( Sadness )
The gate creaked as he pushed it open. Snow, mud and gravel crunched under his boots as he walked under the barren trees. It was so cold he could see his breath. One by one, step by step, he passed the silent statues and headstones. On the far-side of the graveyard, he stopped and stared. He pulled a gloved hand out of his jacket pocket and dusted off the snow from the top of a gravestone. He let his hand rest upon it for a moment, as he read the engravings.
James and Lily Potter .
It felt like their ashes were in his hands, rather than a wilting bouquet of flowers. He let his hand fall back to his side, and took a step back. He crouched down and lay the flowers over his parents' grave. He had never really known them. But their absence in his life . . . it felt like a wound that would never heal. And standing before the last remains of them made him feel just that little bit closer to what he had never known. A seemingly closer step to the unattainable, he knew, but he did not mind. He didn't care if others thought the sentiment silly, because it was just something he did, and he did it for himself. Standing where he was, he had no-one to impress.
He stood up and stuffed his hand in his pocket once more. The chill made his cheeks and nose slightly numb, and sent shivers down his body. He sighed, then let his gaze wander to the headstones that lay to the side, not far from him. He felt a stillness grip his heart, a breathless quiet that covered his thoughts.
Ronald Weasley.
Hermione Granger.
He closed his eyes for a moment, to collect himself, to stop the tears before they could even form. He knew it had been time enough, but it still hurt. He couldn't forget. They were dead, long gone, and not coming back. Once in his life, they had been everything to him. They had been Harry, Ron and Hermione, best friends forever. But their forever had ended, too quickly, too suddenly, like a candle doused by the wind. He had been left behind again and left to mourn alone. Sometimes, he wondered if that was his lot in life.
He found himself walking away, feeling numb. There were many more other graves of people he had known one way or another. But he couldn't look at them – not now. He'd mourn them in turn. He'd let the memories settle and he would remember each and every one of them, because someone had to remember. He could not let their deaths be in vain, or their mistakes and triumphs forgotten. But still, the war had come at too high a price for what they gained.
What's the point in saving the world, when there's no-one left to live in it?
He thought it ironic that all the people who mattered to him, found their way to this single graveyard. Perhaps someone had thought it considerate, or maybe even kind, to put them in one place for him. For Harry Potter, their hero – their Saviour.
But as he walked away, he wondered if he was the one who needed saving now.