Warning: Slight spoilers for DH movies parts 1 and 2. Although I haven't met a person who hasn't watched those yet. H/Hr

Ever since he was a boy, all he could remember was cramped rooms under staircases and bars on windows, a whirlwind of nine odd months, and then back to prison in hell. He wouldn't consider himself claustrophobic, but he yearned occasionally for pockets of air, in which he could breathe slowly, look at nothing in particular, all silent and still and time would be inconsequential. He was The Boy Who Lived, The Golden Boy, The Boy Who Saved Them All and Was Blessed with Fame and All That Jazz, the boy who had everything he needed, but nothing he wanted. Does it seem selfish, he would think to himself, to be discontent with everything just because it isn't what you really want? He wonders still. Although a voice in his ear chastises him for being all too selfless.

Here he is, watching them both hug and kiss and complete each other even though he has never seen a more incompatible couple in his whole life, feeling like there is an emptiness in his chest. But still, he'll sit there, and he'll watch, because it seems like she is happy and if she is happy with not him, then he's happy anyway. Because to watch her smiling demeanour and glazed-over eyes, was enough, for him to imagine that the not him with the diluted red hair, outshone by the sun and the placid, blue eyes, was him. Him, who would not be twirling her around like she was some toy carousel ride, but him, who would be holding her close, staring at her with wonder and such disbelief that she would choose him, all while she wipes the tears on his cheeks and tells him, "I think we're beautiful."

But, he's used to being selfless, so instead of forcing the impossible he will try and accept what is, and not what could be. Because somewhere in his heart he knows he has already asked so much of her, to love him as he is, and could not ask any more than that, because he is selfless that way. A small consolation.

She tilts her head back in laughter. He smiles against his will, and wonders how one small thing could possibly mean so much to him. Then he imagines her desperate eyes in that dank, chilly chamber and how they reflect the infinite possibilities, only made impossible because of that not him and marvels at how that had meant – and still means – more to him than any of her smiles did.

He breathes in a sigh. She squeals and giggles.

He watches on. She is blind.

When she and not him finally walk up to announce some unimportant thing or another, he sees the gold in her eyes and thinks of cold days under snow-blanketed firs and no not hims and it's just him and her and "Harry…let's just stay here. And grow old." She looks at him and he thinks of uncertain days spent in a tent, waltzing in the frost and long bouts of silence and conversation at the same time. And he thinks, for the thousandth time as not him fades into oblivion, about how an eternity without her would be.

"I'm getting married."

Between breaths he smiles, losing himself amidst both their tears.

A/N: The entire story from the plot (or whatever plot there was), to the writing style, was all very experimental. Slightly AU, if you count completely disregarding Ginny as AU, and I have decided to portray Harry as a little selfish about his selflessness. I hope that works out. Constructive feedback is incredibly appreciated, however if you are here to flame the pairing then please just go away.