Simplicity

Simplicity

Above all else, Harry Potter wants simplicity. He wants to wake each day with a light heart, and be able to drink his morning coffee without the constant threat of Voldemort to turn the liquid so bitter tasting on his tongue. He wants Voldemort dead, and his friends alive again, for Draco Malfoy to be the recipient of some nasty fate, and just to be able to live a normal life.

Harry wants a simple life, with white picket fences; a wife and some kids, professional Quidditch as a career, and to live happily ever after till the end of his days. At least he is, fortunately, not fool enough to hope for the latter, but nevertheless wants something near that point.

One night, when Harry was still a small boy, he'd been thirsty and chanced a sneak into the kitchen for some water when he was supposed to be in his cupboard. He had stumbled in upon the Dursleys reading Dudley a story by the fireplace. Harry had hidden by the door in the shadows and listened, rapt with curiosity. It involved magic in faraway lands and places. The Dursleys hated anything abnormal or unrealistic, but read Dudley fairy tales anyway, because it was the "normal" thing to do with your children.

Harry went to bed that night, head filled with images of fantastical things, water long forgotten. He, then, made sure to listen at the door each night after that, until Dudley whined that he was too old for that kind of stuff, and the stories met an abrupt end.

A storybook ending is what Harry wants: to conquer evil, and then reap the rewards - a peaceful life. After all, he feels that he deserves it. Memories of these stories renews his heart; give him the courage to hurry and rid of Voldemort; they give him hope for a happy ending, because Harry rarely hears happy endings these days. Everything is marked with deaths and disappearances. Despair is etched on everyone's face; they grieve and slowly sink into madness.

Harry Potter does not remember the last time he heard laughter. Harry goes to bed praying to God that he may soon live up to everyone's expectations. He wants to find a way to reward the faith that the Wizarding World has put so trustingly in him.

*

His wishes are granted, his prayers answered. Harry was summoned by Dumbledore, who looked on the edge of death. Hermione was also there, hair in wild tangles, dark circles beneath her exhausted eyes, her skin clammy and sickly. Harry knew that she had been working tirelessly, poring over who-knew-how-many books, learning ancient magicks and researching ways to defeat the Darkness.

He looked at her and wondered, When was the last time she slept, or ate for that matter? However, she broke into a weary but satisfied smile and informed him that a plan had been conceived.

Hermione handed Harry a rusty, many-pointed trinket no bigger that his hand and said, "Voldemort is nearly indestructible because of all the barriers he has put up to guard himself against death. The basic gist of what this relic does is it will strip away the layers of protection Voldemort has, leaving you able to kill him with a simple Avada Kedavra."

"Is it that easy?" Harry asked.

"Let's hope," Hermione answered.

Harry was still uncertain, and his dubious expression did not pass unnoticed.

"It takes the strong will and strength of a human being in order for this to work," said Dumbledore. "You've come so far, Harry. Believe in yourself, put your trust and faith in us, and you shall succeed."

A certain planetary alignment was also necessary, and so it was to be the next week or never. Harry nodded, gripping the sharp edged charm and grimly acknowledging that the fate of the Wizarding World rested solely upon himself and this silly-looking piece of metal.

*

Tonight is the night Harry Potter will save everyone. Spies working for his side reported that, coincidentally, the Death Eaters are planning an attack this very night. Harry is glad, as this means that the Death Eaters will be diverted elsewhere and Voldemort left unguarded. Voldemort seldom went along on these simple raids.

Harry enters Voldemort's hideout alone, but knows that there are wizards standing by, in case something goes amiss. Unfortunately for Harry, Voldemort chose Malfoy Manor as his headquarters, and Harry spends hours trying to find his way through the labyrinth of hallways.

Just when he is getting frustrated, and perhaps even a little panicky, Harry bumps into a hooded figure. His insides fill with ice, and he plunges for his wand.

His opponent gets there first, "Lumos." Light bursts from a wandtip, and Harry is momentarily blinded.

