(liberosis)
(L i b e r o s i s)
the desire to care less about things
Four weeks. Twenty eight days. Six hundred seventy two hours. Forty thousand three hundred and twenty minutes. Two million four hundred nineteen thousand and two hundred seconds.
It didn’t feel that long.
If anything, it felt as if Voldemort had only died an hour ago. As if it had been only two since he found out about Fred’s death. And Remus’. And Tonks’. And Snape’s. And Colin’s. And… and…
It’s been four weeks since the alleged Battle of Hogwarts. Life went on.
Already progress could be seen in Hogwarts and Diagon Alley and Hogsmead.
More and more people came out of hiding. They helped with the repairs and continued their normal lives from before the war.
Harry couldn’t help with the repairs. He really couldn’t. Neither could he return.
He had tried. Oh, how he had tried.
Day after day he had squared his shoulders and swallowed the bile that wanted to rise.
Day after day he had floo‘ed to Hogwarts, his home, and told himself that he could do this. Helping with the repairs and restoring the Castle to its former glory was the least he could do. The least he should do. He knew that’s what everyone expected of him. It’s what he owned them.
But he couldn’t.
He couldn’t stop seeing Snape sweeping through the halls in the dungeons.
He couldn’t ignore the flash every time Colin took another photo.
He couldn’t stop hearing Fred laugh joyously.
It stole his breath out of his lungs and made his gaze go hazy from the tears.
It annihilated his already shattered heart every time he turned, a revived smile gracing his lips, only to be met by the empty, desolate hallways.
And he. just. couldn’t take it no more.
And so he stayed in the Burrow. Day in, day out, hiding in his and Ron’s room to escape everyone’s well-meant smothering.
At night, when all was quiet, draped in its comforting, secure blanket, all he could do was toss and turn. Never to sleep. Never to stop hearing the ear shattering, horrific screams. Never to stop seeing the bodies covering the floor, wrapped in white cloth and staring at the ceiling with empty eyes.
There was no escape.
xXxXxXx
In the end, life went on.
Within weeks the trials were done; most were found guilty, many imperious’ed and many coerced.
In between trials, Harry was dragged to celebrations and ceremonies. ‘To lift his spirits,‘ they had said, ‘to help him realise they had won the war, that everything was over,’ (it didn’t feel like they had won at all).
And when he wasn’t attending trials or celebrations, then he was forced listening to a stranger’s voice reminiscing about their lost ones, staring unseeing at gravestones, his guilt clawing at his insides.
The stones held a different name each and every time. Not always familiar.
And Harry felt horrible for suffering at Snape‘s funeral the most. All the while Mrs and Mr Weasley’s, Hermione’s and Ron’s, Ginny’s and literally everyone else’s voice reverberated in his head, calling this brave brave man all names possible under the sun. Traitor. Backstabber. Coward.
Harry’d managed to get Snape pardoned, sure, but that didn’t do anything to change people’s opinion on him. It infuriated him, how they could just overlook all of Snape’s heroic and good deeds just because they didn’t want to, because they didn’t like him.
A horrible overblown argument which involved screaming on his part had at least his two best friends accompany him to Snape’s funeral.
McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout were the only others who attended.
It hurt something within Harry that he wished didn’t. It was only another thing that set him apart from everyone else.
xXxXxXx
Magic was wondrous. Amazing and magnificent. But all too soon the repairs were finished and everything looked like it had before. As if nothing had happened.
It was wrong.
Harry couldn’t understand how they all just seemed to move on as if this war never waged, as if no one had died.
Maybe it was the right thing to do. After all, they looked so much better. They weren’t as gaunt as during the war, wrinkles had flattened out and more smiles graced their faces.
… He still couldn’t sleep, or eat, or go mingling in big crowds without his heart speeding up and losing his breath.
The best thing must be to just forget everything bad that’d happened and move on.
Forget and ignore all the blood on his hands and the people he’d indadvertedly killed by not being better, faster, by being weak. Merlin, he was pathetic.
But… the Weasley’s didn’t blame him. It couldn’t be as bad as he made it out to be.
Shakily, Harry forced his lungs to inhale deeply.
He could do this. Somehow. Somehow he would get his life back together. Not that he actually had one.
