Something was changing slowly inside of Harry; it was as though his own inner light was being snuffed out by cold, wet fingers. He couldn't escape it. He found himself floating through constricting darkness. His chest felt heavy as he strained to see beyond the seemingly solid black walls around him. He couldn't remember how he had ended up there. He could hear no sound. Instead, he shivered from the sudden cold, but he wondered, perhaps, if it was from fear of not knowing his place in the world around him anymore. Dread loomed over him when he tried to wrenched his hand back and forth over his face to see his hands.

Harry closed his eyes. It was easier to breathe without seeing the inky blackness. Where do things begin to make sense? he thought frantically. Everything was fuzzy. He knew he was forgetting something or perhaps some people in his life. It nagged at him, an insistent tug at the back of his mind, and trying to remember was exhausting. He sensed a gnawing pain somewhere inside him, but it was difficult to identify its source. He wished someone would show up in the hope that talking to them would trigger these lost memories. Harry felt them stirring in the recesses of his mind, but every time he tried to grasp them, they slipped away. Am I really better off not knowing? What's the point of all of this if I don't know who I am?

Calming himself, Harry tried to remember with all of his might the last thing that had happened before everything had gone dark. He was certain that he had been with someone—someone who had looked just like him, and he had held a basilisk fang in his hand that he—

He stopped. Did I just stab myself? Am I dead? Is it over?

Terror gripped him. His head felt like it might explode at any moment. He tried to concentrate enough to remember the consequence the phantom Harry had spoken of if he stabbed himself instead of him.

... You have the power to erase my existence and continue the life you've been living by piercing my form... Or pierce yourself and experience the life you saw instead...

That was it!

Memories of Granger, Weasley, and that other Weasley girl came flooding back before his eyes, and all the missing pieces of the puzzle clicked back into place.

"NOOO!" Ginny screamed. A horrified Ron stood dumbstruck, and Hermione's fresh tears ran down her cheeks as she buried her face in her hands.

Harry was inches away from piercing the figure when he stopped mid-action. Hundreds of silvery substance were flying directly towards him. They latched onto him like soft strands of silk, covering his entire body. Harry blinked. "What—" Before he could comprehend what had happened, memories after memories overwhelmed his mind like an avalanche when the substance touched his skin. He reached out and held on to the edge of the table, steadying himself.

The memory started with younger versions of Ron and Hermione when and how they introduced themselves to him on the Hogwarts Express. An image of a troll inside an empty bathroom shocked Harry; he hadn't seen one before and he was confused as to why the three of them ended up fighting a mountain troll to begin with, his musings were abruptly stopped when a new memory came in.

"What is a wizard's duel?" Harry saw his younger self ask Ron. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"

"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually.

Harry never found out why they had talked about the duel because this memory ended quickly and was replaced by another. This time, Harry saw Hermione dashing at his younger self as she threw her arms around him. "Harry—you're a great wizard, you know."

"I'm not as good as you," Harry heard himself say with an embarrassed look on his face when she let go of the younger Harry.

"There are more important things—friendship and bravery—"

The memory dissolved once again and Harry had to blink a few times when the next thing he saw was a flying car with Ron and him in it, and then the memory changed to a glass of booger-colored potion Harry held in his hand before he drank it to transform to someone else.

Harry had no time to breathe. He was horror struck when the next memory was of a huge basilisk that was twitching on the floor. He saw his younger self drenched in blood awkwardly helping a weeping Ginny to her feet. Harry was never able to figure out what happened next because that memory faded as well.

The next one had Harry hold his breath. He saw a racing broom the memory-Harry was holding in his hand. Ron had admired it, too, begging to try it himself. Harry had seen them win a Quidditch game and how they celebrated until midnight inside the Gryffindor common room.

