Oh my god was this a long and difficult chapter. I just had no idea where I was going, that's why it took so long. Im sorry about the quality, but I ….i don't even know what I'm saying here!

Thanks to my lovely reviewers, you are lovely, especially those who give me really positive feedback or tell me they enjoy my other stories, it's nice to know they're still read even though they're finished.

Love and marshmallows.

milgarion

Harry spent the next couple of days doing nothing, he spent the first day watching the entire extended edition of lord of the rings, he'd nearly fallen into conniptions when he'd opened the draw to find them. The next day was spent on the terrace after he'd accidentally found it when he'd finally gotten around to opening the kitchen curtains whilst making a cup of tea. It turned out that a lot of the neighbourhood cats used it as some sort of meeting place and were a little put out by Harry's sudden arrival.

Eventually he came to a stand still, leaning in the doorway to his living room and staring at the box from the ministry he'd placed behind the couch. In a way he'd been avoiding it, just happy to have some time on his own to just veg out. But he felt as though he owed it to himself and others to at least start on the pretence of trying. Sighing in a very irritated fashion he placed his cup of coffee down on the table and hefted the box up to sit along side it. Casually he flipped the lid off and discarded it on the floor at his feet. He lifted the file off the top and glanced at it briefly, flicking through the pages, most of which was transcript, Harry noted that there was a lot of swearing.

He rooted through to the bottom, causing all the little prisms to jingle against each other until he came upon the instructions. He read through them carefully picking up one of the stones to peruse it as he turned it in the light. Setting it down carefully he resumed his drink, scowling moodily at the miniature pyramid. He drank with a dark expression on his face and pondered a minute, wondering whether he really did want to see, maybe it was a good thing that he'd forgotten. But Harry knew that no matter how much he thought like that he knew that in the end his curiosity would get the better of him, like it always did.

Muttering about how much of a bad idea this was he picked the instructions back up, lips moving as he recalled the spell to activate them. It mentioned that it was best to view the footage in the dark so Harry hauled himself up from the sofa and carefully drew the curtains, making sure that no light peeked in through any gaps. Sitting down again he squinted at the sheet in the darkness and picked up the first prism he laid a hand on. It was marked with a yellow sticker, meaning that the evidence on it wasn't crucial. Harry felt it safer to start here, not entirely loving the idea of suddenly being thrown into the midst of chaos and disorder. He placed the pyramid on the coffee table in front of him, checked the instructions one more time, then waved a hand over it whilst muttering the incantation "Video primus," that would activate the first side of imagery.

As soon as he said it light poured forth from the crystal straight back at Harry, playing over his skin and clothes as though he were standing in front of a projector. He leaned forward and turned it so that the image was displayed on the wall, Harry quickly getting up and removing a picture so that he could see it more clearly. The image rolled, clattering about the stone floor as it was cast, finally coming to a stop in time to see feet running past, boots the size of the table flashed across the screen and there was shouting in the background, a haze of light streaked past and a disarmourment spell was fired. Harry stared in awe at the ministry's ability to capture what was no doubt the most historical moment in the magical world on film (of sorts). There were more shouts and then whispers, a figure huddled down near the wall and motioned to someone behind this side of the prism, another figure rushed over, tipping the crystal as he went so that the entire world skewed sideways and Harry had to tip his head to keep up. The two men conversed in hushed tones for a couple of seconds and then left one after another. The scene remained empty for quite some time and after about ten minutes Harry started to look back through the instructions to find out if there was some way of fast forwarding it. He'd just found the relevant text when there was a clattering of footfalls and a struggle came into view, there was a flash of blue light and a hoarse curse and then suddenly the screen was filled with the face of Lucius Malfoy. His face pressed down by one of the aurors that knelt above him while the other concentrated on taking his wand and incapacitating him. Harry watched in rapt attention as the elder Malfoy spat vitriolic insults and barbs at them, screaming about the fall of the ministry and praising his lord. Harry couldn't help but snort out a laugh at the pathetic loyalty to a mad man and spared a quick thought for Draco Malfoy, idly wondering what fate had befallen him.

Harry went on to watch the other sides of the prism but it was mostly just different angles of what he'd just seen. He had to admit that it was a brilliant invention, allowing maximum coverage with minimal intervention. Finally finished with it he placed it to one side so as not to get it confused. He reached into the box and his hand collided with one of the badges that Albus had shown him, the ones that had only been able to record sound, his name written onto a thin sticker and placed along where the officer name would ordinarily be. Harry held it lightly in his hand as he read over the instructions.

