Although his eyes itched with tiredness and every part of his body ached with exhaustion, Harry simply could not let himself slip into sleep. He was still tense and alert, expecting a Death Eater to burst into the dormitory at any moment; and he couldn't rid himself of the images that played over and over in his mind: Fred, dead, his eyes glassy and unseeing…Lupin and Tonks in the Great Hall…Voldemort, falling backwards to the ground…

Try as he might, he couldn't convince himself that it was over, couldn't get his head around the fact that he was safe now; the people he loved weren't in danger anymore – what remained of them, anyway – and there would be no more unsettling glimpses into Voldemort's mind. He reached up and rubbed a finger over his scar. It had burned so frequently over the past year that it was strange not to feel the pain anymore, and stranger still to imagine that he would never feel it again.

He pulled off his glasses and jammed them onto the bedside table; then he turned over in the bed and firmly shut his eyes. It's over. You can sleep now.

Half an hour later he was still not asleep. Grinding his teeth together in frustration, he frowned up at the canopy of the four-poster bed as if he stared at it long enough the images would finally leave him in peace. Fred and Lupin and Tonks, all playing in an endless loop in his mind, over and over and over.

He heard the dormitory door open. Not bothering to pretend to be asleep, he glanced over, half-hoping it was Ron; but it was Ginny who had slipped in.

Blinking, he raised himself on his elbows and reached for his glasses. 'Ginny? How'd you get in here?'

She gave him a curious look. 'It's boys who can't get into the girls' dorm, remember?'

'Right…yeah…' Mentally cursing his sleep-deprived state, he watched as she came over and perched on the edge of his bed.

'Did I wake you up?'

'Nah…couldn't sleep.'

Ginny pursed her lips thoughtfully, her brown eyes intent on his face. 'I could go and ask Madam Pomfrey for a sleeping potion.'

Harry shook his head. 'It doesn't matter. She's probably got her hands full.'

'You really look like you need to sleep, though. Are you sure?'

'What difference does it make? I'm only going to have to…' He shrugged bitterly, '...wake up anyway...'

He saw Ginny's eyes widen in horror.

'Sorry,' he said hastily. 'I didn't mean it like that – '

'Harry.' There was an expression in her eyes that he'd never seen before, and the two of them stared at each other for a couple of moments, completely still.

Then Ginny reached out and pressed her palm to Harry's face, caressing his cheek. 'Harry,' she whispered again, and suddenly, inexplicably, his eyes were filling with tears. He made to wipe them off, but Ginny caught his hands in hers and leaned forward until their lips met.

He kissed her back, softly, gently, even as the tears ran down his cheeks. They remained like that for a minute or two, blindly pressing their faces together, clutching each other's hands.

They withdrew, each breathing slightly more heavily than they had been before. Harry started to say something, but Ginny caught his shoulders and slowly pushed him backwards until he his head was resting on the pillow again. 'Go to sleep, Harry,' she said softly, touching his cheek again.

Her brown eyes were the last he saw before his own eyes closed and darkness settled over him. Her hand moved in circles over his cheek, caressing him, a soothing pattern that relaxed his mind and kept the dead at bay, so that they lurked at the corners of his heart rather than tearing at his insides, and at last he drifted into sleep.

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When he woke, Ginny was gone and the fading light outside the windows told him that it was nearing nightfall. Loud snores filled the dormitory; Neville, Dean and Seamus were all slumped on their beds. There was still no sign of Ron.

Probably snogging Hermione again, Harry thought to himself, remembering their passionate embrace in the middle of their hunt for the diadem. The memory was a little disturbing, but he supposed he had better get used to it.

He still felt tired, but a lot less than he had that morning; and he was more hungry than tired now, anyway. Maybe he could scrounge some food from the kitchens, or perhaps there was something left in the Great Hall. After swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pulling on his trainers, he got up and left the dormitory.

