Harry’s eyes shot open and blinked into the darkness of his room.

It took him a moment to realize that something had woken him. A sound. But what sound? He didn’t hear anything now.

In answer to his question, a low hoot drifted through Harry’s bedroom window.

Hedwig?

He grabbed for his glasses and jumped up and over to the window, alert in anticipation of seeing his one summer friend. And even his sleepy mind remembered right away that seeing Hedwig was the first step in getting rid of Snape. The darkness seemed just a little bit brighter to Harry as he looked through the window to the affectionate eyes of his snowy owl.

“Hey, Hedwig,” Harry whispered, grinning wider as he saw why she hadn’t edged through the window he always left ajar for her. Behind her in the moonlight were three more owls, all with brightly wrapped packages. Hedwig carried the largest of all, a square box wrapped in shimmering paper.

He glanced at the clock to confirm. 12:17. Today was his sixteenth birthday!

Just knowing that his friends had remembered it gave him a warm feeling inside. He had been in fairly constant contact with Ron and Hermione this summer, but not being able to see them was always hard to get used to in the summers, after almost daily contact throughout the school year. Getting something more than a letter made it feel like his friends were just a bit closer.

Hedwig was inching in now, and as soon as she and her package were through the bars, Harry relieved her of her burden. He noticed right off that the paper he’d thought was shimmering was actually decorated with tiny objects moving swiftly across it in every direction. A closer look in direct moonlight revealed tiny Quidditch players flying and dodging and chasing each other around the paper.

He tore his delighted eyes away to gather the rest of the packages from the owls, by now completely through the window and surrounding Hedwig’s cage. Thankfully, there was still enough water in Hedwig’s cage to satisfy all four. Harry quickly grabbed some owl treats, keeping careful watch on the still-sleeping Snape lest the man find out about his hiding place beneath the floorboards.

With all four owls occupied and resting, Harry sat with his bright packages and took his time deciding which to open first. He loved this feeling, and he closed his eyes, pretending for a moment that the people he loved the most were there with him, celebrating his birthday.

His hungry stomach rumbled at the telltale smell of Mrs. Weasley’s excellent cooking, and he could almost see Hermione and the Weasleys gathered around telling stories and playing games of chess and Exploding Snap. He smiled as he wondered what stunt the Weasley twins might pull for everyone’s amusement.

Not able to stand it any longer, he grabbed one of the boxes from the small pile and opened the letter attached to it.

His eyes strained to read the letter before he gave in - with a look at Snape’s sleeping back - and reached for the desk light. He did his best to shield it from Snape and let out a breath in relief as a full minute went by and the man didn’t stir.

The letter was written in Fred’s hasty scrawl.

Harry,

Happy birthday! As our favorite investor, we’re giving you first look at our newest and greatest invention. No one knows about this yet, so keep it quiet! (Especially from our mum.)

Fred & George

Curiosity piqued, he tore open the small oblong package as quickly and as quietly as he could and emptied the contents into his hand. There was a small paper attached to what looked to be a regular pair of reading glasses. Harry wrinkled his brow in puzzlement. He was sure the Weasleys wouldn’t consider a plain old pair of reading glasses their greatest invention. He turned over the small paper and read the short instructions.

Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes Wall Watcher

Directions: Place glasses on bridge of nose and secure to ears.

Warnings: May cause dizziness; it is recommended to close eyes until glasses are fully in place. Use sparingly; object is not intended for extended wear.

Limitations: Will not achieve same results with greater than one wall thickness. Does not counteract wards. Will not operate on objects not fastened to a wall, floor, or ceiling.

Hmm. Harry couldn’t resist. He removed his own glasses, closed his eyes, and secured the reading glasses onto his face. He opened his eyes slowly, directing them at the note, now blurry. Amazingly, though, the note began to come clear. Self-adjusting glasses! Harry was pleased, though he still didn’t quite get it. Why would the Weasleys send him a pair of wizarding glasses?

Putting the note aside, he looked back to the rest of his presents…and opened his eyes wide.

They were floating in mid-air.

Wait. They weren’t the only things floating – there was nothing underneath him, either! Startled, he felt all around him and was relieved to touch the solid ground. But he couldn’t see it. Looking down, there was only darkness, but glancing up, he could see the night sky clearly through where his bedroom wall and ceiling should have been. The hum of nocturnal insects reached him with perfect clarity.

