Thanks for the Memories
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Update (7th March 09): I went back and edited. :)
Voldemort was dead. Killed by his own rebounding curse.
"I've had enough trouble for a lifetime," said Harry. Dumbledore's portrait was smiling gently, although his usually twinkling blue eyes were saddened, tears sliding down his face from the loss and pain of the many deaths that had occurred that night. Harry swallowed a knot that had suddenly formed in his throat and tried to hold his chin up high. "I'm going to go- go help the others." The words stuck in his throat and his voice broke.
Harry turned on his heel and fled the room. Past the drunken gargoyle, past Neville who had the bloodied sword by his side, past Luna who was helping Madam Pomfrey tend to the wounded, past George who was looking stricken and devastated, and finally, past the huge Entrance door to the fast grounds of Hogwarts. Harry thought that the fresh air would calm him down, but it did not. He ran across the bloodied field, intending to stop for the shelter of the Forbidden Forest. Instead, he collapsed in the middle of the grounds, shaking from the grief and shock that had consumed his body. And so he remembered.
He thought of Remus Lupin, how wrong it was to call him a coward, for he was one of the most courageous wizards he had ever met. He thought about Tonks, how her cheerful manner always seemed to brighten everyone's day. He thought of little Teddy Remus Lupin, how he would never get to know his parents.
Harry thought about Fred, and his pranks and how he always seemed to be able to turn any situation funny. Finally, he thought about the long since dead. His mum and dad, Sirius, Dumbledore, Mad-Eye Moody, even Hedwig. And then, without warning, the horrible and overwhelming truth swept over him, like an eagle that had finally found its prey.
Harry was overwhelmed with grief, sorrow and anger that seemed to want to burst out of him, explode. The pain was physical, as well as psychological, like a virus, spreading to every bit of his body, like white-hot pokers jabbing into his flesh. And he couldn't stop it. He cried.
Tears were running down his face, not stopping, like an endless river. He was angry at himself, for he thought that every time someone tried to protect him, or help him, they would end up dead. He was angry at Voldemort, for he had killed the things that he loved. He was also in wonder, for he wondered how evil a man could truly be, to kill countless lives and put people in despair.
Harry thought he could feel a big, gaping hole inside his heart where all the dead had been. And so, he drew strength from the only things he had left. Love and memories.
His love for Ginny, how she always made him feel like he was at home. He remembered the time when she told everyone that she had a Hippogriff tattooed across his chest.
His love for Ron and Hermione, and how they were always true and loyal to him even in hard times. He remembered the time when Ron was burping up those slugs, and the time when Hermione went to a party with Cormac McLaggen just to make Ron jealous.
A warm hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present. Ginny sat down next to him on the grass.
"Are you okay, Harry?" asked Ginny softly. Harry knew that Ginny was mourning too. As they looked into each other's eyes, they both knew that they were experiencing the same feelings. There was no need for words. They held each other and comforted each other as they watched the sun rise. How long they stayed there, Harry didn't know. It could have been seconds, minutes, hours even. But they weren't counting the time.
Little by little, the pain in their hearts eased just that tiny bit. But that tiny bit was enough to spark that flame of hope into their hearts. Not hope that the dead would return, but that they were triumphant even in death. They hoped that if there was indeed an afterlife, then they were happy. And they were.
As Harry looked into Ginny's serene brown eyes, he knew that he was happy.