The-Boy-Who-Lived/Neglected/Lied/Abounded/Betrayed/Fed Up/Left/Tortured /kills

The Boy Who Fell through Time and Space

Voldemort was slain. His horcruxes lay in shattered pieces, never again to aid the madman's return. The battle was won.

In an all too familiar hospital ward, a black haired youth lay on a pristine white bed. Next to him, a bushy haired girl sat quietly, stroking the young man's forehead with a loving hand. The streaks of blood and dirt that spattered their skin and clothes were the only indication that they survived what would later be known as the Battle of Hogwarts.

The young man was breathing in labored gasps, physically and mentally worn out from the excruciating final battle with the self-proclaimed Dark Lord.

"You did it, Harry," the girl was saying, "We won."

The resting youth did not looked nearly as pleased given the circumstances.

"We won." She repeated, as if trying to convince herself it was true.

"So why do I feel like everything is ending?" The girl choked out, voice heavy with sorrow.

The young man looked to the girl, hand reaching up to grab hers.

"Hermione . . . " he began.

Hermione squeezed Harry's hand hard, voice cracking slightly in her agony.

"Promise me . . . " she faltered.

Harry looked towards the girl, a worried expression on his face. Hermione took a shuddering breath before forcing herself to continue.

"Promise me you come back. Please. Come back to me."

Harry grimaced, suddenly looking much older than his perceived age. If one looked closely, they would notice a faint glow beginning to envelop the man.

"You know I can't promise you that, Hermione," he whispered. "It doesn't work like that. It's never worked like that."

The girl gave a small, sad smile as she began to fade.

"I know," she said softly. "But I can hope, can't I?"

Harry bit back tears. No matter how many times he went through this, it would always be hard to do. It would always leave a new scar upon his weathered heart. The bushy haired girl now leaned over his fallen body, placing a gentle kiss upon his lips. When she withdrew, her eyes were beginning to mist over.

"I love you, Harry. Through this world and the next."

Harry Potter reached up slowly. His hand trembled, as if the very motion was infinitely exhausting to his weary body. What he would give to just touch her one last time.

He opened parched lips to speak, to tell her.

"I . . . "

But his hands grasped at thin air as his body fell hard onto a dusty wooden floor. Blinking, Harry Potter stared up at the ceiling, trying to focus on his location. Anything to take his mind off that sweet girl who, moments ago, was sitting just an arm's length away.

But it was no use.

The man – the individual whom time herself seemed to have forgotten about – pressed his hands to his eyes and let out a choked sob. It was always like this, but repetition would never stop the pain. No, but he would find the strength to carry on.