teachers and clung to the notion of them finally having peace when the war was over, when he was dead. All he had ever done was inconvenience them and make them worry.
When he had walked to his death, he had actually been relieved. He would finally be free, be away from all this suffering and pain, be able to see his parents again properly.
But somehow Dumbledore had convinced him to go back, and he learnt that Voldemort was dead, and his followers scattered. He felt, for the first time in years, hopeful. Hopeful that people would finally leave him alone, would stop crushing him with their expectations.
He was wrong.
Now that the war was over, they all looked to him(for reassurance of some kind, perhaps?) and the already intense scrutiny on his personal life doubled. He'd caught 3 reporters stalking him the last time he had ventured out of the house, for Merlin's sake!
He couldn’t stay in Grimmauld, which held memories of SiriusSiriuswhycouldntisavehim but it was the only thing he had. Robards, the new Head Auror, had given him an offer to join the Aurors immediately, no NEWTs required. But as much as he had wanted this just a short while ago, he just couldn’t do it anymore.
Memories of all he had lost gnawed at him every time he so much as looked at his wand, and the only time he had even remotely felt okay was when he practiced Occlumency. From then, it was like an addiction: he kept his barriers up all the time, and only lowered them for short periods when he was alone to avoid damaging them.
The Occlumency made him numb, keeping all emotions at bay, and Harry loved it.
His recurring nightmares had finally reduced, he was able to function and his frequent breakdowns had just stopped altogether!
Of course, he could also no longer feel happy(or anything at all, to be honest) and most of the time it felt like was dead and only going through the basic notions of being alive, but he did not care. He could finally get through a day without breaking down, Ron and Hermione had stopped giving him worried glances out the corner of their eyes, and Neville had stopped mothering him. It was a small price to pay, really, for all that. The pros outweighed the cons, or whatever.
One good thing, that had come out of the war, was that Harry now had an almost insane sixth sense for when people were following him. Very useful to throw off the growing number of stalkers these days.
He kept his eyes on the stars, and called out, “Come on, you can kill me now. The stars have fallen, and I’ve made my wish.”
A cloaked figure not much taller than him smoothly stepped out of the shadows.
Harry waited. He turned around. “I left my wand in my coat downstairs, I’m defenceless. Just get this over with.”
“Why are you so eager for death?”, asked the seemingly bewildered figure. It was a bit hard to tell.
“Look, I was supposed to die that night with old Voldy. But for some reason, I didn’t,” said Harry, trying to be logical, “But that’s alright, it’s alright.” He took a deep breath. “It’s just not worth it anymore, to live, and the thing is I would rather be tragically murdered than kill myself and make my friends sad. You can either kill me now, or I’ll do it.” He almost felt bad being being so maudlin to a person he had barely met, but then again, this conversation would probably be the last he ever has so it would be good to be honest.
The assassin looked a bit stunned, and shrugged. “If you say so.”
Whoever it was, they pulled a long, ceremonial looking dagger from their robes. When they hesitantly stepped closer, Harry smiled. It was a smile full of griefhopehopesadnessrelief.
It told the assassin more than they ever wanted to know on why the Saviour of the Wizarding World wished to die.
They plunged the dagger into their target’s stomach, and twisted it. He gasped from the pain, but those hauntingly green eyes held only relief and gratitude.
They lowered him to the floor, and with surprising tenderness shushed the Saviour as he babbled his gratitude. Blood poured out of the wound, they held him as he coughed out blood.
There was only silence, except for the occasional cough splattering blood across the floor.
“Do you know what I wished for?”, he asked weakly.
The figure shook their head. “Tell me.”
“I wished to be free. No more suffering.” said his target softly. “I guess my wish is fulfilled now.”
“Rest, now.” said the killer as they stood up. “Goodbye, Harry Potter. I hope you find peace.”
-fin-