A/N: Hi! This isn't my first fic even though it's the only one on my profile. I've written others if you want to read them. Just look at the top of my profile. About this fic though. Well, it didn't turn out the way I wanted it to and I think I'll add another chapter or make write it as a separate story. I originally intended this to be everybody feeling guilty over letting Harry try to die for them. Since he's always feeling guilty about letting everyone else die, I thought it would be nice to reverse the perspectives. But then I got onto the subject of guilt and this stuff just sort of…fit. Tell me if you like it please! And if you'd be interested in reading what this was originally supposed to be. Reviews are awesome!
They all felt the guilt. It weighed down on every single one of them for some reason or another.
They had all seen it in Harry's eyes for a long time. They'd all told him again and again that it wasn't his fault, that he shouldn't blame himself. He shouldn't. They all still told him that because he was the worst of them all, but now they realized how useless that was. Nothing they said, nothing anyone said, could lift that guilt.
Kingsley felt guilty because he gave those orders. He knew he'd organized everybody the best way possible. He knew that if he'd decided to keep the people he cared about out of the danger, they would have been flattened in a second. But he still heard himself shouting out the orders, not knowing that in part, he was choosing who would live and who would not. Those orders would haunt him the rest of his life. But he knew something else too. That he'd do it the same if he had a second chance, because that's what every one of those people would have wanted.
George felt guilty because he wasn't there. People told him he couldn't have done anything; he wasn't there. But he should have been. They should have never split up that night. They always worked best together, when they were watching each other's backs. But they'd gone different ways, and George regretted that decision more than any other in his life. He replayed it again and again in his head. And each time he screamed at himself to go right instead of left, to stick by his twin, not sprint towards the place where Angelina was dueling McNair. If he had, Fred would be here now and his mother wouldn't look so broken and Ginny wouldn't flinch every time she looked at him. That was all his fault, no matter what anyone said.
Ron felt guilty because he was there. He had been standing right there. He'd been right next to him, talking to him when the world exploded, but he didn't save him. He didn't pull him out of the way like he had Hermione. He didn't cast any of the spells that could have save him. He'd been there, but he hadn't stopped Fred from dying. Hermione told him he couldn't have; that she knew because she'd been there too and that she hadn't been able to help Fred anymore than Ron had. But Ron knew she was wrong. He knew because Harry didn't say they couldn't have done anything and neither did Percy, and they were there too.
Percy felt guilty because he lived. He'd been right next to Fred. It could have been him. It should have been. He was the one that turned his back on his family when they needed him. He was the one who was spineless enough to swallow all the Ministry propaganda. He was the one who was arrogant and egotistical and jealous of how amazing his brothers all were. He was the one who should have died. It would have made up for all the rotten stuff he did. It would have been something his family could finally be proud of. It would have been fair.
Molly felt guilty because she hadn't worried. That isn't exactly true. She had worried herself sick for all her children. But she had worried most for Ginny that night. Not because she loved her more, but because she was the smallest, she was the baby, she was her the only girl, and she wasn't supposed to be there. Ginny was the one she feared would not make it out alive, because fate often played cruel games like that and this seemed like something fate would do. But fate was crueler than she had realized. It had never crossed her mind that only one twin could die. They had always done everything as a set. Always together, since before birth. How was it possible that this most colossal journey could be taken separately? Why hadn't she seen it coming? Why, when she saw her family gathered around one of the dead, Arthur's crumpled expression, Percy's tear-streaked, anguished face, did she assume it was her daughter causing it all? People told her, like they told everyone else, like they she told Harry more times than she could count, she couldn't have done anything. But it didn't help because that's not why she was guilty. It was that moment of relief when she had caught sight of her daughter, standing and breathing and very much alive, that made her sob. It was the chaos of battle, she told herself, she didn't know what had happened yet. Of course she was relieved her daughter was alive. But that didn't make her any less disgusted with herself. That didn't make the guilt go away.
When they asked – and each of them did at some point, turning to him with expressions of grief that broke his heart and ignited his own guilt – Harry told them that it never really went away. It was like grief, always there, at the back of your mind, but it faded with time. It grew weaker, started to go away. Reason stopped you from really believing it, but it was always there, like a shadow you couldn't escape.
A/N: what do you think? Did I do okay? Please review! It only takes a couple of seconds and your feedback would make my whole day!