These memories were nonstop, and Harry thought his insides would explode from all the emotions he had felt in a matter of minutes. He couldn't force his way out and he was stuck instead to witness everything before him. Was it Ron, Hermione, and Ginny who had made him see all these memories? He hadn't seen them cast a spell though, or maybe he hadn't looked enough to notice anything. For a split second, his attention was withdrawn from the racing memories to look at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny behind the bars that blocked them, and that was when he caught sight of what they were doing. Wands in hands, they were extracting their memories and desperately sending them his way. Harry couldn't think straight but he had figured that these memories were probably their attempt to change his mind for the last remaining second they had before he made his final decision, and he felt a pang of extreme guilt for not understanding their pleas or giving them time to further explain. But was it really necessary?

Harry's eyes stayed focused on the images before him, and, upon witnessing all the memories that had invaded his already confused mind, he was certain of one thing: Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had stuck with him all the way—staying up late at night to help the Harry in their memories master ways to conquer a whopping great dragon for one, or how they had tried to understand his impulsive thinking before charging off to do something stupid. For Harry, it was something he recognized as a sign of solidarity and loyalty. They had always been there for him in every way. From practicing the Summoning Charm he needed for the first Triwizard task and researching everything from breathing underwater to killing what he found out to be Horcruxes and helping him in his various adventures. Harry found out that their friendship to this Harry weren't always serious, and their moments of laughter showed how similar their humours were.

Even if it meant getting into trouble, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had broken rules when the stakes were high just to save Harry. Harry had witnessed in one of the many memories the determination to keep Dumbledore's Army going despite the danger of being discovered. Their advice on matters of the heart or anything about school were invaluable, too. Harry could have done a lot worse if he hadn't followed their advice, and that said a lot about how much the Harry in their memories valued their friendship.

When this young Harry was upset, they had offered similar quiet comfort; Hermione or Ginny brushing the top of his lightly with their hands. Maybe they had some words of wisdom, but as good friends know all too well, sometimes a silence didn't have to be uncomfortable, and Harry felt immense comfort at knowing that. The mere fact that they were still there on either side of him, not shrinking from him as though he were contaminated or dangerous, was worth more than he could ever tell them.

All these memories locked themselves in Harry's mind. He couldn't believe how much his friends knew meant to them, and he started to wonder now who he really was. When he had looked into the mirror in the second task and seen his reflection, he had realized that something was different. Nothing had changed in his features; there were the same bright green eyes looking back at him, but the expression in them was that of a stranger. His eyes that had once sparkled were lifeless. The boy in the mirror had looked lost, but at that time, he had merely shrugged it off to finish the task.

There were things that Harry wanted to remember, but it seemed now that his memories were blocked, or were they really altered in some way when Ginny pressed the matter to him earlier? But what was the point in remembering his other life? From all the memories Harry had seen so far, it was high time he got away from all of that. But he started to have doubts. Was it really him? He who had no parents at the very young age of one and suffered the abuse and neglect of his relatives? Was it truly he who was friends with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, who had stayed by his side and helped him along the way? Why, though, was he seeing himself as dissimilar in this world? Was this really all an illusion—a fake world? But... why? Why did he have to experience life differently? Was it only taunting him, making him feel as though all the missing pieces were finally put together and he could live a happy life? Everything he could ever wish for was here and it was extraordinary how they could appear, just like that, the moment he had wanted them.

"Harry, please..." he heard Hermione say desperately, and when he turned his head to look in her direction, he saw her eyes streaming with tears. "The memories you saw... it was all real. You have made a powerful and amazing impact on our lives and we couldn't have done everything without you. You are a symbol of hope for many... especially us, Harry."

"We don't want to get on with life when you're not around, mate," Ron added quietly.

"I will never give up on you," Ginny stated softly, choking back her tears and looking straight into Harry's eyes.

The figure before Harry interrupted his thoughts when it spoke again in its monotone voice. "The choice to erase my existence or experience the life you saw is yours."

As if by an invisible force, Harry felt his hand that held the basilisk fang lift slowly until it was above his head. His fingers slowly turning cold. This was the moment of truth. He had to make a decision before losing his mind completely. He had already weighed all the pros and cons—it was proving difficult to persuade himself, but he figured it was for the best.

