The wind howled and the rain fell heavily, distant thunder reverberating through the atmosphere. But Harry could hear the sniffles and pained cries clearly over the wind, thunder and rain. Most people in attendance stood under the safe havens of their umbrellas, some were dressed in water-resistant clothes, and then there was Harry.

He stood at the very fringes of the gathered mass, the rain having by now drenched him to the bone, and despite the relative warmness of the late day in May, he felt as cold as never before. The funeral unfolding in front of him was a muggle one, and he reckoned he was probably one of the only wizards present.

He couldn't really blame anybody else for not attending either, since he'd not told a soul he'd be attending and because most people he knew weren't all that particularly close to Colin Creevey. But Harry had attended each and every one of the funerals post the final battle, and he felt his inner strength wane that little bit more each time.

Colin did not deserve to die. Colin should not have died. Had he been a bit faster in surrendering to Voldemort, Colin would not have died. But he'd been a coward, too scared to die himself, and dozens of people had paid the price. Remus, Tonks, Colin, Fred… It was a long list, and Harry felt responsible for each and every death.

The rain intensified as Colin was laid to his final rest, his muggle parents openly sobbing by the small closed casket, and Harry was glad for the pouring rain that hid his own tears. The rain was good for him in other ways too, as it managed to do just enough to keep him awake, the settling cold just barely keeping the exhaustion he was feeling at bay for the moment.

The nightmares had only grown worse over the last week, and just yesterday he'd once again suffered the 'super realistic' nightmare. At least this time the damage he'd caused was minor, as he'd snapped himself out of the damned 'vision' sooner than the first time, mostly with the help of Kreacher. The fact that he was going insane was undeniable, however.

Several people had attempted to visit him too, Hermione was back at his doorstep that very evening, and even Ron had shown up on two occasions. But Harry wasn't so foolish to be caught by surprise in his own house again, so he'd changed the wards, and now nobody but him and Kreacher could enter the house on their own.

The only thing left to do after that was to order Kreacher to tell Ron and Hermione that he was not home, and he was finally, mercifully left all alone with his fraying mind and ever-darker thoughts. He was by now well and truly running on pure fumes, and he knew it.

A particularly loud burst of thunder snapped him from his thoughts, and he realized with a start that the procession had ended, most of the people already starting to leave. Not wishing to talk to anybody, Harry quickly departed himself, making his way into the carpark, checking his surroundings and apparating away.

He reappeared in what seemed to be an abandoned alleyway, but the more pressing concern was that he was almost 15 feet in the air. Releasing a feeble shout before gravity took place, Harry slammed into a dumpster below him hard, rebounding off the top and then hitting the concrete, rain still hammering down around him as he fought to catch his breath.

He couldn't remember ever miss-apparating before in his life, which he knew really told a tale about what his current condition was like. Even his magic was going rogue. The pain from the fall was admittedly not as bad as he'd initially feared, and after a few minutes, he was almost certain he'd not broken anything major.

It still took him a good 5 more minutes to actually get back to his feet, and he wobbled back towards the busy main street ahead. Upon reaching it he was thankful to recognize his surroundings, having only missed the front yard of Grimmauld Place by a single block… and a few feet upwards.

He was getting many weird looks from the muggle passerby's as he made his way home, but he resolutely ignored their curiosity, and soon the front door of Grimmauld Place came into view up ahead. He was so close to making it too, had his hand on the handle and all, when a loud shout brought him about.

"Oi, Harry mate!" The form of his best mate was unmistakable even through the heavy rain, and Harry felt his stomach drop as he realized he wasn't getting out of this one.

"Ron." His greeting was less than excited, and he was internally weighing the option of just trying to apparate again.

"Where have you been?" Ron asked as he approached with his umbrella, his eyes widening as he took in Harry's appearance, "Bloody hell mate, why are you all bloody and drenched." Harry's stomach dropped even further as he realized he'd actually hurt himself visibly in the fall, and he was now just thanking the stars it was Ron who found him and not Hermione, because the latter would be impossible to throw off.

"Forgot my umbrella and then tripped like an idiot over the curb." Harry shrugged dismissively, his words clearly not doing much to appease Ron.

"Well come on then, let's get inside, or do you want to stand out here in the rain until you get a cold?" The redhead asked with a hint of humour, and Harry reluctantly unlocked the front door, allowing Ron to enter the house behind him. He was back to dry with a swish of his wand, but the cold remained even as the heat of the house hit him at full blast.