Raising an eyebrow he gingerly placed it on the table where the prism had been and muttered the spell.

"…adius on those things anyway."

The voice rang out as clear as day, as though they were actually sat in the room.

"About a mile or so, but that doesn't account for obstructions and elemental interferences."

"Is it on?" he recognised his own voice, disturbingly odd when it came from nowhere.

"Should be, hang on." That was Kingsley, there was a faint rummage in the back ground, "Say something."

"Like what?"

"That'll do fine. Works great."

It was quiet for a while, just the rustling of paper and clothes. Someone cleared their throat and there was a faint bless you after a sneeze.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Harry would recognise Tonks' voice anywhere, even now when she spoke in hushed tones.

"Of course not." He heard himself reply, the nervousness apparent in his voice.

"It'll all be over soon." She said, obviously trying to comfort him, but sounding far from sure herself.

"Where are the others?"

"Waiting for Severus." There was more silence, in which Harry could only imagine what was happening, no doubt he'd be checking his watch or something along the lines.

"He should be here by now." He sounded impatient. "If we miss the signal we could lose everything."

"He'll be here, they don't even now when….oh…..Harry."

There was the sound of people entering a room talking in hurried voices and over the top of them the imperious voice of Kingsley Shaklebolt telling them to quiet down and take their positions. There was a sound of movement close by.

"You scared the shit out of me then." Harry whispered fiercly.

"What, didn't think I was gonna show?" Severus replied, his voice low but casual.

"Don't even play with me Severus." Harry sounded pissed off.

"I was late because they had a problem with this bloody thing." Harry frowned and reached for the transcript, paging through it until he found the right page. Apparently Severus' audio capture unit had malfunctioned and needed to be replaced. He continued to read along side the spoken diatribe.

"I just…..I just don't want anything to go wrong. I want this to be it."

"It will be."

"Harry?" an Auror Harry hadn't heard of, or couldn't remember. There were a few short seconds of silence and then a audible click. Harry read in the transcript that he had just been handed the gun that would kill Voldemort. Even though he was safely ensconced in his sofa, in his private little house in north London he still felt a wave of trepidation crash over him. For him, this was the first time.

"Okay guys! Listen up." Kingsley was speaking over the top of the hushed voices. "You've all been briefed, can I have the second unit back please." There was a general murmur of movement, "Thank you, I need this area clear for first response. Those wearing audio capture, I'm gonna need you to maintain audio silence until first response cue. Did you get that." A lot of 'yes Sir's' rumbled out of the badge. Harry could hear Kinglsey sigh as though he felt he were talking to a bunch of seven year olds. "Harry, Severus," his voice was much quieter now, "there going to be a thirty second delay between your signal and the arrival of our troops, now, when you get to…"

There was a sharp pained noise and Harry heard himself call Severus' name.

"Now." He muttered darkly. His response echoed around the room, repeated itself among the ranks of Aurors and steadily grew in volume until it was all they could here.

"Okay,…err…go!" It was obvious that Kingsley had been caught off guard and he focused on trying to keep his men quite.

"Do you have it?" Harry asked him, the marble like tracking element as described in the transcript.

"How long have I been doing this!" he snapped back. "Yes, of course."

"Severus!" Kingsley urged him.

"I'm going!" he shouted back, "Christ!" there was a heavy silence in which nothing happened, and then, "Good luck Harry." His voice low but mindful of the badges.

"Ill see you in a minute." He whispered back.

Footsteps moved away and a door opened and closed. There was a general hush as Kingsley asked once again for silence. Harry waited, years later, heart thudding as he listened to his own breathing.

"He's gone." He heard in the background, "Waiting for telemetry." Again the silence, every second ached in its presence and Harry reckoned that he was probably just as nervous now as he would have been then.

"Got him." There was a hiss of approval.

"Harry?" Kingsley's voice was so close it made Harry jump. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." He replied shakily

"Okay, go to the apparition point and wait for our signal."

Harry actually heard himself swallow and the movement of his robes as he'd stood. He listened to the footsteps and the way they changed as he walked over first wooden floor, then concrete, then grass. He cleared his throat.

Harry wasn't entirely clear what the signal was, but he noticed the instant he'd apparated, the sounds around him were of the forest, night creatures making their way through the trees. Slowly, footsteps made their way as quietly as they could along the leaf strewn floor, each footfall sounding crisp and loud in the night air. They stopped as voices sounded up ahead.