Alarm forgotten as the sight awed him, he grinned. A pair of glasses that would let him see and hear between walls! He thought of a ton of uses for it – if he was ever at headquarters again, maybe he could find out what went on in those Order meetings. And while here, he could look at the stars while in his bed at night. And he could see out into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear whenever he wanted out. Well…at least, that would help when the door wasn’t locked.

He removed and put them back in the box for safekeeping, putting his own glasses back into place. He could hardly wait for his new present to come in handy.

Harry reached for the largest present next, not able to resist the brightly wrapped package. The tiny Quidditch players were still zooming around all sides of the box, and as he watched, two players collided, sending up an outcry from both teams. Harry stifled a laugh until he realized they had stopped play and were starting to argue amongst themselves. Loudly.

His attempts to shush them weren’t doing any good, and he looked around for something to muffle them with. His hand was halfway to picking up one of his shirts when he felt, rather than saw, a certain pair of eyes on him.

He warily lifted his head.

Sure enough, Snape was propped up on his elbow in bed, staring at him with those coal black eyes. Eyes that were clearly annoyed at yet another rest being disturbed by a member of this household. Eyes that were now drifting from Harry to the packages on the floor to the open window and finally to the four owls perched on the desk.

Snape abruptly sat up. “How long have these owls been here?” he hissed.

“They just got here,” Harry whispered, busying his hands with draping a shirt over his present. The players instantly quieted down. He directed his focus back to Snape and the professor’s clearly disbelieving glare. “Well, maybe a few minutes ago,” Harry admitted, bracing himself.

Snape looked about ready to explode, but instead he reached for the pile of parchment he had penned the day before and snatched up the top sheet. Rolling it up, he grated through his teeth, “I have been waiting nearly two days for your owl to return so that I can post a message to Dumbledore. After everything I detailed to you yesterday, and the time-sensitive nature of this war, would it not occur to you to wake me immediately upon its return?”

Without waiting for a response, he stalked over to the desk and handed the note to Hedwig, clearly the most fit and rested of the owls. “Take this to Albus Dumbledore,” he ordered. “Deliver it directly into his hands and do not leave until he has read it.”

Hedwig hooted and left right away, clearly having sensed the urgency of the missive.

Snape turned to survey the room, eyes resting once more on the small pile of presents. “What is this?” he questioned, his stance rigid.

Harry felt a weight settle on his chest. Snape was the absolute last person on earth he wanted to share his birthday with, even under normal circumstances. But everything they’d discussed the day before came rushing back to him, and he felt his face involuntarily heat up with mortification. How could it have seemed alright at the time to admit his childhood woes to Snape, of all people? What had he been thinking?

But it was too late now to go back and change things. And right then, with Snape staring down at him and Harry mulling over every detail the man had gleaned about him, even the thought of all he’d learned in exchange didn’t cheer him up.

He dropped his eyes, not wanting to meet Snape’s any longer. He didn’t feel like picking a fight, but he didn’t feel like making nice either. He just wanted the older wizard to go away. Far away. Maybe to another planet where he’d never have to see him again or face the fact that he knew those things about Harry. Yeah, that far away would be nice.

Snape tapped his foot, the motion comical in his socks and too-short trousers. Harry might have laughed if he didn’t feel the situation so unfunny. “What. Is. This?” The professor voiced his question again, just as quietly, but with a dangerous edge that clearly said that he despised being ignored.

Harry let out a breath. “It’s my birthday,” he admitted, forcing his eyes back up to meet Snape’s. “These are birthday presents,” he explained simply.

Snape crossed his arms and stared at him for a long moment with an inscrutable expression. Harry wasn’t sure what to expect – a lecture about impatience and opening presents in the middle of the night, perhaps? Or would he harp more on the topic of not waking him right away?

But Snape skipped the topic of Harry’s birthday altogether with an entirely different observation. “I smell food,” he declared, and stalked nearer to Harry. “Where is it?”

“Food?” Harry repeated, confused. He looked around at the flap in the door and saw that nothing had been left for him. He was about to say as much when his nose again caught the scent of delicious food and his stomach rumbled loudly in demand. The smell was so good, in fact, that Harry didn’t know how he had kept from tearing into it already. Quickly, he again unearthed the large Quidditch-decorated present and ripped open the wrapping before the players could think of continuing their fight.