Voldemort was finally dead and he was able to do whatever he wanted. This madman wouldn’t be able to destroy anything anymore.
Overcome with determination, Harry stood up on wobbly legs. He was in dire need of a nice, scorching shower and clean clothes. After that he was sure Mrs Weasley would want to force some food down his throat, along with Hermione and Ginny.
Ginny… Harry sighed. He had to talk to Ginny also, he knew he had to, he hated hurting her. Not that he would stop doing that anytime soon, pathetic as he was. But… she would understand. Always.
Everything was going to be alright.
He could do this.
xXxXxXx
Okay, so, he actually could not do this.
Harry had not even lasted a full week in Auror Training before he dropped out. His attempt to reestablish a relationship with Ginny was similarly sordid.
Harry hated himself for it even more because of it.
He knew that Ginny loved him, and here he had to go and break her heart. Not only Ginny’s heart either, but Mrs Weasley’s as well. She’d been overjoyed with their relationship, after all.
It wasn’t even anything they did. They were wonderful and didn’t do anything wrong. It was him. All him.
Harry couldn’t handle his life after the war.
He was too broken to be in a relationship.
He was too damaged to be an Auror.
He couldn’t get his brain to shut up.
He couldn’t make himself stop seeing things.
But Voldemort was dead, damn it, he shouldn’t see and hear things that weren’t there!
He should finally be able to live his life, now that Voldemort wasn’t fucking it up!
So why couldn’t he?!
Merlin, he was such a failure.
xXxXxXx
“It’s just —“ he cut off abruptly, his hands balling into fists by his sides. Forcefully, Harry took a deep breath, and was thankful when no-one commented on the little hiccup he had not been able to hide.
It didn’t work.
Eventually, he just gave up trying to seem strong, composed. Like a doll with its strings cut he crumbled in on himself. His shoulders slumped downwards and his head feel back, hitting the back of the chair with a dull thud.
“Everything is the same.” And didn’t that hurt?
Quiet shuffling and low murmurs, too low for him to understand — not that he particularly cared — reached his ears. It took a moment, but a few seconds later a petite hand landed on his shoulder. Harry flinched, his breathing speeding up.
“Harry,” the sighing voice of his best female friend sounded, concern and tiredness lacing her tone. “That everything is the same, it’s good, isn’t it? It shows that Voldemort and his Death Eaters weren’t as strong or influential as they wished they were. People are moving on and continuing their lives, overcoming the terrible last few years. That’s great.”
But how can you just overcome a war? Harry wanted to ask, but swallowed the words together with the bile that wanted to rise.
They’d lost so many. Too many. And Voldemort and his followers may not have been strong enough to defeat the Light side, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t strong. Because they were, damn it!
They were so fucking strong! Strong enough to put fear and pain into the hearts on thousands. And that for decades.
How could people simply ignore that and move on with their lives? Restore everything to the way it was before Voldemort’s second rise of power and return to work.
No changes. No safeguards. No further educations. Nothing to hinder another such uprising from happening again.
Nothing.
Dull, green eyes looked up from a hollow, lifeless, face. “Nothing is as I thought it would be.”
It’s so much worse.
“Well,” Hermione snorted a bit, “of course not. I mean, who would have thought that we would be a part in a war? This was all so crazy and trust me, I know how you feel. I feel the —”
“Don’t you dare say you feel the same! Or that you understand anything!” Harry pressed through gritted teeth. “You have no idea how it feels like, knowing you could have saved hundreds of people if only you’d been quicker, faster, stronger. Not such a coward. A failure.”
His sleeve caught the tear before it could fall.
“People are following me around. Hounding me and writing down every single detail of my life.” It was too reminiscent of the war, of the time they couldn’t go anywhere without fearing for their lives.
“Every time — no matter where I go — there is always screaming and shouting and shrill exclamations.” It made his ears ring and his heartbeat speed up, expecting it to be another attack, another battle, another bloodshed.
It never was the case. Luckily.
“They come running towards me (these faceless people), throwing themselves at me and- and grabbing me; my clothes, my arms, my face, my scar. They just… they keep grabbing and stroking and feeling. I hate it.” Hated it so much. Always had.
But they… they just didn’t seem to care. Nobody seemed to care. Nobody.
Someone gasped.
“Oh, you poor dear,” within seconds Harry was enveloped in one of Molly’s famous hugs.
