Disclaimer: Not mine
The war was on; this much was clear. Without Dumbledore around, the Light side struggled more than ever. Every day the news of more deaths reached the few students who remained at Hogwarts, Harry Potter among them.
He hadn't wanted to return. Harry wished with every fiber of being that he was out there, fighting side by side with Remus and Arthur Weasley and the rest of the order. However, McGonagall had approached him shortly before the beginning of the school year and told him, in no uncertain terms, that she completely expected him to finish his education.
So, resentful and restless, Harry spent the first months of his final year at Hogwarts brooding darkly, starting at small noises, and spending enough time in the library to rival Hermione, although he wasn't focusing on schoolwork. No, he threw himself into the hunt for the remaining Horcruxes with startling vigor, and owled the Order whenever he came across something relevant. Lately, though, he'd had no reason to contact them.
Understandably, November found Harry touchy and angry and generally unhappy. Ron and Hermione, though they did their best to help him in his search for the Horcruxes, had a hard time relating to the obligation that he felt to the war. Unlike his fifth year, when he had been prone to angry outbursts, Harry was now constantly snappish and grouchy.
When McGonagall stood at the head table to make a speech before dinner one Thursday night in late November, then, he found he had very little patience for the whole ordeal.
"What is she doing?" Harry muttered tiredly to Ron.
"What?" asked his friend, tearing his eyes off Hermione to face Harry. "Oh…no idea. Dumbledore always was a bit barmy; maybe she's going 'round the bend, too."
He frowned and looked at Hermione, who seemed, as usual, to know exactly what was going on. "I know what this is…"
"Wha—" McGonagall chose that moment to loudly clear her throat.
"I'm sure most of you are wondering what is going on," she began. "In America, today is a special holiday dedicated to giving thanks. While I realize that we are an ocean away from all that, I think they may be onto something.
"We are in the midst of a war, one of the most terrible our world has seen."
Harry couldn't help but notice how rehearsed this speech sounded. One thing was apparent: McGonagall definitely lacked Dumbledore's public speaking abilities.
"In times like this, it is easy to forget how to appreciate the things we have. Therefore, I believe it is important for each of us to take a moment and consider silently at least one thing for which we can be thankful."
Harry rolled eyes. What did he have? He'd lost everything. He looked down the table to make a comment to Ron, but he and Hermione were both sitting with their eyes shut and their heads bent. He saw Ron mouth the words, "Everyone's safe…even Percy…"
The painful weight of realization settled in Harry's stomach. He had lost a lot—too much—to this war, but he hadn't lost everything. He hadn't lost everyone.
He shut his own eyes. "Ron, Hermione, Remus, the Weasley family…" he began.
He eventually stopped as he felt the people around him resume chattering and turn their attention toward their meals, but Harry could've kept going all night. For the first time in a long time, he forgot his worries long enough to feel happy.
He dug into his potatoes with a small smile. "Happy Thanksgiving, Professor Dumbledore."
A/N: I really like to write fluffy little holiday one-shots. They're quite uplifting. This isn't my best work, but I needed to stretch my creative writing muscles—they've been out of shape for awhile. Anyway, I know most of you are probably in shock that I'm not dead—I have put my other stories on hiatus, they just weren't going anywhere. However, I'm working on a piece that's quite a turn from my other stories; it's basically a post-war character study of Severus Snape (because all the true Severus fans know he's really a good guy). Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving to you all, American or not.