The heavenly aroma drifted even stronger from the open package as Harry lifted out several small containers – some kind of casserole, a few whole pieces of fruit, and a generous helping of cake and pudding. There were even utensils! Forgetting Snape for a moment, he smiled in delight and tore open the attached card.

Harry,

Hey, mate! How has your summer been? Are the Muggles treating you alright?

Not much going on here. Mum and Dad haven’t let me and Ginny out much this summer. I think they’re worried about You-Know-Who. But we’re going crazy cooped up like this. I guess you know what it’s like, though, from what you’ve said about your summers, huh?

Here’s something to help you look forward to Quidditch next year. And mum sent you some things in case the Muggles put Dudley on a diet again. The sugar plum pudding was my idea. Happy birthday!

Ron

Harry peeked at the bottom of the box and pulled out some Quidditch trading cards and assorted wizarding candy. Putting Ron’s gifts aside for later perusal, he opened the food containers and breathed in deeply.

His enjoyment was cut short by the sound of a throat clearing, and a glance upward revealed Snape towering over him, tapping his foot again in impatience.

“I do not deny that starving has its appeal when compared to being trapped together in this room. I, however, would prefer to have a choice in the matter,” Snape snapped, irritation in every syllable. He stared pointedly at the food, then back at Harry.

“Oh. Right.” Harry sorely wished he didn’t have a conscience as he gripped the container filled with casserole and remembered that Snape had gone even longer without food than he had. He held the container for a moment longer, then slowly, reluctantly held it out to share. Snape snatched up the entire container, snaking another hand out to grab a piece of fruit from Harry’s stash.

Harry’s glare was conveniently ignored as Snape settled himself at the desk to eat, immediately biting into the juicy piece of fruit.

But angry though he was, he was surprised to feel relief as well. Nothing seemed to have changed between him and his hated professor. The unsettled feeling he’d had since their uncharacteristically civil conversation several hours prior began to ease. Who’d have thought that he’d actually be relieved to be dealing with a bitter, disagreeable Snape over the one from yesterday? And yet he did. This Snape was familiar ground. This Snape made him feel like he hadn’t bared all of his secrets.

Well, not all of his secrets, he supposed. Thank Merlin the professor still didn’t know about the cupboard or how bad his nightmares could get or the extent of Dudley’s bullying as a kid…or a number of other details Harry could do without having revealed.

Yeah, he forced himself to be grateful, things could be worse.

A glance at the remaining presents from his friends further drove it home. Yeah, things could definitely be a lot worse than having friends who cared about him enough to not only remember his birthday, but have their parents send food just when he most needed some. He bit into one of the pieces of fruit and forced himself to forget about Snape’s nastiness long enough to return to the next package.

Dear Harry,

Happy birthday! I hope you are able to properly celebrate it this year. I sent you something I think you might enjoy. Yes, it’s a book, but before you decide the summer holidays shouldn’t include reading, open it. I really think you’ll like it.

Ron told me his parents have been trying to talk Dumbledore into letting you stay at Headquarters for the rest of the summer so they can see you. He hasn’t said yes yet, but Ron, Ginny, and I are going to be there the last week of summer and I really hope he’ll let you come then.

You haven’t received your O.W.L. results yet, have you? They should be out any day now, and I’ve been checking for the owl post hourly just to see if they’ve arrived. I can’t wait to finalize my selection of classes with Professor McGonagall. I tried to already, but she told me that even though she was sure I passed all of my subjects, I’d have to wait for my O.W.L results like everybody else. It’s killing me!

Well, again, I do hope you have a happy birthday!

Love,

Hermione

Harry grinned. Leave it to Hermione to revive his good mood, just by being her school-obsessed self.

He tore into the package, which, sure enough, was just large enough to hold a book, and read the long title, Advanced Practical Defense Techniques: Dueling, Blocking, and Avoiding Catastrophe, by Gerhaardt Blund. Harry leafed through it and was pleasantly surprised to find it full of useful information, much of which he hadn’t learned before. It looked like it would be easy to follow, too, with anecdotes, diagrams, and even step by step instructions for some of the most advanced spells.

Thank you, Hermione, he thought with a smile.

“Well, well. Harry Potter, not only holding a book in his hands, but smiling about it. Will wonders never cease?” Snape’s dry comment drew Harry’s attention back to his…well, cellmate, for all intents and purposes.

