Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own the characters. More's the shame. Reviews always welcome.

Boundary

It is over. He triumphs over me, his wand at my forehead as I kneel before him. "No last words?" he asks mockingly. I close my eyes.

I am young; a baby. A blurry face leans over me, framed with bright red hair, and I giggle. I like the pretty colours, and as the face comes even closer I reach put with a chubby hand. With a triumphant chortle I grasp hold of the red hair and pull – hard.

An agonised shout bursts from the woman above me and I let go in shock. It takes me a few seconds to realise I no longer have the pretty red stuff and I begin to wail.

I am six. My cousin and I are in Auntie's vegetable garden. Dudley is running around stomping on the plants and it looks fun. I want to join in, but I know Auntie will screech at me if I do. Instead I sit on the ground and try to squish damp soil into sweet shapes.

After a few minutes I grow bored and toddle away and Dudley runs to find out what I was doing. He sees my mud sweets and he shoves them in his mouth – but I barely notice for I am inspecting the remains of a plant Dudley has jumped on. Auntie notices though, and with a scream she rushes to her Dudder's side.

I am sent to my cupboard with no dinner.

I am ten. My shoulder hurts from where my cousin has hit me and I am in my cupboard again – this time for turning Mrs. Shandley's hair blue. I don't understand why understand why Uncle Vernon thinks I did it. He blames everything on me though.

I stretch out in my cupboard. It is too small for me now. My feet drape over the end of my bed and when I sit up I hit my head on the wooden ceiling. I can hear Dudley outside waddling up the stairs, loudly rustling a packet of crisps, and my stomach rumbles.

I sigh and flick a spider off my bed, trying to turn my attention to my Science homework with Harry the Hydrocarbon.

I am thirteen. The air is blowing past my hair, ruffling it up as I test out my new firebolt. Oliver is watching me with an expression of awe on his face, and I laughingly pull up beside him. "That cup's got our name on it this year," he tells me, and I grin in agreement.

The snitch is let out and I chase after it, glorying in the responsiveness of my broom. This, I feel, is where I belong. I am not the Boy Who Lived here, or the Person Who Sirius Black Is After, but a seeker. A bloody good seeker admittedly, but just a seeker nonetheless.

I catch the snitch and move to land as the practise is declared over.

I am seventeen. It is my birthday, and I have just killed another human being. It was easier to say the killing curse than I thought it would be – especially when it was her. Especially when it was Bellatrix Lestrange.

Blaise Zabini is crying beside me. He has just killed his brother, and he knows he will never become a death eater now. He has declared his allegiance to the Light. I look at him, with his tall body and thin face, and I wonder if I could have ever been like him. If I could have turned my back on my family to fight for a side not my own in defence of morals I didn't really believe in.

I offer him my hand, and he continues his crying on my shoulder.

I am twenty-one. Blaise is dead, Ron has turned traitor and Hermione is insane. Everything is dying around me. I grip my wand with sweaty hands and prepare myself. This will be the last battle – we have no more reserves to call on. If we lose this, then Voldemort has won.

I look at the determined face of Dennis Creevey, the blank look on Ginny's face and the scarred coldness of Luna's that now rivals Moody's. I cannot lose.

I open my eyes again to look into Voldemort's red snake eyes. "See you in hell Riddle," I tell him coldly. He smiles.

"You forget Potter," he whispers. "This is hell."

He raises his wand again, and I try not to flinch as he says those implacable words.

And then there is a blinding green light and I am flying free.