Title: Sorrow
Author: Jedi Emeritus
 Summary: During the final battle with Voldemort, Harry loses someone precious to him. He realizes what he had, but it is too late. Deathfic.
Rating: No language, mild violence.
Disclaimer: Although I share two initials with Harry Potter's owner, sadly, he's not mine. However, this fic is mine.
Author's Thanks: Thanks to Deja Vu for looking over this fic and her suggestions.
Author's Notes: This fic is my first challenge exchanged between myself and my good friend, Deja Know I Been Lookin For Vu. We recently decided to get things going and challenge each other in a variety of fandoms and situations. Yes, there will be more and no, they will not all be set in the Harry Potter universe. If there is anyone who would like to write their own story, please feel free to go right ahead. The only think we ask is to send one of us a note with the link to your story, as we will be keeping a C2 archive of all responses. Challenge details are at the bottom.
 Main Character: Harry Potter.

Sorrow

It has often been said that even the very best of battle plans do not survive first contact with the enemy.

Had Harry Potter had the time, he may have found himself drawn to contemplate that little morsel of conventional wisdom, but as it was, time was a precious commodity and inattention was likely to lead to a swift and painful death.

Ducking under a curse, Harry pointed his wand and shot off three of his own, each impacting with the unnamed Death Eater who had assaulted him, sending the form sprawling onto the ground of the courtyard, to lie still among those already lying amid the muck and filth of early spring. Harry paid no attention to those laid out upon the ground, partially due to the urgency of the situation, partially because he was afraid of what he might find there.

Stopping for a moment, Harry gazed out at the melee, his eyes searching for the telltale sign of his ultimate enemy's presence among the struggling combatants. The thought that being left for dead in the Forbidden Forest appeared to have its advantages occurred to him as he smiled with sardonic amusement. As he was supposed to be dead, no one expected him to show up in the middle of the battle, and the attacks directed at him were desperate with surprise rather than hateful with purpose.

The thought of his confrontation with Voldemort in the forest caused him to withdraw slightly, a reflexive action due to the circumstances and events which had unbelievably played out between them. Even now, nearly an hour after the confrontation, he felt the amazement of being hit a second time by the killing curse, now knowing he had no other protection against the Dark Lord's wand – first his mother, and then Voldemort himself, ironically enough, had been the means of his salvation. There would be no third chance.

Shaking his head to clear the unwanted and dangerously inattentive thoughts from his mind, Harry concentrated again on the battle in the courtyard. The initial plan had been to draw the Death Eaters into the center of the courtyard and catch them in a crossfire of offensive spells fired from the higher vantage points of the opposing parapets. The plan was beautiful in its simplicity and had been calculated to take advantage of Voldemort's greatest weakness – namely, his overwhelming arrogance and confidence. They had fully expected him to stroll through the front gates of the stronghold which he had been so long denied entrance, acting as though he owned the place before the battle had even been fought. Given the number of Death Eater bodies strewn about the center of the courtyard, Harry could tell the plan had originally worked, but the superior numbers of the enemy had turned the tide, and now he could see the two sides were almost evenly matched in every respect.

A familiar flash of white caught Harry's attention, and he peered through the gloom, recognizing Voldemort's pasty bald head as the Dark Lord hurled spells at some target hidden from Harry by the other combatants. The young man's lips drew back, baring his teeth in the semblance of a smile as he started toward his archenemy, determined to end the destruction of his reign once and for all.

In that moment, he raced toward Voldemort, what he knew to be the final battle, and – if he were given to flights of fancy – his destiny. Time seemed to slow for the young man, each second elongating, stretching out into an eternity, forever emblazoning upon his mind the events which were to follow.

As he approached, the details of the Dark Lord's duel became clearer to his mind, and he saw the spells hurtling off Voldemort's wand, instinctively recognizing them as they spewed forth, willing his body to intercept him and end the reprehensible being's life.

What he saw next shocked him and spurred him on to greater effort, his friends standing together facing the Dark Lord, Ron with his shock of red hair and Hermione with her brown tresses and familiar figure he would have known anywhere. Together, they appeared to be just keeping Voldemort at bay.

"VOLDEMORT!" he roared, just as a familiar bright green light erupted from the accursed being's wand.

Get down! Harry screamed silently, knowing it was too late.

He watched in horror as the green streak struck the body of his dearest friend, watched with tears streaming down his face as she was hurled back by the impact to strike the wall behind her and then crumple to the ground, knowing, seeing in his mind's eye the sightless stare which he knew now adorned her most beloved face.

Harry stopped, unable to believe his own eyes, tears streaming down his face, his mind and lips working in silent denial of the truth. Hermione was gone. He was too late.

Tearing his eyes away from the horrible sight, he again found the figure of his most hated enemy, the man who was even now gazing at him with a look of utmost of surprise tinged with a hint of fear.

In an instant, a wave of the deepest crimson surged over Harry's vision and his world exploded.