Harry was doing some pretty quick back reading, finally finding the document that detailed the plan lain out by the ministry of magic. Harry was to follow Snape, and provide enough distraction (by maintaining a debate with Severus about his allegiances, Kingsley's signal to Harry, it turned out, was given by Snape as soon as he'd glimpsed fellow Death Eaters). The plan was to draw them to the scene, incapacitate Harry and provide a suitable focus for the death eaters so that they didn't notice the aurors sneaking up behind them. Stage two was to engage, disposing of as much outside threat as possible whilst also being outnumbered. Eventually they would have been captured. Which is when the second wave came in, their path cleared by the first response making it easier to breach the stronghold. It was, Harry noticed, a plan so full of flaws and plot holes that it seemed a bloody miracle that it had passed in the ministry.

He turned his attention back to the badge, where his footsteps were crunching loudly, breath forced and loud and then, with no warning there was a shout and a smack, apparently he'd just punched Snape. Which was something Harry doubted he'd be allowed to forget.

"I knew it!" he heard himself shout, there was some more scuffling. "I fucking knew it." There was another sharp smack, He'd been hit this time and he heard himself swear and fall into the soft bed of leaves, kicking them about as he struggled to regain his balance.

"Severus!" a faint voice in the background calling out to Snape, sounding a lot like Lucius Malfoy, and soon the sound of more hastened steps filled the air.

"It's Potter!" Snape shouted, obviously through a struggle.

"You fucking sold us out." Harry growled, hearing footsteps coming closer. And then he heard himself mutter darkly, "This had better bloody work." Before his face was pushed into the dirt and Snape gained the upper hand.

There was an ear splitting screeching, like white noise on full volume that made Harry jump and stumble forward to try and stop it, but just as his fingers brushed the cold metal the dull voice of a ministry official chipped in. "This audio recall device worn by Harry Potter was damaged at precisely ten forty seven, due to forceful actions upon his person detailed in the ministry report numbered two hundred and twenty one."

The voice stopped and the room was quiet, disturbingly quiet after listening to himself. Harry slumped back against the sofa and focused on the badge sitting on his table. He let his eyes wonder over the box and it's contents. There was over three days of footage, of an event that lasted no longer than an hour. Cautiously he lifted his foot and toed the box, listening to the mass of prisms and badges that clattered around inside. How would he get through all this? Did he even want to?

With a staggering display of gracefulness he slid off the sofa, spun a little and headed for the door, yanking his coat from it's hook and throwing it on and pocketing the keys that he'd left on the hall table. He headed out the door. Only to come back a second later to throw his coat back down the hall because it was a little too warm out.

He walked, head down low, along the dusty street, his eyes following the cracks and lines in the pavement and he went through his thoughts. How on earth did Albus expect this to help? He'd already read the newspaper report, he'd seen the look on his face, did he really want to go back to something that had raised such horror in him.

But this was the death of Voldemort. This was something he'd been waiting for his entire life, had permeated every thought and dream he'd had. It was something momentous, real history. How could he not know, him, Harry Potter.

He stopped off at a newsagents and bought the paper, stepping outside he tucked it under his arm and reached into his back pocket for a fag, which was a little bent but he lit it anyway, sucking the smoke back into his lungs at the same time a pretty girl walked past him and said hi. Harry frowned a little as she went into the shop and assumed that he must regularly see her around. He shook his head, taking the cigarette from his lips he started back the way he'd come.

He wasn't exactly keen on the prospect of three days of watching the same thing from a thousand different angles. He'd come back to London to find some time for himself, but he knew that if he sat around his thoughts would eventually turn back to what he'd left behind in a dark room at St. Mungo's. And that train of thought wasn't one he wanted to peruse much further either. Catch 22.

He lifted his arm and looked at his watch. It wasn't even twelve yet, he'd been late getting up, and it wasn't as though the two bouts of video and audio had taken up a lot of his time. He scuffed his sneaker against the curb, trying to get the chewing gum that he'd just stepped in off. He looked back up at his house and down the road again, at the way the midday sun filtered through the hazy air. Enjoying the sun a little he sat down on his step, taking another drag and slapping the paper down next to him. He leaned back onto his elbows, essentially sprawled in the sunshine, and watched as he was ignored by his neighbour who trotted down the steps next to his, a rat like thing wearing a pink fur collar perched in her arm.

He would, he figured after a while, go in, he would watch the key tape, the main evidence, would see himself as a murderer. Then he would go out, maybe go to south bank for a walk, or sit in the park around the corner, get some more sun.