Harry inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. He ran his thumb against the smooth surface of the basilisk fang for a few seconds. His heart was pounding in his ears when he finally reached a decision. Harry didn't know whether he would regret it later or not, but it seemed to be the only right thing to do at this remarkable moment. He plunged the fang deep into his heart.

Everything happened so quickly. His mind struggled to comprehend what was happening to him, leaving him unprepared. He remembered the core and center from which everything else stemmed. He saw the life he had with his friends and an indescribable rush of happiness surged through him. He saw familiar faces right before his eyes, giving him comforting smiles. But it was short lived. All the memories he had seen just moments ago were gone in an instant when his mind shut off. A blinding pain beyond anything he could imagine coursed inside him. It was strange, though, that he didn't feel the basilisk fang pierce his chest; instead he felt like his insides were burning fiercely; he could feel his skin as though it was being ripped slowly from his body and knives were slicing every part of him. He couldn't hold in his screams; the pain was too much. He fell on the ground. The slightest movement he made caused such stabbing pain that he was forced to lie completely still. His chest heaved involuntarily as broken sobs ripped through him. Every intake of air even felt like he was inhaling fire. He struggled to open his eyes, and when he did, he saw Ron, Hermione, and Ginny blur like an old photograph. He caught their lips moving but he could no longer hear their voices. The room he was in clouded over and disappeared.

Confusion brought Harry to question the ritual he and his friends performed at the Burrow. This wasn't what he had imagined. He opened his eyes again—or he thought he did—but he still couldn't make out anything. He tried to feel his body, but to his horror, his body wasn't even there. He was merely a soul trapped in limbo. With his eyes tight shut again, Harry tried to calm himself.

This isn't real... Not real... not real... he chanted again and again in his mind.

Harry felt himself land on something solid. Heart beating fast, he opened his eyes a mere fraction, afraid of what he might see. He couldn't make out anything at first; everything was a blur. He blinked—

Wait a minute.

To Harry's astonishment, his own body reappeared. He stood shakily and see his hands perfectly when he brought them in front of himself. Right then, a shape began to appear in the void surrounding him. Harry looked around before taking tentative steps toward what he could make out to be row upon row of tombstones. There was a kissing gate at the entrance to the graveyard. Harry pushed it open and edged through it.

He walked deeper and deeper, squinting into the surrounding darkness every now and then, and feeling apprehensive and full of anticipation every time he passed by corners of headstones. When Harry turned a corner, he suddenly stopped—

A small church was visible beyond a large yew tree, and on its left stood a fine, old house on the hillside that was completely silent and slightly eerie. Something heavy pressed upon Harry's chest, and a strong sense of foreboding was creeping up slowly inside him. He knew this place. He had been here before. The large stone statue of an Angel of Death stood nearby, and Harry saw the familiar skull face and skeletal hand that held a raised scythe in its right hand.

Harry took deep, sharp gulps of air, trying to steady himself from trembling, trying to regain control. This place was where Voldemort had returned to power, and Harry wanted to leave at once. He did not think he could stand another moment there. He whirled around, desperately trying to find his way out again, but the path was gone, and instead what he saw made him stumble backwards; a spread-eagled Cedric Diggory lay on the ground, dead.

For a second that lasted an eternity, Harry stared into Cedric's face, at his open gray eyes, blank and expressionless. All the breath seemed to have been knocked out of Harry; his head swam so badly. Cedric! He relived what had happened inside the maze of the Third Task and how both of them had been transported to the graveyard. Harry could feel a burning, prickling feeling in the inner corners of his eyes. He blinked and looked away.

Harry hadn't had the chance to recuperate yet from seeing Cedric's death again and again in his mind when another death of someone he knew appeared before him. It was gut-wrenching to see Lupin and Tonks's dead bodies also lying there.

"No..." Harry let tears pour out of his eyes as he tried to reach Tonks and Lupin with his shaking hands. He desperately wanted to hold them and tell them how sorry he was for everything they had gone through fighting for his cause for the war despite having their first born child. He felt his heart ache at seeing them unmoving.

