Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Warnings: Major character death, suicidal thoughts, actual suicide, torture, rape, other things I'm sure. Take care of yourselves when reading this story, and for heaven's sake please check the warnings on each individual chapter.

Spoils of War

Chapter One - Too Late

Harry was twelve years old, and he was standing before a monster for what felt like the hundredth time in his life.

"Why?" he asked the monster, who could have been human but for the lack of nose, the white skin, and the terrifying red eyes.

"Because I needed to come back and the girl was simply the easiest way to do that. It could have been anybody, Potter. It could have been you." The monster shrugged at him, a vaguely apologetic look on his face, and then he was calling for the basilisk. "Maybe it should have. Now I'll just have to have you killed in a different way."

The basilisk reared before him, hissing and snarling and growling threats that Harry thought maybe he never should have heard at his age. And beyond the hissing and spitting king of snakes lay Ginny Weasley, little Ginny, dead. The man that had stolen her soul was watching and laughing, and Harry turned and fled for his life.

It wasn't enough, he couldn't escape, and eventually he had no choice but to stand and fight. He killed the basilisk, but not without cost to himself. Its fang bit into his arm so deeply that he could feel it scrape against the bone, and Harry cried out in pain.

Fawkes came to him and cried on his arm, healing the wound. But it didn't matter. Harry thought that maybe he should have let the basilisk kill him. After all, he'd been too late to save Ginny. She was dead now, because of him. It was all his fault. If he hadn't managed to stop the Dark Lord as a baby, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Or if he'd just been a little bit faster, if he'd just realized that Lockhart wasn't going to help and had stopped trying to reason with the man...

Too late did he realize that he had no idea what had happened to the man that had stolen Ginny's soul, better known as Lord Voldemort. All he knew was that the Dark Lord was nowhere to be found within the chamber, which could only mean that he'd gotten away. Harry had been too late to stop him from being resurrected. He felt something within him break, but he held it together ruthlessly as he returned for Ginny's corpse.

Her parents deserved the closure that would come with her body. Ginny didn't deserve to lie in this tomb forever.

ooOOooOOoo

"We could live together," Sirius had suggested, a painful looking smile on his haggard face.

Harry had smiled, whispered a shy, "I'd like that," and had no idea how broken the smile he offered his godfather actually was.

Harry was thirteen, and he'd never felt such joy in all his life. Getting away from the Dursleys, living with his godfather, this was the stuff of dreams for him! Sirius didn't even hold Ginny's death against him, not like some others he could mention. Her mother had never really forgiven Harry for not being fast enough.

It could be perfect. It would be perfect.

Except, of course, for the Dementors. Harry tried, oh, he tried as hard as he could. But there was no denying that his life had been utter crap, and he couldn't... he didn't have a memory happy enough. He tried, he tried and he tried and he tried, but even the thought of living with Sirius wasn't enough to conjure a Patronus.

Harry had watched as the Dementors had fallen upon his godfather, his innocent godfather who had done nothing to deserve it, watched as they sucked his soul from his body. Harry had screamed and railed and sobbed, and it had done no good. He'd begged and pleaded, using the words of the incantation that Professor Lupin had struggled all year to teach him like a prayer, and it had done nothing.

Their grisly task complete, the Dementors dispersed leaving Harry cradling the cold, practically dead form of his godfather. Harry sobbed over the blank eyes and the body that didn't realize the mind was dead, and something within him gave just a little bit more.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry was fourteen, and he'd spent the year fighting in a tournament that he hadn't entered. He hadn't had a choice; the Headmaster had said it was good for morale to see the savior of the wizarding world battling in a gladiator-style tournament.

Not that morale mattered, since the Ministry refused to acknowledge that Voldemort had returned. Harry had been subject to countless interrogations since the incident in the Chamber of Secrets two years ago, but the interrogations never seemed to amount to much. It seemed that the wizarding world in general, and the Ministry in particular, was content to bury their heads in the sand and pretend like there wasn't a war brewing.

