Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, they're all created and owned by J.K Rowling. That was just for all you people out there wondering if I indeed did create Harry Potter… Well. I didn't.

Epilogue:

The noise was ear deafening. Hands were clapping his shoulders, ruffling his hair – stretching out to touch The Boy who Lived. The Boy Who Lived again. Why was it, that he was cursed with life? No matter how much death he was surrounded by, no matter how many people wanted him dead, he stayed alive. Hell – he'd even walked into his own death, he had accepted it – and he was still alive!

He felt his feet move, his hands stretched out, to get through the mass of people. Why were they cheering him? Why were they smiling? Could they not see, that people were dead – and that their blood was on his hands?

He wanted to be alone. His head was throbbing, and his eyes were blurred and unfocused. He pushed his way through the mass of people, his eyes squinting. Somewhere deep down, he knew he was looking for her. He needed her now more than ever. Her hot breath against his ear, her arms around him holding him. Shielding him.

A flash of red captured his gaze. There she was. She was with her head on her mum's shoulder, her eyes glazy. Harry's feet automatically moved towards her – but he stopped himself. Her brother was dead. Her brother was killed in a fight that if he, Harry, had been quick enough, could've prevented. But as always, he was inadequate. He wasn't quick enough, not smart enough. And everyone was now taking the consequences of his stupidity. People had died. Her brother had died. He didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve happiness. He didn't deserve anything. His misery was making it easier to deal with the guilt which what weighing his shoulders down. Something inside him had broken.

He turned around, fought his way through shoulder claps and congratulations, and as soon as he was outside Hogwarts' grounds, he turned on the spot, and left was only the distant cheering from the castle.

Ginny had left him alone. She had thought that was the right thing to do. She had hoped that when he had had a little time to think it through, he would come to her. It had now been 4 days, and Ginny's patience was wearing out. She was worried sick about him, and he had done nothing to contact her. He disappeared after the battle, and nobody had heard from him since. She had barely slept since he left; his absence was like a dark cloud, hanging over the house. She would have no more of it.

He heard footsteps. Were they real? How long had he been here? An hour? A week? His mind was blurry, nothing was real anymore, nothing was familiar. Somebody was calling his name… The voice grew louder and louder. Arms encircled him, and he felt his head tilt into something soft. Soft and warm.

Surely it was an angel.



The voice was still calling his name, gripping him tighter. Something was familiar… What was it? A small slime formed on his dry lips.

She still smelled like flowers.