Harry reeled backward the next moment. He could not draw breath. He could feel himself screaming inside when he saw Fred Weasley's lifeless body on the ground. The fact that he had represented such a positive source of light throughout Harry's years at Hogwarts was what made it so difficult for Harry to grasp his death. Along with George, Fred had provided Harry with much-needed laughter. Knowing he wouldn't be there every step of the way in Harry's and the Weasley's lives was too much to bear. Harry wept. He couldn't forgive himself for what happened. If only he had given himself up to Voldemort in the first place, Fred might never have died... Guilt pressed hard upon him, and he could feel himself crumbling to pieces as he broke down and cried.

Harry felt suffocated, and he blinked back tears when he saw more dead bodies scattered around him. The still form of Dobby with a knife protruding from his chest, his glassy orbs unseeing, doubled Harry's grief. He wept and wept at seeing his godfather, Sirius, among the other bodies before him: Dumbledore, Mad-Eye Moody, Snape, and even Hedwig were among them, too. It was devastating to see them there with their expressionless eyes and lack of the rise and fall of their chests. Harry would give anything, even his own life, if it meant seeing them move and him talking to them again.

Harry's heart was pounding wildly in his chest, and he felt his fingers trembling slightly. He could hardly breathe. Was it really okay that he had survived while the others hadn't? He felt a dull blow to his stomach. He fell to his knees, unable to control the guilt. It shouldn't have been this way... I don't deserve to be alive... If anything, Harry thought he should be the one lying dead instead of them. And again Harry understood without having to think that he wasn't really supposed to have lived anyway. He had already accepted death—welcomed it even, and if for some strange reason that landing himself in this place meant that he was about to die, then so be it. He was ready, and he wouldn't turn back; he would face it bravely like his friends and family did.

Almost as soon as he had reached that conclusion, Harry heard—

"Potter," a very soft voice of a man called out to him unexpectedly.

Harry's breath caught in his throat, and his heart gave a startling lurch. He knew that voice; it sounded so familiar; it was cold and empty, and it made Harry think that he was being scrutinized, yet somehow the voice gave a little warmth, letting him know that he wasn't alone in this vast black space. He opened his eyes and looked around for the source.

Out of nowhere, Harry saw light coming from an open door. At first glance, the corridor was empty... but no... When he squinted at it curiously, he saw a shadow of a man whose cloak was billowing behind him. Harry walked slowly and cautiously towards him until he could make out the features of the man; he had greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

"Snape?"

Snape's lip curled into his usual sneer that he reserved most especially for him, but Harry didn't care. He remembered the unnerving feeling everytime he stood right before Snape. It felt like no time at all had passed. For an awful moment, irrational fears filled Harry's head. If I'm seeing and talking to Snape, then am I dead?

Harry tried to shake off the horrible feeling clawing at his insides. A moment ago he had seen Snape's body among the mass of dead people around him. His imagination must have been playing tricks on him.

"You're not real," he said to Snape stiffly, losing his nerves completely. "I'm dreaming," he murmured almost to himself, his voice quivering.

Snape's black eyes lingered for a moment upon Harry's green ones before speaking. "I am but a memory," he confirmed.

Harry stood in confusion. "Memory?" As strange as it was, surely Snape's form wasn't the same as Tom Riddle's whose memory had been preserved in a diary. Was Snape also a Horcrux? Harry glanced nervously at his former professor. "Are you saying you're a—"

"Absolutely not," Snape answered seriously as though reading Harry's mind.

That was a relief to hear for Harry but— He can't have known what a Horcrux is, could he? Harry mused with a raised eyebrow. Did Dumbledore mention it to him? But before Harry could go on to question his former professor, Snape continued.

"Memory, Potter, memory," he insisted. "Memories are so vital to every aspect of our lives. Without them, life is meaningless. Your so-called friends undoubtedly had shared with you their own, had they not?"

"Yes," Harry replied in a low voice, remembering the silvery substances that had attached themselves to him.