Even as he thought it he felt some trepidation, like he'd just set himself a sentence. He fingered the butt of his cigarette, taking one last drag before stubbing it out on the step and casting it haphazardly at his neighbour's bin, which it missed. He stood up and dusted off his trousers, said 'hi' to the pretty girl as she walked past again and then fished for his keys, which were too far down in his tight pockets.

Slumped again on his sofa, but feeling better for the sun, he reached forward and dragged the box onto his lap, raking through it's contents looking for the one black sticker, for the prism whose evidence was used to damn the rest of the death eaters and provided conclusive evidence of Voldemorts death and Harry's method of doing so. For a full five minutes he looked through, pulling each one out and checking all it's sides, muttering and cursing the ministry under his breath and their stupidity of putting a black sticker on a black crystal. Eventually he found it, resting in the palm of his hand. Such an innocuous little thing. He placed it apart from the others while he scooped them all back into the box until all that adorned his table was the damning evidence.

Harry steeled himself for a moment, shoulders hunched as he leaned his elbows on his knees, hair in his eyes as he stared unseeing at the little crystal. Slowly the seconds ticked by and there were no distractions, no one at the door, no phone ringing, no cats screeching in the yard which would cause him to get up and investigate. Nothing but silence and the pattern of dust motes dancing in the streak of light that escaped the curtains. With nothing else to do, Harry leaned forward and waved his hand, muttering the spell.

Again the wall was awash with colour, sound filled the air, but they'd come in this time in the thick of the action, by now the aurors had made it through the perimeter and into the very heart of the manor. It was utter chaos, flashes of light erupted from nowhere, and screams and shouts blended with the sound of spells shouted over the din. It was large room, no doubt the ball room where the dark lord held court, black velvet and red silk banners draped from the ceiling, flames licking the hem of some, the archaic furniture was tipped, the long tables that had been laden with food and wine were now used as trench walls. It was terrifying, the air alive with light and death. Harry stared, mesmerized by the carnage, watching as a death eater stumbled into view, clutching his head and screaming. He fell to his knees as his skin started to fall from his face in chunks that fell to the floor and scattered like the rain, a grizzly pool of flesh and blood oozed out from under his robes as he continued to scream, his voice gurgling as the liquefying organs pushed their way out of his mouth to join the rest of his body melting onto the floor. In less than thirty seconds there was little more to him than an odd mish mash of disfigured and twisted bones and a sodden black robe.

The fire continued from each side, one end of the hall thick with death eaters protecting their lord who was giving more than he got. He ended lives with such careless ease, sending one auror arcing through the air to land, skidding across the floor and into the grizzly remains of the death eater, the sickening mix of blood and flesh washing over the handsome features of the ministry official. Harry held back a retch, hand pressed to his face as he saw arms ripped from bodies, heads folding in on themselves, eyes turning black, and the agony as their owners tried to scratch them out themselves, insides spilled on the floor picked up and held vainly back to the body where they belonged. The floor soon became a slush of human entrails and blood, making the fighters slip, their fires more inaccurate.

Amongst all this Harry saw himself, off to the side at the thicker end of things, unable to do more than constant shield spells due to the barrage of fire being aimed at him. He was surprised at himself, at the look of fire in his eyes, a stubborn rage to end things. At the rate he was casting Harry wondered how he was still standing, that kind of drain would have had him on the floor by now, but still he stood, with a few men behind him, dodging and ducking to save a little energy, the bright flashes of deadly spells soaking into his shield when he couldn't. He moved, and spun, his hair wild and his face fierce, not even a flicker of his eyes as the auror behind him was torn, bright crimson arcs flew like thrown paint to join the rest of the blood trickling between the flagstones.

And even as he went through the patterns of this deadly dance he watched, waited, for the very opportunity to end all this, for that brief fraction of a second that would allow him enough time. But until then he twisted and leaped, ducking and diving as he traversed the room, more able now to throw out some more lethal spells, rending a mans head from his shoulders with no more than a muttered command. He slipped in the gore, crashing to his knees, hands wrist deep in the decaying flesh but his grip still tight on his wand. He rolled as a pulse of festering orange light streaked towards his head narrowly missing the deadly spell, he rushed to his feet, his sodden robes sticking to his jeans, between the charms thrown up around him he shucked it, letting it fall to the floor and freeing himself up to move a little faster. His attention was caught by a small knot of deatheaters near the doors, beyond them Harry could hear the continued battle but he couldn't allow these to leave, to possibly outnumber his men. He lunged, trainers slipping and sliding on the floor as he threw out a stream of curses, one knocking a man to the floor, another grazing the face of a woman who screamed as though it had been a personal affront and headed for Harry, her eyes dark and her lips curled back. She flung out her arm and from her wand a brilliant blue light surged forth, so beautiful in its path that Harry was temporarily caught up in the surrealty of the moment, of the muted screams that entered his mind through a cloud, the clawing hand at his ankle went unnoticed, a man begging for his help.