"It's been raining for three days straight. I hate the British weather sometimes." He heard Ron grumble from behind him, while Harry simply stood there in the middle of the hallway, not knowing how to get out of this situation. With how badly he was losing his sanity in recent times, the last thing he wanted was to do so in front of either Ron or Hermione.

"Hit yourself good, did you." He turned to look at Ron, who was motioning towards his head. As Harry ran his fingers across the painful spot on the top of his forehead, they came away coated in blood. He didn't even remember hitting his head during his fall if he was honest, and since the blasted thing was hurting terribly all the time he probably would not have even noticed. His right-side ribs were a different thing however, those were certainly bruised…

"Harry? Hellooo? You there, mate?" Harry blinked to clear the fog, finding Ron looking at him in concern, and he quickly put on the most convincing of fake smiles he could muster.

"I'm fine. So… what are you doing here?" He cringed at the question and he could see Ron blink in surprise, before shaking his head and grinning in a way that was just as fake as what Harry was doing.

"Can't visit my best mate? I haven't seen you in weeks!" That much was assuredly true, and he felt a prickle of shame at ignoring his friends, but that shameful feeling was quickly overwhelmed by the voice that told him he was doing the right thing by keeping away.

"You want anything to drink?" Harry asked ignoring Ron's question, not even waiting for an answer as he headed directly to the kitchen.

"You got coffee?"

"I have. You can sit down." Harry couldn't remember ever feeling so awkward talking to Ron, but the lack of recent human interactions as well as the backdrop of his own issues made him wary of saying or doing anything he could regret.

"How are the renovations going?"

"What?" Harry looked back at Ron who had sprawled out on his couch, and it took him a few seconds to connect the redhead looking at the large holes in his wall with what he'd just said.

"Oh, right, that. Uhm, yeah, it's still a work in progress." Ron thankfully seemed satisfied with that answer, and Harry once more thanked the stars it was his male best friend who was currently sitting on his sofa, because Hermione would have surely had enough information by now to write a 10-page psychological report on him. Regardless, he really needed to repair those holes.

"You want milk?" He asked Ron, who seemed to be looking out the window at the falling rain, a melancholy expression on his face.

"Sure."

"Are you okay?" Despite the fact that he had several internal rules that forbade him from talking about his or anybody else's emotions, the sight of his best mate looking as sad and downtrodden as he did right then forced Harry into action. Ron finally turned to look at him then, his eyes noticeably wet with tears.

"Y-yeah. It's just… hard, you know. To live with somebody your entire life, and then for him to just suddenly be gone…" Ron's coffee forgotten, Harry immediately rounded the corner and approached his friend, knowing the pain he was feeling was his fault. Fred's death was one of many he was responsible for after all.

"Ron, I-" Whatever he was going to say was cut off by a loud thunderstrike outside, the lighting flash briefly illuminating the room and Voldemort's face. Harry immediately stumbled backwards, his eyes going wide and his breathing starting to race, looking in pure disbelief at the grinning Dark Lord calmly sitting on his couch.

"Hello, Harry." Voldemort said rather calmly, the elder wand held loosely in his left arm.

"You can't be real." He whispered, reaching into his pocket and producing his own wand, pointing it directly at a still-grinning Voldemort, his hands shaking like crazy.

"But I am Harry. And now The-Boy-Who-Lived, will die." Voldemort said smirking, before rising from the couch and taking a long step towards him. Harry wasted no time after that.

"Expelliarmus, Bombarda!" He started off with his trademark spell, following it with the blasting curse. Cast at near point-blank range, the Expelliarmus surprisingly disarmed the shocked-looking Voldemort, and the Dark Lord was only saved from being blasted into pieces by a good reaction, as he dived to the side and over the couch.

His opponent now wandless, Harry pressed his attack, firing a cutting charm which severed the couch in two, revealing a panicked-looking Voldemort hiding behind it. But Harry had no sympathy for the terrified-looking wizard, not after all he'd done, his wand tip lighting up as he prepared to finish the duel.

"Reducto!" Voldemort's eyes widened as the spell left his wand, but before it could rip Voldemort apart it was met by a thin translucent shield, the spell deflecting off the barrier and striking the piano in the corner, blowing it into pieces.

