Disclaimer: I own none of the Harry Potter franchise, nor do I make money from this work of fanfiction.

A tall young man, covered in blood, made his way through the ruins of what was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. People seemed to part for him as he walked by, giving words of thanks, congratulations, and praise. The man didn't seem to notice at all. Instead, he kept his green eyes fixed firmly forward, his neck and jaw tight, as he strode through the halls at a slow pace, limping pace.

Eventually, Harry Potter came to a door, set a small ways from a pile of rubble that was once a statue, and murmured a word. When the door opened, he took one more step through, closed the door. He fell hard to the floor, promptly passing out.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Harry woke slowly, his head pounding, and when he put his palms to the floor, he noted that it was tacky in places with his own blood. He stood, and limped slowly over to the long mirror that hung in the prefect's bathroom above the sinks, and stared. He noted that he was very thin, and his cheekbones were protruding in a way that made him look sinister, and his eyes were surrounded by deep purple markings, as though he had not slept in a very long time. His face was covered in dirt, and dried blood, and so, turning on the faucet, he splashed cold water over his head, and watched as dull rust coloured water made its way down the drain. He knew the rest of him must be covered in muck as well, but as dizzy as he was, he knew a shower was out of the had hoped he could avoid it when he had left the Great Hall, he had felt well enough then, but he knew now that he had to go to the infirmary. He had hoped to simply slip away.

Merlin, I can't let people see me like this. I'm covered in gore, I can barely move. She must hate me thoroughly by now.

As he tried to step away from the sink, he felt a pull in his chest, and nearly fell over from pain, as more blood began to drip from beneath his loose sweater. He pulled it slowly over his head, with great difficulty, and noted a gash, almost a foot long, across his chest. It cut diagonally over his heart in the shape of a lightning bolt. It was deep enough at the top that Harry's ribs could be seen, and in places where the blood had clotted, a deep purple surrounded the skin in that area. He gingerly wrapped the sweater's arms around himself, and bound his chest as best he could, before once again hobbling to the door, in great pain, and dizziness. One of his legs didn't seem to want to hold his weight, and actually felt quite numb. Through all of this, he remembered to check his pocket, and with his wand, and the blasted Elder wand still in their place, he opened the door, and went back out into the halls. As he walked, the walls seemed to be shifting in a way that made him nauseous.

In a moment of lucidity, Harry realized that he had no clue how long he had been passed out on the floor of the bathroom. As quiet as the halls were, and with all of the lamps burning low, he suspected that it was the small hours of the morning. He had been missing for less than 9 hours. Using the walls for support, he made his way back to the grand staircase that would lead him to the infirmary, passing not a soul on the way. When he got to his checkpoint, he found that climbing would not be possible in his current condition, so he would have to make do, with hoping someone was in the Great Hall, and awake. He could hear the murmur of voices as he neared the open doors slowly, and that the light from there was brighter, though spots of black had begun to float in his vision.

He pushed himself from the staircase banner.

C'mon I didn't go through all of this just to die now.

He stumbled toward the door nearest him, and took the last few steps to the entrance, but just before he made himself visible to the people inside he stopped.

They could all hate me. All this death, all this ruin, because of me. I should have been faster. Merlin, why wasn't I faster. Remus, Tonks, Fred. . . God! Please forgive me. Hell, if they hex me when I go in there, it'd kill me. I bet I won't be in pain any more though.

At the thought, he laughed and stepped forward, into the light, and he saw that heads around the room had snapped up to meet him, and with nothing left to support him, he fell to one knee, causing more blood to drip from his chest at the jolt. He realized that at this point, he didn't even feel pain any more, and a wry smile lit his face.

" Harry!"

The one person who he thought would hate him more that all of the others, ran towards him at an astonishing speed, red hair trailing like a kite behind her. He closed his eyes, waiting for her judgment, her hatred, as other footfalls sounded behind her. Whatever it was, he could take it, as long as he didn't have to see the hate in her face. But then, he felt his face pulled upwards by gentle hands, and as it was he opened his eyes to look upon brown ones surrounded by freckles, as she began to pepper his face with kisses.

"Where have you been? We were so worried!" She asked looking him over, his face still in her palms. Her touch was still gentle as he stared intently into her eyes.