Gone was the feeling of safety, however. Gone was the warmth and love.
It was — the hug was — too restricting. Too tight, too arresting. And Harry was caught, trapped within this cage and unable to move.
He had to breathe. Needed to. In and out and in and out and in —
No air filled his lungs, no sweet, sweet oxygen.
He couldn’t breath. Harry couldn’t — it wasn’t possible — no air — trapped —
Molly let go; set Harry free, free of this cage.
He could breathe.
And oh, oh did Harry want to weep, to scream and cry and bury himself beneath the earth, never to crawl up again. He felt ashamed. So ashamed. Why did he have to react like this to a simple, lovely hug?
Hot, angry tears burned in his eyes.
Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall.
Molly petted his head comfortingly. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you believe. And it’ll get better, trust me. The joy of victory and triumph is just high right now. People will relent, they always do. And even if they don’t, eventually you’ll get used to it.”
But Harry didn’t want to get used to it.
He didn’t want to get used to having no privacy, having his affairs and face plastered all over the news, having to always fear for his life. He didn’t — couldn’t — do this.
Agitated, he rubbed his eyes, his thoughts a jumbled mess.
Giving up, he looked up. He needed the reassurances of his made-family right now, but knew not where to look.
At his two best friends, who had been through hell with him and where always there when he needed them?
At Molly and Arthur, the parents he had always wished for but never had the chance to have?
At Ginny, his best mate’s little sister and first love, who so obviously still loved him?
Or at George, the only one out of them all who was still stuck in the war, just like Harry himself. Who couldn’t return to his shop, or Hogwarts, or Diagon Alley, or even just look into the mirror without being reminded of everything that’s happened. Everything that he’s lost. Just like Harry.
He took a deep breath, steeled himself and finally spoke.
After all, if there was anyone who would understand and support him, it were them.
“I’m going to leave.”
Silence.
And then a chorus of voices. Questions, confusion and accusations.
Harry closed his eyes and swallowed tightly; swallowed his guilt and tears.
“I need to go,” he said quietly but resolutely, “I can’t stay here any longer. At least not now.”
Eventually it was Hermione who broke the silence.
“But Harry, where would you go?” She asked him sympathetically, the angel she was. Her warm brown eyes understanding and familiar in the way it made Harry want to weep. “You can’t go to Grimmauld Place, and Godric’s Hollow is naught but ruin, not to mention a national monument. I also don’t think you should be alone right now.”
A jittery, fragile smile grew on his face — although Harry was sure it resembled a grimace more than anything — and he let out a relieved breath.
He knew he never should have doubted his friends. Of course, they would always be concerned about him, but support him nonetheless.
He honestly didn’t deserve them.
“Don’t worry, ‘Moine, I’ve no desire to set foot into Grimmauld Place any time soon, and trust me, living in the house my parents were murdered in will never be a wish of mine, no.” Harry’s smile turned bitter. “It’s just… I can’t stay here — in Britain, I mean. There is… too much. Too much has happened and I just… I need to get away. From everything. And I’ve always wished to travel and see the world, so now that I finally can, why not?”
The silence returned after that. It was tense and uncomfortable, but Harry wouldn’t budge. He’d stood before Voldemort more often than he cared to know and was fearless in the face of it. He wouldn’t be scared now. Not with people who have always understood and supported him, no matter what.
Still, as the silence stretched on and on, his courage got smaller and smaller.
It was after an eternity, an age of mute torment and the weight of judging gazes upon his person, when all Harry wanted was to just stand up and leave, that someone finally spoke.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, dear,” said Mrs Weasley consolingly, a hand once more running through his wild hair. “After the last few months, and we won’t even talk about your adventures during your Hogwarts years, you need stability in your life. Constantly moving and not having a stable place, no, that won’t do. Especially since you didn’t even finish you seventh year or have a stable job. How do you ever expect to take care of a family like that?” Her voice was sweet and commiserating.
Harry opened his mouth, disappointment and agitation waring in him, when Hermione beat him to it. However, his gratefulness turned into painful betrayal once he heard her words.
“I have to agree with Molly, actually,” his best friend said, wincing upon seeing his gaze, but kept going nevertheless. “Now, Harry, don’t look at me like that, you know she’s right. Without your NEWTs you won’t be able to get anywhere in life. And I swear, if you expect to just get any job you like just because you’re the Chosen One, then we’ll be having words, Mister!”
