"Five days," Flint said darkly. "I wonder what the Dark Lord has done to his mind."

"He'll get through it," Neville said, doing his best to sound hopeful. "Harry has gotten through so much, I don't think even You-Know-Who could throw him off track."

"You must know, you have known him for longer than me." He ran his fingers through Harry's hair and returned to the side of Neville's bed, settling down on the chair next to it, his huge figure making the chair seem almost tiny. "Harry says Herbology is your favourite class, do you have book recommendations for advanced Herbology? Could use some help for my NEWTs."

"You… are taking NEWTs in Herbology?"

Flint shrugged. "One of the few classes I don't suck at. I'm not much of the academic type, as soon as I'm done with school, I'll try to get into one of the Quidditch teams – but first I need to pass these damn exams."

"Ah well… I really like Determinism in the Soil, it talks a lot about the different plant families and their characteristics and mainly their interconnections, it really helped me getting an overview, for example it has got this one chapter on Floating Flowers that…"

And so it happened that Flint spent the larger part of the following nights in the Hospital Wing, listening to Neville's more and more enthusiastic explanations about this and that plant, wandering between Neville's and Harry's beds and spending an awful lot of time just staring at Harry. And he actually listened to Neville, unlike most of his fellow Gryffindors who either ignored him or faked polite interest like Harry sometimes did until he usually dozed off, Flint listened, and he asked questions, sometimes even about things Neville had said the night before.

There were only few other visitors; Ron and Hermione were among the only ones who frequented the Hospital Wing every day, telling Neville the latest gossip (well, Ron did, Hermione brought him homework and her notes and explained the theory of weather charms to him), before they sat down by Harry's bed, watching over his sleeping form, Ron patting his shoulder and Hermione holding his hand and crying softly, sometimes. Neville had done his best to summarize the events of that faithful night (conveniently leaving out Flint's part in it) and to assure them that Harry did wake up from time to time (never when they were in the Hospital Wing, though).

Luna also came to visit him and she brought an armful of self-plucked Snoring Snailplants, that apparently helped with sleeping problems and looked like perfectly ordinary ivy to Neville, for Harry and invited Neville over for the summer holidays to do a trip with her and her father to Northern Germany to search for Invisible Wolves that dwelled there according to her father. Ginny also showed up to bring chocolates for Harry and have an awkward, but thankfully short conversation with Neville, Fred and George brought a giant box of self-made fireworks for Harry to cheer him up once we was recovered (that were immediately confiscated by Madam Pomfrey as soon as they had left), and one time Cedric came to stare at Harry with a crestfallen expression on his face, but luckily he disappeared before Flint showed up.

And Dumbledore came to visit Harry every morning and every night (although he always did put up a curtain and a Silencing Spell around them) to talk and to do the fire exercise, Neville assumed.

Overall, it was a very depressing affair, though, and he was more than glad when Madam Pomfrey deemed him healthy enough to join the other Gryffindors in their Tower.

xXx

Every time Harry closed his eyes, he saw his Dad falling over and staring up at him with empty eyes, he saw his Mum falling over, her small, pale face so very young, and he felt a deep nausea at the memory of the joy that had taken over him in these moments. He knew that Madam Pomfrey had dosed him with generous amounts of Dreamless Sleep in the last days and he was more than grateful for that because when he slept, he didn't have to dream, he didn't have to remember, he didn't have to think.

He was vaguely aware that Marcus was there most of the time, that Ron and Hermione came by and that Neville sometimes sat by his bed, reading to him from the book Harry had gifted him for Christmas, and that Dumbledore sat by his bed every morning and every evening to look at the little flames with him he conjured in his palm, but apart from that, he just slipped from sleeping into half-consciousness and back to sleep. In one of his more awake moments Dumbledore had asked him if he needed a Mind Healer, but he remembered Aunt Petunia's condescending comments about people who were "not quite right in the head" and had to lie down on a couch to tell a stranger all their weird thoughts and while he knew that she was probably wrong about pretty much everything, he most certainly did not want to tell a stranger that Voldemort had been nesting in his head for months and that Harry had enjoyed killing his own parents and that he sometimes had to dig his fingernails into his own flesh, just to make sure they were fingernails and not claws.

