Disclaimer: They will never be mine.

Author's Note: Think of this as the intermission. I am still working on the seventh chapter of Twilight of Dawn and the plot bunny won't leave me alone on this. So I thought I should treat you guys to this until I finalize the second chapter of ToD. I hope you like it.

It was a picture of sorrow. A lone young man stands in the middle of the celebration that mingles with sadness. His shaggy hair of midnight black frames a war-torn face, with eyes that shines older than should be. Tears were trickling down from old eyes to drop on debris, his sorrow mixing with another. Shoulders shake as his heart, unseen, bleeds with the cries of fighters.

He pushed away those who offer praise, congratulations. He didn't want it; can't they see that? He never have had reason to believe that he should hold such recognition but now that there was a reason, he wishes not for it. He was a killer, have been at the tender age of eleven. Who would want to worship someone who was no better than the Dark Lord himself? There were close friends who would think otherwise but it doesn't lessen the pain in him.

His weary emeralds lock on the sight of his friends. They surrounded a body; he didn't need to be a genius to know that he or she was dead. He got closer as his heart clouds in ice, willing him to break down. More tears are flowing freely as he gaze upon the corpse of a man he thought of as a brother: Fred Weasley. He ignores the cries of his surrogate family as he knelt down next to the red head man. He drops a kiss on his forehead, praying silently that he will live a peaceful life in the afterlife.

After a few moment of silence with him, the young man stood up, gazing at the people he was proud to call family. They swallow back their cries at the haunted look on his face. He was much too young to be a ghost, much too young. In his eyes they see resolution: he was done fighting.

He turned away only to meet the gone life of his surrogate godfather and his wife. Here was his last lifeline to a life unknown, gone; the light shines no more for him, never will he see his son grow up. Not one soul in the Great Hall denied ever hearing such a broken cry as that that emanated from the mouth of their Savior. It was truly a sight of heartbreak at the scene of a young man clutching the lifeless bodies of Remus and Nyphmadora Lupin close to his heart.

A few minutes later and the young man finally let go of his family. He brushed their eyes closed; he placed a final kiss on their foreheads and releasing them, he stumbles to his feet. He drew a shuttering breath, willing himself to cry no more.

He whispers in a broken voice to Molly Weasley, "Take care of them."

Without another word or a glance, he walked out. Among the lifeless bodies and falling foundation, he walked with no destination in mind save for the need to get away. He reached the end of his journey, stopping at the gates of the home he had always felt safe at.

He looked back at the castle of Hogwarts. Here was the place he had his first laugh; his first cry; his first kiss; his first triumph; his first kill; his first everything. This was the place he had first learned his lessons of life.

Hogwarts was where he learned to be brave; never to show fear in the eyes of the enemy. He learned to love and be loved and to accept whatever Fate throws at him. Here he struggled to unite his classmates despite the obvious enmity among them. Here he learned that everything is not as it seems; deception is the way of survival. Hogwarts was where he learned to fight for his beliefs and to protect those he loves. At Hogwarts, he was taught triumphs and defeat. It was where he lost more loved ones than he could count.

It was where he learned to live and where he learned that death is not, as one Albus Dumbledore used to say, is not the next greatest adventure, not when you're left behind.

Harry Potter took one more lingering look at his home before turning around to face the rising sun. Life is waiting for him and this time, he would fulfill it.