Harry Potter and the War of Morgan le Fay

Chapter 12

Not for the first time that week since Tintagel Castle, Harry was sat up in his bed, alternating between staring out the window and staring at his wrist where the symbol of the Deathly Hallows now lay. He traced the scar-like mark, just barely visible in the bit of moonlight streaming in the window, as voices echoed in his head.

"...the light you will inspire in each other will bring a happiness..."

"You will see and you will have."

"...my son will show me the way."

"...something wonderfully special in you ... You know the loving touch of the Dark..."

"Come find me, Master of the Cloak."

There was a pressure in his chest that wouldn't ease, a pressure so different from any he'd ever had before. There was a pressure back in their time, but there it was a heavy weight trying to drag him down to some deep, unknown depths. This pressure, however, here in Camelot, was a gripping pressure, a pressure that threatened to freeze him in place. Yet, it didn't freeze him out of fear or sadness. He was frozen in the all-consuming feeling of being utterly lost...utterly empty in that lost place.

He didn't know what to think or how to feel.

All he knew was he was tired of feeling lost, of not knowing.

"Harry?"

He looked up from his wrist and across the loft at Severus' low, sleepy voice coming through the dark.

"What are you doing up?" Severus asked.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Harry said in a near whisper, the apology automatic despite having done nothing that would have woken the man.

"Have you had a nightmare?"

Harry shook his head even though it was probably too dark for Severus to see. "I'm okay, really."

He watched the form of the professor sit up and turn to face him, a candle lighting up on Severus' bedside table. He met the man's eyes hesitantly.

"It is the middle of the night," Severus pointed out. "Tell me what's wrong."

Harry wrung his hands together anxiously where they rested between his legs and abdomen. "It...it's nothing, honestly. You can go back to sleep. I'm okay."

"Harry."

He forced his eyes back to Severus.

"You do not have to be 'okay'," Severus told him. "Talk to me, child."

Harry sighed and gazed out at the lightly illuminate village as he tried to gather enough of his chaotic thoughts to share with intelligible explanation. It proved to be somewhat problematic given he couldn't even intelligently explain any of it to himself. He absently traced the Hallow symbol again and again as it warmed under the touch and his thoughts swirled. He let himself stand in that lost place, hoping it would help him put the place into words.

"After Hagrid told me I was a wizard and I got my letter, I spent the entire month after convinced it was a lie. I was sure it was some messed up dream or a sick trick of my uncle's. It wouldn't have been the first time," Harry started distantly. "I wanted it to be real, wanted to have somewhere I could belong, somewhere I was supposed to be, but I was sure they'd made a mistake. I couldn't possibly be the one they were looking for because I'm nothing special."

He paused, leaving them in silence for a couple minutes as Severus just waited for him to continue.

"Then, I got there and it was real and everyone knew who I was, but...I didn't understand how because I have no idea who I am. I know I'm not the Boy Who Lived or the Chosen One or this Master of Death, but I don't know who I am. If I don't know and I'm not what everyone thinks or wants, then...where do I go? Where am I supposed to be? How do I get anything that I want?"