"Then you should know, Potter, that their memories carried important parts of your life. You wouldn't be able to stand before me now if you hadn't seen them. But of course, I wouldn't deny that you have a knack for following your own foolish intuition to save your neck despite the obvious."

Harry frowned at him. Even in memory form, Snape could still throw insults. Harry shook off trying to understand what his professor meant. The point of seeing Snape just because he had viewed his friend's memories confused him.

"You got them back, didn't you? Snape asked before Harry could once again process his thoughts.

Harry nodded, his head bowed.

"Memories are a powerful thing. We have crossed paths once again because you have seen mine. You do remember, don't you?"

Harry looked up at him quickly and nodded solemnly. Back at Dumbledore's office, he had gone straight to the pensive to witness Snape's double life and how he had spent his final years fighting for what was right.

"That served as a catalyst for me to manifest myself into your mind—or at least a part of me. As amusing as this may sound, I would presume that at the back of your head, you must have been subconsciously thinking a lot about me when you'd landed in this place."

Harry cocked an eyebrow and gazed at Snape as though willing himself not to laugh. Was he really thinking about him? It seemed far-fetched for Harry, but now he wondered why. He considered it for a moment, pondering at the possibility that he could be missing the man who hated him all his life. Snape had been hard on him for no good reason, but Harry couldn't deny that Snape had spent much of his life making choices that would go in some way to repair the one, truly terrible one, and this newfound truth made Harry respect Snape even more than he had been letting on. But of all people, why was he thinking of him? Was Snape only taunting him?

"Yes. Believe it or not, I've come to help you out... again," Snape added with as much regret in his voice as he could allow.

Harry stared at him blankly. "What do you mean?"

Snape turned his head to gaze at the dead bodies before staring back at Harry. "It seems you have undoubtedly got yourself stuck in another situation which you can't pull yourself out of, or shall I say you're letting it control you."

Harry furrowed his brow, but he said nothing. It was true that he had been in countless situations where his life had been at stake and only believed that luck had always been with him, but this time, he had to agree with Snape; he felt stuck.

"Look around you," said Snape. He paused to let Harry glance once again at the lifeless bodies of his loved ones before he continued. "You understand what this means, don't you?"

Harry felt frustrated. What does Snape want me to realize? He had already accepted the fact that it was all his fault that they were dead. Harry looked uncertainly back at Snape. "I—I still don't understand what you mean."

"Typical... But of course I shouldn't have expected more from you the way you grasp things." Snape eyed him lazily before walking towards his own dead body.

Harry decided to ignore the insult and instead watched his former professor closely as he examined their surroundings without any trace of emotion.

"What you're seeing right now is merely a vision, or a representation," explained Snape while lifting his dead body's wrist to examine it briefly before letting it flop down again. "It's all in your head, Potter."

"Are you telling me that you're also only a vision?" Harry asked, completely lost.

"On the contrary, I am not. As I said before, I'm a memory."

Harry frowned; he felt as though he was screwing up his whole brain in concentration. He was certain that he had been in this very same ordeal with someone else in a white room—contrary to where he was now.

And then it hit him, Dumbledore!

But Harry wanted a few questions answered. "Sir, did Dumbledore send you?"

Snape raised his eyebrows. "What makes you think that?"

"It's just that... I saw Dumbledore when I thought I died from Voldemort's Killing curse. He and I talked... It was bizzare, just like this because I know you and Dumbledore are dead."

"Indeed," said Snape. "That Dumbledore could very well be a memory also. He was one of the many people perhaps who had left an impact in your life or I daresay someone who had cared for you. You had viewed his memories, had you not?"

Harry nodded. He had seen a few when he had had private lessons with Dumbledore in his sixth year about Tom Riddle. Does viewing someone's memory automatically create a connection, then? he mused. He was slightly hesitant to speak. He was sure that his next question would probably make Snape uncomfortable, but he had to ask to confirm what he had seen in Snape's memory.

"Does that mean you care, too; that's why you're here?"

