Work Text:
Some time ago, I wandered down a path
That beckoned with a whisper
It crept up and latched upon my back
Now it's with me on the road
Another day, another ball to attend. Gala to give a speech at. Press interview to release. Harry wasn't sure at what point it had turned into a full time job. Being 'The Saviour'. Maybe after he had quit the Aurors and had more free time. As soon as the news that he had left dropped in the Daily Prophet suddenly everybody was scrambling to invite him places, be seen with him, get him at their event, their show.
And it's not like Harry had anything better to do with his time so he went. And he did enjoy elements of it. Feeling helpful and needed. Like he was making a change by fighting whatever evil was thrown his way, be it magical creature law reform, fighting for better integration of muggle-borns into the wizarding world, magical diseases that had no cure. He wanted to help, felt like he deserved to help, like he was obligated to help. It was his duty. It was what he did.
It was inveitable he supposed that his life would end up this way. The fame was like a parasitic weight and he had been carrying it since he was 11. Or he supposed actually since that Halloween night when Voldemort took his parents away. Part of him had naively assumed that once the war was over and the madness and the press surrounding the trials and recovery efforts had died down that people would lose interest in him, that the fame would die down and maybe just maybe people would leave hi alone. Get bored off him or not care what he had to say anymore. That he would be nothing special, a regular wizard just like everyone else. And even worse than his naïve belief that this would be the future was the hope that went along with it. That he would finally escape that burden of having thousands of eyes on him, watching and analysing his every move. Naïve, childish hope.
But then again, he was the one who had accepted those invitations. He could had declined them, locked the doors of 12 Grimmauld Place and resigned himself to a life with only Ron, Hermione and Kreacher for company. But as much as he wanted peace, the parasite had a firm hold on him.
He couldn't shake the guilt he felt over the thought of not helping, not attending, not supporting the cause. It would be selfish of him not to use his voice, right? People listened to him and that was a gift and if he squandered it, if he hid away in his tower like a sheltered princess with his gold and his peaceful life whilst others were being discriminated against, abused by the system, not cared for, not looked out for then maybe he was no better than the world that Voldemort was creating.
So he said yes to everything. No cause was too small for him to support and speak out against. And so somehow the fame grew. And so did the gap between 'The Saviour of the Wizarding World' and just Harry.
It's Machiavellian movements are a test
To witness in the flesh
Makes me smile when I should be crying
And it never lets me rest
He was already used to the spotlight. Every since fourth year when Rita Skeeter and her stupid bloody quill had stepped foot on Hogwarts ground he had learnt quickly that every movement, every decision is measured, is a test, even when no one is there. So the smile stays there permanently, just part of going through the motions.
And unlike his time working for the Aurors, there is no time-off. He can't rest, even when is alone. His thoughts inevitably circle back to the mistakes he made, moments where he could had done more, should have done better.
It's exhausting like a test that never ends. He carries it with him, aware in every step, every glance, every small action. He notices it in the tightness in his muscles, the heavy feeling in his chest, how sleep never seems to fully come anymore.
Sometimes he thinks of the fame as some sort of living demon clinging onto his back with it's claws dug in. He imagines that maybe someday he will be able to shake it lose and be free.
But Harry isn't a quitter. Hermione tells him that it isn't always a bad thing to say no, to take time for yourself, to not champion every battle. But to Harry it is a test of endurance. He just has to do more, try harder, be better.
And as the time draws on and he gets more entrenched in this caricature of a person he has turned himself into, he feels the claws lengthen and burrow in further. He's a puppet on fames strings with every part of him on display for others. He plasters his smile on but the smile is wrong; too wide, too sharp. The emotional dissonance as an act of survival as much as it is for the performance.
If you see me smiling
It's forceful and violent
Oh, it's still there, though, in the silence
'Cause I'm always on stage
He isn't sure that anyone even thinks of Harry as a person anymore. Harry Potter is a brand. A public entity that everyone is entitled to. His life is a performance, a charade. Every action, every emotion and feeling, the Daily Prophet vultures feel entitled to take and share and manipulate. The media circus curates the version of Harry Potter that will drive sales and fit the agenda their pushing. And Harry is tired. He's oh so fucking tired. Of fighting and pushing back. Maybe it is ironic that he spends his days standing up for everyone and yet the one person he can't stand up for is himself.