"Potter." The man pushes back his hood to reveal sleek, white-blond hair.

"Malfoy," Harry snarls.

Draco Malfoy does not look enraged to see him; on the contrary, he looks relieved. "You've come to finish Him off."

Harry doesn't know what to make of this statement. The meaning, however, was quite simple. "Yes..." he replies hesitantly.

Malfoy gives Harry a scrutinizing look and then a wry smile. "I'll help...Come on, Potter, I'll show you the way."

A thousand accusations and confusion explodes in Harry's brain. "It's - it's a trick! You're sending me into a trap!" He sputters, "I have no reason to trust you."

"Snape was discovered, do you know?" Malfoy asks unexpectedly. "He was the only man I could fully trust. He never once lied to me. I respected him...a lot. And now he's dead. Voldemort killed him personally two days ago. I can hear him screaming in my nightmares."

Harry looks at Malfoy, still uncertain.

"I hate it...people I love are dying so suddenly. It wasn't supposed to be this way. I thought it would be different! I was naïve to think that He...He doesn't care about us. All he sees is power, the twisted old - "

Pity is a horrible thing, especially if it's directed at someone you're supposed to hate. Harry is disgusted for being such a pushover.

"I don't want that bastard to win," Malfoy says in a strained voice. "So live up to your sodding reputation as Hero and kill Him already. I trust you've found a way?"

Harry nods, and knows it's not a trick when he looks into Malfoy's silver eyes and realizes that he's just as tired and sick of this war as anyone else. "But you're supposed to be - "

"Evil?" Malfoy laughs. The sound is foreign to Harry's ears. It has been such a long time since anyone laughed... "I'm not your enemy, Potter."

Harry wonders, But what does this mean? What could he mean? Draco Malfoy is helping him defeat Voldemort! His world is turned upside down.

He follows Draco down the twisting paths. It is confusing, and impossible to memorize. Draco must've spent most of his childhood blundering through this huge manor. Eventually, they stop at a discreet black door.

Draco turns to Harry and says softly, "I just want this to be over...I want it to end."

And Harry vows to himself that he will stop all this pain. He will save everyone, even Draco Malfoy. "I will save all of you," Harry assures Draco, because he realizes, even though Draco has always been so vicious, he wants the same thing Harry wants: for this bloody war to just end. It's Harry's duty. It's been his duty ever since age eleven.

Draco scoffs and rolls his eyes before pointing his wand at the door and whispering the password.

Harry enters to find Voldemort alone, deeply immersed in an ancient book. His blood-red eyes widen in surprise, but laughs nonetheless. "You foolish boy, do you think you can defeat me?" He hisses.

Voldemort is tall and still so horribly thin. His foul, repulsive face is lined with malice and hate.

"I did it once, I'll do it again. You're not all that powerful as you think." replies Harry.

Voldemort's face contorted with fury. "Dare you mock me? You're nothing but a stupid boy who has tricked himself into thinking that he is some valiant hero...you'll die tonight, Potter, and everyone shall see just how gallant the Boy-Who-Lived is."

Harry had always thought Voldemort to be a bit of a pompous idiot, with all his condescending talk. Holding up the relic in front of him, Harry recites the well-practiced incantation over and over, in a mantra.

Whirls of color and sound pass through the room, engulfing both of them in light. The hand holding the relic burns red-hot, but Harry does not dare to let go. The ground was shaking...or was it just his imagination?

Suddenly, it is over, and Voldemort looks the same as ever, only a little shaken. Knowing that it is his only chance, Harry raises his wand. However, Voldemort recovers immediately, and curses Harry before Harry could curse him.

"Consenesco." Voldemort is draining Harry of his strength with the hex, and Harry tumbles to the floor, weak and light-headed.

Arrogance regained, Voldemort kneels down beside the fallen figure of Harry to gloat. "Did you really think that little spell of yours could work? No one can kill Lord - " Voldemort gives a great gasp of pain as he receives a stab to the chest. Harry's dagger pierces his heart and he bleeds and dies, sputtering incoherently. Harry feels a deep satisfaction watching Voldemort's blood spill in red, red rivulets.

