When the world sought out to praise their hero they found nothing but returned letters. No one knew where the 'Boy-who-defeated-the-dark-lord' was. A castle wide search was enacted and it was I who...
It was three days after he had gone missing after a death eater attack that he casually strolled through the Great Hall doors with a calm, relaxed expression on his face. He looked far more peaceful than I have ever seen him in the six years we had been friends and all I felt was anger. I can look back at those moments and cringe in my selfishness, silently raging at myself "How could I have done that?".
Some looked up at him with surprise, they had already assumed he was dead. A few had accusing glares set to burn a hole through the blemishing scar on his forehead, and like the staff, some were just irrational, curious, and angry. So we all watched him, silently pleading him to give us an answer to all our curiosities and accusations, and he didn't tell us a thing.
He sat down at the end of the Gryffindor table with a healthy smile on his face, seemingly ignoring the stares, and reached for a breadstick.
I stood quickly form my seat at the other end of the table and rushed towards him. He didn't even look at me, just eating that same damned breadstick with a smile on his face. Others didn't stop me only because they assumed I was to welcome him back, or find answers. I did neither.
I stopped aside him and pulled him out of his seat with surprising strength and had him face me. Looking into his eyes now I saw no apologies silently waiting for me, I saw nothing but a smile that had shown through his eyes. No guilt, no worry, no shame, and none of the self-conscious attitude he suffered before. I did the only thing my mind could comprehend at seeing such a face on him.
I slapped him, and then screamed through tear filled eyes. "How could you do that!?"
He just looked at my calmly, not even flinching at my slap, as I once knew him to do, with his bright eyes. Only when I look back on it now I can see the small well of sadness that shimmered there when I hit him, struck against him. It must have been such a betrayal to him! Still he never answered so I asked again.
"Where were you?" I demanded, my best intimidating posture in place yet silently shaking with anger.
This time the sadness was visible for all to see and he answered with a simple. "Just looking for some peace of mind, Hermione, just some small peace in the mind." He turned away from me with nothing more than a disappointed glance and a sad smile, leaving the hall.
He was missing the next day but it wasn't until the Daily Prophet that morning that I truely realized what a fool I was.
Voldemort was dead. Harry had accomplished what Wizards four times his age couldn't accomplish and the world was celebrating. The last words he spoke to me that day echoed in my mind. It was shame that consumed me, replacing the initial joy of Voldemorts defeat.
I remember my anger at the Order for not informing me, but I soon realized that they didn't know either. None of them knew of Harry's victory until the morning news. I would never know how he accomplished it either.
When the world sought out to praise their hero they found nothing but returned letters. No one knew where the 'Boy-who-defeated-the-dark-lord' was. A castle wide search was enacted and it was I who found the first sign of Harry. Only, just not as I had wished or expected to.
The second floor girls' bathroom was flooded again, and the loud wails of Myrtle turned away any searchers, and it was there that I found Harry. His body was leaning against the entrance to the chamber, and half the sink was flooded with blood. The floor was just one big puddle, most of it already dry and cracking. Harry's body was pale and cold, the only color was the reddish brown that covered his arms where dark accusing cuts lay.
Gasping in horror, I remember fleeing from the scene, seeking out Dumbledore where I spent minutes trying to convey my discovery through my hysterical state. "Harry...bathroom...blood!" I found myself being coddled by McGonngal with tears rushing down my cheeks, Dumbledore was looking at me with disbelieving eyes. It was those eyes that brought me back to the real world.
I jerked out of my professor's arms and started running to the hospital wing, the headmaster and professor following. I remember dragging Madam Pomphry away from her vigilant post and down to the flooded second floor. When we entered the bathroom there were no smiles, nor gasps of shock, just resignation and sadness. I pulled Pomphry towards Harry's prone form, whispering. "Help him...please, oh please, you have to help him."
All I received was a crushing hug and a pat on the back. The whispered words, "He's gone, gone off to a better place now. Its okay, it'll all be okay." spoken in my ear. The affect was lost when I felt the tears of the woman fall on me. I knew it wouldn't be okay. It never would be again, because part of my life was gone. Harry had killed himself.
Only once I was able to look upon his prone form I noticed something I had missed before.
His glassy, dead eyes, still somehow showed that happy, calm acceptance he had when he entered the hall those two days before and that same smile shown. His words to me as he left the hall that morning echoed in my ears and I spoke for the last time for what must have been weeks. "Keep looking for that peace of mind Harry. Keep looking." As I raced out of the bathroom, with tears glistening off my cheeks, I could have sworn I saw Harry's dead smile widen just a bit more.
That was, of course, impossible.
Author's note: A creepy little peice, but I still like it. I had written it a year ago so there are probably some errors, I didn't go over it that carefully, I admit. I hope it was enjoyable to you people anyway. (This story has been posted on Fanfiction.net, so if it looks familiar, that is why. On the account "ShadowedRains")