**Author's Note**

So this is the companion peice to my other fic "Follow Me Down". It doesn't really matter if you read it or not for now, because thiss is more the prequel chap. If you keep reading it, you might want to. It's Harry's perspective, and there will be Drarry. That means slash. So don't like, don't bother reading. There will be angst and some very dark themes, especially later on. This is not a happy fic. So again, if you can't cope with that do NOT read. Also, please leave constructive reviews. I'm not very confident with this fic and wrote it really quickly, so let me know how I can improve. xoxo Echo :)

*Trigger warning* especially for later chapters. There will be triggers for ana, mia and self harm. I know this because I triggered myself accidentally. Please keep that in mind.

The brilliant J.K Rowling owns all, thankfully. If I'd written them, they would not be available for kids or the general public to read.

Chapter One: Your Bones Are The Cage

He's not entirely sure when this started. It could have been yesterday or years ago. The days and years blur in his mind 'til sometimes he can't tell when he was living with the Dursley's apart from living at Hogwarts. 'Til Vernon and Dumbledore, Hermione and Petunia and his parents and the Malfoy's all blur and congeal together and they share each other's facial features and speak in each other's tongues and in his head there is a constant hissing and all it's saying is

You

Will

Never

Be

Enough

He wishes it would stop. He can't sleep. And though he doesn't want to, he knows he must. There's something he's got to do, something important and in his head someone's laughing, high and cold and maniacal-

And it worries him that that is the lullaby that sends him to sleep.

And then suddenly the war is over and he's done all he was ever meant to do and he's staring at the twisted snake-like corpse with the incandescent fury the desperate burning life in it's eyes gone. He killed it. And though he knows he never said the words

Avada

Kedavra

That beautiful green light never once left his wand

He was thinking it.

He's the worst kind of

Coward.

And they're all congratulating him and there's so many people squashing him pressing in trying to get a taste of the Hero the Hero the Boy Who Killed and he knows he's skinny but he's wishing he was skinnier because then he could slip through the crowd like smoke like wind like a secret like a dream- and then he remembers he knows how to be invisible and he flees.

He sees Ginny considers briefly going to her because after all, he loves her, doesn't he?

Does he?

There's something missing in her eyes now, some blazing passion

Dead

She looks lost. Broken. Like she's just lost the love of her-

And he knows now. He finally fucking gets it.

What she saw in him

And he in her.

That beloved taint that beautiful monstrous poison that they recognized in the other. That they loved in the other.

And Harry just killed their poisoner.

And he would laugh but it's tragic. It's so fucking tragic.

The story books got it wrong, he thinks. This isn't a fucking happy ending. Even the Wicked Witch was loved by someone had to be loved by someone and how can this be a happy ending when George is looking like half a man because Fred is gone

And Teddy Lupin is an orphan just like Harry

And Snape and Dumbledore and Hedwig and Dobby and Mad Eye and Sirius and his parents and all those names he does not know and oh God that's Collin and Tom Riddle and a part of himself

They're

All

Dead.

And it's all his fault.

The snake is hissing in his head but it's a different tune

Murderer

Murderer

Murderer

He sees Ron holding Hermione as she weeps and he knows he could go to them. After all isn't that what best friends are for? But he stays away. Doesn't want to interfere, intrude on their grief. They've done enough for him.

So he decides to make his way to the second floor bathroom. He doesn't know why but he thinks he may be seeking solace in the memories. Not only his, but Ginny's and Riddle's and Malfoy's-

And think of the devil and the devil doth appear. Lucius and Narcissa and Draco all together sitting warily among the victors. They look shell shocked. Draco's eyes look like glass. Like ice. His collar bone is sticking out and it looks sharp enough to cut. And Harry can see his hands are shaking, trembling like the last autumn leaf in the winter breeze. And there's a burning ache in his chest for what might have been for the two lost boys and he has never envied Malfoy- Draco more than he does now. Cocooned in the safety shelter warmth love home of his parents arms.

He was wrong about the Malfoy's, he realizes. Wrong wrong wrong

Narcissa betrayed the Dark Lord, saved Harry's life

To save her son.

And Lily died for Harry and maybe all a parent ever wants is what's best for their child and wouldn't you want your child to be on the winning side?

Draco's spine is visible through his tattered silk shirt and his blonde hair gleams like white hot metal through the blood and sweat and dirt and his eyes are mercury and Harry yearns.

And the bathroom is empty but for the ghosts Harry carries in his head and suddenly he remembers how to breathe.

Time passes and the world rejoices and Harry attends every funeral every memorial service even if he doesn't know their names. It's his penance.

And though the families of the deceased always come up to him, to thank him and congratulate him, to tell him that so-and-so would've been so happy he was there, he knows the truth- he can see the judgment and condemnation in their grief stricken eyes. They hate him as much as they love him and he can live with that. Has to live with that. After all he's a hero, isn't he? Isn't this the way the story goes?

He doesn't remember making a conscious decision not to eat. But he knows he was always careful with what he ate.

Always fearful of eating too much

Taking that which he didn't deserve.

And he knows enough to know that that stems from his a-b-u-s-e.

At least that's what Hermione called it when he told her about the Dursley's but he knows that's she's wrong. He's read about a-b-u-s-e victims. They're all cowed and subservient and cringing- like Wormtail.

And he was always the biggest dick possible to the Dursley's. And he's a Hero and the storybooks never have a-b-u-s-e victims as their Hero's.

And anyway he hates that word-

V

I

C

T

I

M

It sounds so pitiable.

Like he's some poor little puppy at the pound covered in scars and wagging it's tail begging "take me home, take me home" a sweet little black puppy with massive paws and-

Here he has to stop. Because he's missing Sirius again and that's not allowed. How dare he think of his losses when the rest of the world is mourning. How dare he believe his grief is comparable to theirs. He's lost everything.

But unlike them he never really had anything to begin with.

And everything is fleeting.

There's a pressure an ache underneath his skin and he hasn't slept in a week and there's something missing in his head and when he closes his eyes there's no comforting familiar flash of green avada kedavra light the same colour as his mother's eyes and there's no lullaby laughter.

Instead there are train stations and the staring eyes of Fred Weasley, still laughing or it's Ginny's devastated face he sees or Cedric's body tossed like a rag doll- the first victim of the Second War and oh God he wants to needs to sleep why can't they leave him alone?

And that's a selfish thought he's a

Murderer

Monster

He doesn't deserve to sleep to eat to forget.

Harry Potter

Hero

Boy Who Lived To Kill

(And To Die).

He thought killing the Horcrux inside of himself was meant to kill the Slytherin the Voldemort parts of him.

Harry still hears Parseltongue in his head. He thinks he's being haunted and he hopes he is.

Because the alternative

That maybe it was Harry who died and not Voldemort

Doesn't bear thinking about.

And he's all alone in Grimmauld Place and though Ron and Hermione and the Weasley's and Andromeda and Teddy and the entire fucking world visit him daily-

At night he's all alone

And his ghosts come out of his skull to play and though he knows they're not real

Sometimes he forgets.

And he doesn't eat doesn't want to eat and he doesn't know why but he is skinnier now than he has ever been and this is something he knows how to do. Not eating is easy. Far easier than that thing called

Living.

And maybe when he's skinny enough his ghosts won't be trapped in his bones and then they can fade away and then finally he'll be invisible

And maybe without all those eyes staring condemning demanding

He'll be free.