Harry stood in the doorway to the great hall. He could not, would not believe what he was seeing. This couldn't be happening.
He walked slowly forward, his footsteps echoing in what was otherwise complete silence.
"No," he whispered, shaking. Hermione and Ron were lying completely still in the centre of the hall. Both were dressed in white, and white candles surrounded them.
"No, please…"
Harry fell to his knees with a thud that echoed around the empty hall. No tears ran down his face. He wanted to cry but he couldn't.
"You're all I have. You can't be, can't….you can't be dead…"
Harry looked down at the shadowy floor. He didn't know what to do. He felt like screaming, like running around, like hitting things and smashing things and like sitting in the silence for ever more.
He looked up at the bodies of his two best friends, his face contorted with grief. A piece of parchment was lying by Hermione's side. Harry looked at it and tensed up with a sharp intake of breath.
"Not again."
Slowly, shaking even more now, he reached over and picked up the parchment. He unfolded it and stood up, reading as best he could through the tears that finally clouded his eyes.
The rising sun has finally set
The delicacy of life
Like a flake of snow
Was inevitably to become nothing
The light has faded
And you are left alone
See? I can be eloquent too… It is your fault they died, Harry Potter.
Harry dropped the parchment, as if it had burned his skin.
Less than a year ago he had returned to the house he had shared with his godfather, Sirius, to find him dead. Laid out in his best clothes, surrounded by candles. In his hand Harry had found a note;
I came for you. You were not here. He was. I did not kill him, Harry Potter, you did.
Harry remembered screaming with rage, begging forgiveness from his dead godfather, and hating himself. It was his fault Sirius was dead.
He had been left with no-one but Ron and Hermione, his best friends. And now they were gone too…
"No," he said, as loudly as he could. "Voldemort, where are you?" Harry pulled out his wand and walked to the edge of the hall where the darkness was complete.
"Voldemort. You came for me, you came to kill me. Well here I am."
He heard no answer.
"Voldemort!" he screamed again. Still there was silence. Harry was so angry, so sorrowful. His emotions threatened to take him over. He screamed in fury, in rage and in grief.
"Come and get me, Voldemort," he bellowed, but nobody came.
Harry threw himself down by Ron and Hermione, sobbing.
"It was my fault," he choked. "It was mine…I was not here…"
"Yes it was your fault," came a high and cold voice from behind him.
Harry tried to pull himself up, but he collapsed sobbing again. Why should he fight Voldemort? Why did it matter now? He no longer cared if he died.
"Well, actually, it was not your fault," Voldemort continued. "Not really, but your grief entertains me so."
Harry struggled to his feet, wiping the still-flowing tears from his cheeks. He turned toward the figure he could now see, the only static shape in the dancing shadows.
"Are you going to kill me?"
"You want to die?" said Voldemort, somewhat amused. "You are not afraid? I am impressed!"
"You want me dead. You came here to kill me. So go on. Go on, murder me."
"Do you not understand, boy who lived?"
"Understand what?" Harry said, wretchedly. He closed his eyes.
"I did not come to kill you!"
Harry stared, tears pouring down his cheeks.
"I don't understand…you killed my friends!" he screamed at Voldemort. "You killed them because I was not here! Well now I am. SO KILL ME!"
"Harry Potter, for all your fame, you aren't very bright are you?"
Harry said nothing. He just wanted to die. He had no-one now, he had nothing and he wanted it to be over.
"I came to kill them!" Voldemort said, laughing.
"But I don't understand…this is about me…and I…I was not there…"
"You? Do you always assume it's about you? That's really rather vain, Harry Potter. But yes, you are right, it is about you."
"I don't, I don't…"
"Understand, I know, you rarely do, Harry Potter," Voldemort said stepping forward out of the shadows. His red eyes shone wickedly in the candle light. He stood by Harry's side and hissed in his ear as Harry stared vacantly at the floor before him.
"But you see, by killing them I obliterated the need to kill you."
Voldemort moved back into the shadows.
"Now you are nothing, Harry Potter. Your guilt at the belief that you killed them started to destroy you. And you were broken by the death of all of those that you love…"
"Sirius…" Harry said, more to himself than to the Dark Lord.
"Yes, that fool too. You did not think I killed him simply because I found that you were not there? Well, of course you did, but it was all part of my plan… Harry Potter now you are empty, you are nothing. You are a shell. You are broken. You want to die. You want to die because you have nothing left. But I am not killing you, for you will…"
Voldemort laughed. He turned and disappeared into the darkness.
"Kill me!" Harry shouted. "Kill me Voldemort!"
"I have already told you," Voldemort's voice mocked faintly through the darkness. "I do not need to kill you!"
"KILL ME!" Harry shrieked, sobbing still but Voldemort had gone.
Harry stood. He looked again at Ron and Hermione, looking peaceful in their final sleep.
"Soon…" Harry muttered, having made up his mind. He walked slowly from the dark hall, his head hanging.
Harry sat by his dead friends once more, holding their hands in both of his.
"Ron, Hermione, you died because of me. I'm so sorry. I…you…you always helped me. You cared, and you helped me through things at your own risk…being too close to me was always a risk." Harry stopped for a moment. "It was…a risk you took and a risk that, that you shouldn't have taken. Thankyou. I'm sorry, really I am, and I…I loved you both. I still do." Harry's tears fell on their lifeless hands, and Harry turned away, in too much pain to see their faces any more.
He picked up the quill that lay on the floor behind him, and dipped it in one of the two tiny bottles he had brought with him. He scratched the quill slowly across the parchment he had in his hand for a while, then let his hands drop to his sides.
He lay back and stared for what felt like hours, up at the starry night of the enchanted ceiling. Very few thoughts were in his mind. Voldemort had been right – he was empty now, broken. All his heart had room for was pain and grief.
Harry sat up and threw the quill aside, picking up the poison he had brought with him. Strong and deadly, he knew it could kill any man instantly.
He looked at the parchment in his other hand without seeing it.
He was right
He did not have to kill me
Soon I will be sleeping too
I wonder if I will find peace
He threw it aside too.
Delicate flakes of snow began to fall from the enchanted ceiling as Harry stared at the small glass bottle in his hand.