Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize (especially not Harry or any other character from the Potter – verse), and I'm sure somebody somewhere has thought and/or written this plot before me.


Chapter 1

Why? What. Had. He. Done? Did he really deserve this? These questions ran through 17 – year – old Harry James Potter's head. But the main question was why this happened now. Come on! He had done what they wanted him to do! He had killed Voldemort. Butchered him. Murdered him. Executed him. What – ever synonyms to 'kill' that anyone can think of. And yes, it was terrible. Now he had blood on his hands. But that's war. To kill or to be killed. And if he hadn't stopped Lord Mouldyshorts… well, more people would be dead than alive. And it was after all his destiny.

and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…

Trelawney's prophecy had come true, at last. But not the way he had expected. Well, anyway… DID he really deserve this? Hadn't he suffered enough? Ten years with the Dursleys. Ten years with hard words and cold eyes, and sometimes even physically abuse.

If you looked from the bright side of this, he would probably never meet his relatives again. But then again, he wasn't sure that he would come out of this room alive.

When he started his first year at Hogwarts, things changed. He got friends. And he learned that Voldemort was still out there, somewhere, waiting for the chance to get back to the power. And he wanted Harry dead. But Harry won that time.

The Dursleys weren't too bad that summer. They were afraid of his magic. The memory of Dudley screaming since Harry had threatened to set the hedge on fire still made him smile.

Harry met Voldemort again four times. The fourth was the last. He thought he would feel free. Relived. Something good. But he didn't. Too many people had died. His parents. Cedric Diggory. Sirius. Seamus, Lavender and little Dennis Creevy. Fudge. Percy. The list went on and on.

So many people had died during the battles. So why on Earth didn't anyone kill the bloody bastard that was also there in the dark room?

Harry was used to small, dark spaces. But he wasn't used to share them with another person. He really hoped that the overgrown bat was claustrophobic, but there was no use to get his hopes up. He didn't want to sleep. Who knew what could occur then? The only thing he could do was thinking and waiting for something to happen.


Time. In reality, time just isn't. There is no thing like time; it's just the humans that are rushing through life.

Harry didn't know if this was true, but he knew that right now, time didn't mattered. His eyes had got used to the dark, and he could see the other person from across the room. He could hear his breathing too. It was regularly at least. He wondered what happened to Ron. The last thing he had seen from his best friend was he and Draco Malfoy duelling. He hoped that Ron had survived. Not that he doubted Ron's magical skill. No, he certainly wasn't. But it was in a battle. As far as Harry knew, somebody could've cursed him from behind. Why did he think of this? That would just make him depressed. No, he had to think about something else. Like… where was his wand? He had lost it in the middle of the battle. He closed his eyes and saw Neville sprinting forward with it, to give it to him. But something had stopped Neville… Why couldn't he remember? Think harder! Come on, Potter! This isn't the right place to have amnesia. Then he remembered. He felt how bile went to his throat, and it took a few minutes before he was sure that he wouldn't throw up. Neville had tried to give Harry his wand, but Bellatrix Lestrange was faster than either of them. She had cursed Neville with at least three fatal hexes, and then summoned Harry's wand. She laughed when two pieces of a broken stick fell to the ground.

Wasn't there anything he could think of that didn't make him ill, depressed or inclined to commit suicide?

After a frantic research through his brain he had the answer 'NO!' in bold, shining letters.


Tap. Tap. Tap. Oh sweet Merlin Tap. Tap. Tap. It was dripping somewhere in the room. Tap. Tap. Tap. Great Lord, how annoying! Tap. Okay, need distraction. Need distraction now. Tap. Tap. Tap. What can I do? Can't think. Can't sleep. Can't give the git a big punch. Can't read. Can't write. Can't come out. Can… can… sing! That's it! I can sing. But what…?

Soon a hoarse, fragile voice echoed against the small rooms stonewalls.

"Ninety – nine bottles of bear on the wall, ninety – nine bottles of bear. Take one down, pass it around, ninety – eight bottles of bear.

Ninety – eight bottles of bear on the wall, ninety – eight bottles of bear. Take one down, toss it around, ninety – seven bottles of bear…"


"Sixty – five bottles of bear on the wall, sixty – five bottles of bear. Take one down, grab it around, sixty – four bottles of bear.

Sixty – four bottles…" A noise was suddenly heard in the room. Harry stopped singing. It seemed like the other person had woken. Bloody fantastic!


A/N: Well, this deserves a review, don't you all think? (Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.)