Hero, Anti-Hero

Hero, Anti-Hero
by Astra

"It may sound absurd, but don't be naïve:
even Heroes have the right to bleed.
I may be disturbed, but won't you concede:
even Heroes have the right to dream.
It's not easy to be me."
--Five for Fighting, "Superman (It's Not Easy)"

* * * * *

It started with an easy, simple thought.

I don't want to die.

Then it grew.

I don't want my parents to have sacrificed themselves only so I could sacrifice myself as well.

I don't want to lose more of my innocence to this war.

I don't want to fight him.

I don't want to be their hero. I don't know how to be their hero.

I'm fifteen. I don't want to die.

Where was all of his Gryffindor bravery now, when he needed it? Sure, he'd already faced Voldemort several times, but never like he was now. Now, he had a body; he had strength; he even had the protection his mother had died to give him.

Voldemort had everything, and what did he have?

He had a name. Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived. He had a few years of wizard training compared to Voldemort's decades of it. He could never beat him, and he knew it.

He was tired of fighting, and a voice deep in his mind whispered to him:

Then run away from all of this.

* * * * *

Harry was tucked away in a corner of the library, "studying", or so he'd told Hermione and Ron. It was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, but he had skipped out relatively early, claiming to have too much studying to stay. Hermione had looked extremely proud of him and had asked if she could help, while Ron had seemed to simply think he had lost his mind. Maybe he had.

In reality, he was simply writing out all of his suddenly very confusing thoughts. The notion of turning his back on the wizarding world and running away had not left him since it's first appearance in his mind several nights back. In fact, it seemed to take a stronger hold of him, and the voice was nearly always in the back of his mind, repeating itself like a mantra:

Run away from this. You're too young to die. You can't be their hero.

The idea of running away scared him in a way that he hadn't ever been scared before. It was a different sort of fear than what he was used to. He had a vague idea of ways he could survive as a Muggle, even ways he could do it without the help of the Dursleys, but they were not concrete. At least here, he could predict what would happen to him: he would fight Voldemort and die. In the Muggle world, he did not know when or where the story would end, and the idea of living that existence was frightening.

Fear or no fear, though, there was one important plus to running away to live as a Muggle: he would, in fact, be living. Suddenly, that was much more important to him than it had been before.

Yet there were so many things to stay for. Hermione and Ron, to begin with. His other friends, Sirius, Professor Lupin, the Weasleys . . . All of the people he cared about and who cared about him.

Harry continued to write.

* * * * *

Late that night, Harry, armed with his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauders' Map, snuck out of Gryffindor tower and up to the Astronomy tower, tucking away the Map once he learned that Filch was not patrolling anywhere near that area. He couldn't sleep, but he wanted to be alone to think. Sneaking up there seemed perfect: he could be alone, and he would be outside. Thinking outside, especially at night, seemed so much easier than thinking indoors.

He was not suspecting Draco Malfoy -- or, indeed, anyone -- to be up there when he went, yet there he was. For a moment, he wondered why Malfoy was up there, but then he figured it was for the same reason many other students used the Astronomy tower -- to snog, though he wondered who would really want to snog such a pansy-faced git.

Draco, Harry reflected, would be the perfect arch-nemesis for him, had Voldemort not already taken that position. Draco was rude, occasionally cruel, and easy to dislike -- but Harry would never die in a fight with Draco Malfoy. It was quite possibly the only thing Harry really liked about Draco, and even that was tainted by the fact that his father was a Death Eater and he would likely be one too someday.

Harry was about to leave -- how could he be alone to think with Malfoy around? -- when he noticed Draco was reading something, thereby negating Harry's theory that he was up there to snog. Upon reflection, Harry realized that snogging in the Astronomy tower didn't seem Draco's style -- too common, too uncouth.

Not really caring if the letter was private or not, Harry snuck up behind his shoulder to read the parchment. After all, if Draco was really in training to be a Death Eater, then it could possibly contain information about their activities. Why else would he want to be alone to read it?

My son,

You know what you were born for, of that I have no question. Soon enough, you will be asked to fulfill your role in our Master's plans. I expect you to be prepared.

Your father,

Lucius Malfoy

It was a short note, but Harry figured Draco was rereading it, as he continued reading it after Harry had finished and backed away several steps so he would remain undetected.

Suddenly, Draco crumbled the letter into a ball and tossed it to the ground, but it burst into flame and only ashes reached the cold stone. "Our master," Draco muttered with dislike. "As if I would ever serve that thing like you do, Father."

Harry forgot for a moment that he was supposed to remain quiet and gasped audibly.

Draco whirled around, eyes wide with fear for a split second before they narrowed into a glare. Then he realized that there was no one there. Confusion evident in his eyes but not in his hard voice, he said, "Who's there?"

Harry considered his options for a long moment before he let the Invisibility Cloak fall to the ground.

