When kids are little, and you give them access to building blocks, they find it so much easier and enjoyable to actually create the tower than to perform a dreaded task that always comes afterward. A little thing called clean-up.
The kids gripe and groan and throw a fit and tell their parents how extremely unfair it is to have to put their toys away. The parents calmly explain for the umpteenth time that when you make a mess, you clean it up. That's the way of life. The kid finally cracks, cleans up the building blocks, and life goes on.
That's what was running through Harry's mind as he looked around at the damage the war had caused. His whole life had been building the tower. Now the tower had been knocked over, and Harry had to start the clean up. But while a child cleans up in less than a minute and life goes on, it was beginning to look like that for Harry it would take a little bit more than a minute to replace the life that he used to have.
Of course, Voldemort, the most evil, power-hungry wizard in the world hardly compared to the joy of creating a tower when you were a toddler. Voldemort, in fact, wasn't much fun at all. All through Harry's life, Voldemort had been the dark, unspeakable threat silently looming over him, waiting for signs of weakness so he could attack. It had been Harry's destiny to kill Voldemort since he was fourteen, when Voldemort had come back. Harry's whole life had been turned upside down, and Harry had thought that nothing could be worse than that.
How wrong he was.
Harry could almost see the grief and sadness hanging over the families that had lost someone in the war. He could see the devastation written across students' and teachers' faces alike as they turned to survey the damage left by a night of intense fighting. Harry noticed some of the students trailing their fingers along what used to be a wall before it was blown up by a stray jinx. He could see the deep sadness on their face as they looked at what used to be their home.
That's what hit Harry the hardest. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry's beloved home for years, was now only a dilapidated shell of its former self. The walls were falling apart. The Astronomy Tower had completely fallen over, leaving a gaping hole to match the other giant chasms that once were walls. The whole castle looked pathetic and shabby. It looked nothing like the extravagant structure glowing with inner beauty that Harry could see in his mind's eye. It looked nothing like its former self.
As he trudged along the sloping lawns, avoiding the deep craters caused by falling pieces of rock and jinxes, Harry wished nothing more than to curl up on his four poster bed (assuming his dormitory hadn't been blown up), go to sleep, and wake up to find himself in the tent with Ron and Hermione. He wanted to find out that this had been all a dream. A nightmare, really, but a figment of the imagination, nonetheless. He'd tell Ron and Hermione about it, and Ron would just laugh it off with Harry, but Hermione would purse her lips and tell him that he really should try to block Voldemort out his mind. Ron would tell her to lay off, and they would get into an argument, just like old times.
But there were some problems with this newfound hope. First of all, Harry didn't have any imagination if Voldemort didn't inhabit his dreams. He couldn't have dreamed this all up. Harry knew Voldemort didn't come up with this either, because he didn't have much imagination either.
Harry stubbed his toe on a chunk of rock as he strode toward the devastated castle. This did nothing to improve his mood. Rubbing his toe impatiently, he set off again to the great oak front doors that were surprisingly still standing, even after the whole fight. Harry couldn't help smiling a little. Even when everything looked hopeless, there was always someone, even Hogwarts, there to welcome him back. Someone cared for him no matter what.
Hermione and Ron stood next to each other halfway down the stone steps, waiting for him. It was hard to see them clearly, but there was no mistaking Ron's bright red Weasley hair which reflected off the setting sun and made his head look like it was on fire. Hermione could only be the one standing next to him. As he got closer, he could see that they both had one arm raised to shield their eyes against the setting sun. He also noticed that they were holding hands with their free hands.
Harry's sudden feeling of warmth grew as he reached his friends. Because no matter what you went through, what troubles arose, friends were the thing that kept you from going crazy. And they were also waiting for you on the other side.