It was terrifying to off on your own, especially when you were young. It was why most adolescents didn't runaway. It was even more terrifying to be shipped into an almost different world.
The worst of it all was when you were sworn to kill someone, you knew nothing about. Perhaps he had killed your parents, but it had been said even by the best of men that they had been casualties of war; just like everyone else. If they were murdered by the Dark, they were casualties. If they died in battle; it was murder.
Yet as Harry ducked past another curse, he had to wonder how long it would take for him to be just another casualty or just another murder. With the way the curses were flying towards him, he had to guess very soon.
Ron was dead, as was Remus, Moody, McGonagall, and others he couldn't name or didn't want to. They were being repressed. There were so few of theirs left on the battle field that Harry had to wonder what the point of fight was.
They would be over run in the end, he could tell, and by then he would be dead – the only reason the fighting would stop. He couldn't imagine Voldemort doing anything other then giving him death.
Yet when his mind finally processed that thought he was being bound. His body went stiff, and instead of falling like he was used to, his body began to float before he was looking into the red eyes of his worst enemy. If he could spit, he would, but as it was the man in front of him grinned evilly like only Voldemort could.
The fighting stopped and the Order and the others amoung them seemed to recognize defeat as Death Eaters bound them.
"Harry Potter, we are going to have a lot of fun." Voldemort purred before Harry's world went dark.