The Headmaster believed him, though, and he insisted that Harry would do well to show his prowess in the tournament even though he knew that Harry hadn't entered himself. Which led Harry here, to the third and final task, staring at the cup with Cedric Diggory.

"You could take it," he offered shyly to Cedric. "I'm not the real champion; I didn't even enter my own name into the goblet."

"And yet you've done so much better than the rest of us," Cedric said with something like affection in his smile. "No, Harry, we've both earned this. C'mon, take the cup with me," Cedric offered, holding out a hand to Harry.

Harry hesitated, then took Cedric's hand. He was blushing; he couldn't help it. Cedric was so nice to him, so kind, even though they were rivals. And it didn't help that he was awfully cute too. If only Cedric hadn't been so hung up on Cho, maybe there might have been a chance for...

Harry pushed the thoughts down. Now was time for winning the tournament, or at least tying for the win, not for fantasizing over what might have been. But still, the feeling of Cedric's hand on his own was something he would savor for a very long time.

He glanced at Cedric just before they took the cup, and was pleased to see a bit of intrigue in the other Champion's eye. Maybe his crush on Cedric wasn't so hopeless as he'd thought. Maybe... maybe he actually stood a chance with the other Champion.

"Harry," Cedric began, but then he shook his head. "You've got a tournament to win, yeah?" the prefect offered instead.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "And you've got one to place second in," he added, an impish grin coming to his lips. Maybe, just maybe, this year would turn out to be okay after all.

They grasped the Cup together, one hand each on the cup and one each holding on to each other, and Harry winced at the sickening sensation of a portkey hooking into his navel.

They came back into the world in the midst of what should have been the winner's circle, but was instead utter chaos. The stands had been overrun by dozens of figures wearing white masks and black robes, figures that Harry recognized now to be Death Eaters.

"No," he whispered, drawing his wand before he could even think about it. There were people being hurt here. He could help them. What had all of his training for the tournament been for if not to fight?

"Avada Kedavra!" an unknown voice shouted.

"Harry, no!" Cedric roared, and Harry was knocked aside by the other Champion. Cedric smiled down at Harry, an expression filled with such warmth, such affection, that it took Harry's breath away. And then Cedric's face was frozen forever like that as the Killing Curse struck him full on, leaving his corpse on top of Harry's body.

Harry screamed, shoved the corpse off of him, and jumped to his feet only to find that the fighting was already winding down. He stayed with Cedric's body, sobbing helplessly over the other Champion's corpse. There was nothing he could do, no tears he could shed that would bring Cedric back.

Cedric wasn't the only one to die that day. The body count that day was high, too high; the Light lost a lot of people. Good people who hadn't deserved the end they'd been given. Professor McGonagall had fallen getting the students back into the castle, and Molly and Bill Weasley had fallen keeping the castle safe while the fighting died down. Their killers weren't caught. None of the Death Eaters were caught. All the casualties seemed to be on the side of the Light.

It had been a slaughter. The Ministry believed Harry now; they didn't have a choice with the evidence staring them in the face the way that it was. The press railed at Harry, wanting to know why he hadn't pushed the Ministry harder to believe the Dark Lord was back, why he hadn't gone to them with his story when the Ministry refused to listen. They called him a coward.

The worst part was that Harry couldn't find a way to deny that very fact. He was a coward. He was also, again, too late to warn the people before the disastrous attack had occurred. The press, led by Rita Skeeter, had every right to hate him for his failures.

Harry certainly hated himself.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry was fifteen, and Professor Umbridge had been keeping an eye on the school for far too long. He was tired, so tired, of not being what the good Professor wanted in a hero for the Ministry. His posture wasn't straight enough, he didn't speak decisively enough, he wasn't powerful enough. He was useless to the Ministry in his current state.

He couldn't be taught anything of worth, she said to him. But he could be taught pain. He could be taught to withstand so much of it. His hand... I will not be a pathetic, snivelling coward. Written over and over and over, carved into his own flesh by his own hand. Harry fought so hard not to cry over it, to just go on with his day, with each day, day in and day out.