One of the brightest moments was when Ron brought Netha from their dorm and she slithered around his throat, her tiny head right next to his ear, and told him that he didn't need to worry about her because the red-haired human was looking after her very diligently. It was the first time he smiled in a very long time and while he didn't open his eyes, he heard Ron and Hermione's relieved laughter.

"I don't know if you can hear us," Hermione said, squeezing his hand, "but we are here, Harry, and we will be here every day until you are well enough to come back to us."

"That is a threat," Ron added drily, patting his arm, "just make sure you get well soon because Hermione always makes me miss dessert to visit you."

"I'll be back soon," he mumbled, "can't have that." Hermione made a sound that was a mix between a laugh and a sob and hugged him.

"We miss you," she whispered, "we miss you."

After they had left, Harry sat up very slowly, the unusual position leaving him slightly dizzy. "Mr Potter! You are up!" Madam Pomfrey smiled at him and sat down by his bed. "How are you feeling, Harry?"

Harry just shrugged and she clucked her tongue. "Do you want to eat something?"

"Yeah," Harry said although he was not sure if he'd be able to keep it down, but she poured an anti-nausea potion into his soup and watched in silence as he carefully sipped it down.

"Let me know if you need anything," she told him, but Harry shook his head and she bid him a good night while he just managed a weak smile.

"You smell of swallowed pain and swallowed words," Netha remarked, curling around his neck because, according to her superior temperature sensors, Harry's body was warmest there as she had let him know multiple times. Harry just shrugged – that described his state pretty accurately. "What made you feel this way?"

It took Harry a long time to tell his story to her, especially because many English words did not exist in Parsel – there was no word for flying, so Harry had to describe as crawling through the sky; and it was also quite complicated to explain the concept of seeing something in someone else's head. Also, the idea of a family was alien to her because snakes usually were left to themselves after hatching and Netha did not have the slightest idea who her mother and father had been.

Still, explaining all of these things to her helped Harry at least gain a different perspective on them, and he even managed a short smile when Netha declared: "You can only ever be yourself and no one else and if you think someone else is in your head, it is time to chuck them out."

"That, I am trying," he said, "but the memories keep coming back and things get all messed up in my mind and I… whenever I close my eyes I see my parents dying – murdered by me."

"That was not you," she remembered him, "it was the snake-man who killed them."

"But I said – he said I caused their death and –"

"That is just not true," she interrupted him, "he decided to kill them and you were a just hatched humanling, you couldn't even get your own food, how would you do kill someone? Remember, he spoke the human language and not Parsel so there was no need for him to speak the truth."

"I guess so," Harry said hesitantly.

"And I know you humans are obsessed with time and cutting it up into little pieces and remembering and speaking about the past, but you must think like a snake: What is past is past and cannot be changed and what is now is now and what will be will be and can be changed. Sleep now, human, I will guard your sleep."

xXx

"What is it like, dying?" Harry sat on the roof of the Hospital Wing, feet securely tucked against the pediment to stop him from slipping down the slant. The tiles were cold and shone silver in the night, Hades' silhouette black against the pale moon.

Why do you wish to know?

"I can't stop thinking about my parents," Harry murmured, again looking down at his hands for the hundredth time today – still, callused palms, blunt, bitten down fingernails, the scars from Hades' teeth like runes across his wrist. "Is it painful? Do you remember everything that has happened in your life?"

Hades remained silent.

"And what about the other side? Are they still there? Are their souls still there? Can I speak to them?"

This knowledge will not make you happy, my human, Hades said, nor will it not take away your pain.

"Will I see them again, when I die?"

The thestral turned towards him, white eyes gleaming in the darkness. Do you wish to die?

"No – I mean, I have been thinking about it…" Harry swallowed, rubbing his dry eyes. "You would know anyway, wouldn't you? You know when I will die, don't you?"

