Hulooooo! So I had this idea in my head sine soo long! I think it's quite original, so yeah I wanted to write this!

TW: It's very, very angst, but no real gory or anything. Adults themes and all, y'know? Metions of PTSD, depression and other things but I can't say or I'll spoil my own story

I hope you will enjoy this! Please pretty please review! It help me so much to write!

Thanks to my wonderful beta, adler.

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Everything should have gone well.

Everything should have gone well.

Voldemort was dead, his body out of the sight of the survivors, in any part of the castle. All those who fought were throwing a party, to celebrate their victory, to forget their dead ones. They threw themselves into it, drinking more than they should, whispering, talking, screaming 'I'm alive!'. It was over, finally. They could deal with the aftermath later on. Now they were dancing, jumping, making out like never before, not even bothering to blush or to keep a semblance of decency.

Everything was going to be ok now, Voldemort was dead!

The young people were dancing, laughing loudly. The temperature was rising slowly, and steam was punctuating the windows. The elves had brought more food than needed. The young people were dancing, laughing loudly. The temperature was rising slowly, and steam was covering the windows. The elves had brought more food than needed.

Harry felt light. The dancers were blotches of color, blurred. The music resounded against the walls of his skull. The movement made him lose his balance, the stifled prevented him from breathing. He felt compressed, locked in these walls. His heart was beating too fast.

Ron had already passed out on the bare floor. A trickle of drool was dripping from the corner of his mouth, and someone had drawn a mustache on his face.

He had a fond smile. Merlin knew he deserved that sleep. Someone had put a blanket over him - Probably Hermione.

After a last look at the young man, he slipped out of the big hall and made his way through the castle.

It was a strange experience to walk in the ruined castle. The corridors were empty of their usual life, the stairs had stopped. Here and there, one could see the traces of an explosion, a spell. He could guess who was dead, and where. He could point to what blood pool belonged to one or other of his friends, dead or alive. And strangely, he did not feel anything particular about it.

He knew he was in shock. The battle had been too much too quick, and he couldn't make the transition as quickly as all of his friends. He simply needed time. And fresh air.

He walked for a long time in the empty gardens of the chateau. Here too, the traces of the battle were visible. The air was soft and smelled of summer. The world did not care about puddles of blood on the floor. Soon, the castle would be cleaned, rebuilt, and flowers would grow where his comrades had fallen.

He sat on a bench - the last one standing in the middle of the general destruction.

The solitude of the place crushed him. He felt worse than in the middle of the party. It seemed to him that everything was dead here, and the echoes of the music a little further made him shed tears in his eyes. He should be happy, though! He had finally fulfilled his duty. Now, he could choose what to do with his life. Now he could be Harry Potter. Only Harry Potter, no one else, not Voldemort's unfortunate extension.

He took a deep breath. He was feeling hollow.

He did not know when he started crying. It was not his style to let his weaknesses show himself to this point, he was more sad than angry. But there, alone in the heart of the corpse of what had been his only home throughout his childhood, from the place where he had known and loved so many people that he would never see again, who had left, who were broken, he could not hold back the tears that ran down his cheeks.

He put his hands on his face and sobbed as he had never before. A pair of arms ends up hugging him, comfortable and reassuring. Harry let himself go in the embrace, grabbing the front of the dress as if his life depended on it.

"It's ok Harry, it's ok…"

Hermione. of course it was her. Who else would have known? She was just too observant for her own good. He had a watery laugh at that thought and let himself fall into the comfort, his head resting on her lap, her hand carding through his messy locks.

"I feel so empty, 'Mione…" He whispered, not trusting his voice not to stutter if he talked louder.

"It's normal, Harry. It will pass one day. Just let it go…"

They watch in a comfortable silence the Weasley's fireworks illuminating the castle with colors that had been faded a few hours ago.

He let his tears fade with the memories of the battle, and somehow, a tingle of hope slithered in his heart.

This was the first day of the rest of their lives. There was still so much to do.

The funeral ceremony was grand. Harry was sitting by the lake and watching her from a distance. On the other hand, dozens of people were silently assembled. He watched them flutter as the last rays of the setting sun illuminated Hogwarts, casting its shadow over the dark waters of the lake.

Harry let the wind lift his hair, nostalgic. Nothing would be like before. He would not go back to Hogwarts, he could not look at the destroyed pits without thinking: that's where they died. That's where I died.

The moment was peaceful. As the sun hid behind the mountain, coloring the sky and the lake in dark red, the first wooden boats were launched. Whenever one of them drifted through the waves, someone would get up, give the name of the deceased, his description, his action in the fight. A few tears were shed, and we went on to the next. There were too many dead students to be able to dwell on the sorrow of one. Of course, people would actually be buried with their bodys in different cemeteries across the country, but they had fought together. They had to be remembered together.

Dumbledore's grave had been covered with flowers of all kinds, creating a colorful, living spot in the middle of all the black of formal dress.

When night fell, spells rushed into the sky before falling back on the boats, igniting them. It was beautiful, solemn. In the silence, one could hear the wood cracking and the fire consuming it.

Harry crouches at the edge of the water. He played a little with his fingertips, creating small waves. With a cold, serious face, he took a small boat, the size of a child, and pushed it to drift away. Nobody lit this boat, it was not worthy of fire, it was not worthy to be seen.

On the bottom, on a wooden board, was engraved: Tom Riddle - Harry Potter.

They moved in together. It was just too hard to deal with everything separately. The press had, in the beginning, harassed Harry. Then the ministry questioned him. A great hunt for Death Eaters had taken place, with his denunciations. Paranoia went up a notch in a few days. No one wanted to believe it was over. The minister was looking for another Voldemort. Implicitly, he had accused Harry (nobody survives without any mark on themselves from these things without being a powerful dark wizard!), Explicitly, he had been praised. His name and celebrity saved him. His political power was too great for the ministry to get rid of him without causing suspicion.

At least, that's what Hermione had explained to him.

Thus, the horcruxes remained secret. No one but Ron and Hermione knew, not even Ginny. All this was behind them anyway.

Harry had testified for Draco and his mother. He had gone to the trial, which, as he had suspected, was nothing more than a confirmation of feeling. The Malfoys did not even have a lawyer.

He had risen slowly. It was his first public appearance since the final battle, and everyone was silent.

He had changed since the last photo published in the Daily Prophet. Two months after the war, he was still the living proof of it. Gone was the naive and soft boy with his quick temper and cheek.

