Written before the last book came out.
Voldermort killed Harry when he was a baby and has won the war. This is set a few years latter. I don't want to give too much away. If anyone's confused let me know and I'll expand this summary.

"Can you make it go away?" he asks me. "No," I reply. "I'm sorry."

He seems so tiny. Despite the pain I wrap my arms around him and pull him close. He's sobbing slightly. I wonder how old he is now. He looks so much like his father. The same hair. The same skin. Almost the same eyes. Yet already I know he will not grow up to be a monster. Most likely, he will not grow up at all.

He's sleeping when they come. But he wakes quickly, looking like a wide eyed little doll, like a fallen angel. He screams when they start to beat me. A backhanded slap to the face sends him tumbling down into a corner. Blood mixes with tears on his face. I want to join him. Maybe together we'd have enough tears to drown this cell... this building... this world. But I've forgotten how to cry.

Hurts. Have to remember to breath. I wish he hadn't seen that. Not that he hasn't seen worse... Little angel. But a child of the devil. I'd have saved you if I could have. But I couldn't even save myself. He asks me if I'm ok. I don't know how to answer. I became numb to the physical pain when I was younger than he is now. But the other pain... I could never manage not to care about that. And its so bad I want to tear out my insides. I don't want to lie to him. So I don't answer. He crawls across the floor to me. I notice all the scars on his fragile little body. I wanted to protect you. I wanted to bring you to someplace safe. But I've never stood a chance against them and there is nowhere safe.

He watches as they hold me down. I'm biting right through my tongue. But I'm theirs. The mark on my arm says so. And they can do what they want. I can't stop them. I'm not supposed to try.

Someone else enters the cell, a man with hair so fair it's almost white, and I know the pain's about to get worse. The beautiful deamon cups his son's chin, too roughly, then drops him to the ground. The the deamon smiles at me. Then I'm screaming and I can't stop.

He's crying. I stroke his pale, pale hair. I wanted to laugh with you in the sunshine, to see you climb a tree and learn the names of the flowers. But they kept us in the shadows. I'm so sorry. I can't unlock your chains or mine. I don't have the key. Even if I did I couldn't turn it with all my fingers broken. I can't move them anymore. I'm sorry. I wanted to keep you safe. I didn't want you hurt like I was. I think back to what he asked me: "Can you make this world go away? Can you make it go away?"