Luke Skywalker might never be the same after the Emperor's lightning coursed through his body that fateful night. All he knew was the smell of flowers wasn't a gift anymore. It was a curse.

"Maybe you don't have to do this all by yourself, mate,"-Ron had said that to Harry once. And now, hearing the words said back to him, clear even through the haze of pain blockers and muggle hospital chatter, he realized maybe they were both right.