The night was dark and cold, and Harry watched dully as the green flash of light sped across the ground. His wand had been the one to cast the spell, and his words had been the ones to summon the magic- but it was his intention to kill, and for that reason he didn't even care.

Why should he?

Harry Potter had lost everything, and now he was just trying to hold on to what he had.

Which wasn't much.

Those who fall into depression normally commit suicide- Harry knew that. He had read the books, went to the counseling, even thought about that option a few times. But it just didn't seem to be enough. Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were all dead- and he was the only one left. No one had showed him their bodies, but they had told him, and he had believed. What did it matter what he did, whether he lived or died?

It didn't.

But Harry had chose to live, and for that reason it was easy to decide that he should never die. Immortailty- it was a funny word, he thought, but one that he could get used to. It seemed so simple- take a life with two small little words and one flash of the bright light he had always been so haunted by, and then it was done.

It was done.

He knew he was becoming the one thing he had fought so hard to kill. He was becoming like Voldemort- selfish means for selfish measures, but really, what mattered?

Nothing, anymore.

When had he fallen so far down, Harry wondered idly to himself as he stared at the dead body on the ground. He hadn't picked his victim- he had instead chosen by that very person being in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Poor them.

It was a girl, Harry noticed, without caring much. Even in the darkness he could see her long, dark hair and her slightly tanned face. She was actually quite pretty, Harry thought to himself.

It wasn't like it mattered.

Harry could see her body starting to stiffen up, and he vaguely recalled something called rigor mortis, or whatever. The body would soon be cold, and he would soon leave.

Away from this place.

Harry's wand was out and he had just begun speaking the words of the spell to create Horcruxes when he first recognized her. Hermione Granger.

They lied to me.

Hermione Granger was alive- Hermione, his best friend, the one who seemed to know him better than anything- she was alive.

Not anymore.

You killed her, Harry accused himself. Do you see what you did- do you see it? Do you? You killed her- you selfish, you horrible-

What the hell.

It really wasn't like it mattered anyway, did it? Of course she would have known he was alive, and yet she didn't come and find him. But she didn't.

Better off dead.

The magic flowed from his veins, and Harry couldn't bring himself to feel regret. The time turner hung in front of him, around his neck- the last in the world. The magic was as dark as the night, and Harry screamed above the body- screamed as he felt his soul rip apart, screamed as the magic flowed into his body and into Hermione's body and in the air and in his heart and in his head- pain, pain, and pain.

And strength.

The time turner was glowing brightly when Harry regained his vision, and Harry immediately apparated out of the area when he was strong enough, not before softly kissing Hermione's cold, dead cheek.

Goodbye.

When he got home, he carefully broke every pane of glass in the time turner.