Darkness was all around him. It was a pleasant darkness, like the womb, and he wished that he could stay in the darkness forever. He floated in the darkness for what seemed like eons, unaware of anything but the warmth, and the beat of his heart.
Suddenly, light flared from his ribs and cut through the darkness with excruciating pain. And that was how he regained consciousness.

He broke out of it with a jolt, gasping and coughing with the pain. The hand that went to his ribs came away stained with blood and he carefully felt around to locate the source of his discomfort, which turned out to be a knife. His hand fluttered around the handle of the cruel dagger cautiously. With a gasp, he suddenly remembered everything. One did not have to see the blood-stained country side and the carnage, nor smell the sweetish scent of burning flesh to guess what had happened. They had won, but at a great price. He slowly made it to his feet, torn robes flapping gently in the soft breeze that ruffled the last few banners sticking up out of the ground like gory candles on a perverse birthday cake, and began to amble down the ruined landscape in search of survivors, praying with every pained step that they had made it. As he walked, a hand reached out and grabbed his ankle and he cried out in surprise. Hermione's face stared out at him from a pile of bodies and body parts, and he gently hooked his hands under her arms and pulled her out of the mess. Cradling her body to his own, he checked her pulse and the extent of her injuries.
"You're alive" she said hoarsely.
"Shh. You're hurt, don't talk 'Mione" he said, pressing his hands on her ribs to stem the bleeding, electing a pained cry from her. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" he whispered over and over desperately. She laid a shaking and gentle hand on the handle sticking out of the left side of his ribs.
"You're hurt too silly" she said, making an attempt to smile past the pain.
"It doesn't matter" he said, righting her crooked legs. A red rose of blood bloomed on her shirt and her eyes rolled up in her head. He realized that a rib had punctured the skin and he moaned in panic. Her breathing was becoming shallow and labored and he scrambled to find means of stopping the bleeding.

She stopped breathing and went limp.
"No, no, dear god no. Please Hermione, stay with me" he sobbed into her hair, rocking back and forth with her in his arms. "Please." But she was beyond response. Shaking, he lay her down gently and covered her with whatever remained of his robes, and walked on.

Trembling and sobbing, he walked on, passing the bodies of friends and comrades arranged over the fields like a sick tableau in shades of red. What remained of Kingsley Shacklebolt lay scattered in between the bodies of the Death Eaters he had managed to take down before succumbing to a sectumsempra and their names cycled in his head as he identified them; Rudolphus Lestrange, Alecto Carrow, Fenir Greyback, Amycus Carrow and Marcus Flint, followed by bits and pieces of others. Neville Longbottem had fought with Nagini and won, but had died, in a twist of cruel fate, by Bellatrix Lestrange's hand. He suddenly glimpsed red hair in the distance and began to run toward it. It was Ron, cold, pale and silent, blue eyes opened in surprise and staring glassily up at the sky as if to ask, what did we do, to deserve this? The sky had no answer, and neither did he. Kneeling gently, he closed Ron's eyes and uttered a silent prayer.
Another flash of color forced him to move on, but instead of finding another Weasley, he stumbled open the body of Lily Potter. Numb and shocked, he stared at the bodies of James, Lily, and their daughter Jenny, then turned around and vomited. He went on.

The knife was beginning to burn like a red hot poker in his side when he finally reached the crest of the hill. Ginny was waiting for him there, red hair billowing in the breeze, cradling something to her chest. When he neared, she grinned crazily at him, and he realized that something was very, very wrong with her.
"Look!" she exclaimed madly, thrusting a severed hand at him. He recoiled him horror.
"It's Georgie." she said matter-of-factly. "If I plant it, he'll grow back" she cradled it to her chest again and began petting it. "Momma won't wake up, and Dad went boom! But Georgie wouldn't leave his Ginny" she said. "Here!" she said, throwing it at him. He took a step back in horror and fell over the other side of the hill, rolling without any hope for an end until the sharp point of a spear through his sternum stopped his momentum.
"Hurk" the sound came from his mouth as all the wind was knocked out of him and the pain increased tenfold. It felt as though a Dementor had thrust its hand into his chest and squeezed his heart, and the pain nearly made him black out again. Falling on his side, he snapped the spear off at his chest, vomiting blood as he did so. Gasping and coughing, chest heaving, tasting pennies in his mouth, he crawled on doggedly. There was a wand lying there in the grass before him, and he did the first thing that came to his mind.
"Point me Harry Potter" the wand spun and rested in his palm again, pointing forward. He crawled on.

The little town which had served as the location for the final stand-off between Harry Potter and his nemesis Voldemort used to be called Hogsmeade, but now it had no name. It was only a crater, the effect of countless destructive and powerful spells hurled at each other. Whatever remained of Voldemort himself-and there was not much- lay at the eastern side of the crater, whilst Harry Potter, spread eagled and unconscious, was sprawled at the western side. The reaction of their wands had thrown the opponents to opposite ends. The mortally wounded boy stumbled into the crater, falling heavily to his knees and crawling to Harry.
"Harry, wake up" he whispered desperately. Talking was becoming difficult, and every now and then, blood would flow in thick streams from his mouth. Harry's eyelids fluttered weakly, and then they opened.
"You're hurt" he said, breathing laboriously. The boy rolled his eyes in an attempt to be funny.
"Everyone keeps saying that" he coughed, "It's not that bad"
Harry laughed weakly "Liar." his hand brushed the boys face gently, touching the gash that started just below his right eye and ended just before his chin in a delicate arch reminiscent of a bloody tear tracking its way straight down his face. The boy winced in pain.
"The others?" harry asked hesitantly. He knew the answer before the other could even open his mouth. He saw it in his face, and closed his eyes in sorrow.
"We still have each other eh coz?" said the boy softly. His vision came and went and he struggled to remain conscious.
"I love you Adrian." Harry said quietly.
"How?" he said between gasping breaths "I failed you all. I failed."
"No you didn't"
"I did. If I had spent more time honing the Sight then training, this would never have…." He couldn't speak anymore. He was fading fast. Harry didn't answer. He had passed away quietly, but Adrian didn't notice, because by then, the darkness overtook him again and he drifted on dark seas, unaware of the warm weight that settled with a caw on his chest, or the brilliant flash of light that meant the end of everything he knew.

Revised 04/21/2010