Snape took another bite of the casserole, having finished off his piece of fruit. Harry noted that the man didn’t look quite as irritable as before, probably a product of having food in his stomach. He was leaning back in the chair, now facing Harry, and Harry let out a scowl at being the man’s dinner entertainment.

Snape merely took another bite and continued to watch him, indifferent to his obvious resentment.

Well, Harry could play the ‘I’m ignoring you’ game just as well as Snape could – just see if he couldn’t. Setting the book aside, he turned to his final package and read the brief note.

Dear Harry,

I hope this letter finds you well. I found something that I thought you should have. It belonged to Sirius. If you would like to individualize it, I would be happy to show you how to do so. Happy birthday.

Remus Lupin

Harry lay down the letter with shaking hands. Remus had never given him a birthday gift before. That and knowing that it was something that had belonged to Sirius…and Harry felt a keen sense of nervous anticipation as he reached for the final remaining package. It was small and wrapped in bright gold paper. He found it difficult to open with his shaky fingers, but the wrapping eventually fell away.

He opened the small gift box inside the wrapping and lifted out a very old-looking pocket watch. It was silver, with tiny inscriptions on both the outside and the inside – so tiny that he couldn’t make them out in the dim light from his lamp. The inside of the watch reminded him of the clock he’d seen at the Weasleys several times before. Where numbers would usually be on a Muggle watch, this one had words – very tiny words to fit around the edge of its face: “tower,” “detention,” “class,” “great hall,” “forest,” “grounds,” and “on holiday,” were squeezed into the space. On the hands, making his heart skip a beat, he saw the names of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.

All four hands were pointing to “on holiday,” the only designation on the watch for not being at Hogwarts.

Harry swallowed. Hard.

If only it were that simple…that his father and Sirius were simply on holiday. It would mean they weren’t really gone forever. That they’d be back soon…with Harry.

His eyes were moist, and he put the watch back in its box before he did the unthinkable and cried in front of Snape.

He couldn’t help a glance back up at his professor, which only confirmed, to his irritation, that he was still being watched.

“Must be quite a present,” Snape commented between bites. “It nearly brought a Gryffindor to tears.” Harry gritted his teeth and refused to look in his direction, but Snape leaned over to peer at the letter’s signature anyway. “Ah, it was from Lupin. That explains the overt sentimentality.”

Harry bit back a reply and gathered up his presents in a hurry and stuffed them into the corner of his wardrobe, careful to hide the book under a few shirts. It wasn’t likely that his uncle would come digging through his things, but he would be better off without a clearly magical book out in plain sight.

“So what did the sentimental werewolf send you?”

“Just a watch. Nothing important,” Harry blurted, just to shut the man up. He was getting more and more annoyed by his taunts and questions. What, did Snape think that just because he was here in Harry’s bedroom and had found out a few details about Harry’s life, he was entitled to know everything now? Snape had another thing coming if he thought Harry was going to pour out his grief for his lost parents and godfather right here and now. Or anywhere where Snape was present, as a matter of fact.

Why did he care, anyway? Oh, but wait. Snape had that puzzle-figuring face back on. The one Harry was beginning to recognize as his “play almost-nice to get the information I want” face. The one he had hoped he’d been rid of earlier.

Well, Harry didn’t have to play nice. He firmly closed the wardrobe door behind him and hardened his face into a glare at the other wizard. “I am terribly sorry to have disturbed your sleep, professor. I am sure you must be positively exhausted,” he said in a false tone dripping with saccharine sweetness.

“So hospitable, Potter. I’d never have guessed.” Snape stared at Harry another moment, expressionless, before turning to the bed, his back to Harry once more.

Harry shook his head. At least he could count on an insult. But no fight?

Snape was starting to give him a really bad headache. He’d never had trouble predicting what he would do before – or at least how nasty it would be – but after yesterday, he felt tossed back and forth. The bitter Snape, the one who hated him and whom he’d always known, was still there for the most part, but now it was like he had another Snape on his hands. A Snape who asked questions – personal questions – and noticed his reactions to things. And treated him not as much with hate, but with…well, he would describe it as calculating calm. This not knowing which Snape he would be dealing with from minute to minute was getting tiresome.

At least he didn’t have a Snape who genuinely cared about him, he reflected and nearly gagged at the thought. That was one Snape he’d have absolutely no clue how to handle. Ugh. He shuddered and pushed that nausea-rising thought out of his head.

