He thought he was upset that she didn't even look back. . . . But then, she did.

He looked down at their hands, now joined, one unwilling and unknowing. He looked at the veins on his wrist, bluish and teeming with life, then looked at hers, colourless and still.

He felt death closing in, and yet, it was liberating.

Just then, a thought crept into Harry's head. About what could have been.

"I told you I was bad, Abby. I told you. And you still didn't stay away. You still thought there was something good in me. Well, now, I can prove it to you," he said, frowning, and began to lift the sleeve of his left arm. WARNING: MATURE CONTENT