"Miss Weasley, I think that is enough." The young woman stepped away, and as she did, Harry fell further to the floor, unable to keep himself upright. The sweater binding his chest came loose, and more blood fell.

"POMFREY!" McGonagall cried, rushing to his side, to keep him up. As she did, her robes swept the blood on the floor making it all the more apparent to onlookers it was there. It was so hard for to think!

"Oh Harry!" Molly Weasley ran towards his as well, while Ginny stepped opposite McGonnagall, to steady his other arm.

"Merlin, love! What happened?" Ginny's voice cracked as she slipped herself gently under his left arm to support him.

Ron and Hermione began calling his name as well, and Mr. Weasley rushed forward with a swath of bandages and a basket filled with glass vials of different colours and sizes.

Madam Pomfrey's voice broke through the shouts of those around him, "He needs a bed, quickly now! Don't jostle him! Slowly now! All right Harry, down you go!"

He felt himself lowered onto a cot near some wall, and he knew that someone was behind him holding him in a sort of reclined position. For some reason he was having trouble concentrating. It was as if things around him were fading in and out. Actually, he felt kind of drunk. Gentle hands once again grabbed his face, this time from behind, and he knew then that it was Ginny that held him this way. His head was tilted back as something was poured down his throat, and he immediately felt more alert, though the walls continued to dance around him.

Why? She should want me dead. I got them all killed. "Should have been faster. Merlin, forgive me."

"Shh, love! It's not, it's not your fault at all. We love you! You've done so well. Just hold on Harry, we'll get you through. Just hold on. I think he's delirious, he doesn't know what he's saying."

I could "die happy" right now.

He felt hands smooth his matted, damp hair away from his forehead.

"You are not going to die on me yet Mr. Potter! Happy or otherwise! Oh god, professor, his head's bleeding too! From his scar. Merlin, you're burning up." The hands continued their assault on his hair, and he felt lips once again touch his forehead.

"His leg is shattered."

He didn't realize when he walked to the bathroom earlier in the night that he was so badly off. Adrenaline and anger and guilt had kept him running so far, but here, safe in Ginny's arms, all of that was fading away. His eyesight was blurring in and out again, although his hearing was fine, and he could think better than before thanks to whatever he was given minutes before. Someone was wiping something that stung across his chest and brow, but it was cool, and once again he felt his mind snap to, and he realized that he had been drawing breath rather raggedly before now.

"Mr. Potter!"

He opened his eyes again, but had trouble focusing on whose voice it was, from the many faces surrounding him.

"Harry!"

It was Madam Pomfrey's voice, and there was a look of great concern on her face. Professor McGonagall stood next to her, looking more bedraggled than he had ever seen her before, and she knelt next to him.

"Harry," her voice sounded softer than he had ever heard it, "How did this happen, boy? We need to know; it's not knitting together properly."

"What, Professor?" His throat felt like he had been eating gravel. He tried to speak with confidence.

Maybe if they think "I'm not so bad off, they'll let me leave."

"Oh, Harry dear, you aren't going anywhere!" Molly Weasley's voice was as terse as he had ever heard it.

"You're chest Mr. Potter! How did it happen?"

He thought about it for a moment. What had happened? Oh yeah, that.

"He killed me."

"What Harry? Who?"

He thought again, and closed his eyes.

"In the forest, Voldemort, he killed me. The curse."

Things were become clearer now, as he thought, and he felt Ginny's head press into the crook of his neck, as tears rolled down her cheeks onto his chest. The atmosphere was too tense.

"Did a bad job though, huh?" He laughed again, and more pain shot through him, but no one else did.

"He cast Avada Kedavra again? And you survived?" McGonagall's voice was now a whisper, and her face was closer to his than ever.

"No, Professor, I died, but I came back. I had a job to do." He felt a flare of alertness again, and sat up against Ginny's body a little more. He swept the room with his eyes, and noted that the only ones there in the Hall were the Weasley's, Hermione, Hagrid, Madam Pomfrey, and Professors Flitwick and McGonagall. He should tell them, "I was a horcrux."

At this, Flitwick closed his eyes and McGonagall gasped. Hermione spun into Ron and began sobbing all anew as he rubbed her back with a look of puzzlement on his face. Madam Pomfrey broke the stillness in the room by bustling forth with two new rags soaked in some sort of purple liquid and pressed one gently on the wound in his chest. He felt the narrow ends of the mark begin to knit together, and the sensation was not unpleasant. Ginny grabbed the other rag, and pressed it to his forehead, and he realized that the once small scar now extended down, transecting his right eyebrow.