Harry had the calm of someone who knows how to survive. His cheeks were hollowed by months of famine, his eyes slightly circled in black seemed to shine even more in contrast. His body, once thin and agile, was more muscular. He had a straight back, and no longer tried to melt into himself as he had done since childhood. His skin had lost all trace of this honey that had made him charming, and scars were covering all the bits of skin visible under his official robes. His scar was even darker and angrier than before and stood out against his white forehead.

He had talked.

He had explained how Draco and Narcissa had saved his life and refused to denounce him. How Narcissa had lied in Voldemort's face to save Harry when he had come back from death. People had gasped, the breath caught in their throats. Then, he had talked about the futility of revenge. About what was right. About being better than what they used to be. About himself being in a trial. He had thrown in their faces their own hypocrisy. Calmly, softly, with his usual humility, he had talked for an hour.

Then, he had sat down and let the echo of his voice ring through the court.

After a few moments, Draco and his mother were free- unanimously.

For the first time, Draco Malfoy understood why Harry was the Chosen One.

After that, everything should have gone well.

Draco was coming down the steps of the courthouse alone. His mother had gone ahead to settle the papers showing the different transfers between Lucius and herself. The patriarch insisted, refusing to leave his family with a lower standard of accommodation then they were accustomed to.

"How dare you, Potter! How dare you defend those scum!"

A man in his fifties was screaming at Potter, tapping his finger on the savior's chest. He was red with anger and loomed over Potter in an attempt to look intimidating. Which didn't work as Harry was at least a head taller than the man, and had the clear stature of an experienced soldier.

Draco almost laughed. Potter had Defied the Dark Lord without a flinch and that ridiculous man was trying to make him back off? Ridiculous.

However, while Harry didn't move, he didn't look good. His face was white, with dark circles under his eyes and marks of exhaustion all over his face.

"Mr. Diggory, I…"

"No, you listen to me, boy. My son gave his life for you! He died because of you! And you dare stand up and defend these people?"

If possible, Potter became paler.

"What's the point of shedding more magical blood?" He whispered.

Diggory slapped him in the face and rushed out, cursing like no one Draco had ever seen before.

Draco would have thought that Potter would have got angry, at worst he would have turned on his heels to curse the poor man with his friends.

But Potter did not do anything. The young man only leaned against the wall, looking much older and more tired than he should have been. Draco ran to grab his arm before he collapsed completely.

Two Green eyes rose to him, staring so intensely that they seemed to see his very soul.

"Are you ok?" Asked Draco, trying to mask his concern under his usual haughty tone.

Potter looked at him for a moment and grinned.

"Don't worry about me, Malfoy. I've survived worse than an angry father." He said, straightening himself. "You should go and see if your mother is ok, Draco."

If Draco noticed the use of his first name, he didn't say it. He simply nodded, and let go of Harry's arm.

The baby was looking at him, drooling a bit. He had a patch of bright pink hair on his head. Harry reached out his hand and took it very, very, very gently. The child was so small, so fragile that he was afraid he might break him.

"Hello, you!" He cooed.

The baby babbled, waving his little pink fists in the air vehemently, and Harry could not help but smile.

"My name is Harry Potter. I know, I know, you haven't seen me before, I'm sorry. I was quite busy, you see? I am your Godfather. Which means that I'm going to spoil you rotten, you cute little thing!"

He pulled out his tongue to the old woman who had uttered a little falsely indignant cry.

"I sure hope that you will show the right example to this child, Mr. Potter!" She exclaimed.

"Don't listen to granny, she's just jealous that I'm going to get all the fun out of you when she'll have to change your diapers."

The old woman was sipping her tea, seated with all the dignity of a Black woman. Black circles had formed around his eyes, but everything in his person radiated calm and serenity. She actually quite looked like Bellatrix had, but her face was soft, kind, and her eyes full of mischief. Harry had a hard time thinking of her as an 'old woman', but the death of her only daughter and son-in-law had marked her face more than any year could have.

Harry sat on the other side of the table.

The Tonks house was welcoming. She did not have the chaotic life of the Weasleys, nor the oppressive darkness of the Blacks' ancestral home. It was a quiet little house in the country with a large garden full of slightly tinted windows that looked like the light was golden at all hours of the day. An old family clock was ringing the hour, and one could hear the birds.

Harry had endured Lupine's burial with pride. He had refused to cry when the two lovers had been buried together. He had stood with his back straight, as he would have done-as he had done on the battlefield. He had told himself he had no right to show his sorrow. This day was not for him. It was not his family. He had a duty to fulfill.

He had remembered the soft and quiet love of Remus, his smarts, the way he could always find the rights words. Remus that had given him a weapon against his ultimate fear, his sole predator, the Dementor, not knowing that he was protecting a part of his enemy by doing so. Harry wasn't sure if he would have cared. Anything for his pup. And Tonks, so full of life and joy, so clumsy, and brave. They had died as heroes.

He had to hold back his tears.

And then, Andromeda had come. She was alone, dressed in black, holding a baby. She had looked at him up and down and smiled. Such a sad, heartbreaking smile.

"Remus loved you immensely." She said. "Like a son. I know my daughter respected you… They named you his Godfather, you know. You're his family now."

And Harry had looked at the baby, at the little thing, so precious, the last trace of the marauders. Something contracted in his chest. He hadn't realized, not fully. When Remus had shown him the photo, he had thought that he would never have to really take that place. He had thought that the old wolf would have had a happy life, a family. But it wouldn't happen. It was all a dream, now. A wave of overwhelming sadness constricted his throat.

"It's alright to cry, you know."

He had cried. For hours, Andromeda had held him tightly against her, humming, passing her hand through his hair, like a mother would have done.

Harry smiled at her. "I'll take care of him, you know me." He said softly, caressing the baby's hair.

"I don't doubt that. Remus was a wise man, he made the right choice." She said.

It was simple, but of all things, Harry never felt better than at this moment.

Hermione burst out laughing. Harry had not heard what Ginny had said, sitting next to her on the couch, but the sound made him smile. It had been a long time and he was learning to laugh again. He looked up from his parchments - various letters from the ministry asking for his support for some records and testimonies for the last Death Eater trials, and looked at his friends.

The sun's rays passed through the window behind them to form white halos above their heads. Hermione's hair was moving in all directions, in front of her eyes, and her cheeks were red with laughter. Her eyes lit up at last. Ginny, beside her, was nibbling her lip, trying to stop her own laughter, her shoulders shaking and betraying her.

The two young women were so relaxed, so happy, something warm spread in Harry's chest.

He suddenly realized he was hungry.