"Master!" Harry turned towards this new combatant, only for his eyes to come upon Kreacher, the small elf looking wide-eyed at him, his hand stretched out in front of himself.

"What the fuck are you doing, Kreacher!" He screamed at the little elf in pure fury, before turning back towards Voldemort, "I have Voldemort disar-" Only there was no Voldemort standing in front of him now, but the shaking form of Ron Weasley, his best mate.

It took Harry a second to lower his wand and a few more to realize what he'd just done. And as the realization washed over him, he felt such an acute feeling of horror, shame and regret that he had to grab the nearby chair for balance, lest he lose the fight against gravity.

He had just fired on his best mate. He had been half a second away from killing Ron, and had Kreacher not intervened he would have killed him. That realization made, he dropped his wand as if it was made from sharp glass, his breathing erratic and his heart beating like crazy in his chest. Ron was still lying on the floor with his hands covering his face, his body covered with splinters from the blown-up piano, his eyes blown wide as he looked back at him.

"Ron…" He took a step closer towards his best friend, wanting above everything else to check if he was okay, if he was hurt.

"Stay away from me." Ron's desperate voice brought him to an immediate stop, and he knew right away that he'd ruined everything. This was it. Ron would never forgive him, and why would he really, Harry had nearly killed him just now. The Weasleys would obviously hate him for nearly killing Ron, and Hermione would too. He would never be able to work as an Auror after this, and he would not be accepted back to Hogwarts either.

His life was effectively over.

Making a split second-decision, Harry took a deep breath and looked Ron in his scared blue eyes. "I'm so sorry, Ron."

And then he was gone, pausing only to stuff his wand back into his pocket, before blowing past a still shocked-looking Kreacher and directly towards the front door. He dissaparated as soon as he passed the ward line, his only thought to go as far away from there as possible.

He stumbled out of his apparition in the middle of some wheat-filled field, the distinct lack of rain telling him he had certainly put some good distance between himself and London. The relieved feeling that he had not apparated himself into yet another fall lasted for all of a few seconds, before the events from mere minutes ago once more assaulted his mind.

He collapsed to his knees, his entire body now hidden by the wheat surrounding him, his hands collecting fistfuls of dirt as he clenched them. What the fuck is wrong with you, he chanted to himself over and over, the sight of Ron's terrified expression cutting through his eyes. Ron thought he was going kill him, and Harry would have.

With each second that passed his lungs managed to take in less air, and not before long he collapsed to his side breathless, trying and failing to take a proper deep breath. He was shaking all over like a leaf, he was cold, his heart was beating out of his chest, and he could not breathe at all. Why couldn't he breathe?

This was it, Harry thought with a measure of relief, this was it for him. He had no idea what was happening to him, but since he couldn't take a breath and was alone with nobody around to help him, he would die. The worst part was that Harry very much didn't mind it. In fact, he actively waited for the moment his vision would start fading to black.

He had no idea how long he laid like that, curled up in a little ball in the middle of some random field, but for some reason he didn't seem to be actively dying. In fact, the more time that passed, the larger the breaths he could take, and soon he felt like he was no longer suffering from lack of oxygen. The racing heart, the cold and the shaking remained, however, as did the terrible memory of what he'd done.

He stayed in that position for a very long time, lacking the willpower to move and feeling lost in his own head. His condition had been somewhat manageable when the only real symptoms were that he couldn't sleep, and that he sometimes felt the overwhelming need to run and hide. Back then, and by back then he literally meant like two weeks ago, all he had to do was make sure Ron and Hermione didn't throw their lives away for his sake, and he'd be fine.

But now it had become evident that he was not only a threat to their emotional wellbeing, but also their physical one. And if there was one thing that Harry Potter could not take, then that was the thought of his friends in danger. He knew at least Hermione would try everything to help him, which would certainly put her in massive danger in case… when he snapped again, and that ultimately meant that there was only one course of action he could take.

He would take his own life to protect his friends.

And all of a sudden Harry felt a lot better, a lot lighter even, the darkness that had been following him around for so long suddenly fading into the background. It was a very weird feeling, especially considering the monumental decision he'd just decided on, but for the first time in weeks he had a goal to strive towards again.

There were many things he needed to do in a very short amount of time.

His breathing now as calm as ever and his heart rate back to normal, he pushed himself upwards, noting that even his shaking and headache were gone entirely. Considering all that had happened he couldn't say he felt great, but he certainly felt better than he had in months.