There's gack and drink and steroids on the counter
Do you think you're some kind of rock star?
I did all that when I was on the dole
The money didn't stretch as far
He craves peace and reprieve. So if he starts drinking in his free time, so sue him. It helps quiet the parasite in his brain telling him to smile more and perform better like one of those freaky monkeys with the cymbals. A glass or four of firewhiskey before bed. A shot or too in the morning to pick him up. It helps him be a better saviour.
He doesn't think about the number of galleons he is throwing away on liquor and more lately, pills. He definitely doesn't think about how the amount he spends in a week could have made all the difference to the Weasley's back when they were struggling before the cheques came in. Who knew being a war hero was so lucrative. He doesn't think about how whilst the Weasleys are doing better now, they're just one family and that there are hundreds if not thousands who are still struggling to make ends meet, and here he is just throwing his money down the drain all to what? Feel better? Feel less guilt? He's such a joke
He hears Hermione and Ron whispering to each other that it's 'self destruction' and that he needs to give himself a break. But then Harry thinks about himself at age 8. Neglected and battered by the Dursleys, living in that stupid cupboard and so unaware of his past, of his future. And then suddenly he is setting up another fund, another charity for under-privileged children, children who have suffered abuse. And another charity means more fundraising events and balls and press-conferences.
Because he feels so much guilt. That he got out, found the Weasley's, inherited a fortune, became famous and had the whole world open it's doors to him.
But at least then I had my head upon my shoulders
And faced love without fear
But it took that all away
And put my failures on display
And now you're no longer here
He feels guilt that he is some sort of show pony with endless wealth and opportunities. He thinks of that boy who did the gardening, the cooking and cleaning. He thinks of him and feels almost nostalgic. Sure he might have been mistreated but at least he was a real person then. Humble and innocent and an authentic being.
That child let people in and not hidden away in the shadows. No that child was brave. A better version of him
He wonders if his 12 year old self would be disappointed by him. Would he think that Harry now lacks integrity, that he is too scared of existing and being seen. Embarrassed of how the fame has stripped Harry of his dignity.
No the fame hadn't just stripped his dignity; it had stripped him away from "Harry Potter". Now they were two entirely differently entities sharing a body like strangers coinhabitating a flat. Yet his real self is slowly being squeezed out like he is back in that cupboard whilst "Harry Potter"encroaches on more and more territory like an internal siege.
He doesn't know which version of him he is anymore. After all if the Saviour has taken over him entirely how can he still claim to be just Harry. Or is that honest version of him a relic of the past that left his body when the fragment of Voldemorts soul did.
He doesn't even really need to know what the cause an event is in honour of anymore, he's gotten so good at putting on the mask that he can smile and network and get people to open their pursestrings to donate without even knowing where that money is going.
If you see me smiling
It's forceful and violent
You had my soul when it was vibrant
Before I lost it on a stage
If you see me smiling
It's forceful and violent
You had my soul when it was vibrant
Before I lost it on a stage
Somewhere along the way Harry breaks without even realsing it.
He comes home from one such event, and within seconds of the door closing has a firewhiskey bottle in his hand and is downing it like it is some sort of lifesaving medicine. He's three-quarters of his way through the bottle before he even registers Ron, Hermione, Kreacher and Draco Malfoy? in his kitchen.
He stops and stares for a second.
Stares at the man who he hasn't seen in 7 years. The man who he obsessed over, hated and fought endlessly. Who was almost as much a pillarstone in Harry's life as Ron and Hermione had been. It had always been a given that Ron and Hermione were his frriends and Malfoy was his enemy. And that was an inescapable fact of reality. Or at least it had been.
Harry wasn't sure what the facts of his reality were now other than he was very nearly drunk and as such not entirely convinced that the blonde figure he was locked eyes with wasn't some sort of apparation of figment of his imagination.
Maybe it was the shock that did it, or the disorientation of his braining bouncing back and forth between the two Harrys, or maybe it was the alcohol. But some combination of the three took action and before he registered what was happening, Harry fainted.