It happened a lot since the battle. He had cravings - Ron usually told him that he must be pregnant, earning himself a shove on the shoulder. The doctors had said that it was normal. A psychological compensation of the traumas. Since he was quite thin and didn't gain weight, it wasn't really a problem, so Harry could enjoy his newfound sweet tooth in peace. It was especially good since he could spoil rotten his godson with candies that were always within arms reach (to the great despair of his grandmother).

Harry grabbed his coat and went out. He had settled in a muggle neighborhood so he did not have to dress up everytime he wanted to go outside. Oh, of course, there were always one or two reporters, a journalist, a woman in search of a husband, but on the whole, Harry managed to live a fairly quiet life.

He went down to his favorite bakery.

"I think I'm going to go to the optician quite soon," he said when he went back home, a delicious chocolate cake in his hands. "I couldn't see the price of this beauty, it was all blurry."

He put the cake on the kitchen table and let himself fall in one of the chairs.

"It doesn't surprise me. You passed more time reading stuff in the last month than in all of our schooling years. You got what you deserved, mate!" mocked Ron.

"Oooh, If you're taking it like that, Mr. Weasley, you're not going to get a crumb of this delicious cake."

"You can't do that!" exclaimed his friend with horror.

"Watch me."

And to demonstrate, Harry conjured a spoon and took a big piece in his mouth. He chewed it slowly, making as much noise as possible to make Ron jealous. But the food had a bland taste in his mouth and he didn't really want to swallow it. It was a bit like eating sand on which one would have put the scent of food. His mouth was suddenly dry, and the food uncomfortable. Not wanting to alert his friend, he willed himself, swallowed, and smiled brightly at Ron, who was cursing him profusely.

Harry faked a laugh and went to the bathroom. He puked everything he had eaten.

Somehow, he was still hungry after that.

During the night, sleep was evading him. Better that than the nightmares. He sat alone in the living room. He liked to stay awake at night. Hear the sounds of the city through the open window. He sat at the edge of the window watching the flashes of the cars go by and light his house for a second, before fading away. He felt better in the shadows. Daylight attacked his eyes and his skin. Everything was too hot, too bright, too hot during the day. At night, the few lights that appeared here and there carried with them something mysterious, sweet. The light flowed gently over the objects, timid, uncertain. The sounds rang out freely, describing the few lives that still dared to exist after sunset.

It was colder too.

A doctor had explained that it was because it was the opposite of what he had felt during the final battle. No shouting, no explosion, nothing to attack him. Just some chill, peaceful sparks of life.

He wasn't sure if it was true. He didn't really care.

Somewhere down the street, someone laughed, obviously drunk.

Merlin, he was hungry again.

The next day, Ginny went with him to the optician. She had become accustomed to going with him to any medical appointment, if only to be sure that he arrived there safely and didn't try to avoid it. Somehow, it made Harry feel better.

"So, you're even more blind than before?" She teased.

"Well, apparently. If it continues like this I will end up not being able to help our dear minister in his task."

"What a shame… And tell me, Mr. Potter, how is it that you are wearing these long black clothes… during the heatwave?"

Harry was actually hot. Around him, everyone was wearing T-shirts, skirts, shorts. He had opted for thick pants, long sleeves, a jacket, and sunglasses.

The truth was, while the temperature was atrocious, the feeling of the sun on his skin was even worse. Last year, the world was quite cold, due to the peak of the Dark magic, and he had lost his ability to endure the sun. He had avoided sunburn until now, and he didn't want to start.

"What, you don't like my impersonation of the mysterious man?"

He grinned and took her hand. He wasn't quite sure if he could be back with her - he still had too many nightmares, breakdowns and such, but he was glad she was at his side. He was glad she didn't try to push him too far, and he didn't know how to tell her.

But to take her hand seemed to be enough right now, and they walked together to the doctor.

The ophthalmologist was frowning at him. She made him pass the exams three or four times, opening his eyelids, putting lamps in his face, waving his wand around him in complicated movements, his face increasingly pale. Harry felt frustration and anguish rising in him. He found himself tapping his knees nervously, a gesture he thought he managed to stop after a few meetings with the psychiatrists at St Mungo's.

To try to relax, he thought as he looked around. The walls of the clinic were white, only covered here and there with shelves full of sterile and intimidating medical objects, with official and far too colorful posters from the Ministry of Magic. On one of them, a young woman was staring at him with an empty smile, her hand caressing her swollen belly. "For my baby, I choose natural milk!" the poster said, and the young woman was winking.

It was even more scary than the face of his own doctor.

"Since when did your sight worsen?"

Her tone was cold and professional, and somehow it was even worse that way.

"I don't really know. After the war, I didn't really care about it. I just noticed yesterday that I couldn't read the price in a bakery…"

She nodded.

"Is there something wrong?"

"I cannot tell you yet, Mr. Potter. Did you suffer from a lack of vitamins or food?"

"Well I passed a year on the run, so yes. But I had dozens of doctors checking on me afterward, so I should be good with that… shouldn't I?"

She nodded absentmindedly, her eyes fixed on his file.

"Well, Mister Potter… Your eyes aren't responding to light like they should. Did violent light disturb you before? Gave you a headache or blinded you for a short period…?"

"Yes… It hurts my eyes when it's too bright outside but… is it bad?"

"It's worrisome, but not bad. Did you have Dragonpot when you were a child?"

"I was raised by muggles, so I wouldn't know."

She nodded, her lips pinched in concentration.

"It might just be that. When the disease is badly healed, it tends to last and provoke these sort of symptoms. I suggest you to go to St Mungo's. It isn't dangerous yet, and we caught it in time if it's that, but the sooner you are under treatment, the better."

She was frantically writing on a prescription paper. "It should be ok, and your vision will be back to normal after a month under treatment." She said with a small smile.

Harry tentatively smiled back.

It wasn't Dragon Pot. It wasn't anything the doctors had seen before. It took two days to be in the Daily Prophet.

Harry Potter was going blind.

Harry passed those two days in his room, with his friends. Sometimes, he was ok, sometimes the panic was too much for him to handle alone. He tried to isolate himself, but they never let him. "We killed a Dark Lord together", Hermione had said. "We'll get through this together."

Harry wasn't sure if he could believe her… but he wanted to.

They were sitting around him, all of them. Neville and Luna had come, along with George and Percy.

"Thank you…" He whispered. "It's… it's so good to know that all of you are still with me and… Thank you."

His voice may have broken at the end of his sentence but he didn't notice it, being suddenly crushed in a tight hug. He couldn't help but to tear up with laughter.

"It's Ok, Harry. We will be there, end we will help you. And if it happens… well, we will find solutions, and you will continue to live normally. You, good Sir, deserve some happiness." She vowed.

