Merlin… I'm so far gone. Begging for reviews. Damn me.
Still, they make me a happier writer. Saa, onegai…
Btw, I've finally completed this story, so I'm not frustrated about the way it all does not fit, because it actually decided to fit veeery nice in the end… but you'll have to wait to see that :-P. I namely didn't manage to make it shorter than awful P+12Ch+E. Damn me again, and this time properly…
Thus Brynn spoke.

Chapter 7: Seventeen

Draco was sleeping. It gave Harry a bit of time for himself, when he didn't have to chase after the blonde and make sure that he wasn't destroying anything.

He would be the first to say that he wasn't much of a social person, but even with his ill-disposition he decided to spend his time in the first bedroom. Draco had – predictably – occupied the second one, and Harry had no desire to just idly sit in the kitchen and watch his newly opened wounds re-knit themselves. It itched and he needed to take his mind off the sensation.

He had expected Edward to be also asleep, but wasn't really surprised when he found him awake, and staring at the ceiling. There wasn't much to see and Harry had a suspicion that despite his lack of ability to communicate in words, he was going to be a welcome distraction.

"Morning…" grumbled the boy and turned his head to watch the newcomer. Harry, in a rare flash of inspiration (as he spotted the mess on the working desk under the window) took a pad and a pencil, and sat down next to Edward.

Hello. How are you feeling?

"Guess I'm not feeling at all, not that I'm complaining."

I drugged you. It wasn't completely truth, but as close as he could get to it. It shouldn't affect your mind, though.

Edward faintly nodded and scowled. It seemed he was scowling often; at least judging by the creases in the corners of his eyes. It made Harry wonder… and, well, there wasn't a better activity for him…

How old are you?

The boy looked at him apprehensively.

"You?"

17

"Funny… me to. And… Look at us."

For a while they just stared at each other and then, as though on cue, they burst in laugh. It bordered on hysteria, but it was still better than if they cried. Harry was curious by nature, but even he didn't want to know what had happened to Edward to get him in such state… or what had happened to him before, to make him need the prosthetic limbs the parts of which lay in disarray on the floor.

"Your friend… he's not healthy, is he."

Harry took a deep breath, trying to compose himself.

He's not. I don't think anyone can help him now. Can we help you?

"Yeah. Contact my brother. It's still too early, though."

Harry bethought it. If they were to phone the brother – were there telephones here? – he would have to take Draco out. He wasn't content with that. On the other hand, if Edward showed him on some map where they were, and where his brother was, he could Apparate there… It would be far quicker.

'Yet better. I can read the directions from his mind.'

Where is your brother?

"He's with Winry. In Risenbool. I'll give you a phone number-"

'Legilimens.'

Harry never before encountered a mind like this. He imagined Dumbledore, and maybe Snape – God damn him – might have felt somewhat like this. Edward was… not intelligent. He was fucking brilliant. A genius. With a will stronger than anybody Harry ever met…

'And he's seventeen. Bloody seventeen…'

He felt like crying, unintentionally seeing glimpses of Edward's life here and there, the thoughts and memories which he had in his mind right now and which had to be passed by, were he to retrieve the information he needed.

And, finally, there was it. The geographic view of Central and Risenbool and the railway between them… mountains and hills and planes… a house… A dog with a metallic leg and a blonde girl with a lamp in the first floor. Winry.

"What the Hell did you just do?" Edward asked, trying to keep his anger in check. Unsuccessfully. The only thing that stopped him from attacking Harry head on was the state he was in and that any interaction with the parts that were impossible to remove, so they remained connected with flesh, caused him pain.

I will alert your friend. She would know what to do with your arm and leg, right?

"How…" Edward's eyes widened. Harry stuck the pad virtually in his face and made him read.

I'll go before Draco wakes up. Can I borrow some clothes?

The blonde girl he had seen wasn't dressed to decently, but he guessed that she would have a problem were she to see him like he was now… Edward was still gaping at him. Harry knew that he had crossed a line there; he should have been much much more careful when he knew how intelligent Edward was. But it was a proverbial spilt potion.

"Hm?" It was the most eloquent thing Harry had said in hours. He missed the ability to speak dearly.

"Ye-eah. My clothes. They're… not so big, but there's nothing else."

He gestured to the half-opened case with his head. Harry went over to it and surveyed the options. Edward had a good – albeit monotonous – taste. It made the choice of clothing much simpler – Harry simply took the first tank top, boxers and pants he reached. They would have been slightly short, but he was a wizard.

He winked on his way to the door and gave a lop-sided smirk to the utterly stunned boy lying in the bed.

o

Harry knew it long before he could see it.

He felt it in his bones… then smelled it in the air… and then faced it.

He should have known… this bloody curse would never leave him. He was forever going to be hurting the people around him. It was not a coincidence that he saved Edward's life. As though it was some sadistic trade or something.

He stood on a hill and stared down into the valley and a single tear trickled down his face because he simply refused to laugh. The clothes he had borrowed were incredibly comfortable; they must have been chosen for the freedom of movement they provided. Much better than his robes… or the shirt and trousers he had burnt when he sent the Death Eaters where they belonged…

But he had failed to send them all. And the consequences lay right in front of him.

The village was quiet, but for the occasional crow. It was also still, at least when he overlooked the remnants of black smoke slythering over the road out from a few houses. The field around him was covered with soft grey ash, and the sky, even though clear and pink, was marred with the residue of Morsmordre to Harry's eyes.

He waited until the tear fell and then set out, pacing up the way between the two rows of houses with the same kind of calm Draco might have been feeling. The smell of burnt flesh didn't make him want to retch anymore. He had had too much of that.

He deliberately focused on the path, knowing that he would have to take care of the corpses anyway, lest the people who find the village in this state… well, he simply had to. He understood it as a part of his saviour-job. It was his fault that Voldemort got here. It was his fault these people were dead. His fault.

Rockbell house remained intact, too far from the others to catch fire, but apparently not far enough to be safe from the homicide. The main door was open and Harry didn't even bother to brace himself as he stepped in. Everything there reeked of blood, death and Voldemort. The floor creaked under his bare feet and he followed the trail of red drops up the stairs. There was a room with shattered door and shattered window. He went inside.

An empty suit of armor sat next to the wall, bearing faint scorch-marks that experienced eye automatically associated with Unforgivables. There was a girl – a way too familiar girl – spread over the metallic legs. She, too, bore scorch-marks, but the large dent in her torso indicated that she hadn't died on the receiving end of an Avada Kedavra. The wound was exactly the size of the bloodied gauntlets of the armor.

'Winry…' He squatted down next to her. She was cold and stiff, and, strangely enough, grasping the suit as she had been in her agony. It was hard to turn her over, but he had to be sure. And he had to look.

A pair of bright blue eyes stared at him unseeingly. Now, dead, she wasn't as pretty, as Edward had remembered her. But it was her. Without any doubts.

'I'm so sorry, Winry. So sorry…'