Harry James Potter is dead. He did not die of natural causes, and he did not die by accident. Perhaps, though I know I should believe that he would have wanted to stay alive, he knew that spell would drain the last drop of magical energy out of him. Perhaps, he know his sacrifice, founded out of love for the people who he loved so dearly, would finally end the war that had taken so many lives. Perhaps, he loved us all enough to allow himself to die so that we could enjoy a peaceful life. Harry was truly selfless, I usually tell myself.
Harry is dead. I never talked to him again after that fateful night when we argued about practically everything. The last words that I said to the man that I love were horrible words, spoken out of anger instead of the love that I should have been issuing. Sometimes I wonder if he truly knew how much I loved him, even if I never told him about it. And sometimes I wonder if he's there above, watching all of us with his parents, Sirius, and Dumbledore and waiting for us to live our lives completely and come to join him beyond the veil.
I know what they say about me now: "Ginny has been reacting to Harry's death badly. Ginny is still shocked about what happened to him. Ginny really loved him." I wonder if he is hearing that, even though he's not on Earth. I wonder if he knows that he died to save us all.
--
Harry is dead. I still cannot fully comprehend the loss of him; I still cannot fully register the thought that the world is without his heroic attitude. I keep on believing that he is just going to pop out around a corner or just appear sitting at Mrs. Weasley's table in one morning, and everything will be just like we planned when we were hunting for the Horcruxes. I find myself looking for him, even though in my mind, I know he is truly dead. If this is what I'm truly feeling, then I have absolutely no idea how Ron could possibly be holding up.
He sacrificed himself for all the people that he loved, but I cannot help but wish that I had my best friend once again. I keep thinking about his untidy hair that I was finally starting to ignore, not blatantly eyeing it to see why it was so unruly. I dwell on memories of him constantly, as if he is there in my mind, directing me to the little things that I probably would have forgotten if allowed to wallow in grief for him.
If I ever speak him again, I doubt that I would know what to say to him. Will he already know that he pushed me and Ron together the whole summer before what would have been our seventh year and we were unaware of it? Will he know about the hearty laugh that surrounded me and Ron when Ginny came out and said that she had heard Harry telling Mrs. Weasley about what he wanted to do? Will he realize that we are all so grateful to him for everything? In my heart, though unreliable as it is for scientific matters, I think I will not have to tell Harry all about our lives when I see him again.
--
Harry is dead. My best mate is dead. His death is the very thing that I would never have expected to come out of that war; it was as if the world was plotting against us and thoroughly enjoyed the irony of it all. All my reassurances that we would indeed win the war and that we could all have lives after the war, all his gentle smiles and hearty laughs, all Hermione's spell-work to try to insure that we would never be without a spell in a sticky situation. It all seems so unnecessary now.
He is dead. How much will I have to tell myself that before I truly believe it? I do not think that I'll ever grow used to the fact that I will have to say those three words again and again. People will probably want to know the story of how Voldemort was defeated, how the war was ended, how Harry died. That will never be easy.
--
Harry is dead. My son, joining me before I would have ever expected him to. Standing beside me are Lilly and Sirius, both eager to see him once his soul passes through the veil, and Lilly is continuing to go on and on about how cute he was as a baby. Even though I want Harry to see us, his family, first, I cannot help but wish that Dumbledore was here. Unfortunately, it was as if he had disappeared as to give us this moment.
There he is, his ghost-like form quickly gliding to meet us. He has no color, but I imagine I see his vivid green eyes staring at us. He looks puzzled for a moment, and then his face breaks into a wide grin. "Mum, Dad," Harry says as he finally reaches us. Lilly says his name, and a comfortable silence falls on the group.