He tilted his head back and towards her, and looked her in the eyes. He realized that he could move his arms, so he grabbed her wrist gently and pulled it down towards his mouth placing a soft kiss there on the inner part of her arm. His lips were so dry.

"I'm so sorry, Gin. So sorry. . . Fred. . ." His voice cracked as tears rolled unbidden down his cheeks. She shushed him and began wiping his head again.

"It's not your fault. None of this is your fault." She was crying too. He coughed, and felt part of his chest wound open again, and Madam Pomfrey tutted.

"Potter, you need to sleep now, or we'll never get you healed. I'm going to give you something now. Please rest."

He nodded against Ginny's chest and the nursed poured more liquid down his throat. It tasted like honeysuckle, and he immediately felt drowsy.

"Gin, I'm so, so sorry. . . I. . ." She was humming, and he couldn't keep his eyes open, although he fought the sensation. Then he remembered what he was trying to tell them earlier. "The pensieve in Dumbledore's office professor, look there, you need. . ."

He felt McGonagall hand on his arm.

"I will, Mr. Potter, you've done enough. Now sleep. Please." And with that, he succumbed to the drowsiness, and fell back fully into Ginny's chest.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Ginny slid herself from beneath Harry Potter, after laying one more chaste kiss on his brow, and slowly stood to face the others.

"Oh, Arthur, look at him! What'll we do!" Molly sobbed into her husband's chest.

"Now dear if anyone will pull through, it's Harry."

McGonagall stood as well, smoothing her robes with her hands, and looked to a now calmed Hermione.

"We all know what was there in the penseive; we saw it earlier when we were searching for him. We just didn't know he went through with it." She whispered. Hagrid finally broke his long silence.

"Poor 'Arry. Twas awful. He was so still when he walked in there, so calm when he faced 'em. And then Voldemort spoke, but I could'n hear cuz I wos yellin' at 'em to run. But he did'n hear me even, or look my way at all, an' then there wos dat 'orrible flash o green, an he just fell there, limp like. He wos so pale and still. That Malfoy broad said he wos dead, and they made me pick him up, an' all dose Death Eaters wos firin' curses at 'is body, but he wasn't movin' at all, an then. . ." The giant man broke into sobs again, blowing his nose loudly into a rather dirty, pink floral handkerchief.

"Oh, Hagrid!" Hermione wrapped his arm with hers in a hug. "He's here now, he'll be ok."

Ron shoved his hands in his pockets, "Bloody git went to die for us and didn't even say goodbye. When he wakes up I'm gunna knock his bloody head off!"

"Ron!" Hermione shrieked.

"You will do no such thing!" Mrs. Weasley shook her finger at her son, and strode forward to the bed.

Pulling a chair up next to where Ginny was now kneeling, she began pressing a new, purple soaked rag to his battered chest, handing Ginny one for the minor cuts and bruises on his arms.

"Go rest," She tittered, "The lot of you. We'll come get you if there's any change. You'll do him, nor anyone else any good if you're dead on your feet."

The group looked like they wanted to complain, but the Weasley's minus Ginny and Molly, and Hagrid, left the room for the dormitories, followed by Professor Flitwick, who smiled wanly at Molly as he passed.

"Minerva?"

"Yes, Molly?"

"He will make it through, won't he? I can't. . . I can't loose another boy." Tears fell down the woman's face for what felt like the millionth time that day.

Ginny too, felt tears roll down her face.

The older woman pressed her hands to the mother's shoulders, "Molly, there is no reason he shouldn't make it back to us, one hundred percent. He'll need us all. He will blame the whole thing on himself I'm sure."

"He already does," Ginny whispered, "Fred. . . He kept saying how Fred. . . it was all his fault, and how sorry he was."

"Oh dear," Molly dropped the rag and fell next to her daughter, sweeping her into an embrace, "We know better, and we love him. He's family, and we will stand by him, no matter what."

Molly smiled, and let out a small laugh, "You know, if Fred had heard him say that, he would have boxed Harry right round the ears then turned him into a budgie or something like that."

Ginny laughed too, and then Minerva, and for the next few minutes, the only sound in the Great Hall of the school, was laughter.