Without A Goodbye
"She's gone, she's really gone," thought Harry.
He gazed at the bedroom ceiling, eyes unfocused; his vision blurry without the aid of his round-rimmed glasses. They waited, perched on a singular nightstand; specks of rain still clung to the slightly scratch lenses. The night had been one of the worst in his memory. Mad-Eye Moody was dead; an unbelievable truth that Harry had not even begun to process. It was too unreal that such a resilient, fearless person should no longer be among the living. Hagrid was injured, but stable, sleeping on the maroon couch in the living room. And Hedwig…
Harry had watched Hedwig fall from the darkened sky to the ground below. He had seen her body jolt backwards, her wings cease movement and go limp. He had heard her last cry, soft as a sigh but piercing as a quill, and yet, he lay in disbelief. His main concern had been the safety of his friends and members of The Order as they set out for The Burrow that evening. A knot formed in Harry's stomach, a feeling of nausea. He had feared for them all; but not for Hedwig. He never considered her a target, could not fathom that she would be mixed up in battle. Would he ever forgive himself? All of his thoughts were of the choices he could have made, how he could have protected her.
Ron let loose a disruptive snore from across the room, startling Harry out of his guilt-laden revere. Ron's snores were the only sounds available to interrupt the quiet of the house, the silence of the bedroom. There was no rustling of newspaper from Hedwig's cage; no soft hoots as she slept. It sat empty in the corner of the room. The cage door rested slightly ajar, bits of treats were still scattered upon the nests floor.
It was the same silver cage she was in when Hagrid had surprised Harry in the train station that day, six years ago, with the most beautiful snowy owl. No one gave Harry gifts, and yet here she was, Hedwig, his first real friend. His heart had filled with an overwhelming joy, he knew they would be together for years and years to come. Now she was gone, torn from the world, from Harry, years before her time. It was unfair. It was cruel. It made Harry's head hurt and his stomachache. Feelings of anger, grief, sadness, and loneliness raged through his veins like lighter fluid set upon burning up his insides.
He needed to move. He couldn't just lie in bed, surrounded by his grief or his deep feelings of responsibility. He stepped out of bed, careful to not wake Ron, and edged the door open without even a creak. Three flights down slanted, worn wooden stairs led Harry to the kitchen and out the door to the backyard. The ground was wet and cold beneath Harry's bare feet, he sank slightly with every step and blades of grass stuck to his ankles.
After walking ten steps from the house, Harry stopped. He has forgotten his glasses inside. The grass, trees, house, sky were all a blur, blending together; a painting that he was not part of. He sank to the ground, allowing the moisture to soak up into his jeans and chill his legs. Like a branch in the breeze he sat, still but with a subtle sway. Harry looked toward the sky, toward the moon, but clouds obscured it. He brushed his hair from his face. He searched for Hedwig against the overpowering grey, but he could not find her. He wanted to scream, to rage against the injustice of his loss, of her loss of life, but it was not safe. It was not safe to draw attention to this place, where even now he felt the hefty weight of responsibility for the Weasley's, for Hermione, for the Order.
"Tonight, only tonight, I am going to allow myself to feel this grief. In the morning, I will wake up and move on. Life does not wait. Death does not wait. And so I must keep moving", thought Harry.
And so he lay on the grass, he stared at the sky. He did not move just yet, but he would. For these few moments though, this sorrow was his, and he would feel it. He would allow himself that much.