It's over, it's over... Harry feels absolutely relieved. This is closure. He has finally avenged all of his friends and loved ones. He has finally completed the task appointed to him even before his birth.

Harry's world is fading, too, and as he slips into unconsciousness, he thinks, Voldemort was always an arrogant idiot.

*

Harry woke in a hospital bed with an anxious Hermione hovering over him. "Are you all right?" Harry nodded, believing that he will finally be all right. Hermione burst into noisy sobs and hugged him tightly. "You did it, Harry...He's gone!"

Harry's mind brought up fairy tales right then, again. And he thought, The happy ending should be near. He was tired, so he closed his eyes and said, "Hermione, tell me a story."

"A-About what?" She asked, her voice shaky with tears.

"Anything - a legend...something happy." Hermione knelt down beside his bed and rested her head on the mattress.

"There - There once was a boy who didn't have much to begin with..." she began apprehensively. "B-But he was brave and noble, and a-always willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of others. H-He faced evil countless times and lived to tell the tale each and every time. He was our hero, and he...He was our hope. Hope for a better world." Her voice cracked and broke, and she cried heartily into Harry's bed.

Whether she shed tears of joy because the war was finally over, or of grief because of the countless lives lost, including Ron's, or relief because they could finally go to bed at night and have an untroubled sleep, Harry didn't know.

Maybe it was a mixture of those three and more, and he asked, "What happened to him? To the hero?" And all of a sudden, he himself was on the verge of crying.

"He died."

Harry was stunned by those words. "What?"

"He died and went to heaven, be-because the ugly world he lived in was gone. Gone because of him. Everyone who...who lived in his world was saved." Hermione's voice trembled with each syllable.

"Saved," Harry echoed faintly.

"Th-They lived with him in heaven forever, till the end of time." Harry clung onto every word, fervently and desperately wanting to believe it to be the truth. Hermione let him, her heart breaking into a thousand tiny pieces, and allowed herself to be deluded, just this once. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pretended that everything was fine; that Ron was beside her, supporting her always.

"The end of time," he agreed, and fell asleep, chasing dreams.

*

Harry apparated to the Ministry of Magic the next day, hoping to catch Dumbledore, but instead found the hall filled with Aurors and rounded-up Death Eaters.

Harry spotted him in an instant. Draco Malfoy always managed to catch his attention, no matter what. He hadn't thanked Draco yet for helping him, and wanted to do so.

"Malfoy!" He made his way quickly to the blond man, who raised an eyebrow at his approach.

"Shouldn't you be off celebrating somewhere?" he drawled.

"Is there something I can do?" Harry asked, his vow to save everyone, Draco Malfoy included, clear in his head.

"On the other hand, this is exactly the kind of thing only you would do. Pitying Death Eaters now, are we, Potter?"

"Shut up...You're not one of Voldemort's true supporters! You helped me kill him, they can't send you to jail after that!"

"Can and will," Draco said carelessly. His infuriatingly flippant tone upset Harry.

"I - I'll tell them what happened at your trial!"

Draco snorted. "Trial? We're not receiving trials. Nope, it's straight to Azkaban we go...Look, Potter, maybe you believe in second chances, but to the others, I'm still the Death Eater that listened and obeyed when the Dark Lord said, 'Kill the Blood Filths'. They still mark me a murderer, and they're bloody hypocrites, because they tortured and killed, too - "

"That's different - "

"It's not different, and you know it!" Draco snapped. "We were fighting for what we believed in. You have no right to call us the 'evil' ones, or say what we believed was wrong, you sanctimonious little martyred maudlin..." Draco took a breath and sighed. "But it doesn't matter. I was on the losing side, and I'm still guilty for the crimes I've committed...In fact, I was the one who took your precious Weasel's life, how do you feel now? Still want to save me?" he sneered.

Harry slammed Draco against the wall, cheeks flushed with anger. "You bastard, you're going to pay..."