It was a good thing that would never happen.

Turning out the light, he settled back into his bed of shirts and emptied his head of all thoughts save one: If all went well, tomorrow he would be rid of both sides of Severus Snape.

Harry fell asleep with a smile on his face.

The sky was clear above the Quidditch pitch, and Harry felt free, basking in the sun in mid-air. He was so relaxed, it took him a moment to remember that he was in the middle of a Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. Players flew in a maddening frenzy below him, and he pulled his broom higher so that they looked like bees furiously flying around their hive. He wondered absently if bees ever had wars like people did. Something about that thought triggered a faint memory. Had he been here before?

A cheer rang out from the crowd as Gryffindor’s Chaser sent the quaffle through the goal, and his thoughts shifted back to the game. Harry raised his arm in a silent cheer for his teammates and scanned over the pitch for the tiny, golden snitch. It sometimes took hours to locate the elusive snitch, but this time it took Harry only minutes to see a shimmering dot slightly lower in the sky than he was. He dove straight for it and closed his hand around it in one swoop.

Completely exhilarated, he raised his arm once more in victory, lowering his face to share his excitement with an uproarious crowd.

But where the crowd was a moment ago, he found himself looking upon an endless field, the landscape broken only by the occasional ruin jutting out of the ground.

He swiveled around. Where was he? Where were all the people?

The air was stale, like he wasn’t outside at all, but inside an enclosed box that had been too long forgotten in an abandoned attic. Stillness was everywhere – no wind was blowing; not even the smallest blade of grass was moving. Nothing seemed right about the scene in which he found himself.

His hand loosened from around the snitch he still held, and it sprang free, fluttering all around him before flying away. Leaning forward, Harry urged his broom to follow. He flew for what seemed like hours before he saw a glimpse of what looked like smoke on the horizon. He flew faster.

When he reached his destination, it was to find the aftermath of a recent battle. Smoke from the charred remains of a village permeated the air and left Harry gasping for breath. He considered leaving but flew closer to the ground instead, giving wide berth to the heavily smoking areas. Houses were burned to the ground and debris was strewn everywhere.

And then he saw the bodies. Young, old, men, women, children – their lifeless bodies spotted the streets, some drenched in blood, some burned beyond recognition. He closed his eyes against rising nausea and raised his broom again into the air. He already knew he wouldn’t find anyone alive. He was too late to save anyone.

He circled the perimeter of the town, hoping for a glance of something familiar, something that would tell him where he was. And then he saw it. A sign, blurred through the smoke. He flew closer, closer. He could almost make it out…

HOGSMEADE

He couldn’t breathe. The ruins. The bodies. Hogsmeade. Was this really happening?

He turned in the direction that should lead him to Hogwarts and found a nearly identical scene to the one he had left. Hogwarts was burned to the ground. Bodies were scattered in every direction, and he didn’t dare get close enough to see if he recognized any of them.

He was frozen in shock, letting his broom keep him in the air.

“It happened quickly,” came a voice to his left. Harry whirled around. He was in shock, yes, but that didn’t account for what he was seeing now.

He was looking at himself. A mirror image of Harry was sitting on a broom several yards from where he was hovering on his own broom. The other Harry was staring at the carnage before them.

“They knew it was coming, of course,” he went on. “It was only a matter of time after you were defeated. You were their last hope. Partly their fault, perhaps, for putting too much faith in one person, but then that’s what people do, don’t they?” He looked up, a sad smile on his face. “Look for a savior, I mean.”

Harry opened his mouth several times before he could voice his question. “Who are you?”

“I am you. I’m the part of yourself you will only see in dreams. In your waking hours you allow too much to distract you. You distance yourself from me.”

Harry’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “I…I don’t understand. Are you real? Is this a dream?”

“Yes, this is a dream. Does that make it any less real?” He shrugged.

“But I am imagining you, aren’t I? I’m imagining this.”

The other Harry gestured around them, at the field of smoke and blood. “Does it matter? This is real, Harry. This is what will come of Hogwarts, of Britain, of the world, if the war against Voldemort is lost. That that is real is what matters. The rest you will come to understand in time.”

“No! I want to understand now!” He was suddenly angry. And frightened. And though he somehow knew by now that he was caught in a dream, that this was not reality, he nonetheless understood that this very well could become a reality if the war was lost. Was this inevitable? Would he fail and would this fate be in store for his friends, no matter his efforts? “Please,” he began again, pleading this time, “Please. I need to understand. Tell me. Are you real? Am I imagining this because this is my fear? Or am I really, truly seeing the future? Please, you have to tell me.”

