The Return Odyssey ~ HP

1

Harry was now absolutely sure of it. It was extremely clear that he found it almost comical how he hasn't figured it out before. He was the Master of Death.

Maybe, it should've been his first "death" at the hand of Voldemort in the Forbidden forest; or even that one attack when he was training to become an Auror, one of the very first missions he'd went to and was unfortunately subject to killing curse flying at him, a curse which had hit him square in the chest, and had not killed him.
Now you see, Harry Potter was known for avoiding killing curses. It was his life story after all. But still, he only thought it pure dumb luck on his end, or something like that Ron had added as a comforting way to ease his mind after he woke up from the attack, not even a scratch on him. He knew then that nobody knew what he was really, not even his best friend.
Who knew it would take him losing Ginny Weasley in a fire that had their entire house burning to ashes while he came out of it with some second degree burns and a few blisters, for him to finally grasp the truth: snapping the Elder Wand in two and getting rif of the Resurrection Stone hadn't taken away their power; he was still the last master of the deathly hallows.

Currently sitting on the certainly overpriced ancient couch in 12 Grimmauld Place, his only companion a half filled glass of fire whiskey and of course, his two best friends, Harry Potter was reminiscing about the past.

Ron and Hermione were dropping by everyday to see him, checking up on him even through their overwhelming schedules and two children. The old excuses of "we were just passing by and thought we'd say hi" were getting old and redundant and didn't work on Harry anymore, but he didn't really care. He knew Ron and Hermione were worried about him and no amount of excuses would dissimulate that fact.

"Harry, I genuinely think it will help if you went back to the ministry." Hermione declared after long, monotonous minutes of silence. Her hand was tightly entwined with her husbands and Harry couldn't help when his eyes flickered down to that familiar gesture, but didn't feel any particular thing. He loved his best friends so dearly and he truly admired how they still came to check up on him despite everything and despite the fact that Ginny's death affected them horribly as well. Obviously, Ron was utterly devastated at the news but somehow, he still took it upon himself to be there for his best friend, as if Harry losing her was worse for him. It might've been, Harry wouldn't know. See, Harry was grateful. He truly was. He just didn't have it in him to express anything other than complete numbness. He was lethargic and numb, and there was nothing he could really do about it.

"I won't." He simply answered. It was true, ever since the incident that took his wife's life, Harry never set foot in the ministry again. Not that he held it against them or anything. After all, he was an Auror and his job was to protect people against the very thing that happened to him. But he simply couldn't find it in him to care any longer. His job didn't mean anything to him anymore. His life didn't mean anything. What was the purpose of being the savior of the Wizarding world, of being Master of Death, if he was to just stand there while shit happened to those around him and he couldn't do anything to help them.
It was only a few years after the war. Six years to be precise. In the midst of the aftermath, happiness and peace blossomed in the hearts of everyone else, prompting young witches and wizards alike to marry, found families and get jobs as soon as they graduated Hogwarts. Anything to forget the monstrosity of the war and what it had taken from them.
Harry had been no exception. He and Ginny married the year after, at the end of their 7th year which they all came back to study at Hogwarts. It was the only real peace they'd had before everything started falling apart once more.
Voldemort had died, his most faithful had been caught and justice had been served. Or so they thought. The "peace" only lasted a short while before attacks were carried out. As it appeared, not all Death Eaters were caught and the losses on their side had apparently sparked deep hatred and resentment, but mostly a hungry need for vengeance. Harry had barely started his Auror training when he was ushered on different missions to save the Wizarding world yet again, this time from rogue Death Eaters who mainly had two purposes : kill Harry Potter and carry out Voldemort's ideals for what they envisioned as an acceptable Wizarding society.

Harry had fought. He took it upon himself to finish his mission and fulfill his purpose as the savior. Obviously, having a target on his back so soon was extremely exhausting but that wasn't something he wasn't used to. No, what he truly wasn't ready for was to lose anymore people in his life. The target on his back meant the people close to him were equally in danger. And if the Death Eaters had learned anything from the years under Voldemort, it was that Harry Potter had one great weakness : love. The more the people he loved, the more danger they were in and the  easier he became to manipulate and eventually kill.
Harry had given it his all for the most part of four years. His friends and family fought alongside him and he fought twice as hard to keep them all safe. He knew that the Weasleys were the easy target and that's how he was constantly making sure that they had a safe house quarded with upmost security. He was so obsessed with keeping them safe that he didn't think t here was someone else that could be taken from him. Someone who was living with him, in his own house, which it appeared didn't get as much protection.

The Fiendfyre that took their house down a year ago was a calculated move. St. Mungo's of all places had be attacked the day prior and Harry had been the first on place, not resting until most of the damage caused was repaired. The last thing that he would've thought about was that the attack was orchestrated to lure him out of his house; a house that was being watched for months in order to make sure it was where he lived and to figure out a way to break the wards on it. Harry had spent all of a ten minutes inside, barely greeting Ginny and smiling at her as she took his coat before it exploded from every corner. In that moment, Harry thought of two things. First, he thought that his reflexes were failing as he took twice as much time to grab his wand, which by the time he had in hand, was too late. And secondly, the fire reminded him of the Room of Requirements years ago when he was searching for the Rowena Ravenclaw's lost Diadem. Except, the Room was so big and spacious, they had places to escape to and ways to block the flames. Something he couldn't do in the small living room of his house. The fire was so ferocious and so intense that he barely managed to grab his wand before it engulfed the walls and the tapestries, and burned the screaming and crying Ginny Weasley to her very bones.

Harry could still hear her screams and feel the heat of the flames sometimes when he closed his eyes. You'd think that after losing so many people in his life, he would be used to it by now. What's another death compared to all he's lost?
But it appeared that this loss had taken what's left of his sanity away. It has shut off everything inside him and he was left with absolutely nothing.

"Harry, please. Just consider it, okay?"

Hermione's pleading voice sounded far in his ears, he could barely concentrate on her words, or the burning taste of the fire whiskey as it went down his throat, or even the teary eyes of Ronald Weasley as he watched his best friend waste away before him.

Harry tried, he really did. Yet he still couldn't feel a thing.

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A.N: Hello! Welcome to my first ever Harry Potter fanfiction! I must admit I was very reluctant in publishing this one but now that it's out there, I hope you enjoy! Don't forget to let me know your thoughts!