A/N: Update every Sunday

Ron, Hermione, Cho, the little girl who looked so much like Fleur. He needed to get to them, needed to save them. They didn't deserve to die at the bottom of the lake.

Air bubbles were escaping his mouth and water was filling his lungs. He had exhausted himself panicking, lashing out, and fighting. His limbs were strengthless, just useless extensions of his body. Slowly, he felt his weightless body descending and the light seemed just a little further away. His gaze followed the bubbles as they lazily made their way up and away from him. Towards a light that he will never reach again. Darkness surrounded him and his vision grew blurry. There was nothing to see anyway.

Would Ron hate him, would he forgive him? Would Hermione forgive him?

Was nobody going to save him, grab his hand? Pull him up and away from this endless grave? Was this the end? It didn't bother him, oddly enough. What was even the purpose of that, another year filled with agony and hate. His limbs felt feather-light and very heavy at the same time. He couldn't grasp a single thought and all of the sudden, his life seemed so far away. The details grew hazy, but he didn't notice. Why did he worry so much again? It had slipped his mind.

He couldn't move, slowly his eyes fell shut. Now, he was fully embraced by darkness. It was not scary; it was not horrifying. There was no fight, no struggling, he couldn't even if he would want to. It laid itself on him like a blanket, drowning out all the noises he hadn't realized were there. He hadn't known his thoughts had been so loud until they were entirely gone. In the last moments, his mind was empty and filled with void. His lungs had stopped burning. It was not so much that there was no burning but rather that the burning eating away at his lungs didn't bother him any longer. An odd peace filled him that had no right to be there. There were no last words.

Without orientation, his mind was swimming for a second or years, he could not tell anymore. Never did something flicker in his mind, it was always quiet and almost peaceful. He was just floating in nothingness and never had he been concerned about it.

Something changed, there was a shift. Was it a change in the water? A current that was lovingly caressing his cheek?

Then he took his first breath. And suddenly, there was water again, it was trying to fill his lungs once more. He didn't feel peaceful nor had he the desire to let himself sink. The contrary in fact. He struggled and air escaped his mouth. His lungs were burning, and his limbs were flailing. The water was hurting, hurting him. Where had the peace and quietness gone to? Suddenly, everything seemed to scream at him.

Where was his warm blanket? Where was the soothing nothingness?

Was he even swimming up or down? He couldn't tell anymore. His chest felt tight, and it was not just his mind that was turning and tumbling. With a jolt, his head broke through the water surface and he could breathe again. Greedily, he tried to get air into him, breathing rapidly and unevenly. It hurt. He coughed up the water he swallowed.

He opened his eyes for the very first time. Colours exploded, green, blue, brown, and more blue. Where was he? He couldn't really find words to describe his surroundings for he hadn't thought of them in so long. It was as if they had been reborn in his mind, and he didn't have any words for them. He felt helpless like he should remember but he didn't. the feeling of helplessness hurt, angered him, and made him frustrated.

Before he could waste another thought about it, he was pulled under water again. He felt being himself scraping against rocks, breaking his skin. Another kind of hurt filled him. He fought and struggled to get back over the surface. Greedily he sucked in the sweet air into his lungs.

In the next moment, everything streamed back to him. As if hit by lightning he started paddling to keep his head above the water. His body - since when was he in the possession of a body again? He couldn't help but ask himself – was tense and he could feel every fiber of his being. His muscles were screaming at him as if they had never done such a movement before?

The current of the water was tugging at him. He tried to swim away, swim against the current. It was not the smartest thing to do because now; the water was ripping at his limbs taking him further downstream. Helplessly he couldn't stop himself from moving and going with the current.

He was thrown underwater again. His eyes were pinched shut and he tried not to swallow any water this time. His body was being tossed around like a doll. Out of nowhere something hard hit him, pain ruptured through his body. It must have been another rock. The next second he was above the water again.

He was panting, didn't know when he would go under again. The landscape along the water was moving faster and faster until it became just a blur of colours. His arm was hurting but he couldn't pay too much attention to it now.

It felt like a second or years have passed, and he was washed up to a part of the river that was not as deep, and the strong current turned into shallow water. Some of the rocks were rounded by the water, some on the other hand were sharp but almost all of them were slippery.

It was a hassle to get out of the water, to be honest. On his hands and knees, he made his way out slipping on the way and splashing down again. His body felt wrong, short, and awkward. It was as if he had no control over his limbs like he was a newborn calf stalking around.

Something felt amiss. His hands, they were tiny, they looked wrong. And his legs, too short, his feet too small, his hair? Wet mostly, black, and far too long. How did he know that this was wrong? That this was not normal at least to him?

"Who am I?" He asked himself and was startled by his own voice. Too high, too soft. Why did his voice sound so strange, so high, and innocent? Instinctively, his hands reached up and he felt his face. Smooth skin and long-lashed, soft lips and a smooth… forehead? Wasn't there supposed to be something? A lightning bolt, but how could lightning be captured on his skin?

He didn't feel particularly sad that it was gone. Grief and the weight of a world, that is what it gave him. He wasn't sure how he knew, but it seemed so indisputable he didn't think of questioning it. The lightning bolt had been a symbol tying him to something he hadn't chosen. It was chosen for him. Something, he had to fulfill no matter what. To save them but not save himself.

