No one could hear him. He was screaming so loud that he thought his voice would go hoarse. Until he realized the screams were in his head. They were consuming him, swallowing everything that he is and ever would be. No one answered those tormented screams. How could they? They didn't hear them, didn't see him falling apart before their very eyes. They were to consumed with hero worship to worry about what his mental state was.
He had killed the darkest lord of the century. He killed someone with the intent to kill, instead of defend. With a bright green of flash from his very own wand, a wand he refused to even look at now. He thought he could do it. To protect the world he once cherished. So that he could finally have a normal life. But life isn't normal for him. It never was, and never will be.
He can't bare to look at himself anymore. All of the mirrors in his house are either smashed or painted with black spray paint. His once beloved wand, now lay broken into pieces in a old moldy shoe box in the very back of this unused closet. His wizarding things were all burnt ages ago in a fit of rage, never to be whole again, not unlike himself.
There's barely any food in his kitchen. Just the bare minimum, and he doesn't even eat that. The windows are all boarded up against unwanted owls. There's no chimney to light a fire when it gets cold, instead he lays on a bed of misery wrapped up in consuming pain and guilt. There's no furniture in this place that he doesn't even consider a home. He has no home. No, this is a prison he has created. A prison that he won't let anyone else into.
People come by, to see how he's doing. But he pretends he's not even there. Pretends that he's out doing something a normal person would do. Eventually they leave when there's no answer. They don't even really care about him. They do it out of a sense of duty more then anything. To them, he did his job, now he could just disappear for all they're concerned.
He wishes he could disappear. Wishes he could just die. But every time he tries to end his life, something always held him back. He doesn't know what, except that he's not supposed to die yet, no matter how badly he wants to. So instead, he sits in a corner and screams to his hearts content. But these screams aren't in his head, they're coming from his heart.
He doesn't hear the door slam open in a panic. He's too busy screaming his pain and misery. He doesn't feel the arms come around him. He doesn't feel the other gently rocking him. All he feels is the consuming guilt and pain. Guilt for the life he took without thought, and pain for the feeling of being tossed aside.
He's finally getting a grip on himself again as he starts to feel something wet hitting his face. He brings a hand up and notices that they're tears, but not his tears, for those dried up months ago. These tears came from the one holding him tightly. He glanced up into the face of the unfamiliar arms. He's nearly surprised when he realizes it's his ex-potions professor holding him.
Someone had finally heard his screams! Someone had actually comforted him! He didn't think he was worth the effort because no one ever heard his screams. But someone had been listening all along! They just didn't know if they would be welcome! Oh but they were more then welcomed, if they could take away the misery he felt then he would welcome them with open arms.
With promises to make things better, the man leaned in to seal it with a kiss.