Even if he had endured a terrible dream last night. Merlin, what was wrong with him that he'd dream about Mr. Weasley's death like that? Ron had already lost his mom and his sister, he didn't need to lose his dad too. Was it just that Harry was sick enough to want Ron to suffer too? But no, that couldn't be it. He loved... no, he liked Ron. Ron was his best friend. Why would he want Ron to suffer?

But when he went down to breakfast that morning Ron wasn't there. The twins were also nowhere to be found, but that was more normal. They'd never been what one might consider early risers. Hermione was, though, sitting quietly, her eyes red-rimmed. She was holding a cup of pumpkin juice in front of her, but didn't seem to be interested in drinking it. "H-Harry," she sniffled when Harry sat down across from her.

A ball of dread began to form in the pit of Harry's stomach. "What's wrong, 'Mione?" he asked, and reached out to hesitantly touch her hand.

"It's... it's awful!" she sobbed, and suddenly bent over her juice as though she couldn't contain her sorrow. Her shoulders were shaking with the force of her sobs, and Harry hesitantly reached out and took her trembling hand.

"What happened?" he asked, hoping that something hadn't happened to her parents. But that wouldn't account for Ron not... not being there. Oh, no. Oh Merlin, no, he thought to himself.

"It's Mr. Weasley," she finally managed in a low, broken whisper. "We don't know what happened, but he was attacked last night. They didn't... they didn't find out in time, and he... he didn't survive the night!" Hermione began sobbing once more.

Harry couldn't cry. He'd seen it happen. He'd known it was happening. He'd let it happen, and he hadn't done anything to stop it. He was a monster. He deserved everything that Umbridge threw at him, now.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry was still fifteen, and he still hadn't changed his mind. He deserved what he got from Umbridge. Ron had returned to school after Christmas break, but the twins hadn't. Apparently they didn't see any point to school now that both their parents were gone, and they wanted to have money together to support Ron so that he wouldn't wind up in Percy's care. Since Percy was still treating Harry like some kind of monster, Ron was very grateful for that.

Harry felt that Percy maybe had the right idea of it.

He was a monster. Everything around him turned to ashes. He couldn't do anything right. How could the Ministry expect him to be some kind of hero a second time when he couldn't even save his best friend's parents? He didn't deserve to be such an icon of the wizarding world. He was worse than a monster. At least a monster had a purpose. Harry was just... Harry was just extraneous at this point.

So he took everything that Umbridge gave him. Every detention, which came every day now, he wrote out his lines without complaint. He was a pathetic, snivelling coward. Maybe writing these lines would help him to be better. Nothing else he'd tried had worked.

"I won't!" Dennis Creevey shouted suddenly, drawing Harry from his reverie. Professor Umbridge was standing over the little second year, looking rather smug.

"Mr. Creevey, you will indeed report to your fifteenth detention with me this evening, or face disciplinary action," the Professor said calmly, never losing her sweet facade.

"No! I won't, I won't do it! I didn't even do anything wrong; you can't make me, it isn't right to treat children like this!" Dennis shouted, his little body trembling.

Harry felt sympathy for the boy, but didn't he know it was better to just keep his head down and do what he was told? Standing up for oneself only got one in more trouble. And Harry was so very tired of being in trouble.

"Do you see anybody here to stop me?" Professor Umbridge asked, and gestured rather expansively at the Head Table. It was true. Professor Sprout was there, but she was looking down and away, her lips pursed in displeasure. Professor Snape was watching the scene with polite disinterest. Professor Flitwick had been dismissed shortly after Umbridge had taken over the school, and Professor Sinistra, who had taken over for him as head of Ravenclaw, was concentrating rather intently on her plate of food. And as always, or so it seemed this year, the Headmaster was nowhere to be found.

"Professor Snape, please!" Dennis begged, standing up and reaching out a hand to the Deputy Headmaster.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Creevey, but as the High Inquisitor, Professor Umbridge has every right to hand out detentions as she sees fit," Professor Snape said. His voice was dark with distaste, but he was apparently unwilling to say anything against Umbridge. Harry could understand that. Nobody seemed to have any power over the bitch.

