Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Wind whipped through the air, tugging his hair back and making his baggy clothing flap behind him. His gaze was averted to his feet as he focused hard on his steps, as if he was learning to walk again. His glass sat on the bridge of his nose and his emerald eyes looked at his worn shoes as he put one foot in front of the other.
Lines decorated his face, making him look to old for a man of only 23. His mouth was in a continual frown, as if he was never able to smile a day in his life. His hair was the same ruffled, black mess it had always been, making it seem to be the only thing that stayed the same. His scar stood out on his pale face even though it had faded slightly.
Scars marked his weary body and they stood as a permanent reminder that every memory in his mind was real. His dull eyes lifted up and gazed over the land, only to look down again and continue walking.
He walked down the familiar path, the ghosts of laughter and footsteps dancing in the air, appearing to be real for a second before he remembered that those laughers would never be heard again. His feet stopped at the bottom of the sloped path and he looked at the remainder of the hut that once stood proud on the grounds with smoke rising into the air above it.
For a second, he could see faint figures walking happily to the front of the hut, all three of the figures smiling and laughing together. But the images disappeared as soon as he shook himself out of the memory and a lump appeared in his throat as he continued to look at the half-burnt hut.
He looked away and the wind hit him in his face, blowing cold wind in his face and even though he didn't feel the cold air bit his flesh, he stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets. His eyes met the familiar lake and he found himself unconsciously walking closer.
The waters were still; lifeless and cold, much like everything around him. He stopped beside the old tree, which had a few scorch marks on the bark. He reached out a shaking hand and touched the rough, scratchy surface as he looked out at the lake. He looked down slowly and crouched down. He felt the dirt in between the pads of his fingers, memories flashing before him as he looked up. He heard the faint laugher of the three of them but he knew that it wasn't real; it once was though but now it was nothing but a memory.
He stood slowly and turned away after one last glance at the lake. He walked on, looking at the once alive, cheerful grounds of his old home. He watched as the Forbidden Forest swayed with the wind and he looked at the destroyed pieces of the Womping Willow as he walked on. He walked on the grounds, shouts of people shooting curses swimming through his ears and the memories of people fighting seemed to dance before him before he closed his eyes and squeezed them tight, only to open them again and see that the people were no longer on the grounds. He was alone; completely, utterly alone.
The castle stood before him now, looking dull and gray, which seemed to match the lifeless mood. Parts of it were destroyed, burnt beyond belief, and almost every inch of the walls outside were scorched or marked in some way.
Pieces of the castle lay scattered around him and he walked around to the front, looking at the giant oak door as it hung from one hinge. He walked through the door, remembering the first time he had walked through these very doors. Flashes of the once warm castle danced in his eyes before disappearing and leaving behind a dark, broken castle.
Walls lay in crumbles and one half of the staircase had fallen apart. The doors to the Great Hall, once so inviting, was thrown away to the sides and were cracked and burnt. The ghosts that had once floated through the Great Hall were gone and the four, long tables were destroyed and overturned. The professors table was broken down the middle with the chairs once arranged behind were thrown carelessly around and some were tipped over. The candles that had once floated overhead were gone and the sky had disappeared, leaving behind a plain, dull ceiling.
He looked over the tables, remembering the happy, carefree laughter and chatter that had once resided. He looked away and walked out, his heart aching with every glance he took at the destroyed castle. He walked up the staircase, not really paying attention to where he was stepping.
Portraits lay on the ground, stepped on and ripped open; the painting having left a long time ago. He walked down, his footsteps echoing in his ears. He remembered the screams and shouts, the footsteps pounding against the floor as they tried to dodge spells and curses, and the bright spells flying out of the tips of their wands as they tried to defend their castle…their home.
He remembered watching as his fellow housemates and students fell one after another. As he walked by, his legs became like lead. He remembered his teachers fighting side by side with their students, their shouts echoing through his mind.
He remembered his friends falling. Images of Neville falling to the ground with Bellatrix above him flashed through his mind. He remembered Dean pushing Luna out of the way and a green light colliding with his chest. He remembered Mr. Weasley jumping in front his wife as Death Eaters cornered both of them. He remembered Hermione shooting spell after spell at Death Eaters, taking down at least a dozen before a flash of green hit her in the chest, sucking the life and anger from her eyes and making her body fall to the ground next to Ron, who had met the same fate only minutes before her.
He remembered watching Remus take a curse that was intended for Tonks. He had watched as Charlie had sacrificed himself for Percy. He remembered running to Ginny as she fell bleeding to the floor. He remembered Fred crying over his twin's lifeless body. He remembered the Patil twins fighting back to back before they were taken out by the same spell.
He turned and walked on, looking at the cracked windows on either side of him. Statues were in crumbles as he walked down the corridor and doors were blasted off and hanging off their hinges. He kept walking and went up some more cracked steps, the once moving staircases dead and still.
He trudged up the stairs; thinking about how many times he had went up these very steps. He stopped when he reached the top and he walked on. He passed more cracked walls and more destroyed portraits. Images of dead, cold classmates and teachers lying in the corridor flashed in his mind and his eyes started to burn.
He stopped walking when he reached the ledge of the Astronomy Tower. He scanned the grounds and he shut his burning eyes. So many people had died. He could see all of their dead faces every time he shut his eyes. So many families were destroyed. So many lives were wasted and cut short way before their time. So many futures were dead and all because of him.
Voldemort was gone but at what cost. He was alone now. Even though people had survived, he could never look at them the same way, knowing that he had destroyed their lives. He remembered when they had found Fred in his room, lying on the floor with his wand next to him, his lifeless eyes staring ahead and a small smile gracing his lips as he was finally reunited with his twin and siblings. The Weasley family grew smaller still and yet, they didn't blame him. No one did. Only he blamed himself.
It was true what they say. Harry Potter was a broken man. And as he looked over the broken grounds of his old home, he took his wand out of his pocket and stared at it in his hand. He gripped it tight and with one more look on the grounds of Hogwarts; he pointed the tip of his wand to his chest, right over his heart, and spoke the unforgivable words.
It is true. We all fall down. And sometimes, no matter how hard we try, we can't get up.