Title: Sacrifice
Summary: As Harry wanders around Hogwarts after the final battle, he reminisces and expresses his sorrows. Major AU, based off of the song "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables" from Les Miserables.
As Harry stepped through the ruins of his loved school, placing a hand lovingly on one half-collapsed pillar, his eyes fell upon the Gryffindor table, where he and his friends had sat before… before everything happened. Before the world went wrong. Back when they had all been alive: Ginny, Hermione, Cho, Ron, Fred, George…
"Harry!"
His eyes flew away from the raven haired girl at the Ravenclaw table and alighted upon his best friend, Ron Weasley. The redhead was grinning in a goofy manner as he prodded Harry, Hermione rolling her eyes at them from across the table.
"If you don't stop gawking, you're jaw is going to hit the floor, and then Trevor is going to end up crawling in."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an older girl try to hold back a laugh and fail.
Harry smiled and stabbed his waffle and picked it up, taking a bite out of it.
The Ravenclaw table was broken in half, the Slytherin table turned upwards against the wall, and the Hufflepuff table had a giant crack down the center. All had fared better than the Gryffindor table, though, which was lopsided and missing pieces.
Stepping forward, he ran his hand along the top of the table, before sitting down at one of the broken benches.
"So, Harry, what do you think about this strategy?"
Across from him, Ginny slapped down a piece of parchment that she had scribbled a diagram onto, and placed her chin in her hand before tracing the lines she had drawn.
"I was thinking that if we sent our chasers to the left…"
He zoned out on her, watching as her brown eyes lit up from within as she talked about Quidditch, and a light seemed to set her red hair on fire as she tucked it behind her ear.
"Harry?"
"Hmm?" he asked, blinking, "Sounds great, Ginny."
Her eyes lit up even more as she said, "Really? I'll share it with the rest of the team."
His eyes teared up as he thought of Ginny. Killed, killed because she tried to protect him from Voldemort. Tortured to death, sent to the Weasley's afterwards before they contacted Harry and told him.
"No…" he couldn't believe it. Not Ginny, not his Ginny. Ginny, who had had a crush on him since before she had met him. Ginny, who he had saved. Ginny, who he had loved more dearly than anyone else.
And he had never told her.
"No!" he collapsed onto the ground, sobs wracking his body.
Even now, the heartbreak returned, and his tears fell freer than ever before as he stared down at the table, drowning in his memories. They had talked about the future here; Harry was going to be an auror, Hermione was going to be a professor, Ron was going to be Harry's partner, Ginny was going to be a professional Quidditch player, Fred and George were going to open their shop…
And now they were all gone.
Dead, just ghosts who laughed in the night, reminding him of everything he had lost.
As he wandered further into the deserted halls, he found the portrait of the Fat Lady gone, and portal to Gryffindor Tower open for any to come in. Harry stepped inside and silently walked up to the boys dorms, and found where he had slept each year; In First Year, the middle bed; in second, the closest to the doorway; in third, the farthest.
He found articles of clothing stuffed in trunks, broken picture frames on bedside tables, a crude drawing for someone named Charles from a girl named Maggie, and, everywhere, reminders of everything that he had lost.
Beneath his feet was broken glass, back in the common room the fireplace still crackled as if awaiting the students to return from dinner. But they never would.
"Harry!" yelled Hermione, pulling her book away, "That is not to write in!"
"You write in mine all the time!" he retorted, and she glared at him, before they burst into ringing laughter.
He dusted off the couch and, finding floo powder in the pot on the mantel, tossed a pinch into the fire and stuck his head in.
"Headmasters office!" he said, but nothing happened. And then, as if from far away, a call.
"Harry?"
He pulled back and stood, hope sparking in him for one moment, and he ran out of the common room and down the stairs that had long stopped moving, sprinting until he reached the top of the Astronomy tower.
There was no one there.
He could of sworn he heard one of his friends, calling for him, wanting to see that he was okay… it had almost sounded like Neville, but that was impossible. Neville was dead, killed by Nagini just before he cut off her head.
"Is it really worth it?" Harry wondered to himself, "I've defeated Voldemort, but I've lost everything."
He almost wished he hadn't come back from that inbetween place, that he had passed on. At least he wouldn't have had to live with this horrible burdening pain that rested on his shoulders constantly, like Atlas bearing the sky.
I am so sorry, he thought to the sky, If only I had died, instead of them.
He couldn't understand it. Why had they all sacrificed themselves for him? He was only a boy, a boy without parents who just happened to have survived a killing curse. He had never asked for fame, for fortune, for any of it. He had wanted to belong, and he had found a family, but he should have known that any family he had would be killed.
Why give up their own lives and leave him alone?
How easy it would be, he thought as he gazed down from the tower, just a jump, and everything would go away. He could be with Sirius, with Hermione, with Ginny, with Ron, with his parents…
But he couldn't. As bad as the pain was, he knew he couldn't end his life. He couldn't leave the world, because it still needed them. How would they react, knowing that their precious hero had thrown himself to his death only days after his greatest triumph?
Not very well, he assumed. He could wait. He could rebuild the government, the school, and then when he was no longer needed, he could pass into the afterlife, and he could be with his loved ones again.
And, as he turned away from the edge, he saw a flash of ruby from the corner of his eye, and a great yellow and red bird alighted in front of him. It was so familiar to him, and more tears pricked Harry's eyes as he knelt down and held his hand out to the Phoenix he had assumed he would never see again.
"Fawkes," he whispered, a smile gracing his features.
And then, as the sun rose and stained the sky orange and pink, the Boy Who Lived felt hope rise within him again, along with a steel resolve to enjoy the rest of his life, and join his friends and family when the correct time came.
He turned, and with Fawkes on his arm, disappeared into the castle with a rekindled fire in his eyes.
THE END