The other Harry looked at him with sympathy before scanning his eyes over the desolate battlefield. He said nothing for several minutes, and when he looked back up, Harry could see tears beginning to form in his eyes. “I know that you feel alone…I know, because I am a part of you, Harry. You hold a great weight on your shoulders, but I hold much of the weight so that you don’t have to. One day, you will be fully aware of me. But not today, Harry. You’re not ready.”

“Well, that’s just great! Even my own subconscious thinks I’m still a child! How can I be ready to fight a war if I don’t even trust me enough to tell myself what is going on?” His rage was simmering below the surface, ready to burst forth.

“Ah. That’s just it, Harry. You’re not ready to fight the war, and like it or not, you are still a child. You know that. You even want that more than you’d like to admit. You’re growing up, certainly, which is why you are now seeing me at all. But ‘growing up’ isn’t ‘grown.’ You have a ways to go before you can claim that.

“Here,” he continued, and threw a small object toward Harry, who easily caught it. It was the snitch. “You’ll need that.”

The shiny golden ball in Harry’s grasp was swirling with colors, and as Harry watched, a clear image of Dumbledore appeared and winked out at him before calling to him jovially, “Sugar plums, Harry. It’s all about the sugar plums!” The image of Dumbledore raised a glass in a mock toast before disappearing from sight. Harry looked up, confused.

“There was another prophecy, Harry,” Other Harry said, ignoring the image in the snitch. “It was made after Voldemort tried to kill you as an infant. That’s what I came to tell you. Dumbledore didn’t show it to you because he knew it wasn’t about you; it was about someone else. But like most things connected to this war, it concerns you.

“Talk with Dumbledore. Tell him about me. Tell him I’ve seen the future unfold. And tell him to let the prophecy run its course. He’ll be able to explain the rest.”

He turned then and flew a short distance away from a speechless Harry before calling back, “I am the part of you who sees what may come, Harry. You are the part of me who can stop it.” He then swiveled back around on his broom and flew away.

“Wait! Come back!” Harry yelled at the retreating figure. But when he blinked his eyes, the figure and his broom were gone.

The snitch in his hand was still, and he saw only his reflection in it this time.

Taking stock of his surroundings, he found that he had drifted lower during their exchange, and now as he glanced below him, he could make out a shock of red hair in the rubble. He couldn’t stop his eyes from scanning the figure. It was Fred…or George. He couldn’t tell, and a moment later he knew it didn’t matter. An identical body was lying next to it, arm raised above his head as if trying to fend off a curse. They must have come to defend the school together, and they had died together.

Harry was going to be sick. He knew he should leave. He’d had the good sense earlier to stay far enough away not to see his lifeless friends. But he couldn’t, not now. Not being so close to them. He knew without wondering how, that he was a part of the scene. He was as part of it as the collapsed astronomy tower beyond, and his only escape was in waking.

Then he saw them. Right near the dead, blackened remains of the weeping willow. They were all there – Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Luna... Almost the entire DA was near that one spot. They must have tried to use it as a cover – or a strategy of escape. Only, their lifeless bodies attested to the failure of that plan.

Harry landed and jumped off his broom next to Ron. The red-haired boy was dirty and covered in blood. Harry couldn’t tell how he had been killed, nor did he care to find out. He was dead; that’s all that mattered. He and the others were dead because Harry had failed.

He had failed them.

The tears he had kept at bay ran down his cheeks in a silent stream of guilt and sorrow.

“No,” he whispered. “It hasn’t happened yet, Ron. Do you hear me? It hasn’t happened. You’re not dead. I won’t let you be dead. I’ll fix this. I swear I’ll fix this.”

He tried to wake up, willed himself to open his eyes and escape from this nightmare of death and ruins. But every time he closed and opened his eyes, the scenery turned more hopeless. His eyes filled with the horror before him. An endless sea of bodies, all bloody, some burned. His senses slowly came more aware, and his nostrils filled with the stench of burning and death.

He clutched at the snitch. He felt more sick than he’d ever felt in his life. He needed to retch, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t leave.

He needed release from the horror he felt inside.

And so he did the only thing his body would let him do.

He screamed.