Why ever would Hermione say that?
“I —“ he was cut off before he could say anything further. He tried anew, “List—“ Again.
“I think it’s a great idea to go to Australia together once I’ve finished school and you and Ron your first year in Auror training,” Hermione continued easy-going, “Maybe Ginny could also come with us, like a couple holiday. That would be nice.”
What?
“I will find my parents and return their memories and you can get away from Britain for a while.”
What?
“Yeah, it’ll be great!” Agreed Ron, Molly also seemed more than satisfied with that, Harry though…
“… what?” He breathed out incredulously. It was like they hadn’t listened to a single thing he’d said. Not only today, but also in the past few weeks.
Ginny smiled at him, humour in her brown eyes, “Now, don’t be so daft Harry. I also happen think it’s a great plan. And if you’re really serious about wanting to see the world, then I have no problem with spending a few more weeks abroad. Just the two of us.”
Formerly, this may have had Harry blushing and excited at the prospect of spending more alone time with this beautiful girl, but now all he felt was confusion. Confusion and frustration and slight annoyance.
“Okay, now listen to me,” Harry stated, unusually serious and grim, his formerly fragile smile having fallen off of his face a long time ago. A sudden, strange feeling surged through his body, leaving him dizzy and blurry eyed and — it didn’t matter.
Breathing heavily, Harry gazed around the — now blessedly silent — occupants of the room. Everyone was staring at him intently, and, for a second time, he got stuck in George’s empty stare (so much like Fred’s. And Remus’. And Tonks’. And Snape’s. And Colin’s. And… and… —)
Harry shook his head, once more forcing himself not to get lost in those thoughts. Not again. Not now. He needed to concentrate.
He took a deep breath. ”I dropped out of the Auror program because I realised it’s not something I really want to do. I’ve spent enough of my time fighting and worrying for my life. I don’t want to continue this now, after Voldemort is finally dead.”
“I also won’t return to Hogwarts,” he gazed at Hermione at that, simply daring her to say something. Thankfully, she stayed silent. “Every year something dangerous happened there, even though it was supposed to be the safest place there is. Not to mention all the people who died there, who I saw dying there.” People he had known, had grown up with and grieved; still did. “I won’t return. I’ll get my NEWTs, eventually, but I won’t go back to Hogwarts.”
“I just need time. Alone. I need time to process and grieve and come to terms with… everything. Not only that, but I also don’t know what I want anymore. For years now I have thought that I would never live to see the end of the war. Yet here I am. I never even dreamt of having my whole life in front of me, without worrying about wether I would get to see the next day. And now I… I just… I have that chance and want to see and experience it all. I actually want to live my life, not the one some random people dreamed up for me, but mine. I want to live.”
The kitchen in the Burrow was silent, the only sound that of the soft crackling of the fire inside the stove. Everyone was staring at Harry speechlessly, some more shocked and scandalised than the others.
Ron, his best friend, was pale, paler than normally, though there were blood red patches adorning his cheeks. The same with Ginny. Both looked so surprised and also something else — something Harry couldn’t (or wouldn’t) name — that Harry almost felt like apologising, but he stopped himself. He wouldn’t apologise for something he’d told them dozens of times before. And he certainly wouldn’t apologise for wanting a say in his own life.
His resolution faltered, however, when he saw Hermione’s eyes shining. Watery and heartbroken as he’d only seen her after the Battle of Hogwarts. Only this time, he was the one who had put this look on her face.
His heart squeezed tightly in his chest. Almost painfully so. Maybe he should —
With a loud, sudden screech, George’s chair scraped over the floor and fell over, left laying there in the man’s haste to flee the room.
Harry had flinched, hard, but at least this had broken the truly uncomfortable atmosphere in the room. Though, going by the lone twin’s reaction, maybe this really was a bad idea. Harry swallowed hard, his lost gaze returning to his family.
No, his eyes hardened. He would do this. Had always dreamt of seeing new and exciting places, of exploring and experiencing adventures — this time with no-one out for his blood. He owed it to the little boy who had sat locked up in the cupboard under the stairs, his only company that of spiders and his own mind; a mind filled with wishes, and dreams, and hopes he was determined to make real one day. And this was him doing it.