When Harry came to himself again, he was standing, a solitary figure in a field of fallen bodies and twisted ruins. Voldemort lay at his feet, blood seeping from innumerable wounds and pooling on the ground beneath him as his hand feebly grasped for his wand. It rested on the ground, just beyond the reach of his questing fingers.

Glaring down at the broken figure in contempt, Harry summoned the monster's wand to his hand.

Laughing feebly, Voldemort's pathetic gaze found his. "You think you have won, Potter," he rasped. "I will be back."

"No, you won't," Harry replied.

Voldemort merely coughed up more blood and cackled, so certain was he of his manufactured immortality.

Harry, despite the gravity of the situation, laughed – a sound welcome to the victorious defenders who were even now beginning to stir yet chilling in its coldness and emptiness.

"Oh, I think not," Harry responded with grim satisfaction. "You see, Tom," he spat the name like a curse, "I know all about your soul fragments."

Real terror filled the eyes of the insane despot at Harry's words, causing a smile of cold amusement to appear on the young man's face. "Yes, Tom, your Horcruxes have been destroyed."

"You lie!" the Dark Lord spat, rousing himself for one final denial of his hated enemy.

"I don't think so. The locket? The diadem? All destroyed, Tom. And this," he said, pointing at the scar on his forehead, "was the final piece of your soul which does not reside within the confines of your miserable body. Ironic, don't you think? Your own unplanned creation of a final Horcrux, one which would have been completed with my death, should be the final means of protection I had against you. When you hit me with your killing curse for the second time, you paved the way for me to finally defeat you. Think on that as the death you sought so long to avoid, wraps you in its cold and unyielding embrace, knowing this time you die forever. See you in hell, Tom."

With that, a drained Harry Potter turned away from his enemy, his mind already with the body of his slain friend as he contemplated all he had lost due to the enemy's insane lust for power.

"At least I have stolen your love, Potter," Voldemort cackled from behind. "You will never know true love and will die the same as I – unloved and alone."

Enraged, Harry whirled and extended both wands, firing a barrage of spells at the dying despot, hitting him with every curse he could think of. When he was done, only a crater was left where the body of the Dark Lord once lay.

Completely spent, Harry turned and staggered across the field, falling to his knees beside Hermione's body. Reverently, he closed her sightless eyes with his fingers and cradled her body to his chest as he wept for his loss. If this was the ultimate price of his victory, then the price was higher than he could bear to pay.

"Harry?" a hesitant voice called from behind him.

He didn't even bother to look up, could not find the will to respond. Ron was his first and closest friend, and yet, he could not hold a candle to the young woman lying in his arms. Harry's eyes burned with tears, shed for all he had lost this day.

"Harry?" the voice was stronger, more persistent. "Is that Hermione? Is she…?"

"Yes, Ron," Harry responded, his voice hard with suppressed emotions. "She's dead. You were there – no one survives a killing curse."

"Except for me," Harry added a few moments later, the bitterness of his life welling up within him, threatening to take his sanity along with the life of this young girl.

Beside him, Ron sank to his knees, and Harry, although he still did not look up at his friend, could hear the disbelief and denial in his voice as he whispered, "Oh no, no, no."

Ignoring his friend, Harry gazed down at the face of the young woman in his arms. If he had not known better, she could have simply been sleeping, as her face was calm and composed in death, unlike the rictus of terror which had characterized Cedric's countenance after his death at Wormtail's hand.

The reality was inescapable, though, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. He would never again talk with her, laugh with her, hear her encourage him to do his homework. He would never again hold a living, breathing, vital Hermione in his arms.

"I can't believe it," whispered Ron's voice from his side as a tentative hand reached out to touch her hair. "I loved her."

An echo of Harry's rage returned at that statement, and although he knew he had no right, he felt anew the bitterness and resentment of his friend – his immature and thoughtless friend.

"You. In love with Hermione?" he retorted, his voice scathing and unforgiving. "You, whose greatest talent in life is the ability to offend her and make her cry, claim to be in love with her? Don't make me laugh."

He could sense, rather than see, the start of surprise and resulting anger of his friend in response to his biting denunciation.

"What are you talking about?" Ron demanded. "How dare you tell me what I feel!"

Harry raised his head and gazed at his friend, causing Ron to react in a peculiar manner – his start of surprise and almost involuntary step back indicated fear and uncertainty. But Harry could not find the will to entertain even the slightest curiosity regarding the reason for his friend's response. Even the other survivors, gathered around watching the drama unfold with frightened eyes and worried expressions, could not stir his interest. It was meaningless – all was meaningless when faced with the death of the woman in his arms. The truth he had never had the wit or courage to face during her life, now stared him back at him with an implacable certainty – she had been his one true companion. All the others – the entire world – meant nothing to him now. There was only her and what he had lost.

"You never loved her, Ron," Harry said, straining to keep his voice calm. "She was your friend, yes, but she always took a back seat to whatever had caught your fancy. Your abandoning us during the Horcrux hunt was not the act of a man in love."

