Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR, I'm just borrowing for a while.
AN: Written in August 2005; not DH compliant
The halls were silent, the students tucked away in their beds, full from the evening meal. It was late, too late for anyone to be up roaming the halls besides Filch and Mrs. Norris, yet if one was up – and listened closely – they would be able to hear the soft padding of sock covered feet, and the quiet rustling of a cloak.
He found the deep night to be the most soothing; stillness and quiet contracting with the tumultuous thoughts in his head. Most nights he just sat in his room reading, but this evening he found himself out wandering the corridors, his invisibility cloak thrown over him – more out of habit then any worry. Filch would do nothing to him if he was found.
Malfoy screamed as Cruciatus hit him, the screams - and Malfoy's pain – ending when Voldemort finally killed the boy in front of the trio, laughing.
Slowly, he began exploring the castle. Here, the dungeons, where he spent so much time loathing Snape and the Slytherins. There, the entrance to the Slytherin common room (which he had seen once, when he had been polyjuiced to look like one of Malfoy's cronies back in second year). He silently passed Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, where they had brewed the polyjuice potion. It seemed a lifetime ago now, but really, it had only been about five.
He stood silently and watched as Remus's coffin was lowered into the ground. So many deaths, but the werewolf's was the first that struck so close to home.
He passed by the classrooms where he had spent more time avoiding learning then he thought was healthy. He stood for a moment in the entrance to the Great Hall. He stared up at the ceiling, at the moment covered in stars, before focusing his gaze on each House table, picturing the people who had sat there with him. His eyes strayed to the head table, remembering where each professor had sat…
Snape had been found soon after Christmas. No one knew what had happened to him, but many presumed he was either offed by someone wanting revenge for Dumbledore, or by one of the Death Eaters who still didn't trust him.
He wandered by that third floor corridor door where they had gotten by Fluffy the three-headed dog back in first year. How young they had been then. Off to the side there was the infirmary, where (if he stopped to think about it) he has spent quite a bit of time. Climbing the stairs he passed by the portrait to the kitchens, and then continued on until he came to where the Room of Requirement would be, where Dumbledore's Army had begun.
He stared at what was left of the Burrow – a pile of stone, and scraps of cloth. The attack couldn't have hit at a worse time. Arthur, Molly, Ginny and Percy had all been inside. At least their bodies had already been removed from the rubble.
He passed by the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff common room entrances, but had purposely avoided that of Gryffindor. He didn't need to see the Fat Lady, to have all the memories of what life had been like behind that portrait to enter his head. There, the entrance to the staff quarters, where he had been welcome as he healed and came to terms with all that had happened. His quiet shuffling took him to the Astronomy Tower, and – placing his hand on the smooth stone wall – began to climb the stairs.
Fred and George, dead in an attack on Diagon Alley.
The Creevey's, Dean Thomas, and so many more Muggleborns taken out of Hogwarts to be hidden with their parents.
Tonks – seeking revenge for Remus – dieing at the hand of a Death Eater.
Bill…Charlie…Fleur…Shacklebolt…Pansy…Justin…Hagrid…Hermione…endless names and faces of those who'd died in the battles that took place over what would have been his seventh year.
Reaching the top of the stairs, he entered out into the cool night air. Here was where they had witnessed Umbridge's attacks on Hagrid and McGonagall. Here was where Dumbledore had died…the real beginning of the end.
The wind was rustling his cloak around him, threatening to pull it off, so he quickly slipped it off himself, and folded it up underneath him as he lay back on the cold stone floor, face to the night sky. Tears leaked out of his eyes to trickle down his cheeks, the wind sweeping his red hair to lie in their path as he thought of the last battle, his best friends sacrifice, and death.
Harry, found dead after the final defeat of Voldemort. He cradled his best friend's body and wept. He was alone now, so alone…
But he would live, and carry on for them.