His heart faltered. They couldn't do this. It was too much, they'd lost too many already and here he was with death racing towards him in such a seductive package. And suddenly it was all sound and vision again, the spell grazed his ear as he was yanked to the side, his body spun in a sickening motion as he was steered around a column and found himself back to back with Snape who found time to shout at him between spells.

"What the fuck are you doing.!"

Harry shook his head, trying to regain his mentality. What was he doing?

"Damnit Harry, find the god damned moment."

Harry looked about him wildly. Snape was right. This was why he was here, it was him they needed. Back here was a little better, the enemy wasn't so thick and they had time to breath between each spell.

"Okay." Harry said, not sure of his voice at all. "Cover me." Shouted over the rest of them.

As it turned out. It was the perfect moment. He threw himself around the column, crashing to his knees as he fumbled at his side for the weapon, a band of aurors firing all at once like a winter firework display as he unclipped the band and hefted the solid weight into his hands, levelling them and clasping the handle like he had all those thousand times in practice. It was almost second nature now, he could feel where the bullet would land by the way he body was placed. But Voldemort had seen him, had smiled that sickening smile that Harry hated and fired his predictable green light at him. Harry rolled, tucking the gun into his chest, mindful of the fact that the safety wasn't on and his finger was still on the trigger. "Fire at him!" he shouted above the din, the smell of ozone thick in his sinuses as the aurors turned as one, their fire aimed at one sole spot. It left them open, but it was all Harry needed, he ducked, stood, spun as he avoided one last spell and then he was there, red eyes barely flickered upon his own when a loud crack rung through the air, louder and more real than any spell. For a second eternity hung in the air, the eyes paled in confusion and then flared again in anger, a hand raised but Harry was still there, gun level as he fired again, propelling the body back, arms flailing as more and more bullets struck home. Harry stopped and looked at this supposed dark lord, thankful that he'd saved the last one for this. Glad that Voldmort could look upon him at the point of his death and know that it was him, Harry, who had brought about his downfall, the child he could never quite kill had now had enough. With perfect stance he raised the gun one last time, eye closed as he peered along the length. It would be perfect. The finger on the trigger squeezed. The last sharp bang echoed starkly off the cold stone walls and Harry opened his eye, enough to focus on the neat hole between pale red eyes before the body slumped, falling gracelessly to the dirty floor.

Complete silence.

Complete shock.

But the shock was greater for some than others. In their remiss the death eaters were taken, enough of the ministry there to take away those who had finally witnessed the fall of their master. Most went quietly, their grief to great to do much, but some fought to the bitter end, others tried to flee but were caught in the outer corridors.

Harry stood alone, arms heavy at his side.

It was over.

Finally.

The gun fell from his nervelss fingers, clattering to the floor, it's sound so loud after the silence.

Everything was done now, everything that had lead up to this point had been advocated. Utter freedom, for everyone, but most blessedly for him. He could feel warmth on his face, the faint tickling of something tracing his features. He wiped his hand across his lips, smudging the thick blood to mix with his own sweat.

He looked down, at the crumpled way he lay. Defeated.

"Harry?"

Silence. And then,

"Severus?"

A hand lay against his arm, a human touch amongst the hellish wash of death that had torn this place asunder. "Harry?"

"I'm fine." Such automated responses never worked, but right now, neither of them knew of anything better.

With nothing more to do Harry turned, his steps careful as they sought out a safe path, finally there were no more expectations.

Even so he clutched his head, a guttural growl ripping at his throat as suddenly he woke, his body jumping enough to pitch him clear of the sofa. Gasping, Harry looked about himself, at his living room, still dark from where he'd drawn the curtains, his sofa solid against his back. He breathed hard, noting that the video playback had stopped. With a lurch he crossed the room and found himself with the bin in his lap, emptying what little was in his stomach until the muscles cramped in protest.