For the first time in maybe his entire life he felt truly and utterly at peace.

He knew he needed to be quick about all of what he was going to do, however, and he quickly made up a plan. First, he would visit Hogwarts, saying goodbye to the one place he truly could call his home. Then, he had to pop into Gringotts to settle the matter of his will, and lastly, he needed to write a few letters to his friends.

Plan made, Harry decided to immediately tick the first task from his list. Focusing hard on the sights and feelings he associated with Hogwarts, he apparated, popping back into existence directly in front of the main gate, his mouth stretching upwards in a way that felt almost unnatural by now.

The main gate opened as he approached it and he entered the Hogwarts grounds, the wards washing over him like an old friend. It really was good to be back home, and he was so incredibly glad he'd decided to visit this place one last time. The castle still looked incredible to him despite the damage it had sustained in the battle, still standing proudly in spite of the wounds it had taken.

He was half expecting the Headmistress to meet him, but there was nobody to be seen as he rounded the castle and headed towards the lake. He could see smoke coming from Hagrid's hut in the distance, but despite wanting to see his first friend one more time, Harry decided against paying him a visit. Instead, he sat himself on one of the rocks overlooking the lake, taking one last look over the place he so loved.

The distant rumble of thunder soon became audible as he sat, signifying that the earlier storm had to have moved North, and that he would soon be wet again if he didn't move. He really should move, he argued with himself, he had so many things left to do before… But for the first time since deciding on his plan, he somewhat didn't want to move, didn't want to leave this beautiful place behind.

"Mister Potter." The sudden voice had him jumping in the air, turning around as he clutched at his heart. He recognized the voice that had called out to him, and he was therefore unsurprised to see the Headmistress herself standing behind him, her lips pursed in that oh-so-familiar way.

"Headmistress." He greeted in return, noting that her lips only got thinner as she looked him up and down. Truthfully, he could understand why, since he had to look like a complete mess. His clothes were covered with dirt and grass, he probably still had dried blood on his face from his morning's fall, and he could feel his hair was in an even worse state than usual.

"What are you doing here, Harry? Are you alright?" Minerva asked gently, the concern in her voice clear, and Harry once again felt his irritation increasing. Why was that the first thing that everybody asked him… It was a valid question, yes, but still, it was tiring to… lie all the time.

"Just fine. I was sort of missing this place, I guess." He responded with a rare genuine smile, looking back towards the castle.

"If you accept my proposition, you will be seeing a lot more of it in the near future." Minerva responded simply, and Harry shook his head slightly.

"As much as I'd love to, I can't." He spoke truthfully, wishing things could have been different. Going back to Hogwarts, even if only for a year, would have surely been wonderful, especially now that he might even have had a calm year for a change. Not to mention that Minerva intended to make him Head Boy, which was a position he didn't think he deserved anyway.

"Why not? Going to take Kingsley up on his offer instead?" Minerva asked with evident distaste, and Harry almost slipped up and told her the truth, but corrected himself at the last second.

"Y-yeah, probably. The remaining Death Eaters need to be hunted down by somebody." In truth, doing that was the last thing Harry wanted, and he was very glad he would be avoiding the whole affair entirely.

"It is your decision to make." Minerva said morosely, "But do know, that Hogwarts will always be open to you. As will I, if you ever need anything." God dammit, now she was making him tear up. Seriously afraid he was actually going to start crying, Harry stood up abruptly, wiped his hands in his pants, and sent the headmistress the widest smile he could muster.

"I'll hold you to that. I need to go, take care, ma'am." He quickly said his goodbyes, not even bothering to wait for her own before he was hurrying back towards the main gate and the ward line. Merlin, he really hoped Minerva didn't blame herself for what he was going to do, as nothing she could have said would be convincing Harry not to go through with his plan.

He knew he had spent too much time reminiscing here at Hogwarts, and he dissaparated to his next location as soon as he'd passed through the wards. He reappeared in front of the entrance to Diagon Alley, quickly making his way towards Gringotts. This at least, would surely be a quick in and out, Harry reassured himself as he sped along past the various witches and wizards doing their shopping around him.

3 hours later, Harry Potter very much regretted his earlier comments. It turned out that making a will wasn't as simple and straightforward as he'd thought after all. It was either that, or the goblins were taking revenge on him for destroying half of their bank while riding a dragon.

