The first week after the Battle of Hogwarts was filled to the brim with funerals and interviews and so many uncomfortable dinners at the Burrow where everyone tried to forget about Fred's death. Harry was too busy to think about himself because he was helping McGonagall rebuild Hogwarts and then he was at the Burrow for lunch (and to hear Molly cry again), and then he'd go to the Ministry to parade himself as the champion the people needs.
Almost a fortnight passed until he was alone and the first thing in his mind was the small, sickly body of the death-baby he met at the King's Cross of his soul.
Tom Riddle, the wizard who made his life hell since before he was born, was finally dead and Harry was the cause. The prophecy had told him how everything would end, but Harry never thought about how he would feel after the deed.
He was at the Burrow when the thought came: he was a murderer and he had killed the only constant in his life.
Harry ran to the orchard, not noticing Ginny going behind him. The ground called to him and he kneeled by a pear tree, shaking and sobbing for the death of a psychopath that had done nothing but evil.
The thought of Tom Riddle was too much because Harry could see in his mind the moment Voldemort's eyes emptied themselves of light, of life, and he could hear the thud that came when his body dropped to the ground. The wand fell too, still lit up with the green of a spell that almost hit Harry for the third time in his life.
"He's gone," he whispered. He still hadn't noticed Ginny.
She remained a few steps behind him, trying to know what to do. She would never presume to know what Harry felt, but inside her mind turmoil reigned when she heard his words.
"Harry?" she called for him. "Are you alright? Harry?"
"Tom's gone, and nobody cares," he told Ginny when he finally heard her. He felt her hand on his back and leaned against her body. She smelled as good as ever, but not even her presence could shed some light on the sudden darkness in Harry's life.
"For years I tried to kill him," he confessed with his hand on hers and his arm around her waist. "At first because he had killed my parents, and then because everywhere he went he created chaos. I finally killed him because someone said I would, years before I was born."
His voice was barely audible when he said the last bit. He hadn't shared the prophecy with Ginny before, but he thought she might have guessed. She was so smart, after all.
"Now he's gone and I'm free and I don't know what to do," he said. "The most disturbing thing is that I almost wish I hadn't killed him. He was a boy just like me once. Dumbledore showed me his memories of Tom when he was younger. He had sadness in him, and I remember thinking I was as lonely as he seemed to be."
Ginny pressed her lips against Harry's jaw. "Then mourn him, Harry," she told him softly, diminishing her voice as if she were afraid or ashamed of her own words. "Cry for him the same way I cried for the friend I made when nobody else would speak to me. Wear black to show the world his loss heavies on you the same way I will for him, because the secrets we shared linked us in ways I won't ever understand."
Harry took a moment to look at Ginny. Here she was, sharing the demons of her own past to make him feel good.
"Tom never had anyone, Ginny," Harry muttered. He could feel her attention, and her brown eyes showed him she was listening not only for him but also for what she remembered of a sixteen-year-old boy who taught her how to be strong. "If he had maybe he wouldn't have been like that. Hell! If I hadn't had Ron or Hermione I might have become him."
Ginny shook her head.
"You're too good for that, Harry."
"You're wrong!" Harry exclaimed, lifting his voice only so she could hear the anger hidden beneath. "There were many times when I thought to do unspeakable things to many people. Malfoy, Umbridge, even Dumbledore for a time! We were the same, but he had no one to look out for him."
"It's not your fault," Ginny assured him with a sad smile that never reached her eyes. Her breathing, though, was enough to calm down Harry and make him focus on her.
"Then whose fault is it? Tom Riddle didn't deserve to grow alone, or to live alone, or to die alone."
Her sniggering almost offended him until she spoke again.
"He didn't die alone, Harry," Ginny whispered to Harry, and her voice betrayed the weight of her words. "Because a part of us died with him."
He couldn't agree more.