When the Roses Bloom Again by TheBlack'sResurgence

Chapter 1

The Hands of Time

He should have known better to believe that any amount of hot water could wash his worries away. Perhaps he was merely desperate for something to unburden him, even if only a little. He must have been to listen to something Aunt Petunia had once said.

Desperate indeed.

The cascade of water beating off him did nothing to assuage his grief, nor relieve him of the guilt he felt.

Because of his own recklessness, Sirius was dead.

Learning about the prophecy, facing Voldemort, nor anything else he had endured this evening bothered him as much as what had happened to his godfather.

Harry had been standing next to him, and then he was gone. With a final sad smile as a farewell, he had passed through the ominous archway and vanished.

What happened next had been a blur.

Pulled from his shock by the cackling laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry had given chase, his intention to put an end to the woman, to cause her pain beyond pain before he would kill her.

Without thought, he had cast the one spell he knew that would achieve the former. He himself had felt the agony of the Cruciatus Curse rip through his body and there was nothing less the woman deserved for what she had done.

For but a second, he had been successful, had brought Lestrange to her knees before she had laughed at his efforts.

In that moment, having realised what he'd done, Harry had sobered.

It wasn't that he had cast a spell that could see him in Azkaban for the rest of his days that pulled him from his haze, but that he was going to do it again, that he wanted to do it again.

He didn't know where such callousness had come from, but even now as he pondered it, he would do it again given half the chance.

The incantation had been on the tip of his tongue and were it not for Voldemort arriving when he did, he would have uttered it once more, his intent no longer questionable by the deranged woman.

His hands that were working the shampoo through his hair became more frantic as what had followed came to the forefront of his mind.

Harry liked to think of himself as quite competent with his wand, the previous year having been spent preparing for, and competing in the tournament having seen him come on in leaps and bounds. Even with the DA this year, he had continued in that vein, but seeing Dumbledore and Voldemort duel one another had only showed him just how far below both men he was.

They wielded magic that he had never seen nor heard of, all without speaking a single word, and yet, the headmaster had informed him shortly after witnessing the fight that it would be Harry who would have to put an end to the Dark Lord.

The notion was laughable, though not even a humourless chuckle passed Harry's lips.

If Dumbledore believed there was a chance he would emerge victorious from a duel like that, he was as insane as Bellatrix.