They had nodded, all together. Hermione was already burying herself in books of all sorts, trying to figure out something, anything that might have helped her friend. Ron and Ginny were sitting at his sides, looking at him with pity. He hated that. Percy and George were whispering, Neville fidgeting in his seat, uncomfortable, a plaid wrapped around his shoulders.

Luna was staring at him with a knowing look.

Harry didn't know why he felt bad around her. He had always loved Luna, more than people would suspect. She was a little ray of sunshine, something to protect at all costs. But right now, under her unblinking gaze, he didn't feel any warmth, only an icy fear spreading in his chest.

Something was off.

Ginny slept in his bed that night. It was better if he wasn't alone, if only to wake him if the nightmares were too strong.

As much as he hated to feel weak that way, it was good to know that she was still standing by him. That some things hadn't changed.

He turned around, trying to ignore the sheets that were too hot and heavy against his skin. Ginny slept peacefully, her white skin shining lightly under the moonlight filtering through the shutters. Her hair was a red halo around her face. Almost a puddle. A puddle of blood.

Harry's heart missed a beat. He shook his head to ward off the bad thoughts and stared at the ceiling. He listened to the rain falling on his windows.

Ginny is having a beautiful dream. He did not know how he knew it, but he was sure of it. He listened to her breathing, slow and calm. The sound of the sheet slipping on her breasts with the movement of her breath.

He turned his head to look at Ginny. He could not sleep anyway.

He did not feel anything. He was empty of desire when he looked at her. Maybe his desire would come back over time. When some wound is healed.

It struck him that this may be one of the last times he really saw her. He didn't know when his sight would be too bad for him to discern the freckles on her face, the golden sparks in her eyes, the darker sage of some of her locks, the curve of her mouth. It might be in ten years, in a year, in a month. It might be tomorrow.

The sheet, uncomfortable against his back, made him squirm. Once again stalled,

he put his eyes on Ginny.

Harry's eyes met those of the young woman. He does not say anything. She smiles gently and put a hand too warm on his cheek in a gesture that was intended to be tender. He wants to remove it. She leaned toward him, and before he has time to react, she has kissed him.

The lips were so comforting, so familiar, that he does not think for a single second of pushing her away.

Taking a deep breath, he kissed back.

Maybe the rest would come over time.

"Good Morning Harry!"

Harry's eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. His eyes were more and more dilated as if he was constantly excited, but by now the green had almost disappeared.

He couldn't move. Why couldn't he move?

Ginny was out of his sight. He tried to call her, to move an arm, a hand, a fucking finger but got nothing. He couldn't even breathe more quickly to try to catch up with his racing heart. Harry was panicking. Had he been poisoned, cursed? what if the person that had done that to him was still in the apartment? He could attack Ginny, and 'Mione, and Ron! He had to get up, do something, warn them...

He couldn't move.

He was powerless.

"Hey Sleeping Beauty, it's time to wake up! Mione and Ron have something to tell us and they look like they're going to throw a fit, really."

Her face appeared above him. The ray of sunshine was far too bright, blurring her face. He couldn't see her eyes, her nose, her mouth. Her face was bald, white… faceless.

She came closer to kiss him. She was happy, she felt happy and it was so very wrong...

He wanted to scream.

"...Harry?"

She shook his shoulders for a bit, but he still couldn't move. His eyes hurt, his chest hurt. Something was flowing out of him, something important, and he couldn't do anything.

"Harry, come on, it's not funny anymore!"

She wasn't happy anymore, quite panicked in fact. He could hear it in her voice, but he could also… feel it somehow. It was like the cool and calming wind of winter after the too living chaos of summer. It was better.

Harry would have shaken this thought away, but he couldn't, he couldn't move he was paralyzed, trapped, stuck and he screamed because he didn't know what else to do but no sound came out of his mouth, his lips didn't even twitch.

Ginny continued to shake him, called for help, hit him- he didn't even have the decency to feel pain.

Hermione came in the room, then Ron, then the healers.

It was a grotesque ball of faceless creatures, with hands without fingers, indistinct, who mimicked his friends and wore their hair like some wear masks. They were walking around the bed, murmuring, quietly, passing in his field of vision, and sometimes remaining there. He didn't know if he preferred to see them or not. One of them lifted one of his stumps and approached Harry. He did not want this thing to touch him. It was going to hurt, he was going to feel pain. He wanted to run away, to escape, but he couldn't move. He could see it approaching in his field of vision, he felt that horrible heat on his skin that was incrusted, stained, sweating and he could not move. Oh, Merlin, the thing touched him and he was crying, he was screaming, but nothing changed for the people around him.

He was crushed by a deep, complete, wild terror.

Luckily, Hermione had the idea to totally close the curtains, and all of these people became human again.

Everything was Ok. He was ok. He took a deep breath, like he had been underwater all this time, and roll on his side to cough.

He had moved.

Merlin, he had moved.

"And what did the doctors say?"

The psychiatrist was looking at him, her face expressionless. She was a muggle - to avoid leaks in The Daily Prophet. Officially he was a soldier returned from the front. It was the best he had found.

"They asked me if I had been intimate recently". He answered mockingly.

"And have you been? Intimate?"

He looked at her in shock. "No." He answered after a silence.

She nodded. "Well Harry, you're a young man, powerful at that, with a new and pretty girlfriend. Unless you declare yourself asexual - which is fine mind you- it's normal for the doctors to take your intimacy into account."

He snorted. "Right."

"Why do you think you haven't been intimate with your girlfriend?"

"I didn't have the occasion."

"You didn't have it, or you didn't want to find one?"

Harry opened and closed his mouth, taken aback. "I hardly see…"

"That's not an answer, Mr. Potter."

Harry sat back in the comfy armchair and looked at the window. September had brought heavy clouds and rain. In just a few days London had turned gray, only illuminated by the neon lights of the shops and the dim light of street lamps. Gently but surely, the trees would lose their leaves, the ground would become slippery, and people would start wearing scarves.

He sighed.

"I feel like… I'm not in control of my body anymore. I can hardly see anything in the daylight. I pass entire days in bed, not being able to move a fucking finger. Nobody knows what's happening to me. Fucking hell, I'm supposed to be stronger than that."

"How many crises did you have?"

"Three in two weeks."

She nodded. "And you feel like you're not strong enough for her?"

"She's strong enough for herself… I'm afraid to hurt her."

"Mr. Potter. Harry. You need to understand that you are not dangerous. Not once did you hurt her, scream at her, or even do something to hurt her feelings. Maybe you love her, maybe not. Maybe you will have a good relationship with her, maybe not. You can't know if you don't try it."

"A freak like me don't deserve her." He spat bluntly.