Snape didn't speak. He merely stared at Harry with his grim, black eyes as though calculating his answer. For a moment, Harry wondered whether Snape would actually admit that he did care for him but was only hesitant to say so. But who was he to even consider that? Snape had never shown any sympathy for him nor made a habit of being cheery which didn't help matters in Harry's opinion, but Harry had understood the pain Snape felt and the life he had had to live just to protect him from Voldemort.

"I did," Snape answered after a moment of silence.

Harry was surprised to find that his tone of voice sounded sincere. It's uncharacteristic, Harry thought, but it made him feel at ease. He gazed at Snape with renewed understanding. It may have been too late to say how he held in high regard what Snape had done for him, but it was now or never.

"Thank you," Harry whispered. There was so many words that he could have said to Snape at that very moment, but he couldn't bring himself to say them. Harry had misjudged him since the very beginning of his school year at Hogwarts, and to find out that Snape was not what he thought he was, was terrible. Snape had dedicated the rest of his life to protecting him, and what could be more heroic and self-sacrificing than that?

Snape looked at him as though he wanted to say something, but he broke the gaze and glanced back again at the dead bodies. "This is only a trial, Potter," he explained. "You're facing one of the terrible guilts that you may have been feeling or keeping deep inside of you."

Harry remained silent as he mournfully gazed at his dead loved ones.

Snape continued, "They appear before you right now because you may be thinking that they died because of you. That alone inhibits you from going back to reality."

"Reality?" Harry asked in a low voice, a hint of worry evident in his tone. "I don't think there's more I can do to change this but to accept death."

Snape eyed Harry intently. "Do you remember the Occlumency lessons? Didn't I tell you to discipline your mind? You will be easily provoked if you keep on wallowing in heavy memories. Are you telling me you're still weak? That you still cannot control your emotions?"

"I am not weak."

"Then prove it to me!" Snape spat, jostling Harry's shoulders. "You have to confront and tell yourself that their deaths aren't your fault. You have to accept the fact that they sacrificed themselves not only for your sake but also for what they had believed in."

"But wouldn't you agree that none of this would have happened if Voldemort hadn't acted upon the contents of the prophecy?" Harry argued.

"Then that should make you realize that it wasn't your doing that caused these people's deaths. Don't you get it, Potter? The Dark Lord created that situation, and only he was responsible for all that happened on your behalf. None of this was your fault."

"They would still be alive if I weren't born in the first place," Harry mumbled under his breath, an unpleasant, constricting sensation forming in his chest.

"Yes... I shouldn't have wasted my life trying to keep you safe, then," came Snape's cold voice, pure loathing showed in his eyes. "What an ungrateful brat! You may not appreciate the life given to you, but think of others as well. It's not always about you." He scoffed in disgust before continuing. "I won't deny that some people had the same foolish thoughts... but unlike you, they still strive to live despite their flaws."

Upon realizing the seriousness of what he had told Snape, Harry immediately regretted it. "I—" he trailed off, looking everywhere but at his professor, "I'm sorry."

"... Always whining..." Snape said, his dark, cold eyes narrowing slightly when their eyes met. "Dim though you may be, remind me why I am here, Potter. You do know why I showed myself to you at this very moment, don't you?"

"Yes," said Harry stiffly. "So I can control my mind."

"And have you done that yet?" Snape asked impatiently.

Harry was having a hard time concentrating with Snape staring furiously at him. How was he supposed to think properly if the one person helping him hated his very existence? Harry snorted at his musings; he should have expected that in flesh or memory form, Snape would forever be a total git!

Without answering his former Potions professor, Harry walked toward the body of Sirius, whose face still held the same fear and surprise when he had fallen through the ancient doorway and had disappeared behind the Veil. Harry struggled hard to control the pain and grief that came back when he looked at his godfather's eyes. Sirius had understood more than anyone how darkness could impact a person's life, and he was living proof that it was possible to at that time to rise above it.

