Author's Note: A collection of post-DH drabbles drawn together by the last one. What was the world like, just after the Battle of Hogwarts? Please review!
Black hair stared up at the sky. What would he do now that he really was the boy he'd longed to be? What would he do now that he really was 'Just Harry'? What was his purpose, his destiny? Life seemed scarily uncertain. All these years he'd wished for freedom from destiny but without destiny who was he? Did he even have an identity, a purpose? Red hair draped along his neck and he felt arms close around him. Suddenly uncertainty was certain and the world was full of possibilities. And red was the most beautiful color in the world.
"Checkmate." she said. It was the first time she'd managed to beat him, but she didn't feel at all like celebrating. He hadn't been concentrating; he wasn't even looking this way. He was staring instead at boxes of unopened candy and fireworks retrieved from the boxes of confiscated loot in Snape's office. She knew that, to him, these candies were death itself. "He wouldn't have wanted this." she whispered, and she wrapped her arms around him as tears dripped down the end of his long nose. And she was reminded of a year ago when he'd done this for her.
Surrounded by throngs of admirers he felt, in fact, more alone then ever. He'd killed a snake yes, but what was there to admire? He wasn't Harry Potter after all. He was Neville Longbottom, the clumsy boy who always made his cauldron explode and never did quite manage to Transfigure a teapot. He wasn't a hero. He wondered if this was how Harry had felt all those years, admired for something he didn't even remember. Suddenly he felt closer to the boy he'd shared a dorm with; almost as if it could have been him instead who'd had the scar.
Off in a corner blonde hair curled up sleeping, hand in hand with dark skin. He stared down at her, pondering how their paths had come together this past year. It had stemmed from the fact that both of them had open minds and an imagination, though he rather thought she was too quick, sometimes, to believe and he worried for her. And as he sat watching her sleep, in the midst of one of the greatest moments in history, all he could think about was how he wanted to take care of her, to guard her from ignorant minds.
They were two. Always two. Interchangeable, really. Hardly anyone could tell which was which. So what could he do when two whittled down to one, but sit and watch? Harry had Ginny, Ron had Hermione, Neville had many, and Dean had Luna. Who did George have? George had Fred. But Fred had died. And where did that leave him? That left him alone. He didn't notice that Harry was scared, or that Ron was sad, that Neville was lonely, or Dean was worried. They had people. He had no one. And so he sat. Alone with himself, missing his double.