With that over he leant back, head tipped against the door frame as he stared numbly at the wall, a look of shock and horror on his face. He had seen it. Seen it all. He had been there, in mind and soul. Could still feel the sickening sensation of sliding in someone else's blood, could still taste the rank blood of the dark lord on his tongue. He pitched forward again, his stomach retching.

Breathing hard he shook his head, horrified at the vision. He'd been curious, but thought that a detached mentality would be enough to repress any true remembrance. But it must have been a trigger, as though his mind was trying to give his memories back, but waiting for the right cue.

He breathed in hard through his nose and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down. It was gone now, it happened years ago. Anger welled inside him, at himself, and at Albus. He knew it was his fault for watching it, but the headmaster had put it in front of him, knowing how curious Harry was. Putting the bin to one side he crawled across the room and snatched the prism from the table and threw it back into the box, tossing the lid on it he picked it up, hefting it up under his arm he stood shakily and stalked over to the door, grabbing his keys again he wrenched the door open and slammed it shut behind him.

The sun was a shock to him, even though he'd been outside barely, he checked his watch, half an hour ago. It was too cheery after what he'd seen. He couldn't honestly have ever been prepared for that, his mind feeling as though he'd just left the field of battle as he stormed along the pavement to the tube station a couple of roads down. This wasn't like watching a movie, this was watching people die, real people, real blood, real lives, ended in a moment before Harry's eyes, by Harry himself.

He reached the tube station and waited patiently in line to get his ticket because he really didn't feel like having a fiver ripped up by the machine again. He must have radiated some kind of vibe because he had no obstructions getting down to the platforms and even managed to find a seat on the packed train. He clutched the box on his lap and stared darkly at his reflection in the window opposite. The lights flared and went out, flickering as the train thundered along the lines, the rhythmic swaying of the carriage doing nothing to calm Harry's nerves.

He changed at Holborn and carried on his way, unnerving fellow passengers all the way with his slightly unhinged air, as though he'd brought the feelings of the battlefield down into the hot, greasy tunnels. Eventually he came to his destination, took the steps out of the station two at a time and crossed the street without looking. He punched the number into the phone and waited, fingers tapping against the box lid as the lift descended.

With a delightful ping, the doors opened smoothly and Harry strode across the foyer, distinctly aware that every eye had turned to look at him, a disturbing look of awe and wonder on some faces. He reached the front desk, and smiling sardonically he slammed the box down, shaking the contents and rattling the smile on the receptionist.

"Present for the minister." He said cheerfully, turning to leave, "Oh, and by the way, " he called, turned to walk backwards, "Tell the idiots in archives not to label black objects with black stickers." He turned back, nearly at the lift again. "It's not exactly rocket science." He muttered to himself, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He took the lift back up and got the train to Blackfriars.

Without the weight of the box in his arm he felt a little freer to think.

How exactly had that little foray back into his past helped. Sure it had triggered a memory, and a relevant one at that. But really, he could have lived the rest of his life without seeing that. Maybe Albus was being pre-emptive, giving Harry the opportunity to witness it on his own terms rather than suddenly bombarded with the knowledge at some later, unpredictable date. He felt sick as he left the station, no doubt more to the extreme heat in the tunnel. He wrestled another fag from the packet in his back pocket, marvelling at how it had managed to stay intact, turning right he stalked off in the direction of St. Paul's.

It hadn't even served to take his mind off of other things. To see Severus there in the midst of battle had only reinforced the feelings that Harry had felt in the fire, the soft nuances of his voice came back to haunt him, so soft and quiet in the face of battle. Harry idly wondered how Snape had taken that punch in the face. Harry growled as he rounded the corner and sidestepped a pavement artist, weaving through the tourists who were here to cross the bridge. He dodged them and descended the steps that took him down to the river side where he jumped up onto the wall and sat down, looking back up the river.

The whole ordeal had left him cold, his chest ached with guilt and he kept having the most annoying emotion pulling him back tot the hospital. How many times had he put that man in danger, how many times had he saved his life, it seemed like one big circle that never ended. Harry sunk his head into his hands and watched the rats playing at the waters edge through the slits in his fingers. He was no closer to coming up with a decent solution, and now he had all this added guilt and horror piled up on top. And what had he done, filed himself away in London where he had no one to talk to. He felt hopeless and lost and afraid.

He didn't feel like he could handle this anymore, it was all getting a bit too much, too confusing with so many questions and not enough answers. And still, the only person who could probably provide him with explanations was the one person he felt he couldn't talk to. Especially now, with him lying in a hospital, because of him.

Or may maybe especially now, when Harry could talk without fear of recrimination.