Draco's eyes narrowed still further, though he took appearance of the Invisibility Cloak in stride, and he sneered, "Potter, what are you doing up here? Surely no one would agree to meet you for a midnight snog. I mean, that hair!" All evidence of the boy who had just stated in no uncertain terms that he would not be Voldmort's servant was gone.

Refusing to be baited, Harry simply said, "I heard what you said."

"Excuse me, but is that supposed to mean something to me?" Draco replied, sneering.

Harry considered his options for a long moment. On the one hand, he didn't even like Malfoy. Why should he care if he was such a wimp that he couldn't even seem to stand up to his own father? Upon more reflection, however, Harry realized that Lucius Malfoy wasn't exactly a guy you messed around with, and there had to be more to Draco than met the eye if he didn't want to serve Voldemort.

Finally, he said, "Yeah, it should mean that we're on the same side, or we would be, anyway, if you weren't so git-faced and could stand up to your father."

"What do you know about it, Potter?" Obviously he meant it as a rhetorical question [a very harsh, bitter rhetorical question], because he continued before Harry had a chance to respond, laughing bitterly and surprising Harry with how quickly he was willing to talk. "You have it so easy. Everyone expects you to be the hero, and your destiny is exactly what you probably would've done anyway. I have a destiny of my own, Potter, and who would believe me if I were to say I didn't want to live it?"

Draco paused, and in that time Harry realized that in a way, he and Draco were exactly the same. Harry was expected to die, Draco to kill. Neither wanted to fulfill those expectations, but who would believe them if they said so? More importantly, how would they even survive if they said so? Draco would be killed in a moment if he told his father he did not, in fact, want to be a Death Eater, and Voldemort would probably kill Harry no matter how far he ran, though he had not been able to admit that to himself until that moment.

They were both stuck, trapped in a destiny they had never wanted.

"I would believe you. I mean, I do believe you."

Draco looked faintly surprised, and then his expression hardened. "When have I ever given you cause to do that?" he asked harshly, as if Harry had insulted him.

"You haven't, just as I have never given you cause to believe me when I say that I don't want to face Voldemort simply to die. I have never given you -- or anyone -- cause to believe that I would rather run away to live as a Muggle than stay here and die to save the wizarding world, but that's what I think sometimes. If I'm having second thoughts about my own destiny, I shouldn't be disbelieving when others are having second thoughts about theirs."

Draco's eyes widened in shock he did not bother to conceal. "You don't want to play the hero?" he asked disbelievingly before he remembered himself. "Oh, yeah, good joke Potter, like I believe that."

"It's the truth," Harry said simply.

"You're really considering leaving?" Draco asked incredulously.

Harry nodded.

"Why are you still here, then? Enjoying being Wonder Potty, Hero Boy for just a bit longer before you become what I always knew you were -- Pathetic Potty, Coward Extraordinaire?"

Harry bitingly replied, "This sort of thing takes meticulous planning, Malfoy. I haven't had the time as of yet."

Draco's eyes were hard and cold, all sarcasm gone, and his voice was ice when he responded, "Don't linger if you want to leave, Potter. You're the hero; you're the one who's going to save us all. Don't you dare give us false hope if you're just going to ignore your destiny and everything you are and run away." His voice was disgusted when he spoke 'run away,' as if the words were dirty and left a bad taste in his mouth.

Harry looked surprised but bitterly said, "Us? I thought you weren't going to fight your destiny."

Draco merely shrugged, a sneer still in place on his face.

"So, you're not strong enough to fight for what you believe in, but you berate me for not being strong enough or stupid enough to face him knowing I'll die?" Harry challenged.

Malfoy chuckled cruelly. "What do you have to fight, Potter? You've got all your friends behind you, supporting you. You don't have to fight your family and everything you've been raised to believe in. If you can't even be strong enough for this war, what makes you think I can shut out everything I was raised to believe to fight it for you?"

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Harry could not believe that Draco Malfoy was being so forthcoming with his weaknesses, but it was shoved away from his mind when he realized, irritatingly, that Draco was right. He let out a breath he had not realized he was holding, a low, long sigh of resignation escaping from him.

His voice was hard, almost cruel, and inexpressibly bitter. "So we fight. Both of us." He raised his eyes to meet the cold gray ones opposite him. "On the same side."

He saw Draco Malfoy swallow his pride, something unfathomable to him, and nod.

Slowly at first, and then in a rush, Harry inexplicably felt the fire of anger at the cruelty Voldemort caused and the grief he left in his wake return to him. Surprised, he looked at the blond boy, one of the last people Harry would have expected to help him relight his fire.

Draco's eyes narrowed, and he smirked. He reached out a hand, eerily reminiscent of their second meeting so many years ago on the train to Hogwarts for the first time.

It was Harry's turn to swallow his pride, and swallow it he did.

He reached out a hand and grasped Draco's, shaking it firmly.

* * * * *

Fin