Fly with me, Harry. Harry thought about Madam Pomfrey who would probably have a heart attack if she knew that he was sitting on the chilly roof and another heart attack if she knew that he'd fly out with Hades, but he hadn't been in the air for what felt like ages and –

He almost cried out with relief when Hades let himself drop from the roof like a stone, spreading his wings in the last moment and making adrenaline rush through Harry's body; he had been thinking about death every waking minute in the last days, but this was life, to feel the air rushing across his face, to feel the cold stinging in his eyes and his lungs, to feel the exhilarating rush of flying higher and higher and faster and faster. Above the clouds, the stars were only blurry smears of light and the moon bathed Hades' wings in silver.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked.

Where you have been longing to go, Hades said and Harry shivered, but not because of the biting cold. Like a feather, Hades landed on the ground, dancing over the snow without making a sound whereas it crunched harshly under Harry's steps. Softly, Harry knelt in the snow, wiping away the snow with his bare, frozen hands, but he barely felt the cold.

Here lies James Potter, who gave his life for love and for all of us. May he rest in peace.

Here lies Lily Potter, who gave her life for love and for all of us. May she rest in peace.

"Mum," he whispered, "Dad, can you hear me?" But there was only silence, not even a gust of wind. "I am sorry," Harry said, "I am sorry I lived and you died; I am sorry you had to die so I could live." There was pain inside his chest, digging his claws inside him and shaking him, and Harry closed his eyes; again he saw them falling over, their pale, lifeless faces, frozen in death.

He felt Hades snout brushing against his cheek. They chose their death, he whispered, they could have fled, but they didn't; they gave you the greatest gift, your life mattered to them more than their death; it was a choice, Harry. You know they knew he must come, he knew too, and yet they chose to stay, to give their lives.

"The greatest gift," Harry repeated, numbly. The pain in his chest had crawled up like nausea, its claws were now in his throat, threatening to choke him; and suddenly, it broke out, more a scream than a sob, and he dug his hands into the snow, but there was nothing to hold onto but cold, smooth stone as the pain shook him, forcing out screamed sobs and burning tears; and he bit into his fingers and forearms until he tasted blood and he clawed at his own face to tear off his skin until blood darkened his sight – they had died for him, he was the cause of their death – but still the pain inside him was greater and he could do nothing but succumb. For how long he lay there until his screams turned into hoarse cries turned into raspy sobs, he did not know, but when it ended, he lay in the snow, feeling numb and hollow.

The snow around him was churned, as if a fight had happened here – a fight within himself, Harry thought – and there were smears of blood across his parents' names, so he took a handful of snow and scrubbed it away and then he scrubbed his own, bloody face and his forearms and Hades came to lick away the fresh and the crusted blood and Harry held onto him, hugging his cold neck.

"I wish they were still alive," he whispered, "I wish – they were just a few years older than I am now when they died." Hades didn't say anything, he stood still, motionless. "I wish I had a Mom and Dad – I haven't felt like I needed anyone in years – but now I…" He ran his fingers across his parents' names on the grave – may she rest in peace, may he rest in peace. "Is there peace on the other side?" He sighed, knowing Hades would not answer either way. "Were you there, on this night?"

Our souls were bound then, Hades said, even though I was not in this world. But I told you before, we are not bound to time the way humans are. It is time to go back now, Harry. We can go back here another time.

Harry got up slowly, his knees aching from kneeling in the cold for so long, but then he turned back around and scooped up a handful of snow. Merlin knew he was not very gifted in transfiguration, but with a whispered spell the snow took the form of flowers, crude, but glittering pale blue in the moonlight. Carefully, he placed them on his parents' graves – they would probably soon be covered with more snow, but it was not like that mattered. The dead don't need flowers, he thought to himself, but the living do.

Pale fingers of dawn were already creeping across the sky when he climbed from Hades' back and slipped through the window back into the Hospital Wing – behind Madam Pomfrey's door was nothing but silence, so he hoped she hadn't noticed anything. Shivering from the cold, he curled up beneath the covers, pulling them up to his chin and closed his eyes – he was exhausted and his eyes and his throat hurt from crying, but oddly, it felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

He was already drifting off into sleep when he felt something cold touching his cheek, and he wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not. You shall see them again, Hades whispered, and fear not, for when you die, Harry, I shall carry you on my wings, towards the other side.

xXx

A/N: Next chapter, Harry and Marcus will be back in action! Until then, stay safe healthy xoxo