The look of anger on Ron's face was quickly replaced by shame and sorrow as Harry's diatribe wore on. As Ron dropped his gaze to the face of his dead friend, his voice reached Harry, whispering, "I'm not perfect, Harry. Don't tell me what I feel."

Harry, shrugged, his fury replaced by a weariness which seeped into his very bones. "I guess we'll never know, now will we?"

Struggling to his feet, Harry cradled Hermione's body to his chest as he gazed out over the crowd. He recognized faces – those of friends, a few enemies, ultimately people he had fought with, gone to war with. They were all regarding him, no small number with looks of pity etched upon their faces. Harry was so tired; he could not will himself to care any longer. Voldemort was dead, and Harry Potter had paid a high price for that victory.

Ron had stood with him and even now regarded him with a sorrowful expression on his face. "Look, mate," he said, "Let's get you looked over by Pomfrey – you look like you've been through the wringer."

Sighing, Harry shook his head and glanced at his friend. "I'm sorry, Ron, but I've had it. The wizarding world has brought nothing but pain and sorrow, and I want nothing more than to leave it behind me for good."

"But Harry…" Ron began, before being cut off.

"No! I've seen nothing but danger and havoc, starting with that stupid prophecy and continuing right on through my life. And now it has taken something I value more than my own life – Hermione's life. I'm done with it, Ron! I did my bloody duty and finished Voldemort off, just as the prophecy said I would. The wizarding world can be satisfied with that, as it will get nothing further from me."

Ron was left speechless by the rant, and he stared at his friend in disbelief and consternation.

Realizing Ron had been his first friend – and although he had not perhaps been as true and faithful a companion as Harry would have wished, Ron had still been supportive to the best of his ability, Harry's countenance softened slightly.

"Take care of yourself, Ron, and watch out for Ginny. She's a great girl who will make some lucky guy happy some day."

A blinding light enveloped the figure of the Boy Who Lived and the lifeless figure of the girl he held in his arms, flashing momentarily and then dying as quickly as it had sprung up. When it was gone, so was Harry Potter.

In the years to come, those who participated in the final battle against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named maintained that during the final few moments of the battle, the Boy Who Lived had changed, becoming almost a force of nature. Those in positions of authority may have been inclined to simply write off the testimonies of the witnesses of the confrontation as overly fanciful and beyond any understanding of magic had they not all agreed on the general sequence of events. At some point after witnessing the death of his dearest friend, Potter had almost become a column of flame; the power radiating from him had been so awesome and destructive that it had literally knocked everyone other than the Dark Lord himself from their feet. Then Potter had assaulted Voldemort with such force and ferocity that the Dark Lord – perhaps the most powerful and accomplished duelist in generations – had been overwhelmed within seconds.

The lack of a body to prove the death of the Dark Lord caused much consternation among the members of the magical community, as Voldemort's death could not be proven. Of course, Potter's mere presence may have done much to do away with any doubts as to the ultimate fate of the Dark Lord. Unfortunately, his disappearance, again using means beyond the traditional understanding of magic, allowed many skeptics and naysayers to espouse the position that it was all nothing more than a story. For years after, there remained many loyal followers of the Dark Lord who maintained he would return again and lead them to their rightful places, cleansing their corrupt society of those of inferior birth. It took years and much heartache and destruction before the last remnants of his followers were finally stamped out.

As with many stories which appear fantastic and unbelievable in nature, many a legend sprung up concerning the fate of the savior of the wizarding world, and although many extensive searches were undertaken, no trace of Harry Potter could be found, and no clue as to the final resting place of his lady love was ever discovered. Even his best friend, Ron Weasley, was unable to give any indication as to where Harry Potter had disappeared. The only thing he could ever be brought to say later in life was that when he had looked into Harry's eyes just before his disappearance, it was though all life had been drained from Harry's soul – his eyes were dead. It was speculated by some that he had found a place – far from the everyday bustle of both wizard and Muggle life – to bury his love and spend the rest of his time on Earth in solitude, guarding the sanctity of her resting place. Still others maintained he had set up a tomb and had immediately sealed it and given up his own life in order to be with her again.

Whatever his ultimate fate, Harry Potter was never again seen upon the face of the earth. His legend, however, never died.

The End

Challenge Details:

Fandom: Harry Potter
Character Requirement: Harry Potter and Hermione Granger
Age Requirement: None.
AU Allowed?: Yes.
Quote Requirement: None
Object Requirement: None
Romance Requirement: None.
Required Scenario: Harry's reaction to Hermione's death.
Word Limit: 3,000 words.
Extra Notes: Write a short fic which describes Harry's reaction to Hermione's death. The details are up to you - she can die before, during, or after the battle at Hogwart's. Any relationships are welcome - you can stick to canon (i.e. Hermione/Ron) or create your own preferred pairing (i.e. Hermione/Harry), or have no relationship at all. The only requirement is that there are consequences of her death.