Still, despite now running very behind on his 'kill yourself' plan, the will had been taken care of. He'd left most of his money to the Weasleys, Andromeda and Teddy, and Hermione. Andromeda would also be getting Grimmauld place whatever need she would have had of the old creepy house, and the Potter manor he'd yet to even see he'd left to Hermione, certain she and Ron were going to love raising their family there.

The first two steps of his plan complete, it was now time to write a bunch of letters to his friends.

To do so however, he needed to get back to Grimmauld Place, and that he knew could be a bit of a problem. He'd be fine if he got inside, that much he was sure of, the wards on that place being neigh impenetrable, but getting inside could prove to be a bit of an issue. Ron would be gone by now, that he was also certain of, but it was his other best friend who worried him.

Knowing Hermione, she could have easily set camp in front of his door, and he really didn't want to get murdered by her before he could write the letters apologizing to her and Ron. Merlin, Harry sighed deeply as he prepared to apparate, she must be livid with me. First I shout at her and kick her out, and today I nearly kill her boyfriend.

He apparated himself into the same small alleyway as he did that morning, the Harry-shaped ident still visible in the dumpster. From there, he carefully sneaked towards number 12, breathing a massive sigh of relief upon spotting nobody in front of the house. His relief only grew as he made it inside with no further issues, and he finally relaxed as his Homunem Revelio told him he was well and truly alone.

"Master is back!" Harry jumped at the excited shout, recollecting himself as he spotted Kreacher. All he had to do now was fool him, and then he was in the clear.

"Good to see you too, Kreacher. I wish to write a few letters. Can you bring me some paper and a quill into the kitchen?" He asked, hoping that a direct order would distract Kreacher enough not to question why he needed to write multiple letters after nearly killing his best friend. His gambit surprisingly seemed to work, as while Kreacher did look suspicious, he nodded and disappeared, presumably to gather the supplies he needed.

In fact, by the time Harry made it to the kitchen table, the stacks of paper and necessary writing utensils were already waiting for him there. Now came the difficult part, as he had to actually write the letters. He took a deep, shaky breath as he took the first piece of paper in his hand, addressing it to 'The Weasley family', before beginning to write.

In the end, it took him a bit over two hours to finish all the letters, and he felt physically and emotionally drained by the experience. Not to mention he had been awake now for nearly 48 hours, having gotten absolutely no sleep the night before, and Harry felt like he was close to reaching his breaking point. It was a good thing then that he would soon get the eternal rest he so desperately needed.

His plan now well and truly finished, Harry could finally move to the final chapter of not only the plan, but also his trainwreck of a life. There were conflicting feelings swirling around inside him, and he felt almost disturbed that the prevalent one seemed to be pure happiness that his suffering was so close to ending. He felt… relief.

He carefully arranged the letters on the table, the names of the people they belonged to written on their fronts in his rather poor handwriting, before taking a quick detour to the attic, where he knew a rather interestingly labelled vial was located. Finding the said vial, he stuffed it in his pocket alongside a small knife and made his way towards the main entrance, but his path was blocked by a determined-looking house-elf.

"Where is Master going so late?" Kreacher questioned in a worried tone, the evening having by now well and truly given way to the night.

"I'm going on an evening stroll." He replied simply, feeling almost desperate to end this suffering of his, and knowing Kreacher was the only thing standing between him and his goal.

"Master is lying." Harry narrowed his eyes at the stubborn-looking elf, his irritation rising by the minute, his headache also starting to make a reappearance.

"Move."

"No. Master should not leave." Kreacher's defiance left Harry completely and utterly gobsmacked, and it took him a good few seconds to find a reply.

"Kreacher, move. Now!" But despite the anger in his words, Kreacher refused to budge, and despite hating to do so, Harry resorted to being immoral. "I order you to move, Kreacher. Go clean the upper floor, and then wait until morning. Understood?" He felt awful as he observed Kreacher struggling against his order, but the brave little elf soon lost the battle, his head bowing in acceptance.

"Yes, Master." Harry felt immensely ashamed as he watched Kreacher disappear into thin air, and he considered it a good thing that he would very soon be able to apologize to Dobby in person. Harry Potter took one last good look around himself, took a deep breath, and then left the house, disappearing into the night sky with a quiet 'pop'.