“So you’re abandoning us, just like that.” This brought Harry out of his musings, and back to his made-family. His throat constricted when he looked at them and his heart squeezed hundreds of tears into his eyes. Brilliant clear tears with every thump, thump, thump.
He tried to smile. (He failed.)
“I’m not abandoning you. You’re my best friends. My family. I love you, all of you. There’s no way I could simply up and leave.” Let’s just pretend his words weren’t cut off, weren’t strangled and all too loud in the quiet of the room. “I’m always just a Portkey away, or a mirror call. Hell, I’ll probably send you guys so many letters you won’t have time to answer before the next one arrives. And I will be back. It’s not like this is forever.”
“But you’re leaving us,” Ron forced out, his voice stricken with tears and- and was that betrayal? “The battle’s over, the war’s won and you’re leaving. Does the Chosen One not need our help anymore? Or are you simply not willing to do more than you have to as a hero?”
What were they talking about? What had their lovely minds concocted?
“No!”
Why ever would they ever say something like this? Had he not just told them his reasons?
“Then what about all of our plans? You’re just throwing them away if you do this! Did they never mean anything to you?” And — oh, Harry knew what Hermione was talking about. But those plans —
“Hermione, those were fantasies, nothing more.” He told her gently, his hands carefully taking hold of hers. “Beautiful illusions we dreamt up while freezing and hungry in the middle of the war, with no-one else for company. Of course we’d dream up a perfect future with the people closest to us. But that’s not real. It never was.”
His best friends eyes welled with tears, one tear slowly making its way down her cheek, follow by another, and another. “Why would you say this?” Her voice quivered. Her words nothing more than a breeze, taking Harry’s heart with them. “They were real. These plans… these beautiful visions… they were real for me.”
Were they really? Winning the war and immediately after that finishing school and joining the Auror forces, the world rightening itself to be perfect. After that then marrying their sweethearts, having a few kids and a house and living happily ever after, without having any psychological damages or needing time to heal — wake up, Hermione. Wake up — wake up — wake up!
“I’m sorry,” he told her as he clutched her shaking body to his, enveloped her in his arms and simply held her close. “So, so sorry.”
The others let them have this moment, even Ron with his ever present jealousy.
When they drew back, Hermione quickly wiped away her tears, hiding herself behind her hair and letting out a little, pathetic laugh.
Ginny chose this moment to voice her quiet question, a fragile hope in her tone. “So you’ll stay?”
“No,” The answer was immediate, as was the regret that followed after, even when he knew he needed this; a time out. “No, I’ll leave. Everything’s ready and… I just… well, I just came here to tell you and say goodbye. I’m sorry.” He apologised once more.
“But the war is over,” she said anew, as if it would change something, anything, “you don’t have to run anymore.”
He took in her gleaming red hair and wide, hopeful eyes at that. The tingling in his body, that had always been there before, was notably absent. His smile turned bitter-sweet. “I know that, Ginny, and I’m not running anymore. I want this. I won’t change my mind.”
Everyone left in the kitchen seemed to deflate at that. Even Harry. Merlin, he would miss them, terribly. He had spent so much time with them and they had experienced so much together, it would definitely be weird to suddenly not have them right beside him.
He opened his arms, wide. “Hug?” In no time at all he was surrounded on all sides and enveloped in the love and warmth he had learned to associate with his friends. Even Molly hugged him, tight and secure and still constricting, but Harry was sure it would get better. He would get better.
“I still think you’re much too young to be out there by yourself and without stability,” Molly had whispered into his ear, “but I know we won’t be able to stop you. Stay safe.”
Harry smiled at that, sincere and happy, and promised.
He then packed his meager belongings in his Hogwarts suitcase, shrunk it down and put it in his pockets. He was good to go.
With a last goodbye and some more tears and attempts to get him to stay, he left the Burrow. George sat in the wide yard, all alone and frowning into the clear summer sky. He didn’t turn when Harry got closer, neither when he stopped beside him. It was only when Harry was about to apparate that he said something, his voice rough from disuse. Or crying, Harry thought. Probably both.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said, “not any of this.”
Harry didn’t know what to say, so he simply apparated away.
(L i b e r o s i s)
the desire to care less about things — to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone