Hundreds of people were gathered around the great, vast lake. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry loomed behind them in the growing darkness, and was as quiet and still as the crowd. The silence was respectful. More than fifty candles floated on the lake's surface, each engraved with a name, deep into the white wax. The faces of the deceased could be seen in the flickering flames, their smiles and sightless eyes oblivious to the mourners on the bank, their reflections distorted in the water.
Harry Potter watched the scene with mixed feelings. The candlelight and the setting sun made the lake glow. He caught Lupin's eyes staring back at him from a flame nearby. He turned away in time to watch as Professor McGonagall placed the last candle on the water.
The silence broke – not immediately, but gradually. Several people sniffed, others cried. Voices whispered and people began to shuffle about. Eventually the atmosphere changed, and students began to point out faces they recognized to their friends and family. Anecdotes were shared. More tears were shed.
To Harry's left, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger stood hand in hand.
"It's terrible," Hermione whispered. Her voice was shaky, but the tears had begun to dry on her face. Ron stroked her hair absently, and catching Harry's eye, smiled slightly, sadly. Harry returned it reluctantly.
"Harry?" Ginny appeared between them. Her eyes were dry; she was as strong as always. "I thought it was you. It's hard to tell though... everyone's a silhouette against the lake."
Harry nodded, and made to reach for her hand, but changed his mind.
"You know, they even lit candles for the Death Eaters," she said, pointing at an unnamed candle. "But there were a lot of bodies that couldn't be identified."
"Yeah," said Harry.
"We're leaving tomorrow morning," Ginny said quietly. "Back to the burrow. Mum says you're welcome to come."
"I don't want to intrude," said Harry, thinking of Fred. The Weasleys would want time to organize the funeral.
"Don't be silly. You're pretty much part of the family," said Ginny gently. "Besides, where else will you go."
"Yeah, you're right, thanks Ginny."
Ginny wondered back towards her parents, and Harry felt an inexplicable pang of jealousy as he watched them together. He turned away, chiding himself. Ginny was right; the Weasleys were family. And yet, he felt awfully, horribly alone.
Hogwarts was being rebuilt; everyone had stayed behind to work, although Harry had felt more of a hindrance than a help. He was sure it would open again, but he couldn't imagine it. The idea of normality - after losing so many people - struck Harry with a sense of guilt and despair he couldn't quite explain.
He sat where he stood, on the grassy hill overlooking the lake, at the bank full of mourners and teachers, and a part of him hoped he might never see Hogwarts again.
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