The Trouble With Time Travellers

20~ A Trail of Breadcrumbs

(TW: suicidal thoughts -skip to part 20.1- stay safe❤️)

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"I just feel so angry all the time. And what if after everything I've been through, something's gone wrong inside me. What if I'm becoming bad?"- Harry

"We've all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That is who we really are."- Sirius Black, Order of the Phoenix.

From above the ceremony, a pair of emerald eyes stared upon them with a frown on his lips. He kept pulling back his unkept hair, an ich on his face like the spiders that crawled up his arms when he was young. An inhumane guilt engulfed him and therefore his sleep. It was a recurring part of Harry's life- death, restless nights, Voldemort. Biting on his tongue, he banged his fist on the windowsill. Usually on mornings like this, he'd lock himself up in his room, watch the kids in the neighbourhood with their parents playing on Privet Drive. Crying.

He tossed aside his copy of the Daily Prophet with Draco's face on it.

Not this time. This time he was angry. The more anger he bottled up. The more it fuelled his rage at the world.

His lungs felt heavy dragging him down with each breathe.

He had enough anger to cast a killing curse. But how could he ever think such a thing?

The window was clear and tall. Perfect size for a human his height.

He was pretty high up. If he fell... he would die.

A picture of a green lightning bolt flashed in his mind followed by Dumbledore falling from a tower. Harry screamed. Was Voldemort in his mind again? Where was that slithering serpent? Why didn't Ron wake him up for Draco's funeral?

Did Sirius lie to him?

Probably. Most people do.

As he opened the window, fresh air washed his face. He breathed in as the wind hurtled into the room sending someone's homework flying. Then, he climbed up and stood watching as Professor McGonagall stepped down from the platform. He could see the owlery, which would soon hold no use. After Draco died, Dumbledore called him into his office. All the facts were displayed in front of him. How he died from a snake bite, what he was doing before death, why he was acting so strangely all this time. However, one thing rubbed him the wrong way. For some reason, he couldn't accept that Draco could have done all this by himself since Crabbe and Goyle lacked intelligence and knowledge by the shock on their faces to find him dead. Maybe he was overthinking, unable to comprehend that his childhood enemy could really have died so easily. That no one was exempt from its cruel clutches.

Well, everyone except him of course.

Damn the world with its many names for the same thing.

The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. Killer of Voldemort.

Yet, he was merely a survivor, an observer, helpless in stopping the evil in the world.

His mind wondered back to the day he'd spent with Hermione learning how to incorporate muggle combat methods into Defence. Surprisingly, it had been fun.

We need to get serious about winning the war and sitting idly by isn't going to do that.

They never did that again, at least, not together. Hermione always seemed extremely stressed ever since Seamus landed in hospital. He didn't want to disturb her when she was working on what looked like her runes homework after all. She could be very particular when it came to that. Harry took it upon himself to do his own training. If Dumbledore refused to help, he'd like to help himself.