"Mr. Potter, with all due respect, let her decide that. She's a grown girl and she can make her own decisions."

But she couldn't know. She couldn't know that every time he saw Ginny, he saw the girl that had fallen for Riddle, that every time she touched him it was like a burn on his skin. She didn't know what he was. What she didn't know was that she was probably attracted at first by the same thing that was in the diary. She didn't know the bottomless pit that had carved itself in his very soul when Voldemort died. She didn't know that half of the grief he had of the war was for his enemy, for that part of him that he had to cut cruelly. She didn't know that she had never met the true, full Harry Potter, that he had never met him either.

She didn't know.

"So, the other day… week… 'Mione and I wanted to tell you something. We wanted you to be the first to know, but well… Anyway…"

Ron was fidgeting, his face as red as his hair, not quite managing to conceal the grin out of his face.

Hermione rolled her eyes fondly. "I'm pregnant."

It took about five seconds for her to be surrounded by an army of Weasleys. "Oh, Hermione dear! I'm so happy! I do hope that you have a suitable doctor? For when is it due?" Exclaimed Mrs. Weasley, fussing around the young woman.

"Come on, Mom, let her breathe!"

"Let her breathe? She is the mother of my first Grandson, and you, young man, aren't going to tell me what to do!"

Then, she took her son in one of her famous motherly hugs "I'm so proud of you, son."

Mr. Weasley hadn't said a thing, but his eyes were wet and a bright smile covered his face. He pat's his son's back before hugging him too.

"And Harry, we were hoping for you to be the godfather…"

And there it is. The warm feeling breaking the delicate layer of ice around his feelings. He rises from his seat and takes Hermione in his arms.

"Thank you!" He whispered merrily.

"Oy man, hands off of my girl!" taunted Ron behind him.

He laughs.

Harry looks at himself in the mirror. All the lights were off so as not to hurt his eyes. He could see his skin whitening from being protected. The dark circles around his eyes had disappeared. He had no more nightmares, to tell the truth, he no longer dreamed. He had welcomed this dreamless sleep with relief. He slept less and less in recent months. Christmas was drawing near, and his crises had stabilized. They were less frequent but lasted longer - sometimes for days at a time. He could see a single paillette of light in his eyes, gleaming slightly in the dark. His eyes had cleared, but no one could see them for days, devoured by his pupil who refused to stop dilating.

His mouth had gone pale too, as if drained of its blood, passing from cherry red to pale pink. He hated it then because it made him look like Riddle even more.

He sighed in frustration and ran his hand through his hair. Harry did not notice the locks of hair that had been trapped between his fingers and returned to his room.

Ginny was fidgeting in the bed. She was hitting the mattress, caught in a nightmare. Harry sat cross-legged, right next to her. He should have woken her up.

She was moaning, her hair stuck to her temples with sweat, her clothes stuck around her, her limbs caught in the sheets. The young woman's eyes remained closed, and her eyebrows were frowning, her mouth wrinkled with fear or pain he did not know. He remained watching her, fascinated. He was more sympathetic to this disheveled Ginny, tormented by her own spirit than to the one who laughed with Hermione during the day. He smelled the pungent smell of sweat, of fear. It was… there was no word for what it was.

He should have woken her up. He didn't.

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace in a big green flame, her hands full of books and her hair more tousled than usual.

She sent a bright smile at Harry -not that he could see it, and dropped everything on the kitchen table, already covered with differents books, parchments, ink and mysterious objects. She wrote furiously for a bit.

"Harry, I need to know if you had any symptoms that we don't know about already."

The young man took the time to think. "Well, my eyes, obviously… I don't like eating anymore… I'm more sensitive to warmth and light… I'm paler and thinner, but it might only be a result of the two previous things. I don't know much more."

Hermione hummed in approval, not stopping to take notes. "Draco asked to help with your condition."

"And what did you answer?"

"That it was your decision, of course."

Harry nodded. "It might be good for him to help me. I don't want to be a burden for you, Ron or Ginny, and it might help him to be around other people."

The that weren't Death Eaters was left unsaid.

"He might have a crush on you, you know." She indicated matter-of-factly.

"Well, at least he has good taste."

"Very well." Obliged the witch, still not raising her eyes from her notes.

Draco decided to come once a week. His presence was strangely soothing for Harry. In front of Malfoy, he could look weak. He owed nothing to the young man, he had no responsibility towards him. And then he had to admit that his silver tongue had the gift of cheering him up at least that little bit. Draco was not paying attention to pampering him and remained in practice. He did not comment on the most humiliating aspects of Harry's illness but contented himself with helping him.

It was strange, that smooth attitude from a Malfoy. But Azkaban could change people that way too.

"How long was I out?"

Draco was sitting on a chair at the foot of the bed. He looked up from his book and looked at Harry for a moment.

"Three days. Ginny's gone to her mom's house for the week, and Hermione and Ron have things to settle at the department, they should be here tonight." He said simply. His voice was not sweet, but it contained no animosity, no pity, no mockery. it was better than Harry could ask.

He nodded in acknowledgment. His legs were sore and he felt weak. Sometimes, he wondered about the point of carrying on, anymore.

As if reading his thought, Draco took his hand. Harry shot him a surprised look; it was the first time that the Slytherin had initiated a contact that wasn't strictly necessary. "You'll be fine." He said softly. "You'll be better. You always find your way out of things, don't you? Stop brooding, stupid Gryffindor."

Harry nodded slowly. "I'll be fine… I'll be fine."

"Hey mate!"

Harry was sitting in his room, wondering about his situation. He wasn't sure what job he could take now. Auror training was absolutely impossible with his… condition. He turned toward Ron, with a smile plastered on his face.

"Look at that! Your godson- or goddaughter we can't know yet. Isn't it cute?"

Ron was obviously showing him something but… It was all blurry. Even in the dim light of his room - he had painted the window in black the previous week, he couldn't, he couldn't…

"I can't see it, Ron." He whispered.

"Oh."

"Sorry. Oh God, I'm so sorry…"

Ron patted his back sympathetically, and Harry didn't cry. He wasn't sure that he felt enough to cry anymore. It was like he was living in a mist. It should have been a happy day for Ron. For his friends, his family. He should have helped them, enjoyed their company, be happy with them…

But he couldn't find in himself to be happy. To stand their happiness.

Because he couldn't see the child.

"Draco! Come in, come in!"

A pile of blankets and scarves, over which one could glimpse a blush of red nose, two gray storm eyes and a mass of perfectly coiffed blonde hair, entered the apartment. Draco pulled out all the layers of wool that kept him warm (cursing profusely against the ministry's restriction) and stepped forward to greet the other guests.

