Chapter One: The price to be paid

Harry heard the voices.

Some were loud, others were pleading for him to wake up, to wake up from the darkness that consumed him.

He laid there for quite some time. Time meant nothing to him, in this tiny world of his.

He struggled between wanting to see them, their blurry faces and sinking into the shadows forever. Fevered dreams and pieces of memories that made no sense haunted his subconscious.

Images of screams of torture and stilled bodies past his mind. He didn't want to remember.

He was happy to just stay here, where he could still feel their presence, untouched by the haunting pain and terror that would be unleashed upon him the moment he opened his eyes.

His sluggish thoughts struggled to remember something he had forgotten, something he still holds on to after all that had happened, something, somebody...

Flashes of pale white hair and grey stormy eyes appeared as he tried to hold on to them

He needed to remember.

Pain struck his mind.

He had to remember.

Something, someone that he had to hold on to.

Light struck him as he opened his eyes.

.................

"Harry!" Ginny cried out happily as her tears slowly dripped from her face.

Groaning, Harry looked around him with a strange look on his face. He knew from the white walls and curtains that he was in the infirmary. It would be logical after the collapse when Voldemort died.

His memories came back to him slowly as he remembered the past events that had happened.

But, as he looked around, something felt oddly wrong. As if he was looking at things through a glass. He fixed his gaze on the chair beside his bed that looked distorted.

Realization with the sense of horror struck him as his right eye throb painfully.

Staring at Ginny who was looking at him with a big smile, he said slowly:

"Ginny, can you go out now?"

Hurt flickered briefly on her face as she protests. "But, Harry, can't I stay a little longer-"

"Please."

A blank look filled her eyes as she nodded and went out. Just then, Madame Pomfrey came in.

"Ah, you're awake! What were you thinking, collapsing like that and scaring us so badly? I've been checking your vitals, you seem to be fine except for that unusual hint of magic, but some rest and you'll be as good as-"

"Madame Pomfrey." Harry cut, his voice barely holding before it broke. Madame Pomfrey immediately stops as she gazed at him with worry.

Taking another deep breath, he whispered out the words.

"I can't see."

.............

Chaos erupted after that.

Checking again and again that Harry truly can't see, she immediately sends him to St.Mungo for treatment. Asking him if he wanted to see his friends before that, he promptly refused and said that he was tired, ignoring the weird look on her face.

She remembered all the accidents that happened whenever Harry was in it, and he had never refused their company, even pleading with her to give them a little more time.

She frowned but said nothing.

......................

They arrived at St Mungo.

Harry was sent to a hospital ward upon their arrival as the best wizards and witches of the place was sent to help with the healing spell. After all, it wouldn't do if The Boy Who Lived was injured permanently. Unfortunately, none of their strongest healing spells was working. The mixture of the colourful words in different accents certainly didn't help at all.

He was silent the whole time, his gaze far away as he was staring at something only he could see. He ignored the whispers and mutterings from the healers who became more frustrated with each passing minute.

"Don't bother," Harry spoke for the first time since he was here, causing them to stop speaking. His eyes were dull, lifeless.

"Surely not!" A man exclaims in a French accent. "We can heal you, Mr Potter, although it might take some time-"

"Voldemort cast the spell moments before he died." He said bluntly, ignoring the flinches from the adults. He felt tired. His mind and body were exhausted, and he knew the truth since he woke up.

"The spell is irreversible. My eye is completely damaged, permanently."

Turning his head to the side so no one could see his face. He did not want to think of the effect his loss of sight would've caused him, knowing he would break down when he lost the grip on his control.

"Please, just leave. I'm tired."

He didn't even hear them leaving as his body finally reached its limits as he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
........

It was dark when he was awake.

The room was silent except for his breathing, and the pale moonlight shone faintly in the room, becoming the only source of light.

Not bothering to even sit up, Harry laid there silently as he touches his right eye. They offered an eye patch to him but he had refused coldly. This would be another wound to add to his collection of scars on his heart, for the lives that had been sacrificed for his.

Years of hiding it in the shadows, he knew that, deep down, he wasn't the cheery Harry that everyone knew. The burden of the deaths and war had slowly changed him, trapping him with no way to get out.

He became depressed. His dreams turned into nightmares and with each passing year, it became worse until it was full-blown insomnia. He was stubborn, he admitted. He knew that his friends would understand, but how to tell them?

The words wouldn't, no- couldn't come out.

Something inside him changed. He acted as if he was fine, but truth to be told, he wasn't. He smiled as if nothing was wrong, but inside, he was breaking down. Every step he took was a reminder that his life was given by the deaths of so many people, so that he, their saviour, could finally beat Voldemort.

And he did. He did his best, his talent lies in Defense Against The Dark Arts, just like his parents. Until that fateful day, where the death of He Who Must Not Be Name became another page in history, marking the sign of a new generation.

What would they think of when they see me, The Boy Who Lived, with his eye blind?

He laughed bitterly. He was done with the look of pity on their face, and the whispers about his latest achievements. In the end, did it even matter?

His laughter slowed and stopped as tears streamed down his face. He knew, but he couldn't accept. Accept that, with his condition, he would longer be able to see properly. That the people would never understand that he didn't want their pity. No doubt the Daily Prophet would hail him as the hero, but they would not see past his actions, and look at the gashes on his broken heart.

That he could never be a seeker and fly on the broom again, relishing as the wind blew on his face.

It was only times like this, when he was separated from the world, that he could let down the walls. That he could weep but no one would hear him. The cover of the darkness protected him like a blanket, drowning all the noises until it was only him, a silent symphony.

But even so, one question remained in his heart after his tears had dried.

Why was he the one he saw in his coma, and not somebody else?

He looked up. For a moment, he swore he saw the corner of a black robe disappearing out of sight.

*updates every Friday* [if I'm actually not that lazy, some other days too XD]

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