"Do you see, Mr. Creevey? You cannot get out of your detention with such theatrics. And now, you may add an extra three days to your detention for disturbing your fellow students and their meals." Professor Umbridge turned to walk away, as though she hadn't just ordered poor little Dennis to report to her office for torture for four days in a row.

"I won't!" Dennis shouted suddenly.

Before Harry realized what the little boy was doing, before anybody did, he'd uncorked a vial of something that smoked ominously when it was opened.

"Dennis!" Colin shouted, and lunged for his little brother.

But Dennis seemed to be beyond caring. "None of you will stop her, none of you care!" he screamed hysterically, tears streaming down his face. "None of you will help us! I can't... I can't do it anymore! I won't carve her words into me any longer!" He swallowed the smoking potion in one gulp.

The teachers were moving, now, trying to help, and Harry could dully hear somebody shouting for Madam Pomfrey over the rushing in his ears. It didn't matter. She would be too late, Harry knew it.

This, too, was his fault. If he hadn't... if he'd been stronger, better, smarter, maybe he could have found a way to deal with Umbridge before this could happen. He was too weak, too pathetic, too broken to be of any use to anybody.

Professor Umbridge wound up going to Azkaban and getting the Kiss. It was too late. Dennis was dead before Madam Pomfrey even reached the Great Hall.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry was fifteen still, and his year was not yet over. He and Ron and Hermione and Neville were after something in the Department of Mysteries. Remus was being held there, according to the visions Harry had been having. Remus was being held captive, and Remus was the last strong link he had to his parents. Harry couldn't let the werewolf die. He just couldn't.

So he and the others made their way, unopposed with Hogwarts being the mess that it currently was, from the grounds and into the Department of Mysteries. It took them forever to navigate the maze, and with each moment that passed Harry just knew that Remus was being hurt that much more. It was terrible to think of Moony stuck here, with the monstrous Death Eaters, and Harry couldn't let... he couldn't let another person suffer just because of him.

But then they reached the area where Moony was allegedly being held, and he wasn't there. He wasn't... he wasn't there. Harry fell to his knees, too confused, too depressed, too lost to figure out what to do now.

"Harry?" Hermione asked gently. "Are you sure? I mean, why did you think that Moony was being held here?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He'd never told Ron about the vision he'd had, about the chance that he'd missed to save Arthur Weasley. How could he tell them now, that the reason he'd been so sure was because the last time the vision had been real? He'd never... they'd never forgive him.

Maybe he didn't deserve their forgiveness.

He opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a cold, "My, my, I didn't think the Potter brat was really as stupid as this!" followed by a bout of insane laughter. "Listen up, brat, and if you do as we say you might get out of here alive," the wild-haired woman said as they turned to face her, wands out. It took Harry a moment longer because he had to struggle to his feet.

"Who are you?" he asked, wand pointed at the strange witch with the tattered robes. He tried to ignore the way his wand shook, tried to be more fierce in appearance.

She cackled once more, a chilling sound that made Harry shudder. "Silly, silly pretty little boy, my name doesn't matter. All you need to do is perform one simple, little task for me, and you can be on your way." She paused, her head fell to one side, and she added, "Don't, and I'll enjoy torturing you until you change your mind."

And then the prophecy sphere was in his hands, but he'd be damned if he was actually going to give it to the bitch, so he threw it on the ground and tried to listen as Professor Trelawney revealed the reason for the Dark Lord's hatred of him.

The Order was there, quite suddenly it seemed to Harry who was still trying to absorb the fact that a prophecy had been the cause of his miserable life thus far. He was surrounded by the battle and though he tried he really wasn't much help in the fight. Somehow, Harry couldn't exactly recall how in the confusion of it all, they wound up back in the room with the Veil, and as Harry watched in horror Professor Lupin was bound in silver wire by a curse thrown by the wild-haired woman who could only be Bellatrix Lestrange, and then he tripped and fell right through the Veil.