"And I will - with a lifelong sentence in Azkaban. Isn't that a happy thought?" Harry released his robes and blinked.

"You did that on purpose...you goaded me into...Malfoy, I was trying to help you, you ungrateful - "

"Stop it. Stop trying to save everyone." He readjusted his robes and gave Harry a distasteful look. "You bloody well can't save me."

Harry didn't know why he cared so much for someone who's made his life hell since age eleven. Perhaps it was because he was too used to playing hero, or maybe it was because he had known Draco for such a long time, and knew that he was capable of being a decent person if he only cared enough to try.

"But you helped me," Harry repeated, protesting weakly. "You're - "

"Innocent?" And Draco laughed again. "Far from it, Potter." With that, he allowed himself to be swept off by Aurors, his head held high.

*

Harry Potter married Ginny Weasley. Who else could he have wedded? He felt like he owed the Weasleys something, and besides, Ginny should make him happy enough.

Their wedding had been a small one. Harry thought Ginny looked very pretty in her white dress. Ginny was blushing, feverish excitement evident in every step. Harry supposed he was excited, too. After all, this marked the beginning of a life he's always dreamed of. Fred Weasley had led Ginny to the altar, and winked at Harry. Harry smiled, and thought, My life can finally begin.

It had been a year since Voldemort died, and the world was a much better place because of that. And they all had Harry to thank. Harry bought the house with the white picket fences like he'd always wanted, and he this morning, he'd woken up in said house feeling cheerful. The coffee was sweet, and Harry decided to see how the rebuilding of Hogwarts was coming, and maybe help out.

His happiness evaporated, however, when he approached the gathered witches and wizards. They made a big fuss upon seeing him, and treated him like a fragile doll that could shatter any second. Harry was used to being greeted like that, but it bothered him more so then, for some reason. When he offered to help out, his request was instantly laughed away. With bright smiles shining on their faces, they only said, "You've already done more than enough for us. Go home and rest."

Harry wanted to yell, "But I've rested for a whole year now, stop treating me like a child!" Further protestations fell upon deaf ears, so Harry had no choice but to walk away.

Harry was moody for the rest of the day. Ginny asked him what was wrong, but Harry didn't tell her. He felt silly for feeling so angry.

*

Harry played professional Quidditch for England as a career. He loved flying; it always brought back memories of his younger years at Hogwarts. He had practice today, so right after lunch, Harry apparated to his locker room. The game against Ireland was in just a couple of days.

He picked up his broomstick and started walking out of the room and towards the pitch when he heard voices. Curious, Harry poked his head around the corner and saw the Irish Seeker speaking with liaisons from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. One of the Department people was speaking to the Seeker.

" - We're not asking for much, just - just throw off the game a bit, you know? One loss won't affect your team's chances too much in the league. It's just that - after all Harry Potter's done for us, we wouldn't want to make him feel badly. Let him win. He defeated You-Know-Who for us, we want to keep him happy, don't we?" The man chuckled. "Besides, we're prepared to offer you...compensations..."

There was a sack of gold on the table.

Harry felt sick at what he had just witnessed. How could they fix the game like this? He killed Voldemort so he could have a normal life, and now look what they'd done! Furious, he changed out of his robes and apparated to the Ministry.

The past year, people treated him like a sad little child who needs lots and lots of bed rest. Harry just assumed that this would die down eventually, and things could go back to normal. All he wants is to live like anyone else, but how can he, when everywhere he goes, people look at him with adoring and watery eyes, and talk in hushed voices?

It bothered him only a little at first, but now they've even Quidditch away from him in their disgusting little attempts to coddle him.

Well, if he couldn't even enjoy Quidditch, then maybe it was high time to get a new job. He'd always wanted to be an Auror, after all. Even with Voldemort gone, there were still Dark Wizards out there who think they've got a shot.

When Harry expressed his wish to become an Auror, however, the Ministry official only chortled and gave him an indulgent smile.