About twenty people were in the Gryffindor common room now; most were snoring on couches or in armchairs, but several were huddled in small groups. A few were sitting by themselves with blank expressions on their faces; one girl was sobbing violently in a corner. As Harry passed they all glanced up, but before they could say anything to him he was climbing out of the portrait hole as fast as possible, not feeling that he was able to deal with anyone other than his closest friends tonight.

The corridors were empty and quiet; even the portraits were now slumbering in painted chairs. The echoing stillness uncomfortably reminded Harry of how, that very day, he had set out through the quiet castle to meet his death.

He stopped in the tall doorway of the Great Hall. The first stars were beginning to twinkle in the enchanted ceiling. The room was dimly lit; only a few candles glimmered in the huge space. People sat here and there along the long wooden house tables, and Harry spotted what appeared to be the entire Weasley family grouped halfway along the Gryffindor table. They appeared to be very still; perhaps they were sleeping. Ginny was slumped over the table, her long red hair shimmering faintly. Ron and Hermione were sitting a little way down the table from them, heads bent together, obviously deep in conversation.

He could have gone over to them, they would have welcomed him…Mrs Weasley would have surrounded him in her arms and held him close…Ginny would have stirred from her sleep and entwined his fingers in hers…He and Ron and Hermione would all look at each other without having to say anything, more closely bonded now than ever before. He would feel safe there, secure, with the only real family he had ever known.

Or would he? How could he join a family that had so recently been ripped apart by the loss of Fred? Harry couldn't imagine that they would welcome him when he had been the one who had caused that death.

Biting his lip, Harry hovered uncertainly in the doorway of the Great Hall, with the sense that everything had irreparably changed. He didn't feel comfortable with the Weasleys; and as for Ron and Hermione…well, it was obvious at a glance that they were more than happy to be by themselves.

Without fully realising what he was doing, he had turned away and was crossing the Entrance Hall to the chamber where the bodies of the dead rested. He had seen the bodies, had talked to their families, but he hadn't really taken any of it in. Even now, as he stepped into the large, dark chamber – barely lit, like the Great Hall, by a few candles – and was immediately confronted by the sight of the rows and rows of the dead, he felt nothing but a dull numbness.

He made his way between the rows of dead bodies until he reached Fred, Lupin and Tonks, all lying together. Crouching down, he closed his eyes in the silence and stillness of the chamber. The dead more real to him than the living.

He opened his eyes and looked at Fred's freckled face and Tonks' bubblegum-pink hair. It was impossible to believe that the two of them, so lively, could have left this world forever. And Lupin… Harry looked at the corpse of his former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and felt a wave of hopelessness wash over him. Sirius had died and Dumbledore had died and Harry had grieved, but no matter what happened, Lupin had always been there, steady and reliable.

Suddenly blinded by tears, Harry bowed his head, digging his fingers into his hair. Remus Lupin was gone now, never to offer Harry guidance or advice again. He had truly lost the last father figure in his life.

The last father figure…

Teddy Lupin. Like Harry, he would never know his father, or his mother. Guilt was gnawing more terribly than before at him. Would Teddy grow up blaming Harry for his parents' deaths; or would he never know the truth and view his godfather as the hero who his parents sacrificed their lives for? Harry couldn't decide which would be worse.

He remembered the picture of Teddy that Lupin had been waving around in the Room of Requirement, and was suddenly digging desperately through Lupin's pockets for it – he didn't quite know why…only that he had a fierce longing to set eyes on his godson.

Finally, his fingers closed around the photograph and he withdrew it slowly. The baby with the tuft of turquoise hair chuckled up at him, unaware that he would never see his mother or father again.

More tears spilled out of Harry's eyes and he let them flow freely; there was no one to see him, after all. Stuffing the picture of Teddy Lupin into his pocket, he lay down flat on his back, at the feet of the row of the dead, the tears running from the corners of his eyes. Voldemort was dead, and he was safe now…so why was it that he almost wished it had been the other way round?

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Please R&R!