Harry screamed, tried to run after him, but Ron and Hermione held tightly onto him, preventing him from doing so. Harry's heart shattered as the last link to his parents was torn quite viciously from him. He didn't know how much more he could take.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry was sixteen, now, and the year was going from bad to worse. Slughorn was dead, likely at the hands of Malfoy. Harry hadn't managed to get the memory that the Headmaster had asked him for before the man was poisoned. Malfoy had killed three students in his attempts to get to the Headmaster, but he'd never really gotten close and nobody had realized that he was the one responsible for the deaths until right this moment. In spite of all of the Headmaster's faults, he'd always seemed indestructible. Harry had never imagined that it would come to this.

It had come to this, though. Himself, bound and silenced under his invisibility cloak, watching the Headmaster backed up against the ledge of the Astronomy Tower. Malfoy, standing in front of him, calm with his wand pointed at Headmaster Dumbledore. And Snape, who the Headmaster apparently trusted, standing behind Malfoy, eyes narrowed and a firm hold on his shoulder with one hand, his wand raised in the other.

"You don't have to do this, Mr. Malfoy," the Headmaster was saying.

"Of course I don't," Malfoy agreed. He sounded amused. "But why wouldn't I? My family has found great favor with the Dark Lord, and your death will only serve to increase it. It isn't as though the Light has any hope in this war, after all."

"There's always hope, Mr. Malfoy." The Headmaster took one careful step forward. "There is still the matter of the prophecy."

Malfoy laughed. "The prophecy? Please, old man, you can't possibly think that Potter stands any chance of fulfilling it. He's useless."

Headmaster Dumbledore let out a small sigh. "I admit that he isn't the hero I had hoped for," he said, and that hurt because he knew that Harry was sitting right there, listening. It was true, of course, but it still hurt. "He still has a chance, however."

"Have you considered that the prophecy was already fulfilled, Albus?" Snape asked, sounding genuinely interested. "He did, after all, defeat the Dark Lord once. Perhaps that was the only act of heroism Potter was truly capable of."

The Headmaster shook his head. "I cannot allow myself to think that way, Severus. There must be a way out of this for all of us."

"You always were eternally optimistic," Snape said with a shake of his head. "Draco, would you like to do the honors or should I?"

Harry began to struggle against his bonds, but knew before he tried that it would do no good. He wasn't strong enough to break the spells the Headmaster had cast upon him. And even if he were, what good would it do? He was no match for the Death Eaters on the roof of the Tower. They would kill him before he managed to so much as scratch one of them.

"It would be my honor," Malfoy said quietly. He flicked his wand, then, and with little ceremony said, "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry wanted to cry out but he couldn't make his mouth work. And then the spell hit and the bonds holding him relaxed and he could have moved but it was too late to do anything useful. So he stayed still and silent even when the Dark Lord himself arrived and Malfoy handed over the Headmaster's wand.

It wasn't until he was alone on the Tower that he allowed himself to cry, and even then not for long. He forced himself to his feet, to start moving. If he stayed at Hogwarts then he would be killed. He fled into the Forest, trying to figure out where to go from there. He decided to go to Grimmauld Place, because its location would hopefully still be protected.

There, he found Ron and Hermione waiting with a note from the Headmaster. He hadn't expected them, not since he'd ruined their friendship by kissing Ron earlier in the year. They'd said that they forgave him for that because they hadn't told him they were together, but things had been awkward and strained ever since.

The note led them to a journal that explained Voldemort's horcruxes and what they probably were, and the search began.

ooOOooOOoo

Harry was twenty, now, and had been fighting for too long. Losing for too long, too. They'd lost the Dursleys before they could even really try to save them. The Burrow had burned with what remained of the Weasley family in it, except for the Fred and Ron. Hagrid had died covering their retreat from the castle after an unsuccessful attempt at ending Nagini's life.

It had been after Hagrid's death two years ago that Ron and Hermione had brought him into their relationship. It had been the one bit of brightness in a world that Harry wasn't even sure he wanted to save anymore. And now even that was over.