"Whatever for? You've conquered enough evil to last you for more than a lifetime. You certainly don't need the money, and besides, it's a dangerous job. We wouldn't want anything to happen to our hero, now would we? No, no, no. You just enjoy your well-earned rest." He smiled at Harry in a fond way, who was by now boiling inside.

Why do people insist on acting like he's a precarious toddler? Hadn't he proven that he could, in fact, handle 'dangerous' situations? Yelling wouldn't solve anything, though, Harry reminded himself. So he nodded curtly and returned home.

Ginny was sitting beside the table, reading the Daily Prophet. She greeted him with a kiss, and handed the newspaper to him. Harry took it without looking, and proceeded immediately to telling his Ginny how his day had gone so horribly wrong in an indignant voice.

Normally, he wouldn't have troubled her with this, but he desperately needed someone to share the disgrace of it all, and to agree with him that this whole thing is just ridiculous! " - And then, he said the job was too dangerous for me to handle! 'We wouldn't want anything to happen to our hero, now would we?'"

Ginny blinked, and looked at Harry with adoring eyes. "Well, of course -," she said slowly. "You're our savior..."

"Right," Harry said angrily, and stormed out of the house. His anger took him to a nearby park and he hurled himself onto the grass. He silently fumed for a while, before realizing that he still had the Prophet in his hand. Harry unfurled the paper and suppressed a gasp of shock.

On the front page were ten Death Eaters, Draco Malfoy prominent among them. The short article informed him that these ten people had received the Dementor's Kiss after one year of sitting on death row. Harry's insides turned glacial as he started into Draco's grey eyes.

"You bloody well can't save me." Draco had always been so different.

He thought of Hogwarts when he thought of Draco, and he remembered how simple it was back then compared to now. He had Ron and Hermione and all of the other Gryffindors as family, Draco Malfoy was easily recognizable as his archenemy and rival... He decided that he was much happier with his former concept of black and white.

What now? Ron is dead, along with all of his other friends, lost in that terrible war. The only people he had left were Hermione and Ginny. Hell, he didn't even love Ginny - at least not in the way he should love a wife.

And Draco...he looked down at the black and white photo. "I'm not your enemy, Potter," he had said. This was all too confusing.

*

That night, Harry dreamt. He dreamt that he was surrounded by his friends, joking, chatting. Ron was his usual freckly, grinning self; Hermione was smiling toothily. Even Draco Malfoy was there, though not nearly as nasty; he was only there to offer sarcastic quips and banter lightly with Harry. Fred and George were making loud jokes and acting off as usual; Oliver Wood was in a corner, prodding Quidditch strategy plans with his wand, and Dean Thomas was sketching a picture of a griffin.

Harry turned and saw, with a great jolt of excitement, his parents. They told him that he did a good job, and that he deserved this. He'd earned a place here, wherever this was.

Heaven, Harry decided. This is heaven.

He woke suddenly, and sat upright on his bed. With a shaking hand, he wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead. It had been a dream, not real. His heart sank. Where was the hero now? What had he become? Where was the innocent boy who stood wide-eyed with wonder and so in love with this fantasy of a world, that he was ready to give his life protecting his newfound home?

"He died," Harry remembered Hermione telling him. "He died and went to heaven."

But this was no heaven. He was trapped in a Hell on Earth. He wanted what was in his dream...he wanted...

His eyes fell upon a knife; jutting out from under his bed, moonlight reflecting off the blade. Back during times of war, Harry carried this trusty weapon wherever he went, to use should his wand be inaccessible. He had put it under his bed, along with so many other memories, and forgotten about it.

Harry reached for it, heart pounding, but as soon as his fingertips brushed the cool surface, he withdrew his hand as if burned.

Harry hugged his knees and rocked himself, choking on dry sobs. He couldn't do it, he was scared, scared, scared. He hated being so helpless... When he opened his eyes again, his gaze landed on the sleeping form of his wife beside him. A faint smile played upon her lips, as if she were having a good dream.

Harry Potter wanted to scream.

-fin-