A/N: Hello, all! I recently finished watching AVPSY and have been thoroughly overcome with feels, which prompted this. I AM working on the next chapter for my other story, Dreams and Reality, but I have a bad case of writer's block. I promise I'm not done with it yet, I just needed to write this before it drove me insane.
Disclaimer: It is with a heavy heart that I must admit that I am not, nor will I ever be, JK Rowling. Shocking, I know.
"Do not pity the dead, Harry. Above all, pity the living, and all those who live without love."
-Albus Dumbledore, "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows"
Alone
Alone. Completely and utterly alone. The old man dropped to his knees in front of her closet and ran gnarled fingers over the worn fabrics. They still smelled like her.
Their wedding picture still sat on her bedside table, the frame and glass gathering dust. They looked so young and happy more than half a century ago. The people in the photo had their whole lives together ahead of them.
Now she was gone. Heart no longer beating, smile no longer tugging at her lips. She was the last to go. The last of his friends, the last of the Weasleys. He had his children and grandchildren and nieces and nephews and great nieces and great nephews, but it wasn't the same. None of them fought in the Second Wizarding War. None of them had ever met Sirius or Fred or Tonks or Remus. None of them knew his parents or the Marauders or McGonagall or Cedric.
They knew the stories, of course. How Sirius was wrongly imprisoned for twelve years in Azkaban for the murder of Peter Pettigrew, how Fred and George dropped out of Hogwarts together in their seventh year via a firework display, or how Tonks used to wear her hair bubblegum pink. They had seen the Marauder's Map, but it didn't hold any significance to them. It was just a piece of grubby parchment that helped them avoid trouble a few times, something that Grandpa Potter held dear.
Her death ignited a bitterness inside him that he hadn't known since Sirius because she was the last. The last person he wanted to lose, the last of the Weasley family that had taken him in all those years ago. The last to lose that vibrant red Weasley hair. The last thing he thought about before that Killing Curse hit him in the Forbidden Forest that fateful night all those years ago.
He felt lost without her. She was his lifetime companion and the only girl he had ever loved.
She was always better than firewhiskey, he thought as a tear slipped past his glasses and on to the old wooden floor. He had kept the round glasses all these years despite Hermione's pestering he replace them simply because Ginny had liked them.
What he wouldn't give to hear them argue about it right now. It had been three years since he lost Hermione, three years since he lost one of his best friends.
Death is, and always will be, cruel, he decided. He had been happy too long, that must be it. He had been happy while others suffered, so he was punished. Death, just like in Beedle's old story, had picked them off and took them all for his own one at a time. It wasn't fair. Why was he the last one? Why did he have to be the one to figure out the rest of his life once they all had blinked out of existence?
The world had long since forgotten Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. They had moved on to bigger and better things. He was a chapter in a dusty history book, a lecture to sleep through in History of Magic.
He would take all of the stares and autograph signings and gossip back if he could have her back. He would kill Voldemort twenty more times or rescue her from the Chamber every day if that's what it took.
Life didn't work like that, of course. She was gone now, just like the others. They all left him eventually, if given enough time. She promised that she wouldn't, though. She was supposed to be different. He laughed bitterly as more tears fell to the floor. He knew he was being childish. He knew she would have to leave him one day, but that thought never prepared him for the day it actually happened.
"I miss you, Gin," he whispered, ghosting a finger over her face in the picture. She was as young as ever, laughing as he tried to shake the rice out of his uncontrollable hair. It was mostly gone now; the hair. It was reduced to a few whisps sticking up in all directions, just as it had done in his youth.
How pathetic he must look, sitting on the floor and crying next to a closet of old clothes, clutching a picture to his frail chest. But he didn't care. She had helped him learn not to care as much about what people thought throughout the course of their marriage.
Marriage. He was a widower now, just like his mum, however briefly. He wished he could blame Voldemort for the death of yet another loved one, but he knew he couldn't this time. Voldemort was long gone, among the only losses he was actually pleased about.
He hoped it would all end soon. The pain. The loneliness. He had pretended to be okay for years, but this was too much. He had lost his rock and that was too much to bear. Her death had broken him, leaving him an empty shell of who he used to be. Gone was the survivor, the fighter, the leader. Gone was the protectiveness, the stubbornness, the unwavering bravery. Gone was everything, for Harry Potter was empty. And alone.
So, so, alone.
A/N: I've actually never asked this before because I have a pet peeve about asking people to review, but I'll do it. Review, please? (Ugh, you don't know how much it hurt me to type that)