"Aunt Andromeda." He said politely, slightly bowing.

"None of that, boy!" She answered before pulling him into a hug. They stayed like this for a while, whispering things to each other's ears, before pulling out. Draco looked, albeit less frozen, a bit happier.

"Granger, Ron." He saluted. "It's cold as hell, here!"

Hermione waved from the kitchen, where she was preparing the food. It was their first peaceful New Year Eve and they intended to enjoy it. "Hi, Draco! Yes, I know, the heater is broken since Christmas, it's terrible. Harry even caught a cold!"

Draco's smile fell. "How… How is he?"

The young girl eyed him warily. They didn't actually make peace, but family, as extended as it was, was family. "Well, as good as it gets…"

"Don't bury me yet!" Protested said young man, entering the room in a sole T-shirt and light pants.

His voice was hoarse, and his breathing laborious. His eyes, more empty than usual since all the lights had been lit, seemed covered with a whitish film. Harry was thinner than the last time Draco had seen him, more bony, but he moved with almost no problem, with the same agility that had made Quidditch his strength.

"Not yet, Potter, not yet. Don't forget that we still have a bet, you are forbidden to die before admitting my victory."

"In your dreams, Draco, in your dreams."

Harry grinned and held his hand for Draco to shake. His hand was cold and bony, but surprisingly quite strong. It was the contact of the skin... cringy, odd, unnatural. Draco withdrew his own quite quickly, hoping that the other man hadn't seen his reflex.

Someone knocked at the door and Ron went to open the door to Luna and Neville.

"Hullo, everyone! Oh, Harry! I've never seen someone with such a few Nargles on his head!"

She put her palms on each of his cheeks, and he barely suppressed a flinch. She didn't mean ill, of course, she was just… too bright for him. He gave her a small smile - well in her general direction anyway. He scowled at himself for his reaction. It wasn't the day nor the place to push his friends away.

"Thanks, Luna… I guess?"

"Neville's grinning!" informed Ron.

" Well, Neville is a smart man." Answered the Boy-Who-Lived ( twice).

Harry entered the living room and Teddy started to cry.

"Isn't that my dear cousin?" Draco asked, and Harry could hear the excitement in his voice.

"Oh, yes, that he is. He already has the Black's temper, believe me." exclaimed Andromeda, going to take care of her grandson. "Do you want to hold him?"

The dinner passed quite uneventfully. Harry didn't eat much. He was hungry, of course, but the food put a foul taste in his mouth. He blamed the cold for that.

Teddy was bouncing on Draco's knees, slowly falling asleep. His hair had turned platinum blond, much to every adult's amusement. Who knew Draco Malfoy would be good with children?

However, Harry couldn't actually see that. He was lucky to even know where every person in the room was, he could somehow sense them. That was the good discovery of the day. He had been quite stressed to see everyone in his state. As much as he said that he was fine, he perfectly knew that he wasn't. With that, he felt less helpless.

"I'm sorry Molly and Arthur couldn't come, Ron dear. I feel quite old, surrounded by all these young wizards!"

"Yeah, she says hello. She absolutely wanted to go and see Bill and Charlie, you know. You just missed her for Christmas!"

"And don't worry dear. You look as young as any of us, I can tell!" mocked Harry.

"Don't mock me, child! Ah, but I'm happy! It's moments like this that allow us to compensate for the horrors we endured. It was worth it." She said with determination.

All of them approved. Harry wasn't quite sure about it, but well, for a night, he could make himself believe. So he hazarded to take his drink in his hand and raised it above his head. Maybe if he said it enough he would believe it.

"Worth it." He said.

February was colder than the years before. All the magic released in the air during the Battle of Hogwarts was still altering the climate.

Harry was lying in his hospital bed, waiting for the green light to go. He was tired of confinement, enough to play guinea pigs for doctors who obviously did not know what he had. Half of them felt good enough to let Rita get information, which was even worse. He did not need the pity or mistrust of every sorcerer he met.

But he had to accompany Hermione for a routine visit. Her belly was rounded up, to everyone's absolute delight, and Ron was working too hard to be able to go to every medical appointment with her (the poor boy was mortified).

He sighed. He could not see Hermione's face, but he knew very well that she was not doing well. She had spent each hour free these last months to do research on Harry's disease. It was obvious that it was related to Horcrux, since the first symptoms had occurred after the battle, but the months of flight could just as easily have been the cause. The less she found a solution, the more she let herself be engulfed by her research. Ron had described to Harry the circles around the eyes of the young woman, as she had lost weight. Sometimes Harry heard her crying in the kitchen and managed to get up to comfort her.

Harry was looking at the ceiling. Well, he did not really look at it, but the effect was the same. It was too long. He wanted to get up and go see Hermione or anyone, just talk, not be alone in this empty room.

Still, he did not move. He felt empty. As the days passed, he felt nothing. Sometimes waves of emotions passed through him, but ... it was different. Harry wondered if that was how Voldemort was feeling before he died.

He finally felt the doctor enter the room. It was like a tilt of heat in the cold. The man approached him with a light step, waving papers.

"Well, Mr. Potter, we may have found an explanation for the deterioration of your eyes." He said professionally. "An explanation isn't a treatment, but it means that we are going on the right path."

Harry nodded in acknowledgment.

"It seems that your body is trying to protect you from something luminous, or warm. That's why every exposed part of you is… deteriorating. It appears that the film over your eyes is some sort of skin. Your magic is probably responding to a trauma by doing so, to protect you from further injuries. Were you… tortured with something akin to light? fire, maybe?"

Harry frowned. It actually made sense and it was the first time that someone at St Mungo was gaining some progress.

But fire? Sure he had been cursed more than his share, but never had anyone used fire or a blinding spell on him… Something with too much light, something…

Oh, fucking hell.

"I died during the battle. When it happened, I was stuck for a while in a blinding white place…"

He could almost see the shocked doctor and heard him take a deep breath to control his reaction.

"It is… indeed… significant…" He muttered. "Well, Mr. Potter, we are going to work on that. You should go see your friend, now."

Harry nodded. He swung his feet over the bed and stood up. At least his ability to travel had not been altered by his illness ... or whatever he had. The doctor held out his arm and accompanied him to the pediatric ward, where Hermione waited, staring at the wall in front of her.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry turned to the voice that had called him. "Yes?"

"I guess that you are here to accompany Mrs. Granger'?"

"Indeed."

"Follow me, please."

The doctor helped Harry sit in an armchair of what the young boy guessed was his desk.

"Are you the baby's father?" The doctor asked.

"Godfather, actually. Is everything ok?"

