Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to be but to the inspirational J.K. Rowling.
A/N: This is a tribute sort of thing for the last movie; Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2. I felt that I needed to make something to kind of send them off almost. This is how I think Harry would feel, I highly doubt that he would immediately jump for joy as soon as Voldemort died.
So do read and enjoy :) And review please, whether it is a compliment or constructive criticism.
It was done. It was over.
Harry stood frozen for a moment longer, both his hands outstretched. The Elder wand was gripped tightly in one hand and Draco's wand in the other. He looked over at the shell of Voldemort, a fierce expression still on his face. And then he collapsed onto the ground the little pebbles skittering away from his body. He clutched the wands to his chest and struggled to take even breaths. His legs curled up to his chest and his body wracked with his silent sobs. He had expected everybody to swarm around him to congratulate him. But he was thankful when nobody approached him. He heard numerous footfalls around him. The remaining fighters tending to the injured and laying the dead to rest. Harry's eyes closed to the world letting tears stream down his face. He could feel his hair ruffle as the wind blew past him. He didn't want to move. He wanted to stay in that position forever and eventually forget. Forget it all.
But Harry knew he had to get up.
With pain coursing through his body he stood up. Everybody around him stopped and turned to look at him. He knew he looked a mess; blood seeping from his head onto his face. Cuts and scrapes littered his body and his clothes were torn and ruined. At this point he didn't care.
He pushed his two wands into his pocket and started walking. Once he started walking people rushed up to him. Some started talking, others offered their assistance. All Harry did was shake his head. He didn't want help. He didn't want them right now. It seemed like they understood for as soon as he moved his head the people surrounding him dispersed.
Holding onto what was left of the courtyard wall he looked beyond it. The vast field beyond it was littered with bodies; Harry could see pools of blood mixed into the green. He craned his sore neck and saw the Black Lake. He pulled away from the window and started walking out of the courtyard and through the castle.
Debris and rubble was everywhere, walls were blasted inwards and broken chandeliers swung precariously. There were people inside as well, helping up those who could move and carrying out those who would never move again.
His feet shuffled through the corridors, mechanically moving without any thought to where he was actually going.
Finally he reached a large expanse of green past an archway through a corridor. A few trees were situated at this edge of the Black Lake. Many students used to come here to try to study or relax. The Black Lake was very large and stretched out from here farther than one could see. The actual size of the Black Lake was unknown, Harry knew that he had travelled across the Black Lake to the front of the castle in his first year. He had also known that he had gone down to the Black Lake from another exit for his Second Tournament. And then here the Black Lake was as well; now Harry knew for sure only magic could have made the Black Lake what it was.
He edged towards it and fell onto the muddy shore. He could feel cold water seeping into his shoes and though his pants but he didn't move.
It had been barely a few minutes ago he had killed the darkest wizard of the 20th Century. He should be feeling elated, euphoric that all the darkness he had to endure was over.
But he wasn't elated at all. He felt sick, he felt horrible. Every muscle inside him was shuddering and every bone in his body felt sore.
So many people had died for him, to protect him, to save him. Hundreds even thousands of people whom he hadn't known had laid down their lives because they felt that their goal was to protect him. To keep him alive wizards and muggles alike were slaughtered.
For a year Death Eaters had taken over everything he had known. They had forced him, and many others, to run. They had to run, to take what they could and flee.
What he hated most of all about this was how people thought he was strong. How they thought he was a hero.
They were wrong.
On his own he would not have survived a day on the run. Back at Hogwarts without the DA and Order's help he would have died in the crossfire. He would have had no idea what a diadem was and he would have been aimlessly searching in a broken castle. Through his seven years at Hogwarts it was not his skill, strength, courage or ambition that brought him through it all. It was the people around him, the people that loved and cared for him. So when people thought he was strong he could not impress how wrong that was.
The reason he was alive now was because of the effort of so many. The living and the dead.
Harry put his hands in the water and rubbed them across his face. He could feel the grime wiping off onto his hands. Carelessly he wiped across his face using his sleeve; his cuts stung but he paid it no mind.
From here he could make out the courtyard, battered and broken.
Just like him.
He had never understood that fighting against Voldemort had taken such a toll on him. He figured that because these seven years he had been concentrating so much on being alive that he never had much time to contemplate it.
Guilt.
At this time he wished he hadn't survived.
He'd be with the people he loved and would always miss.
His mother, father, Sirius, Remus, Tonks – Collin would be there, hopping excitedly with his camera. Fred would be standing there winking at him; Crabbe would also be there – now understanding the fault in his ways.
But he was free now. He could leave whenever he wished. No longer did he have the burden of destroying the Dark Lord. No longer did the people need him.
He stood up, his legs trembling with trepidation. Nobody needed him now. He was free to do as he chose.
He could already feel it; it had been there since he had starting searching for the Horcruxes. A sense of brokenness; he was not whole and never would he be.
It had eaten him up, right up to the point where he faced Voldemort, Draco's wand clutched tightly in his hand.
He had lost so much – what else was there to lose.
Hesitantly he placed one foot in the Black Lake. The water enveloped it and Harry wondered what it would feel like if it enveloped his whole body.
Many times he had contemplated his own death – a spell – a single spell could end his life. He had heard it being uttered many times, he had seen its consequences time and time again. He had been scared of what would happen if he was at the receiving end of one. But no longer did he harbor this fear.
'To a well organized mind, death is but the next great adventure,' those words echoed in his mind. No longer would he be afraid of the day he had to leave this world. There was nothing to be afraid of.
He stood still for a few moments before stepped back from the dark waters. His death would come when it was time. Ending his life now would be unfair to those who gave up their lives for him.
'Soon we will have to pick between what is right and what is easy.'
He took one more step backwards.
Death would be the easy way out.
"Harry," the voice was quiet, so softly spoken he felt like it was merely ghost, a haunting memory.
"Harry," A new voice, lower, deeper, just as soft, caressing his ears.
He turned around, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Two people looked back at him; their faces dirty and tear-streaked. Their clothes untidy with cuts adorning their body.
Harry rushed to them both and enveloped them in a hug. His arms wound around their backs and held them close to him. Their arms went around him, holding him just as tight.
He breathed in; they were so close to him, they would never leave. He wanted to hold them like this forever.
But he let go, watching as they both mirrored the emotions he was feeling. Hermione held Ron's hand but then leaned over and grabbed his too. He felt warmth emanate from it; filling him with a kind of hope.
"Mate," Ron started, his voice cracked and hoarse, "It's over."
He nodded silently.
"He's gone," Hermione muttered.
"Forever," Harry stated, speaking throatily.
"Forever," Ron repeated as he looked at the Black Lake.
With their hands in his he felt like he could take on the world. He practically already had.
His eyes sought the Black Lake again, seeing the silhouette of Hogwarts above it. It was broken and crumbled. Just like everybody else.
But it could be whole once again.