As the first light o dawn illuminated the scarred landscape surrounding the old, resilient castle, Harry Potter allowed himself to cry.
He wept for the lives so needlessly taken. For Lupin, Tonks, Fred Colin… The list was endless. And he wept for the people they left behind. He wept for the Weasley's – for George who had lost more than a brother. He wept for Dennis' loss of an older brother – one whom he looked up to, and looked to for support where he couldn't from his parents. He wept for Teddy who would now, like Harry, never know his parents, would never know their goodness, or their love. He could only hope that their legacy of a better world lived on.
He wept for the countless people whose lives had been torn apart as a result of Riddle's reign of terror. He wept for the people who had lost everything, and he wept for the people who had given everything that one day, Riddle might be defeated.
He wept at the injustice of the world. He wept that so many had to die because one person feared it so. Because one person decided that they were superior – that they alone had the right to decide who lived and who died.
He wept, for the first time in his life, for himself. He knew it was selfish in light of what had happened, of what he had caused, but he couldn't quite bring himself to stop.
He wept for the fact that he had never known his parents. He wept that his life had forever been ruled by a prophecy that did not explicitly refer to him. He wept that he had been forced to live with his Aunt and Uncle, that he had been excluded from the Wizarding world. He wept for every time Dudley had beaten him; for every time he was threatened.
We wept at the cruelty of fate – that Sirius had been taken from him as quickly as he had been given. He wept at that fact that his own weakness had caused his Godfather's death, that he hadn't been able to save so many others.
He wept for his lost childhood. For the fact that he had been forced to grow up so quickly. That he had to put the greater good before himself time and time again. That he had to, ultimately, give his own life that the world might live.
He wept for the hurt he had caused Ginny. That he broke his own heart in the process was unimportant, but selfishly he wept from the fear that she would be unable to love him anymore.
He wept for the danger that he had put his friends in. The danger they had so readily cast themselves into for the greater good; to help. He wept for Ginny, Luna, Neville.
Ron and Hermione were a different matter. He wept that he had changed their lives so irrevocably – that simply by association they had been condemned to danger just as surely as he had, that they too had lost their childhood. And he wept bitterly that they had done so willingly, without complaint, for him.
He wept for Severus Snape. For a man whom he hated, but to whom he owed everything. A man who had led a tragic life, devoid of love of thanks. Who had, despite everything, remained loyal to his love, and laid down his own life in the very end.
He wept for another orphan who never knew love, much like himself. He wept that he had allowed it to twist his life, mould him into something different, to mutate and distort him until he was no longer human. He wept for the fact that no one had ever extended the hand of friendship to Tom Riddle, because in doing so, the fate of the world may have been changed.
And he wept bitterly, and selfishly, for the choice that Riddle had made. That he had forever marked Harry as different. He hated himself for it, but he wept for the fact that Riddle didn't choose Neville.
Sometime later, when the tears had finally dried, Harry was pulled from his thoughts by a comforting hand on his shoulder. He moved along so that the new arrival could sit beside him on the bench.
He didn't look at him as he sat down, and both men surveyed the school in silence, both choosing to stick to their own thoughts.
Finally, the other man broke the silence. "It's over. We won."
Harry turned to look at the face of his oldest friend. Like him, Ron Weasley had been forced to grow up at an unfair rate. Like him, Ron Weasley had seen horrors that none have to endure. But unlike him, Ron Weasley had chosen to be there. For him.
Turning from his friend, he looked to the Astronomy Tower, where the greatest wizard who had ever lived had met his end. A strange sense of closure settled on Harry, but the pain remained. His heart tore with grief for all the people who had been lost, and rage at the injustice of the world.
He turned back to Ron, and with the silent communication brought only by years of true friendship, recognised the same pain in his friend's eyes, and asked the unspoken question which hung heavily in the air.
"Yes. But at what cost?"