"You think the dead we loved ever truly leave us?" Harry remembered Sirius speak those words and offer a different home for him once his name was cleared. There were many other memories that Harry wished he had gotten the chance to change them.

He looked up at Snape, who stood quietly behind him, and back again at Sirius. He placed his hand in his godfather's arm. Snape was right, Harry thought to himself. Sirius, I hope you know that I couldn't have survived those darkest days without you. You've given me so much for the short time that we had, and I truly appreciate all of it. You don't have to worry about me anymore. Wherever you are, I know it's giving you much-needed happiness. As Harry said those words in his mind, a lone tear escaped from his eye. He would miss Sirius immensely, but he knew that he was in a better place now. Harry cracked a small smile when an image of Sirius running towards James and Lupin flashed before his mind. Until then, Padfoot...

Harry's gaze fell upon Lupin and Tonks. He felt a sharp pang of guilt once again for seeing them dead along with Dumbledore, Dobby, Fred, and the others. Harry couldn't suppress the urge to cry.

He felt like he was back again in his third year at Hogwarts when Lupin resigned from his teaching post. He was miserable at that time for not having him as his professor any longer, and now he couldn't bear to think that he would never see nor hear Lupin ever again. But just like Sirius, Harry knew Lupin and Tonks were in the same place with him now. Harry had the impression that if they could see him right at this moment in the graveyard, Lupin might just have handed him a chocolate to make him feel better.

Thank you for being the greatest teacher and friend I have ever known, Harry thought to himself. For the great time you and Tonks spent with me and the respect and understanding you both showed until the very end. I wish I could tell you both how much I value those great times. Your sacrifices, after only recently becoming parents to your son, I will always be most grateful. Harry wiped away the tears that was rolling down his cheeks. He looked at Lupin and Tonks one last time. Thank you...

For a moment, Harry thought he saw faint outlines of Lupin and Tonks from a distance looking back at him, but when he blinked away his tears, he wondered whether it was just his imagination.

Harry gazed slowly at the rest of the bodies before him. One by one, Harry talked to them with an impression that they could probably hear him somehow. He knew it was pointless but he hoped that maybe his message would reach them in some way. By the time he finished, his eyes were already swollen.

Harry could picture their disbelieving faces if they could see him right now. Dobby would surely scurry toward him, holding tea or mopping his eyes as he gazed worriedly up at him. Mad-Eye Moody would probably start yelling "Constant Vigilance!" when he saw him in this miserable state, or Fred wound send him a toilet seat just to make him laugh again.

I will see you all again... in time.

Before Harry could blink back another tear, the bodies before him slowly faded until they ceased to exist in his presence. Harry looked around frantically. He saw to his relief that memory-Snape was still there, though his dead body had vanished with the rest.

"They're gone," Harry stated worriedly. He was surprised to see Snape's lip curl into a small smile.

"The reason you're no longer seeing them," said Snape, his eyes flashing triumph as he watched Harry closely. "Is because you have finally accepted their deaths." He didn't wait for Harry to speak, adding, "It's time for me to leave as well."

Harry's worried look changed to panic. He didn't want to be left alone in this vast blackness. "Leave? But—"

"My task is finished," Snape replied with finality. "However, there is someone waiting for you."

"Who?"

But Snape didn't reply. He simply peered beyond Harry with eyes that Harry hadn't seen before, longing and happiness.

Harry turned around slowly to see what Snape was looking at. He caught sight of two people standing so far away from him that he couldn't make out who they were, but from their silhouettes Harry had a distinct feeling that he knew them.

"Are they—" Harry stopped when he looked back and found that Snape was no longer there. Harry's heart ached for a moment; now he was unable to express his gratitude for everything Snape had done for him.

"Thank you," he murmured into the black space where Snape had stood moments ago.

Heart thumping fast, Harry gazed back at the figures ahead of him, curious as to who they were and what could possibly happen next. Was he finally seeing his way out of there? Whatever it was, Harry's heart was overflowing with a mixture of excitement and foreboding.

To be continued...

Beta-read by be11atrixthestrange, inspire change, KVeronicaP