Disclaimer: Nothing that follows belongs to me.
A/n: This is a little different from stuff I usually write; hope you like it. (My first oneshot.) Please R&R.
A Private Wake
'What good is it being a hero if you can't protect the one you love?' Harry thought to himself as he kneeled beside the sad, crumpled corpse.
He had bested Voldemort, yes, and he was alone in the final battle, too. He had no way of knowing that at the same moment, the remaining Death Eaters were putting their best efforts into removing the lives of the people closest to him.
There were few successes on their part, truly. Many wizards were lucky enough to be in groups at this time, offering the combined power to fight off the would-be deadly foe.
There was a noted exception, though – one that now lay by Harry's feet, red hair cascaded in front of the face he loved so well, one that he would never again see smile, or laugh, or get cross.
Harry ran his fingers through the soft, red hair, and brushed it back. He would never forget the first glimpse of this face on the King's Cross platform, many years ago now. Harry wanted more than anything to cry, to scream, to somehow bring the lifeless form in front of him back to life, but in his stunned, helpless state, he could do nothing but stare.
He ran his hand against the pale, freckled cheek, and let his thoughts drift to Molly. Would she know yet? Would Arthur? Would he have to be the one to tell her that she had lost another child? The death of Percy, despite their recent estrangement, had been a hard blow to the entire Weasley family. With his loss went any opportunity of reconciliation, or closure, or becoming a whole family again. But this would be more than any of them could bear.
Harry's fists clenched. It was his fault, after all. He did his best to hide his feelings, knowing that Voldemort would only use them to his advantage. He never even expressed it, he kept everything hidden. Now no one would ever know… no one who really needed to, anyway.
He tore at his hair, alternately tightening and relaxing his fingers around his own shaggy, dark tresses. What was he to do now? How could anyone expect him to go on? Living life as this 'hero' figure, this 'saviour'… he couldn't even save the person who mattered most to him. He felt like a sham.
Dry, heaving sobs escaped from him, starting from deep in his chest. He fell into the foetal position, curling himself around the broken remains. It was wrong, it was, it should be he who was dead – he was marked for it since birth.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Get up, Harry."
He squeezed his eyes shut, and held the body tighter. Other than that, he made no acknowledgement that he had been either touched or spoken to.
The hand pushed his shoulder a little now. "Get up, Harry," the voice instructed, more firmly this time.
"Don't want to," he managed to say, his own voice just above a whisper.
"You have to," it answered.
Harry sighed, and at long last, pushed himself up to a seated position.
"We have to return the body."
"I know," Harry answered. He stood up slowly, and looked down at it again. He started to bend down to pick it up, and realized suddenly his face was wet – a combination of his finally-released tears and his love's blood.
Before he could reach the body again, the same hand stopped him. Hermione turned Harry around to face her, and she held his face in her hands. "This isn't your fault, Harry," she said, using a kinder tone this time.
"It is."
"It isn't. And you'll realize that eventually. But right now, that's neither here nor there. You're going to feel the way you do right now, and I'm here for you while you do. Everyone will be."
"Thank you, Hermione," he said, barely audible.
She pulled Harry into a tight hug. "I understand, Harry," she said, beginning to weep. "I miss Ron, too."
2nd A/N: Hope no one was offended by the slight mention of slash. I would have mentioned it at the beginning but it would have ruined the end.