Something felt very wrong he just couldn't put his finger on it. Why was his head hurting so much? Why couldn't he just remember and had to think in riddles? Was this some kind of sick joke?

He closed his eyes, the light straining them too much. It wasn't fully dark now; he saw the red and orange light created by his eyelids. Why was he here? There had been water, before. Before this water here. It had been different, more peaceful. Why had he been ripped from it? The loss made him oddly sad. The water before, it had calmed him, it had taken away his worries and left him blank. A pleasant numbness had been present the whole time something akin to peace had taken over.

The water now, angry and demanding, tore him apart. The peace he had felt was quickly gone and suddenly he was thinking again. He was thrown back into his own mind without remembering where it was or who it belonged to. Gone was the numbness, the carelessness, and the empty happiness.

Now he remembered, it is called a river and the weird blobs of green were a forest. He was surrounded by trees and grass and the yellow sun was warming his face. For just a second, he lost himself in the warmth. He had missed the sun, he realized even as it blinded him. He thought he would never see the sun again, never be warm again.

Why did he think he would never see the sun again? Why wouldn't he? Because he had died. He had been dead. He gasped, startled, frightened, and desperate. He had been dead. What a simple but simultaneously heavy realization. How could he have forgotten?

Dead, gone, nada, niente, just away, wiped away from the surface of the earth.

Then again, if he had really been dead, why was he here? Why could he breathe and gasp and feel the sun fill him with hope? There had to be a reason, certainly. He remembered the in-between, the floating, just simply existing. But what had been before that? Who had he been?

Harry, just Harry. It came to him so naturally that it must be his name or so he assumed.

There was more, he could tell. Unpleasant, willingly forgotten? It didn't matter now anyway. Whatever had happened, it was beyond the water now. Whoever he had been, the person was dead.

He rolled onto his back letting the sun warm his skin. He was freezing being just out of the water and still dripping wet. The clothes he wore dragged him down and seemed several sized too big. His limbs felt heavy and weak after the exhaustion.

He was a child once more. Once more? This thought disturbed him, made him angry, and oddly vulnerable. He hadn't been all grown up, he thought, but not this small either. Who had he been?

Where were his parents? Dead.

Where were his guardians then? Dead to him at least. So still alive?

This was so confusing and frustrating. He hoped his memories would return and soon. The guessing exhausted him.

A bird's cry pulled him out of his thoughts. His eyes snapped open, and he saw the large outline of a bird of prey in the sky. It was circling. Surely it didn't think he was a suitable prey, did it? But then again, he seemed very small, and the bird seemed very large even from down here. Just Harry got up losing his pants in the process. The wet T-Shirt hung on him like a dress anyway. With careful steps, his wounds were still bleeding, he made his way into the protection of the trees leaving behind a bloody trail.

In the shade, he shivered. He began rubbing his arms in an attempt to warm himself but flinched as hot pain shot through his body. Blood was dripping down his arm, hot and shameless. There was a wound, deep it seemed with ragged edges.

When did this happen again? Why hadn't he noticed before?

Harry knew that he had to do something to stop the bleeding. He was feeling dizzy all of the sudden. The world was moving around him in circles taunting him silently. The pants, he remembered, maybe he could make a bandage out of them. As quick as he dared, he traced his steps and grabbed them. He was unsteady non his feet and he wondered how he made it even that far. Back in the shade of the tree, he had chosen, he sat down.

Okay, now he just had to rip the pants. With almost no strength in one arm, it was easier said than done. The pants were heavy with water and the fabric robust. He even tried with his teeth, but it wouldn't budge. For a moment, he gave up, closed his eyes, and relaxed his burning muscles. His mind became almost blank again. It was as if the blood leaving his body was taking all the restlessness and disquiet with it. The bird cried again making him jump.

He had died once; he didn't plan on dying again. He had to get his shit together.

One part of the pants in his mouth and the other part in his hand, he ripped. Magically, the fabric came apart. Seeing the round piece of rag that now so triumphally fell into his lab, he felt stupid. How was he going to make a bandage out of that? The bloody T-Shirt. He could have ripped the T-Shirt. It was much easier as the fabric was softer and not as robust as the pants.

Trying to bind the scrap of cloth around his arm so tight that it would stop the bleeding was a challenge though. The pieces slipped out from under his fingers and just didn't want to be tied. Blood was steadily seeping through and soon the make-shift bandages were also soaked.

"Shit," he said frustrated, the high voice still odd-sounding to his ears. It will never work, and he was feeling dizzy again. The metallic smell of blood laid in the air. No wonder the bird thought he was easy prey because he really was. He was going to bleed out underneath this damn tree and then just Harry would finally be gone.

The sun was closer to the horizon now and the light had gained an orange tint. Soon it'll be night, he thought glancing worryingly at his arm. The bleeding did ease up a little in the past hours but it was still too much.

"Why is it always me who gets into situations like this? At least I still have the bone in my arm," he said not knowing where the second part came from. Why wouldn't he have a bone in his forearm?

He leaned back then, feeling the exhaustion of the past events even more. His eyelids were heavy, and his body felt numb. Only his body but his arm especially was pulsing angrily and steadily. Never-ending. Not leaving him any peace.

He slept, unaware of his surroundings.