After the war, he didn't really know
what to do. He drifted, mostly, wandering from friend to friend, from place to place, in a daze.
He was only seventeen.
The war was over. He'd ended it, but with it, he'd ended himself.
He was only seventeen, and he had murdered a man.
Every time he moved his wand, he only thought of
him. Every time he raised his arm, he thought of how
he had done it. It wasn't that he wasn't glad
he was dead - no, far from it in fact - but
how the man had died.
Cheater.
It wasn't a fair duel. It wasn't a question of talent or skill, of experience or warriors, but of fate. And he didn't think it was fair, to lose in such a manner. Even villains deserve an honorable death.
Every hero has a villain.
What could he do? His skillset was specific, so
so specific. Dumbledore had taught him so little, and
so much, and he didn't know what to do.
Every
So he did what no one expected.
Villain
He left the Wizarding World, and traveled.
Deserves
He went to the far reaches of magic, studied the very essence of the stuff, and
learned. Learned and learned and learned, so much and so little.
A
And he found something. Something that brought a fire back into his eyes, and a light grin on his face. A portal, to elsewhere.
Hero
It was hot. The heat scorched his face, and he panted as he stepped through, the suit he had taken to wearing slightly burning as he did so. He muttered a curse, glaring at the suit. It never held together properly, and he had never gotten around to enchanting it. Even with all his new-found knowledge, his enchantments had the tendency to... be rather explosive. Peering into the distance, his eyes widened a fraction. He stopped to reassure himself, to remind himself that it was a
lie, that this was a place of
bone and
shadow. She wasn't real.
Do you understand?
A girl, his age. Red hair, mischievous eyes, and a sparkling smile. It was funny, in reflection, that even in this realm of
bones, someone thought that could sway him now.
Of course not.
She was dead, of course. Dead by his hand, by his
will. He hadn't meant too, but it had happened. He had discovered he had a certain... talent, for fire after the war. He loved it.
How could you?
He'd played with it, made it dance for her, watched her laugh in delight as a fox of fire darted forward and sniffed her once, before licking her cheek, a molten trickle falling from its mouth. He'd smiled at her, and she at him.
How could you,
And then it had ended, in a trial of
fire and
blood, ripping apart his casual existence with a desperate want, a desperate need for a change of scenery, something new.
who has everything,
The funeral was a small affair, and he had stared at the coffin next to his best friend, looking at the sky, a small smile on his face. "...She wouldn't have liked it to rain on her funeral."
Understand him,
The other boy had looked at him with concern, before placing a hand on his shoulder. "Harry, the sky's clear today... Not a cloud in the sky! You feelin' alright mate?"
Who has nothing?
"
He closed his eyes, and a trail made its way down his face as he stood. "It's raining alright."
But that was the last he'd heard from wizards, for long, long, time.
"
Exturbo Arduro!" he snarled, his voice more animal then human, his wand slicing through the air like a dagger, as the incantation tore itself from his lips. Fire spewed from the tip of his wand, and the fake vanished as the flames burned against the already searing landscape, licking at the ground with an almost fervent need to burn.
He sighed, and turned, making to leave the area. This wasn't where he wanted to be - it had nothing of use to him, and certainly wasn't as intoxicated with magic as what he was looking for. He disapparated away from the portal's entrance as he left, paranoia surging in his body. Not many knew what the few woman in his life looked like, and even fewer cared enough to try and taunt him with them. But those few were the best in the business, and even with Harry's rather... large compendium of powerful magics, both dark and light, he was unsure that he could take them alone. His spells were but one reason, he mused in reflection, he had left the wizarding world. They presumably wouldn't have liked his attraction towards the fiery side of spellcraft, as those usually belonged to spells like the dreaded
Fiendfyre, which even with his potent fire affinity, couldn't honestly master.
But something reverbated in his mind, a simple thought dancing around his head like a ballerina, and he just couldn't shake the feeling that there was some place he should go, some place he had to be. He decided to acquiesce to his mind's whims, and apparated away, going a place he had never been.
America.