"Come on, Harry, we have to keep moving," Ron was hissing urgently in his ear, and Harry stumbled along obediently beside him. "Come on, that's it, we're almost to freedom," the redhead coaxed when Harry stumbled.

He'd been saying that for weeks. The Death Eaters were just playing with them, now, keeping the anti-Apparition wards up for as long as they had and over the distances that they had. They were trying to run them down, and Harry was almost certain that they were succeeding.

"I can't," Harry said, voice thick with exhaustion. "It's too much," he managed to gasp out, and then he tripped over a loose bit of gravel and cried out in pain as he felt something in his knee give way in a way that it shouldn't. Once down he stayed down on his knees, unable to bring himself to climb back to his feet, to keep running, to move before... before... but would resting really be so bad?

"Harry, no, come on, we have to keep going," Ron pleaded, tugging ineffectively at Harry's arm. "We have to... Hermione would..." Ron stopped, choked down a sob, and continued with, "Hermione wouldn't want us to give up."

At the memory of Hermione, clever and vicious and beautiful Hermione, her face shocked and horrified as she was splayed open by a well-cast sectumsempra. Harry had tried, oh, he'd tried to fix her, to put her back together, but he hadn't been able to find all of her parts...

Ron had been forced to drag him away from her body, Harry's hands still wet with her blood as he'd tried to hold her together. Her last words had been a choked out, "Run," and then they'd been running again. And again.

It had been over a month, and they hadn't been able to stop running. Her blood was probably still under his fingernails because there just wasn't time to get clean.

"It's too much, Ron," Harry managed. "I can't keep this up. I can't..." Harry shook his head, weary beyond words. His body, his entire body was sore. His knee was swollen already, and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to regain his footing if he tried at this point. And it was just them now. What was the point in running any longer when it was just the two of them?

The two of them to fight off an entire army? It was... it was impossible. Harry was tired of trying to do the impossible, he really was.

"Can't you keep going, Harry? Just a bit longer, and then we'll rest for the night," Ron pleaded. He was still tugging on Harry's arm, still trying to pull Harry to his feet.

They hadn't seen the Death Eaters in over a week, now. So maybe... "I don't think I can run any longer," Harry confessed "Maybe I can walk?"

"That's it, that's my Harry," Ron said, and helped him to his feet. Harry had to lean heavily on him; his knee felt like it was going to give out with every step he took. Ron leaned in, gave him a swift but gentle kiss on the lips. "Just a few more steps, and we'll make it to someplace safe for the night. Maybe out of the anti-Apparition fields, and back to headquarters. And we'll get your knee set up to rest a bit, and everything will be just fine. And in the morning, maybe we'll have some hot tea, and something warm to eat, because everything always feels better when there's something warm in your belly, yeah?" As he spoke, Ron helped to move them both slowly forward, one arm slung around Harry's waist and the other clutching Harry's hand.

Harry smiled. Ron always knew what to say. Always. "Sounds like a plan." He leaned heavily against his friend, his lover, whatever they were, letting himself be coaxed into motion, letting his friend/partner/lover lead him in the direction of the place they'd already picked out on their map to spend the night. One more night, and in the morning things would look better. They always looked better in the bright sunshine of the morning.

"Diffindo!" a sharp voice called, and too late did Harry notice the shadow of the Death Eater just ahead of them. He knocked Ron to the side, but it was too late. Too late. He was only knocking half of a corpse off its feet and Harry stared into Ron's dead blue eyes before letting out a broken little noise.

He stood, he turned, he shouted out a hoarse, "Avada Kedavra!" of his own, and the Death Eater who'd cast the spell went down, dead as well. Too late, far too late, Harry noticed the tingle in the back of his mind and the sudden lack of Apparition warding. Harry didn't spare time to think, didn't take the chance to consider, he simply Apparated away with a loud crack! that announced to anyone in the area that he'd been there. He wouldn't be able to look for the horcrux Hermione had thought was there for a long time now. And that was the last one the Headmaster had suspected, other than Nagini herself.

