Chapter One: Anti-Hero

[...marks the 10-year anniversary of the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named...]

   "Accio Remote," drawled Harry with a lazy flick of his wand. Pressing the Power button and silencing the OWL (Overall Wizarding Lowdown) News broadcast coming through his telly, Harry Potter threw his head back against his worn, threadbare sofa and heaved a deep sigh. He could hardly believe that it had already been a decade since his infamous victory over Voldemort. Anyone looking at him would hardly believe that he was once considered a hero. The past ten years had certainly changed Harry. Not his looks, oh no... he still looked very much like the same boy who emerged from the Second Battle of Hogwarts with shoulder-length, disheveled hair and a permanent five o'clock shadow. Despite frequent unsuccessful attempts to cover it with his unruly, jet black bangs, his lightening bolt shaped scar still stood out prominently on his now slightly aged forehead. But the guilt that had plagued him over the years chipped away at his once easy-going demeanor until it seemed that there was nothing but a mere shell of a man left in its wake.
   Reaching for his glass of Firewhisky, Harry began to remember those loved ones he had lost during the final battle, and the subsequent lesser battles between Lord Voldemort and those he sought to repress. He, Harry,  reminisced nearly every day, but the pain was particularly clear on days like today when the world would rather remind him of his losses than let him live in peace. In the years after the war Harry had become increasingly more hermit like, ignoring letters, phone calls, and attempted visits from everyone except Ron and Hermione. Only grudgingly did he accept their company. As if on cue, the telephone on Harry's side table broke through the silence of his sitting room with a loud, warbling cry. Grumbling to himself, Harry's hand hovered uncertainly above the jangling, black receiver. Harry knew it was either Ron or Hermione as they were the only ones who bothered to reach out to him anymore. Finally, with a resigned sigh, Harry lifted the receiver from its base. Harry raised it to his ear and said, "Hullo?" Instant regret shot through him as Ron bellowed, "HARRY?! HELLO? CAN YOU HEA-....?"
   "STOP SHOUTING RON!," Harry yelled back, matching Ron's volume in order to be heard. "How many times do I have to tell you to speak in a normal voice when you're using the phone?," Harry asked exasperatedly.
   "Oi, sorry mate!," replied Ron, now in a much more acceptable tone. "You know I'm still not used to this farking fellytone..."
   "Telephone," corrected Harry. A smile played about his lips in spite of his irritated mood.
   "Yeah, well if you'd answer the ruddy owls I sent, I wouldn't have to resort to this damn thing!"
   "Why do you bother with it anyway?"
   "Well, Hermione thought it was a good idea with her parents being Muggles and all.... and honestly, I guess Dad's Muggle loving rubbed off on me a bit," Ron admitted a bit sheepishly. Harry had only bought a phone and subscribed to services at Hermione's insistence after too many of her owls went unreturned, knocks at the door gone ignored. His fireplace connected to the Floo Network had long sat dormant, Harry having boarded it up himself a few years back after tiring of unannounced pop-ins from surprise visitors.
   "Anyway, Hermione wanted me to call and invite you over to the Burrow for lunch tomorrow." This was a request that was made of Harry each Sunday, one that he always declined. "I reckon Bill and Fleur will be there. Percy will be working...," Harry could plainly read the sarcasm in Ron's voice. " Charlie won't be able to make it either. He left for Sweden the beginning of last week. He reckons old Xeno Lovegood isn't quite such a loony git after all. There actually is proof of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks there! He's gone over to investigate further. Luna wanted to tag along, but as the term's getting ready to start, she had to stay behind. Really disappointed, she is." Their friend Luna had long since held the post of Hogwart's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.  A job that for a long time people had thought jinxed. Luna Lovegood had held it without incident for the past seven years however. Along with Luna, Harry, Ron, and Hermione's fellow Gryffindor and Dumbledore's Army member, Neville Longbottom also taught at the school. He took over Herbology from a retired Professor Sprout, the subject having always been his best by far during his own school years.
   Harry's lips parted, ready to give Ron his usual refusal to the lunch offer, but this time something made him hesitate. He wasn't sure what made him do it, but nevertheless he found himself muttering, "Yeah mate, I reckon I'll be along then. I'll have to Apparate since my Floo's all boarded up..."
   "R-really? Excellent, mate! Mum will be so pleased to see you! She worries me to death over you, you know! Sometimes I don't wonder if she doesn't care more about you than she does me," Ron finished a bit grumpily. His tone quickly changed back to jubilation though as he told Harry that he'd send an owl right over to the Burrow to let Mrs. Weasley know to expect Harry after all this Sunday. Ron began saying his goodbyes, but a horrible sinking feeling in Harry's gut made him stop his best friend from ringing off just yet. Trying (and failing rather miserably) to sound casual, Harry tentatively questioned his mate, "Um, say, Ron... will Ginny be there?"
   "What? Oh yeah, of course she will. I think she's bringing her new boyfriend with her. At least that's what she told Dad last time she wro-.... I mean, um, yeah, she'll be here," Ron finished lamely. After the war, after You-Know-Who's death, Ginny and Harry had reunited as a couple. They were blissfully happy together for the first year or so afterwards, when the glory of Harry's heroic actions still shined upon him like a golden beam of warm sunlight. However, the light was extinguished when the nightmares started. As Harry grew increasingly sullen and withdrawn, so did Ginny's disdain for Harry's actions; or lack thereof, as he spent most of his days sulking on the sofa, drinking copious amounts of butterbeer and Firewhisky while thumbing mindlessly through television channels.
   "I lost them too! I lost my brother! And very nearly my father, and George too! You aren't the only one who's grieving!," Ginny had cried in anguish just before storming out and slamming the door in Harry's face on the night that she had finally had enough and left him for good. Harry hadn't seen her since and he didn't much fancy seeing her now. Although it had been years since their break up, the wounds were just as fresh for Harry as if it had happened yesterday. Along with his frequent recurring nightmares where he replayed the deaths of everyone he had ever loved and lost, Ginny's face haunted his dreams as well. Many a morning he woke to catch himself reaching for her on her empty side of the now cold, lonely bed they had once shared. He wasn't sure what had made him assent to this bit of torture. "I must be mad," Harry mumbled to himself as he finally disentangled himself from the sofa that now bore a permanent imprint of Harry's back side, having so rarely parted each other's company. Perhaps it was the prospect of spending another  of these anniversaries alone that had prompted him to give in at last. Albeit it was his own doing that had kept him in solitary confinement each successive year, it still never failed to make him feel remarkably crummy. Maybe, just maybe spending time with the few people who hadn't fully rebuked Harry yet would lessen his pain by at least an infinitesimal amount.
   Placing his now empty low ball glass into the sink, Harry shuffled off toward the bedroom, praying that he would get at least a few hours of dreamless sleep. Pulling back the bedclothes, Harry slid into the bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. Closing his eyes, Harry began his nightly attempt to ward off the images that flooded behind his eyes the moment they were closed. Tonks, Lupin, Fred, Moody, Snape, Dobby, Dumbledore, Sirius, James, Lily, Cedric.... these were just some of the faces that floated behind Harry's closed lids. With only these ghosts, his ghosts as he'd come to think of them, for company, Harry slowly fell into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning, and thrashing against his sheets. Undoubtedly, as nearly every day before for the past ten years, Harry would awake feeling even more exhausted than before he'd slept and aching as though he'd tangled with the Whomping Willow in his uneasy sleep.