It had been exactly one year since the war had ended, since Voldemort had been killed. One year since so many people, many of whom were Harry's friends, had died in their bid to make the world a better place and a safer place. They were still all working to rebuild their lives, Harry knew that. The darkness that the world had plunged into over the previous decades was only just lifting. They had lost comrades, friends and family members.
He thought about Remus and Tonks and how unfair it was that they were only allowed such a short while together. He thought about Remus fighting so hard to create a world in which he would still be unwelcome due to something beyond his control, but fighting nonetheless and giving more than anyone else could possibly give. He thought about Tonks and how she had spent a year fighting to convince the man she loved to love her back, only to have their life together savagely cut short by circumstances beyond their control. He thought about the young baby they had left behind, a boy who would grow up never quite knowing just how much his parents had sacrificed in order to give him a better life, to give them all a better life. That boy would never have the opportunity to see just how special his parents were. He would hear stories that no doubt would one day become legendary, but he would never truly understand just what spectacular people they were.
He thought about Dumbledore. A man who at one time he thought to be flawless but now knew to have flaws like any other mortal being. Dumbledore. It was he who taught Harry that he held within him the power needed to destroy Voldemort. It was he who was ultimate reason for the demise of the Dark Lord. Without Dumbledore, Harry himself would be nothing and he knew that. Dumbledore gave him the opportunity to become something more than he had ever dreamed he could be and he gave him the belief that he, Harry Potter, could make a difference.
He thought about the Weasley's. The family that made him welcome and realise what love was. Looking at George he could see that he wasn't really George anymore. Such a fundamental part of his being was gone. It had been taken, snatched away, leaving him with only a shell of his former self.
And yet when looking at all these people, whose lives had been torn apart so viciously, Harry saw hope. He saw hope for the future they had fought to save. Hope for a world without bigotry and prejudice. Hope for a world no longer plagued with fear and despair. Hope for his friends. Hope that one day the loss they had suffered would become bearable. That one day they would not wake and think of what they had lost but of what they had gained, what they had saved. And lastly he saw hope for himself. Hope that in time his heart too would heal. Hope that he would forever remember the lessons he had learned and lastly, hope that whatever happened next, he would face it, but he would not be facing it alone. For life isn't about individuals, it is about friendships, sacrifice and love, and no matter how many years go and how much pain one is forced to withstand, these things never change. For with friendship and sacrifice and love there is hope and with hope, one can do anything.