Which meant there was nothing to do but to go home, such as it was. The Diadem would no doubt be moved, now, and Harry didn't even know where he'd begin to look for it next. Hermione had been the one to find it in the first place, and she was... she was gone. And so was Ron. Harry had been too late again.

ooOOooOOoo

Too late, always too late.

The words ran through Harry's mind over and over and over as he wandered the cold, lonely, dark halls of Grimmauld Place.

Too late for Ginny, for Sirius, for Cedric, and for the Headmaster. Too late for the Dursleys and for Hagrid and everyone else who'd had so much faith in him. Too late to save Hermione. And now, too late to save Ron.

Harry was very, very tired of being too late.

"Kreacher has a letter for Master Harry," the house elf said as he appeared at Harry's elbow.

Maybe he'd been there for an hour, maybe a minute, maybe a month, Harry neither knew nor cared. He hadn't been able to bring himself to care about much of anything now that Ron was gone as well. There wasn't anything left to do. He hadn't even begun researching where Voldemort might have moved the diadem to.

Harry stirred himself enough to ask, "Who's it from?" His voice wasn't as creaky as he'd thought it should be for a month of disuse, which meant that he hadn't been hiding in his darkened room for a month. That didn't mean that he had any idea how long he'd been unresponsive, though.

"It's from Fred," the little elf answered.

Harry closed his eyes against the pain that erupted within him at the statement. Fred, the only Weasley left alive after everything was said and done. Ginny died in the Chamber, Molly protecting Hogwarts, Arthur guarding the useless prophecy, Percy defending the Ministry, and what remained had burned. Everyone had died, now, one way or another. Even Ron had, in the end. Harry was alone now, always so alone.

"What does he want?" he asked hoarsely. Kreacher snapped his fingers impatiently and a glass of water popped into existence next to Harry. He took a drink, savored the soothing sensation of the water trickling down his throat, and whispered, "Thank you."

The elf didn't respond to the praise; he never did. "Kreacher cannot understand Master Weasley and his code," he sneered.

"I'll take the letter, then," Harry whispered, and took the letter from Kreacher.

It was a short note, simple and to the point.

Dearest Harry,

I'm sorry to hear about Ron. Don't blame yourself, Harry, I'm sure that Ron

was being the hero. I know that he and Hermione wanted what was best for you, so they'd like you to come be watched by me for a bit. Let me take

care of you and keep you safe

for a bit. You need to be taken

care of. You know where to find me.

Harry, you can't keep hiding, don't run from me.

Come and visit with me, Harry.

I'll get you lots of presents to hopefully take your mind off Ron and Hermione, and I know

you miss me.

Love,

Fred.

The code was a simple one, but they'd never had time to make one more complicated. The first word of the first line, the second of the second, and so on and so forth, starting over with every new paragraph. The message was simple and urgent, and left Harry breathless. I'm being watched and need to run, the letter said. Come get me.

"I have to go," Harry said to Kreacher. He grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and his wand, and limped over to the fireplace before he could think better of it. His knee was still swollen and sore, and Harry knew that he was in no way capable of dealing with any serious opposition. His body was still too fragile after his month on the run with Ron, and he'd made no attempt at getting himself back into fighting shape. He hadn't seen the point in trying.

But he couldn't let Fred die. He just couldn't. He had to try to save him.

ooOOooOOoo

Diagon Alley was burning.

The flames were far too intense, but Harry couldn't... he just couldn't give up. He fought his way through them, fought until he reached number 93, Fred's shop. It was all ablaze, but that didn't stop Harry from seeing him. Fred, at least he assumed that it was Fred, broken and bleeding and hanging from his shop windows, his corpse only just now being kissed by the flames.

He was too late again.

Harry fell to his knees, ignored the sharp pain in the damaged one. He couldn't do this anymore. The stunner, when it hit him, was almost a relief. He couldn't fight anymore. It was over.

A/N: It has taken me a year just to get this far into this story. Recently I've been working on it a bit more, and decided to post the first chapter. Please don't ask me when this will update, because I make no promises.