So I decided to pull a short HP Oneshot on you guys. I was reading some stuff about JK Rowling and how much of her novels symbolized things in everyday life, and how many stories are just metaphors. It got me thinking, what If everything in the books never really happened. (I should really stop brainstorming at 3:00am). So then I was all like 'OMG LIKE SHUTTER ISLAND!' And then I was like. 'Wait, not like shutter island..' and it turned into this. I just cranked out the first section and it suddenly turned into a story. (Booyacasha!)
Disclaimer: Judging by this story, it's a good thing I don't own Harry Potter
"And if I was to say, Mr. Potter, that it was all a figment of your imagination?"
"You mean, like a dream?"
"If you could call it such."
"Well, then I would say that it was one hell of a dream."
Harry Potter had been the golden boy, the defeater of evil, the boy who survived when the odds were against him. He'd fought dragons, and had held all the deathly hallows on his hands.
He was the boy that everyone wanted to be.
However, there was a sort of darkness within him, a deep pit that threatened to consume him with every moment.
He could almost feel the fabric of his sanity tearing at the seams, creating tiny ripples of madness. They soared in circles, spiraling out into deep waves that pulled the inky darkness in from the sea. He was missing something; he had a void, an empty spot in his heart that longed to be filled.
He just wasn't who he wanted to be
The girl with the beautiful hair watched through the fingerprinted glass, with a longing much like his.
Her heart broke at the sight of the disheveled man who was most definitely not her husband. Although they wore the same face, she couldn't have been more certain that someone else had taken over. Her husband was an intelligent man, sensible in every way; he was nothing like the befuddled stranger behind the glass.
This man was not the one she'd fallen in love with, the one she'd married. He was certainly not the father of the darling little boy that was at home with a sitter.
And his eyes, his eyes were different. They were darker by maybe a shade, and... Haunted. They were the eyes of someone who'd seen too much.
She didn't know how she would explain it to her son when she couldn't even understand herself.
How would she tell him that his Daddy was gone, even though his body lived on? How could she tell him that the man they'd both known had died in the car crash?
She didn't know.
The only thing of which she was certain was that the man behind the glass was not Harry Potter.
Harry Potter sipped his evening coffee, his four year old son fast asleep in his lap.
He heard his beautiful wife gasp, speaking in soft tones into the phone.
She clicked it down, a tearful expression on her face.
"What's wrong darling?" he asked.
"It's... I-it's Sirius Harry," she choked. "He's..."
A feeling of dread settled over him.
"He's dead." she managed, a few crystal tears dripping from her hazel eyes. "Heart attack."
Harry looked away, emotion bubbling through. He stood up, and reached for his coat.
"Please," she begged. "We can talk about this."
However, he was not sure he would be able to talk.
He just walked out, anger boiling in his veins. It was times like these that he knew he wouldn't handle being around his family. They were not at fault and he didn't want to find himself blaming them. If he stayed he would undoubtably do things that he was not proud of.
He'd just lost the closest thing to a parent that he'd ever had.
Harry stepped into his car, blinded by betrayal and anger, and sorrow. He downed the half-empty bottle of scotch hidden in the seat compartment, hoping it would numb the pain.
He hadn't even seen the truck coming.
"I don't understand, what exactly is wrong with him?" she asked Dr Partridge.
"Your husband has been suffering from delusions since he woke."
"Delusions?" she asked.
"Yes," he sighed. "You see, he received severe head trauma from the crash and the significant brain damage has confused him."
"Can I see him?"
"Of course," he looked at her warily. "But I must advise you Mrs. Potter, your husband has developed slight aggressive tendencies; it would be in your best interests to be cautious."
She pushed open the menacing white door, a loud screech emanating from the cold metal.
He sat at a table, his dark hair tousled. His wild, green eyes looked up at her in desperation as she neared.
She'd never seen him look so confused before.
"Did you bring Ron with you?" he asked desperately.
"No, of course not." her brow furrowed. "You two have hardly spoken since University."
Harry looked puzzled.
"He's married now you know, to that nice girl, Hermione." she said, attempting to start normal conversation.
"I don't understand Ginny, why are they keeping me here? Are they angry that I killed him?"
"Killed who?" she asked in shock.
"Can you ever forgive me? It is my fault after all, so many people died because of me."
"Harry, I don't understand,"
He ignored her words, becoming focused on the gold wedding band on her finger. "You're married..." he said passively, confused.
"Yes," she said almost angrily. "And so are you."
He looked puzzled, looking at his own hand. "I'm sorry I couldn't save Fred." he whispered solemnly, guilt creeping onto his features.
Ginny gasped in surprise, her heartbeat speeding up. Her brother had died in a fire just months before.
"Harry," she urged. "That wasn't your fault..."
"Well I was the one that he wanted, I should've given myself up earlier. I could have saved Fred, and Remus, and Tonks..."
Ginny stepped back; it was becoming painstakingly obvious that something was wrong.
"That bastard should have taken care of me when I was a baby, it would have taken a load off everyone else." Harry spat, mostly to himself.
She wasn't sure who this stranger was. He was spiteful, and cold, and broken. She didn't know him anymore.
So she pulled away, leaving him more alienated than before.
"Mommy, why are we dressing up to say goodbye to Daddy?" James asked his mother softly.
"We have to respect the dead Baby," she replied, her heart clenching.
It had been three days since her husband had thrown himself out of the hospital window.
The doctor had told her that his mental state had been worsening, he kept talking about some school called Hogwarts and how they were going to send James there. He'd gone on and on about his parents, how they would be so happy. He was living in this fantasy world where he was a hero; he'd saved lives and defeated an evil wizard.
He'd been unable to deal with reality.
So now she was forced to watch the mahogany coffin lower into the ground, her dead husband going with it. She refused to shed a tear, after all, she'd lost him a long time ago. Her Harry Potter had died the night of the car crash.
She turned away from the freshly pressed dirt, flaming hair blowing freely around her face. She could only find comfort in one thought...
Even though he'd lived in a lie, at least he'd died happy...