This was written for Round Four of The Diversity Challenge.

A/N: A few things. This takes place no more than a few days after the war. Most of the combatants are being housed at Hogwarts for safety. In my Head-Canon Harry deals with depression and black thought almost all his life. His love for Ginny and her presence are his life-line.

Disclaimer: I own none of what you recognize.

Dawning

He sits by the black lake staring into the churning murky depths. The stars of the night sky are reflected in the lake's surface. It's been days since the war ended for everyone else. He still fights the war every night. He shudders remembering the nightmare that woke him, causing him to seek refuge here, by the black abyss.

'Welcome little Potter,' the nasally voice calls out. 'Only now do you understand the true power of Lord Voldemort. Even in death your mind belongs to me. Now choose.'

A sea of bodies, most recognizable as friends and family are paraded forth. Hermione, Ginny, Ron, Sirius, Fred, Tonks, Remus, Mrs. Weasley, James Potter, Lily Potter the litany of people go on.

'No, I won't choose,' the dreamer screams.

'You have already chosen some. Already saved some whilst letting others die. Choose again.' The Voice berates.

'I never meant for anyone to die for me...' the man cries out at the apparition.

'Choose the youngest blood traitor... She no longer wants you. You can't even talk without fighting. Choose her.'

'No!' the dreamer screams, 'I love her.'

'Then choose the boy. He has betrayed you twice. He surely he deserves to die.' The Voice continues to torture him.

He woke up screaming out, "I WILL NOT CHOOSE!" He would have waked the whole dorm had he not cast a silence spell, before attempting to sleep. This is why he is now outside the castle sitting staring into nothingness.

The Voice is still with him in his head. If he listens hard enough he can hear it during the waking hours. It reminds him that people died for him. That it's all his fault. If only he had moved quicker or figured out the riddles sooner, none of this would have had to happen.

He starts to feel the hot tears of guilt and grief flow down his cheeks. He mourns not only for the dead but also for the loss of the living.

Ginny. It's all wrong. He can't even talk to her without anger and despair taking over. Though she has not said it, he is sure she blames him as much as he blames himself, for the loss of her brother. She is one of the reasons he returned. If he can't be with her, he feels maybe he should have just stayed.

There was no pain at King's Cross, no guilt, no grief. He should have chosen to go on. He still can. He looks at the black waters.

How easy it would be to wade out and let the abyss claim him, The Voice invites. He has done what he was born to do... He has died. He was alive by mistake by happenstance. He fights The Voice. He fights not out of any desire to win but because fighting is what he has always done. It is all he knows.

He watches the waves lap at the shore and sobs as the guilt washes over him.

He looks at the stars and envies them. They don't know guilt or pain all they know is cold beauty.

"Harry?" asks the one person he wants to see the most and the least.

The Voice retreats from his conscientiousness.

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

"Just sitting," the man lies.

"Can I sit with you?" the girl asks.

He nods and holds out his arm.

She takes his hand and sits beside him. Neither talking, just staring at the black waters and the churning depths.

Without warning the lake surface is alive with colors as the sun breaks the horizon.

The two broken people gasp with reverence at the beauty of the scene in front of them. The new day is born before them chasing the horrors of the night with it's promise of rebirth.

"I'm glad you're here," the girl says, still staring at the lake.

"Me too," he says, "Me too."