.
.
He looked so weak.
There was no magic shadow to hide half his body and make him seem taller, stronger and untouchable anymore. It was just a frail, human body. The dark wizzard was laying there, by Harry's feet, in an awkward, unnatural position, and -with his snake-like features facing the other way- he didn't look like Lord Voldemort anymore. He was just Tom.
People were still shouting, singing, dancing and hugging all around him, and though Harry had been at the epicentre of the phenomenon, he had now been washed up to the edge by the wave of happy new comers that had poured itself through the large doors of the nearly destroyed great hall.
Harry didn't know why he had ended up in the corner where laid the corpse of Voldemort. Had he been driven there by the last thread of fate that tied them together, or was it pure coincidence? He didn't really care either way. Actually, he felt oddly detached as he stared at the broken corpse in front of him. Detached and floating in warm, peaceful relief. He had killed. He knew he had. He'd known he would. But the warmth was stronger than any kind of guilt that would perhaps come later, so for now he just stood there and stared.
"No, Potter."
Harry was surprised to turn and find Professor McGonnagal right by his side. And then the warmth traveled in his chest and seized it at a memory from earlier. Minerva McGonnal had actually cried out loud at the sight of his body when she had thought him dead. There had been despair and agony he would never have thought his severe teacher could even feel, it resonated so deeply in his chest. And yet she had. For him.
And suddenly it occurred to him that it wasn't that surprising to find her there. She had always been just by his side.
He opened his mouth to tell her, to show her how it had mattered to him, that she was there, that she felt so much for him, but although he was apparently an acclaimed hero now, he was still awkward enough to choke and close his mouth in embarrassment.
"No, Potter," she resumed as if she didn't notice, "he doesn't deserve your attention anymore. He is nothing."
She had redone her hair in that strict, perfect bun of hers and she was standing as tall and sober as she had always seemed to be when she taught, but her words held something fierce and protective. Harry could almost see the lioness he had seen fighting earlier, and once again he wanted to show her just how much that protectiveness over him counted. He just didn't know how.
He nodded at her words though, and his eyes strayed a last time over the dead body before a disconcerting thought shot trough the frog in his brain.
"It shouldn't be here. The body, I mean. It shouldn't be here with the others."
The professor frowned a second and then as understanding dawned on her face she nodded seriously, already turning away to give the necessary orders to remove the body from the room. That man's corpse didn't deserve to be in the same room as Colin 's, as Remus's or Fred's. He felt a flare of anger and hurt at the thought of his lost friends and he knew the break was over.
He looked around him and though people called his name to shout thank yous and hurrays his heart throbbed painfully and he passed a hand on his face.
The detached warmth was clearing away now, and he bid it goodbye reluctantly because he knew what would happen next. He would start feeling again. Happiness because it was over, of course, relief because his best friends had survived too, but also guilt and pain and loss. And as his eyes traveled the room, they caught the unmoving bodies between the celebrating witches and wizards congratulating one another, and he accepted the pain it brought, taking it in and keeping it inside because he knew it would never go away.
Somehow, he also knew that it was okay. He was ready now.
.
.
Well, that was short. I'll maybe make this into a series of random moments in the life of Harry Potter, but no promises.
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