Author's Note: This is the shortest thing I've written in a while. Was just rereading Harry Potter and the Cursed Child (admittedly, there are parts I like and parts I don't like, but I enjoy it over all - especially Scorpius, my precious little muffin), and I was once more drawn to the scene where Harry allows his parents to be killed by Voldemort. Considering all the emotional baggage he STILL carries around from his youth as a forty-year-old man, I figured that just standing there watching it all happen and letting it happen must have been pure torture for him. Hence, this little oneshot. Honestly, if it sucks, it's probably because I'm exhausted and really shouldn't be writing or posting anything on the Internet, but I'm not known for making good judgment calls on my writing when I'm tired.

Disclaimer: This was just an idea I had and J.K. Rowling is the writer of the Harry Potter books and Cursed Child was also written by John Tiffany and Jack Thorne.

Past Burdens

His fault.

There was no one else to blame for this. No-one to hide behind. No-one else to pin the blame on.

How many times had people told him that somebody's death wasn't his fault?

It had started with Cedric and the list of people only grew from there.

Harry could not bring himself to believe them when they told him it wasn't his fault, because he knew better. Voldemort had only ever wanted him and anyone who stood in-between was eliminated without mercy.

Since Voldemort's defeat over two decades ago, he had tried to make peace with himself over the many lives that had been sacrificed, the children that had been orphaned, and the families torn apart.

Some deaths, he had blamed on others, and at those times he had felt justified.

Voldemort had killed his parents when he was only a baby; there was no question of that. Voldemort was to blame for his being an orphan.

It wasn't until his third year that he learned of two more people involved in the events that had led up to his parents' murders. He learned of Sirius Black, the best friend of James Potter and the supposed betrayer of their location.

At the time, he had not known the truth of what really happened, about how it was their other friend, Peter Pettigrew, who had truly betrayed them, and he had blamed Sirius Black just as much as, if not more than, Voldemort for killing is parents. Voldemort had cast the curse, but he wouldn't have had the opportunity to if it weren't for Sirius Black.

The revelations about Sirius switching the Secret Keeper role with Pettigrew had completely transferred those feelings the correct traitor and he never felt any desire to blame his godfather for the switch, though he had known Sirius keenly felt the guilt on some level at least.

Then in his sixth year, a new target had presented itself to Harry. A new piece of the ever-growing puzzle that had caused him to become an orphan. Not for Voldemort and not even for Pettigrew did he feel as much hatred as he did when he learned it was Snape who heard the prophecy foretelling Voldemort's downfall and relayed it to him. Snape who had loathed him from the very first moment their eyes met, who had bullied and insulted him at every turn, cost Lupin his job, and goaded Sirius to his death, culminating that evening into the cold-blooded murder of Albus Dumbledore.

Harry's hatred for any one person was at its peak. Not for the Dursleys or Malfoy, despite their best efforts. Not for Voldemort who he'd never feared and had learned too much about to hate properly. Not for Pettigrew who was out of sight, out of reach, and often slipped his mind. Umbridge had been close, but it was on an entirely different level. He did not have a personal vendetta with Umbridge the way he did with Snape.

All that hatred he'd held onto was dead to him now and had been for a long time.

But he knew the truth now.

He knew the truth as he stood with his family in the shadows and watched as Voldemort arrived at Godric's Hollow and entered his first home. Stood and watched from beyond the windows as Voldemort killed his father. Stood and listened as his mother begged for Voldemort to spare him until her voice was silenced by a flash of green light.

He stood.

Watched.

And listened.

As Voldemort destroyed his family.

And he did nothing to prevent it.

His mind understood the dangers of interfering with time and his younger son's recent adventures with it were proof enough of how even the smallest of ripples so far in the past could have far-reaching consequences. Harry did not have to pretend to know that his parents' survival would definitely fall under that category.

It did not stop his heart from convulsing in torturous agony over what his inaction was going to cost him.

Voldemort had cast the curse, but Harry had allowed them to be there for his arrival. He had allowed Voldemort to walk in unimpeded and kill them without doing a thing. He had allowed his parents to die. He had sentenced his younger self to ten years' worth of ignorance, loneliness, mistreatment, and humiliation under the Dursleys' roof. He had sealed the fates of everyone who had fought to protect him and died for him. Their lives were all his burden to bear. They were his because he had allowed this.

He had allowed this to be his future and theirs.

I feel so stupid, but I honestly can't remember if the 'e' in 'Dursley' goes after the 'l' or before it, but I'm too tired to go looking. Wow. I should quit while I'm ahead.