Hermione P.O.V.
Nobody considers the best friend's feelings when tragedy strikes. They think about the girlfriend, the lover, the parents. They rarely spare a thought for the girl who had been there through it all. I may not have been in love with Harry Potter, but I did love him. He was my brother in all ways but blood. I'm not saying we always got along or agreed because after all, siblings squabble.
But I will say that the moment I saw Hagrid carry Harry's lifeless body onto the Hogwart's grounds was the absolute worst moment of my entire life. It was worse than being hated by the whole school, it was worse than seeing the boy I was in love with date another girl. Hell, it was worse than being tortured by Bellatrix.
Even now, after the fact, I am still unsure of what happened. I remember hearing McGonagall scream and then running out to see my brother's body broken, lifeless, being carried in and placed at the feet of the enemy.
People were talking, I was aware of that, but all I could think about was the Harry Potter who wasn't the ministry's scapegoat or the golden boy. I was thinking about 'just Harry' not the hero of the wizarding world, but my own personal hero.
'Just Harry', my confidante with whom I shared things that I wasn't able to with anyone else. Who I could talk to about the muggle world and things that were over Ron's head.
Harry who always stood up for me, who battled a troll and stuck his wand up its nose for me, who put the clues together when I had become petrified, who time traveled with me, and started Dumbledore's Army up at my insistence. Yet, even with all that had been going on over the past two years, was always my shoulder to cry on when Ron did something stupid, again.
The Harry Potter whom I picked over Ron in fourth year and again in that blasted tent, because you just don't find friends like Harry everyday, I still didn't regret either of those decisions. Harry always felt that he needed to be brave and save the day. Why couldn't we save him, too?
Who sometimes could be so dense that he couldn't see what was right in front of him but at other times seemed to know me better than I knew myself, and could see things that were not found in books. My entirely too noble annoyingly self righteous friend… Who died at seventeen...?
He never expected to live through the war, I knew that, and it had always made me want to yell at him or start to ball at how pessimistic he was. But at that second I realized he wasn't being pessimistic, he was being brave….for everyone. He was more scared than anyone about what the end of the war would mean for him. He was trying to prepare us all for the inevitable. He was still looking out for people even after he thought he'd be dead.
He never experienced love, or at least he never got enough love. I was one of the few people who knew the extent of what his life with the muggles was like. I knew more than Ron, who was the only other person who Harry shared things with. Harry was the last person who deserved that kind of neglect and I had sworn the day he told me about that damned cupboard I would jinx his aunt and uncle into infinity.
When he got to Hogwarts he built his own family, but he held then at arms' length and built walls around his feelings because he didn't feel that his emotions were important enough to be voiced. But they were, of course they were. He never fully understood how much we all cared for him. And then he lost what he loved, over and over again. His parents, Cedric, Sirius, Moody, Dumbledore, Fred, Remus and Tonks they were all gone…. who knew how many more.
I thought I understood what he had been going through all those years when I sent my parents away, but that did not even begin to compare to what it felt to lose someone close to you. I don't know how he was still able to care for people so much after losing so much, because right now I felt like shutting down, Harry had been going through this for years.
I couldn't imagine what the walk had been like on his way to the forest. Him knowing that those would be his last steps, his last words, his last breaths. That had to have been my most depressing thought yet. But still Harry did it. Yet Voldemort was still here, so what had he really accomplished with his last heroic act?
I snuck a look at Ginny and saw her tucked away in her father's side, not even able to look at the sight ahead of her. They were real. Sure they were young and in a stressful situation but that was love, what they had. I know she was mad at him for breaking up with her, so was Ron and a bunch of other people. I understood though, he was trying to save her from being hurt, or put on Voldemort's hit list. But still neither of them would know what...
Then I saw him blink, while Neville was on fire and I knew that Voldemort hadn't killed him... But I would. The little arsehole had me in tears and he wasn't even dead. The nerve!
Ha ha so what do you think? Please review but no flames, constructive criticism is accepted though!