Harry wandered around the wreckage. Everywhere, there were people sitting. Just sitting, trying to process what had just happened. Those who had lost family members sat in a silent vigil. Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Tonks were hugging each other, crying quietly. Angelina Johnson was sitting next to George in a corner. They were holding hands. George looked almost as if he had left with his brother, staring at the empty shell that was all that was left of his best friend, soulmate, and brother for the last nineteen years.

Ron and Hermione were talking alone, and Harry knew better than to intrude. He couldn't see Ginny, but he knew she would find him. Laughter could be heard, drifting from the grounds outside. Staring across the rows of shrouded figures, Harry was glad that they could laugh. He felt responsible for every single death today. Defeating Voldemort should have been enough, and it had certainly redeemed him in the eyes of all the bereaved, but he felt that nothing could repay all of these deaths. Sorrow filled him, not for the first time that day. A heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders for a brief moment during the immediate aftermath of his triumph, but now it was back, even heavier than before.

A hand took his, and he smelled that familiar flowery scent.

"How many?"

"One hundred and twenty-three."

"Not your fault. They died because they believed in you. They chose this, Harry. You couldn't have stopped them. If you told them not to fight, they would have. You're not responsible for any of this."

"But I came here in the first place. I knew the security would have been increased tenfold, and I barged in anyway."

"You came because you knew that our last hope was hidden here. It's not like you came to pick a fight with Him. Listen to me, Harry. They chose this. You are not responsible."

"Really? You really believe that?"

"Yes, I do. And so should you."

Harry turned to her. "Ginny, one hundred and twenty-three people are dead. This was a war. A war fought because I was afraid to die for them."

"Many of them would have died anyway. You really believe V-Voldemort would have spared their lives? If not for you, we would all be dead."

Even now that she knew he was really dead, Ginny still hesitated when she said The Name.

"But I could have saved most of them."

"Even if only one person died, you would feel just as guilty." Suddenly, Ginny started laughing. "You should be the one comforting me for my loss, yet here I am trying to convince you that you're not a mass-murderer."

Harry could see the irony, but he didn't feel any better.

Ginny could see this. "Dumbledore wouldn't say you're responsible, either. He would say you did a noble thing, attempting to sacrifice your life and then risking it again to save all the people left."

Harry knew she was right. He could almost sense Dumbledore in the air, a presence so alive that it survived even after the soul had fled. His recent meeting with his former headmaster made it even more real.

Ginny watched his face intently, searching for any sign of change in his feelings. Finally, he turned to her.

"You're right. It was their fight just as much as mine. I'm sorry, I've been selfish. How are you feeling?"

Ginny smiled wearily. "Tired. You?"

"Same. How's George? Is he coping?"

"You know he's not. He will, but it'll take a while. It'll take a while for all of us."

"I'm sorry."

"He was as much your brother as mine. We're all sorry, and we all wish this had never happened, any of it. But it did, and we can't spend our time on would-haves and might-have-beens, they won't do anyone good. We need to move on with our lives."

"I won't be able to do it alone, you know."

"I do. I'll be there for you."

"Forever?"

"Always. I promise."

Fin.