Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, the world, or the plot. I don't know why you care, though. If I was making money on this, would I be here?

A/N: An alternate deathmarch for Harry after living Snape's memories and before going into the forest. Begins on page 694 of my version, just after "He did not look back as he closed the office door."

He passed the staff room, hearing the raised voices that came from there, and thought he heard McGonogall's voice shouting to make itself heard over the rest, "We'll do what Dumbledore meant us to be here to do," but he didn't care. It wasn't them he was dying for. It wasn't them that he still lived for. He continued on, through the castle, seeking only to avoid the ones he loved, the ones he hated, the ones who would die for him without being asked and who he was dying for in return. Any of them- any of them- could stop him, hold him, turn him back from this suicidal mission with a single "Harry- "

But none did.

He passed Dean and Seamus, not bickering or laughing as usual but crying together over someone's body. Not cracking jokes in class. Not hexing Flitwick's massive hat whenever he turned around. Not gaping at Parvati or Lavender or any other girl. Those happy two were gone, lost, as much as the poor soul they cried for. He didn't look to see who the corpse belonged to. He didn't think he could have withstood that, that one more pain.

He passed Ernie Macmillan and Anthony Goldstein, ushering their wounded fellow students past the shards of glass and cracked and twisted portrait frames, down the spiral staircase that would lead them to the Great Hall. Ernie raised his head and watched Harry go by until he was out of sight, and Harry could not meet his eyes. All those broken people were hurt and scarred because of him. He knew that he could do nothing now to help them, and it shamed him even more that he did not stop to even try. Ernie's eyes, those worlds of weariness and hurt, were no comfort to Harry, and they asked of him a question to which he still did not know the answer.

He wore the Cloak after that.

He passed a gathering of ghosts, including even the Bloody Baron and, he registered with a numb sort of surprise, Peeves. It seemed all the ghosts of the castle had gathered here, in this empty corridor, attended only by broken torch brackets, smashed suits of armor, and the Cloaked form of the guiltiest boy alive, to mourn and bemoan, to celebrate the life and mourn the death of every student and every faculty member caught up in the battle, and to make themselves ready for any skirmishes yet to come.
With an odd jolt of deja vu, he recognized the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw, the ghost of Ravenclaw tower, floating at the back of the group. With another, queasier shock, as he moved closer, he saw that she was staring straight at him.
He drew up next to the beautiful young ghost, and she smiled sadly and motioned to the top of her head. As Harry's eyes traveled up from her face, a portion of her ethereal form resolved into a shape Harry was now intimately familiar with- the diadem. As his questioning eyes returned to lock with hers, she motioned once more to the circlet high on her brow and whispered, "I became worthy. When I gave it up, truly gave it up, to you, to save this school, then I was worthy." she smiled at him gently then, and there was a world of sadness there. "As you will soon be." Harry, shaken to his core that she had divined his motives so accurately, found himself drymouthed and quite speechless for a moment. Croaking from behind parched lips, he stuttered the only thing he could think of to say, something that, he hoped, was the last thing he could say to bring just a little more happiness- and love- into this world which so desperately needed it.
"I think-" he whispered, nodding toward the crowd, toward the Bloody Baron, who had not taken his eyes off the elegant ghost since Harry had arrived, "I think- someone's looking for you."
Her eyes flashed as she saw who Harry had indicated, then her lips softened into a curve as she regarded her lover with more warmth than in centuries. She turned back to Harry, then glided forward and planted a cool kiss on his forehead as her transparent arms floated lightly over his shoulders. "Thank you, Harry Potter."

Her touch felt like a benediction, and Harry determined that is was the last he would ever receive.

He passed Lavender and Parvati, coming out of Hufflepuff dorms weeping, holding hands, holding each other, faces etched with grief beyond their years. Did he look like that? Was his burden, his responsibility, visible on his brow just as much as the tear tracks down their laugh-lined faces? No. He was under the cloak, no one could see him, he had a mission, a bloody Prophecy to fulfill, he could not mourn with them- and with a great effort he wrenched himself away from his Housemates, and leaving their broken and bloodied hearts behind he hurried down the steps toward his death, and his time.

Harry stopped suddenly, as down the corridor he was ghosting through were Ron-No, I cant, not now, not when I'm- and Arthur Weasley. They had evidently come back up here, to the place where Fred had died, to retrieve his body, but had been overcome with grief in the midst of the task. From where Harry stood he could see Fred's body, still in that ungainly tangle of limbs distinctive of only a child- a child!-, and Harry could almost pretend that he was sleeping. But then he saw the whites of Fred's eyes, the unnatural angles of Fred's broken body- no, not Fred, this corpse, this thing, could not, could never be Fred- and had to turn away as tears stung his eyes. He wished he could see like this forever. Life was much more bearable when you couldn't make it out. He put his hand up to his glasses to rip them off, throw them to the ground, smash them and stamp them into a million pieces- and he held them for a moment, desperately wishing that someone would come along and break him into a million pieces, so he wouldn't have to bear knowing that any more of the grief in the world was due to him, Harry Potter, Harry Potter- but just as suddenly lowered his hand. This wasn't what he had come for, this ill-conceived and irrational outpouring of grief. He had to remember his destiny. His duty. His- what was the word?- Fate. That fickle creature. He checked his watch, still under the cloak. His hour was almost up. He had just turned to leave and continue down the stairs when he froze, hearing Arthur Weasleys voice down the corridor.
"I broke a mirror once," he was saying suddenly, looking off into the distance and then back down at Ron. "and I married your mother the next day. We had a wonderful life. Six children, and a daughter on the way... Twins."
He sighed at this, glancing sadly down at Fred's broken body, then straightened and gazed hard over Rons head as he put a hand on his son's shoulder. Dawn was breaking over the battlefield, and the light through the window blazed on four faces. But only three turned aside from the sun with tears stinging in their eyes. Ron sniffed and wiped the back of his hand across his face, and Mr. Weasley pulled him closer into the one-armed hug that was all that was keeping them upright.
"These are the seven years of bad luck that waited three decades to break my heart." Harry turned away for the last time at this, eyes burning and vision blurring once more, and continued down, down, down, out of the castle, to meet his fate.

Harry heard all this and more as he walked through the castle, and try though he might to avoid anyone that would have tried to stop his death march to martyrdom he seemed destined to walk by all those that would give the world to hold him one last time.

All those that tested his resolve.

Someone else was moving not far away, stooping over another prone figure on the ground. He was feet away from her when he realized it was Ginny.
 He stopped in his tracks. She was crouching over a girl who was whispering for her mother.
 "It's all right," Ginny was saying. "It's okay. We're going to get you inside."
 "But I want to go home," whispered the girl. "I don't want to fight anymore!"
 "I know," said Ginny, and her voice broke. "It's going to be all right."

This last nearly broke him. It was all he could do not to shout, to cry, to cry out to her, no, don't let me go, I don't want to go , I don't want to die without you. Let me stay, here, I love you and I want to live.

I don't want to die? I don't want to die alone?

Harry thought these as he walked on into the dawn, and somehow he knew, though he could not have said: He would, and he would not have to.

Hagrid's hut loomed out of the darkness... A swarm of dementors was gliding amongst the trees.

A/N: And that's where I'll leave you. Please review, I'm new and looking for constructive criticism. Anything helps.