[It isn't the same guilt. Ami steps forward, looks Harry over, might be deciding just what to do or what to say. It bothers her, to see someone's pain written so literally on the walls, to see the mess it leaves behind, to see the trappings and the madness of guilt.
It's her own.
Finally, she reaches for his hand, wordless, the gesture careful and slow.]
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It's her own.
Finally, she reaches for his hand, wordless, the gesture careful and slow.]