The doctor made a pause.

"For the baby, yes. I'm sure she will be delighted to tell you the sex later, but it's about her that I'm worried. She is presenting signs of clinical depression. Luckily, it's not too far gone. She hasn't tried to destruct herself, or anything. However, it might be… detrimental for the child. I'm telling you this because she will need support, care, and attention until the end of her pregnancy, and even after. She'll need all she can get."

Harry stayed silent a moment, letting the information sink in. He would take care of her, and the child. it was his duty, always had been. Even if he couldn't find the strength in his heart to really care.

"Don't worry, Sir. We'll do everything we can."

"Com'on, 'Mione, stop working on that." Harry croaked.

It had been three days since Hermione had gotten out of Hogwarts library, only to take her book home. As much as her dedication to his cause was appreciated, it was becoming unhealthy.

"He's right, love, you shouldn't overwork like that."

"How can you say that while your best friend is sick, Ron! I have to find a solution, something, or he might…" Her voice broke, full of tears.

"I'm not saying that we shouldn't find a solution…"

"Of course not, Ronald, when was the last time you actually tried to help?" She snapped.

Harry could very well imagine the red coloring his best friend's chicks in anger, his fist clenched, shoulder tensed.

"Yes, of course, because his health is more important than our child's for you!" He shouted.

"Ronald Weasley, how dare you!"

Her shout was followed by the clash of multiple spells and a big 'stomp' when the red head fell on the ground, probably blinded and muted, before being magically dragged out of the room.

Harry heard some muffled cries and directed himself to the last remaining patch of heat in the room. He could smell grief and despair on her, and it was somehow… lurking. He sat next to her and pressed an arm around her. He felt her go still, and a shiver passed over her back, but she didn't try to get away.

"It's ok, 'Mione. You should get some sleep, for you…" he placed one of his hands on her belly "and the baby."

"I… I know, it's just that I really want to know what's happening to you… Oh, Harry, you can't see yourself but…"

"I know. Not so pretty anymore, uh?" She let out a watery huff. "Don't worry, Hermione. You're the brightest witch in our generation, I know you'll find out. But you won't make it if you kill yourself at work in the meantime." He whispered.

"I know… Thank you, Harry."

Somehow, she sounded even more desperate than before.

"You're welcome. It's going to be ok. By the way, have you thought about names?"

She chuckled against his shoulder. "No, not really. We only know that it's a girl."

Harry put a grin on his face. "A beautiful baby girl… I bet she's going to have all of her uncles around her little finger in no time."

"Oh, I hope not!"

"But certainly, I'm sure George will love to teach her some of his tricks…"

Hermione moaned in exasperation. "But of course, her godfather will be a much better role-model for her!"

"Mhm yes, indeed, I'm known to stick to the rules and be cautious!"

"Harry James Potter, you are not to corrupt my children!"

"Corrupting? I don't see what you're talking about!" He said in a false-shock. "The worst that can happen to them is to pass too much time with Draco and get sorted into Slytherin…"

"Merlin forbid, Ron would kick them out of the house." She laughed.

Harry tried to laugh. He felt empty. He could feel the energy of the child under his fingers. He could feel Hermione's. Like thin golden threads, a weaving of heat, which formed his whole being, which came from his very heart, or from whatever source he felt in her, out of reach. It was so beautiful, even in the darkness in which he was plunged. It was so beautiful, and there was no access. He felt frustrated, he wanted ...

Somehow, he hated for her to be happy. And he hated himself to even think that way.

He took a deep, coarse breath. Better.

"You're not going to be better, are you?"

It wasn't really a question, but Harry answered nonetheless. "No."

He could hear a hiccup. Draco's heart pounding a bit faster, his breath catching in his throat.

"It's ok, Draco. I was ready to die a long time ago. I just wish for it to happen in dignity, you know?"

There was a silence.

"Yes, I know. When?"

"Magic likes symmetry, so I think in May."

Draco gasped. If Harry hadn't been blind, he probably would have seen it. "That's in a month."

"Indeed. That's in a month."

They didn't say a thing for a while. Then, Draco asked, sounding more tired than he ever had: " Do you want me to do it? To help you go?"

"Yes. Please."

Harry knew Draco was crying. He would have wanted to hug him, to wash the tears away with his hands, but he knew contact with him was now unpleasant, at best. So he stood still.

"Ok...ok. I'll do it."

Harry smiled.

"What happened?"

Ron came to the hospital with red cheeks and crumpled clothes, an expression of panic on his face. He strode toward Harry, who sat on one of the white chairs, surrounded by Draco and Mrs. Weasley.

None of them quite knew how to answer that.

"WHAT HAPPENED?"

In the end, it was Mrs. Weasley that took her son in her arms, hushing him. "Oh, my dear boy… Hermione had an accident. It happens, sometimes, even in the magical world, you know? She was lucky that Harry and Draco were there to take her to St. Mungos…" She whispered.

"The… the baby?"

For a long moment, the only thing Harry could hear were Ron's muffled cries. Draco put his hand on Harry's shoulder, and Harry didn't try to move away.

Ginny huddled against him. Contrary to the advice of his psychiatrist - which he could not go to see because of his physical state- , he did not seek physical contact with her. It seemed to him ... useless. He did not feel the need.

The intentions of Ginny were clear, however. One of those hands was caressing Harry's lean muscle in a mechanical, almost forced movement. she had passed one of her legs around his waist. She placed on him a small kiss on the neck. The only way for her to be clearer would have been to write 'fuck me' on a piece of paper. She was probably expecting him to be more adventurous as they were finally alone in the house.

Harry ... Harry was hungry. It was atrocious how hungry he was, but he could not eat. The sensation was digging a hole in his abdomen, was the only thing he could feel lately.

So, even though he did not feel like touching Ginny, he accepted her kisses. Anything to feel something, even from pain, he did not care. He pressed his hand on her back, feeling her skin full of goosebumps, from the chill of the room or the lust, he did not know. He kissed back, letting her play with his tongue for a moment, before taking the lead. He pushed her softly on the mattress. He needed more. He could feel her heat. He could feel the effect he was having on her skin. He let her kiss his neck - his lips weren't pleasant anymore, were they? Her magic was dancing under her skin, covering her soul, happy, excited.

Harry didn't know why he was angry. He didn't know why he was feeling this, but he knew that he was feeling and he clung to it for dear life. His kiss became more and more passionate, his breath deeper and deeper.

The hole in him. This absolute, infinite, terrifying emptiness, which was constantly growing, resonated with each of his movements. He could feel it attracting something, screaming, claiming to be one again.

It was hopeless.

