Harry looked around him with unseeing eyes. The night was cold, a frosty wind had whipped up, biting his skin, and trying to fend him away.
He couldn't move.
It felt as if he were frozen. Stuck watching as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the last of her fading like on the large expanse of water in front of him. The lake too was cold, but, as it sparkled under the warm rays, it looked warm and inviting. For half a moment Harry was tempted to jump in, but then the effect was gone. The sun had moved behind the mountains that carved through the landscape around Hogwarts. It was dark, and still he was rooted to the spot.
Numbly, he could hear the cheers of the party goers echo through the grounds from the large castle. No one would be able to guess that a battle had been fought here mere hours before. However, he had been there, and now it was as if he could see the spectres moving about the battlefield, groaning as they attempted to find a peace that would not come.
He felt as if he were one of them. One of the dead, forever to relive the fight, never to move on or find comfort from the madness. In a way he deserved it. He had taken a life, albeit Voldemort was beyond evil, but still, he had killed, and that would forever tarnish his soul.
He was a murderer, and yet they were celebrating.
It was sick, but, as he felt the cold penetrate his bones, he couldn't begin to care. Part of him was slightly worried at this apathy, but that part was quickly assimilated. Silenced.
Hearing small footsteps come behind him, he couldn't even turn. If it had been a Death Eater he would be dead, but even that never fazed him. Death would be almost blissful. He had seen the afterlife - or part of it anyway. There were people who cared about him there. People who loved him. Those up in the castle only loved the hero, they never knew him.
Feeling small arms wrap around him, he breathed in the flowery scent that was Ginny. She was warm, the heat going straight to his heart, and he felt it beat faster, pumping more blood through his system.
She knew him.
Slowly his extremities began to regain feeling, steadily moving upwards to his brain, freeing his mind from the cold.
"Harry, it'll be alright," she whispered, her breath tickling his neck.
Those were the magic words. Some said that magic was meant to be showy, but true magic was so simple that no many people noticed it. Words held power, and with these words, Harry Potter came back to life.
A/N: I was looking through my stories, and I saw one called Aftermath. Reading it, I was scared by how different my writing is now - that fic was my first attempt at this style - and parts of it I cringed at - a lot. I decided to re-write it, and this story has many of the same ideas, but personally I think it's better - certainly, I don't cringe as much. I hope you enjoyed, and reviews would be appreciated :)
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, apparently 20p isn't enough to buy the rights :(
I apologise for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes contained within this story.