Harry had lost what was supposed to be there. It had flowed out of him, month after month since the crack had appeared.

Ginny's skin was excruciatingly hot, alive, sweating under his lips, but he ignored the sensation. He was taking more and more great breaths as if he wanted to breathe more than air.

She began to moan under him, but he ignored her. He continued to do ... He did not know what he was doing. He needed that. He needed to feel, to fill something, something that she had. Why did she and not him? It was unfair. It made him angry. He hated her for that. He needed so much …

Breathe.

Ginny laughed with her brother around them on a summer's day. Her father scolded the twins, trying to hide a smile, under the stern look of his wife.

Blink.

That was it. He felt better, he felt something behave inside him for a moment, and then ask for more, more and more. He was feeling, God, he was feeling!

Breathe.

Ginny was flying, for the first time alone and free. She had finally obtained the authorization! The wind passed in her hair, and her heart was filled with so much happiness…

Breathe.

It was wonderful. He was feeling so much, so quickly! He was alive again, it was real, he could see, the colors, the hurting light…

But there was something else, under it. He kept scratching and scratching. His guts were telling him that it was something that would make him full, at last.

"Ha- Harry please!"

Her voice was so faint… He didn't want to hurt her, but it was just there, and he wanted it so much.

Breathe.

There. There it was, the blinding, calling thing. He could feel the fear, the terror, and it was so exquisite...

He put his mouth to her face again and inhaled. His breath had no end, he breathed more than air. Dozens of images, memories, feelings invaded him but he did not stop, filling more than his lungs could hold.

Harry's mouth was closer and closer to the lips of Ginny. And then, suddenly, something gave way. A gentle and soothing warmth spread through his being, and the hole, the emptiness seemed to fill, magnificently, in a happiness he had never known. He was again.

His skin was scratching, warming, as if overheated by the light that came from inside, but he paid no attention to it. The window panes were covered with glass, but he paid no attention. Ginny's eyes were empty, but he could not see them.

He was no longer hungry.

That's when he understood. He puts his hands on his mouth, horrified, and screamed. No sound came out.

A few days later, Draco, who had come every week, discovered Ginny's motionless body. He panicked, and called all the doctors he knew. She was transported to St Mungo.

All her family surrounded the girl. The healers worked around her ferociously. When the diagnosis fell, they all opened horrified eyes. Mrs. Weasley fainted a few seconds later, and Percy had to go out to vomit. Ron stayed at his sister's bedside, staring at her motionless face.

Nobody knew where Harry was.

Draco rushed out of the hospital. He went to the ministry, and did not find him. He searched everywhere at Hogwarts and Diagon Alley. He went to places where he could have been killed, but nothing changed. He did not find Harry.

He had promised. He owed him. He had failed.

He had failed.

He was sliding above the ground, passing from shadow to shadow. He could feel those who did not have magic waving at him as much as they could, he ignored them. He was no longer hungry. Everything was cold around him, in him. The heart of his bones was frozen. everything except the little ball of soft light he kept in him, filling the void.

Still, he felt something flowing out of him. He scratched his skin, rubbed it, lacerated it, trying to stop the flow, but it did not work. He lost the count of days and nights. He had huddled in a shady corner, trying to be as small as possible so that it stopped flowing. He covered himself with black cloth from head to toe. Maybe the fabric would stop what was flowing. He felt the heat diminish as hunger returned, slowly, almost languidly. But the fabric stopped nothing. It stuck to his skin, it stuck to his wounds until he could not remove it anymore.

He was hungry, so hungry.

"I found something!" shouted Neville.

Ron and Hermione rushed to the audio cassette that had been placed on the desk in the bedroom that had been so recently inhabited by Harry and Ginny. A cassette tape, Hermione did not even take the time to explain what it was to Ron and thrust it into the reader. Malfoy stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his face falsely composed.

A shrill and hoarse voice, barely above a whisper, echoed in the room.

"My name Is Harry Potter. I am known to have defeated the Dark Lord. Few know the truth. Voldemort had ... had become immortal thanks to the use of a very dark magic. Horcrux. A piece of soul cut through the murder and implanted in an object. He had created seven ... eight. He had created eight.

Almost a year ago, I received the death spell for the second time in my life. This spell actually caused my death. What few people knew was that I was a Horcrux myself. When I died, the horcrux died with me. Thanks to Hollows, legendary artifacts, I had the choice to come back, which I did, to finish my work. Last May, my work was completed."

They were surrounding Him, now. He could feel them. He was hungry again and there was so much, so so much in them, he needed, he just needed to be full…

"But my condition started to deteriorate... Because the death spell takes the soul and destroys it. He might have taken only Horcrux, but my own soul was destabilized ... I'm sorry. Everything would have gone well, but I had already killed. Nobody could have known. During my first year at Hogwarts, trying to defend the stone st-stone, I killed Professor Quirrell, my soul was unstable, and the spell pulled it. Oh, I am sorry. I felt it flowing for days, and my body started to die, sorry, sorry, and I was so empty. So-so-so empty and I was so hungry and I didn't feel the change it was too small but now I know oh yes I know."

One of them was going toward him. He didn't recognize his face, but he had something… A color, some sort of yellow. He remembered a bit. He wanted that one to recognize him. To free him. It had to end, it had to end he was so empty, he was falling in himself and it hurt, it hurt and when he tried to scream it wasn't him it wasn't his voice it was just cold, so cold…

"Ron, I'm sorry, Hermione, Oh god the ba-baby oh... I'm sorry Gin-ginny I'm sorr want-wanted to save you I tried, I tried so hard but I was so hungry and there is this, this void in me and oh my god it can't be happening I can't I can't my my name is please please Draco I can't you promised and Oh… It's so cold so cold everywhere it it it's bitting in me and ah I… Kill me pl- Ki-ki- pLease I can't I…"

The voice broke in an inhuman shrill.

When Hermione turned, her face twisted in pain, Malfoy was already gone.

Oh, he was waving something at him, maybe, maybe he could make it stop, maybe he could make him full again?

"Oh, Harry…"

He didn't know what or who, he just wanted to feed, to make them all empty, because like that he would be full, yes, and painless, but the man had said… he didn't know but he had freedom he could help he just needed for him to be closer, even if he was warm, just a bit closer, please…

"Expecto Patronum!"

White, burning, too much too much he had to get away it was too much of everything but the man the man should have helped him, because he wasn't supposed to be there, but he didn't helped, why? why? why?

It didn't matter.

"I'm sorry I'm so sorry…" He heard.

He didn't understand. He only knew that he was empty.

He only knew that he couldn't die.

THE END

Don't forget to review!