Harry buried the body of Viktor Krum. He dug for days in the cemetery. He hauled his heavy body across the village and rolled it into the hole. Harry stared down into it. He almost couldn't bring himself to shovel the earth back in. His only real friend for years now sat at the bottom of a hole, and he would have to cover him up. And when he was covered he would decompose. And all the molecules that once made up his body would pass through the body of other life. And the other life would use this energy, but waste it too. Heat would escape. They already had enough heat. Harry wiped his brow and covered Viktor's body with dirt. He sat beside the grave. He could feel the sun as it passed above him and then retreated down to the horizon. Finally, Harry picked up his wand. He fashioned a headstone from magic and it marked the body of his friend.
Harry didn't notice his wife. He didn't notice as she cooked him food and placed it into his limp hands. He did not notice her own bloodshot eyes, her runny nose, her face wet from tears. His grief was so raw and bitter. It stung him. It welled up inside him, trying to force its way out of his throat. Until Harry succumbed and screamed and sobbed until his throat was raw. The noise rung out, a human noise.
Harry went back to work in the fields. He worked long hours. He didn't care. Harry stopped and reached into his bag for his water. As he turned his head he saw the woods. The leaves had become feeble and orange. It was beginning to look like the woods he had seen in the future. He stopped his work and walked inside. Partly, Harry wanted to get lost. Lost inside so that he couldn't get out, so that he didn't have to face life anymore. And he wanted to swim in the pond. He wanted to feel the water. He wanted to feel it on his skin, in his mouth, his lungs. Harry walked on, unsure if he was walking the right way.
He came to the clearing. It was different to when he had come last time. Now, instead of a pond, Harry saw a pit. The water had gone. It was empty. Harry walked over to it, peering over the edge. He recoiled in surprise. At the bottom of the pit were the fish, alive. They flopped around on top of each other, suffocating. Harry felt unnerved by the squelching noise they made as they jumped all over each other. He walked back, lost in the stupor of his thoughts. He stopped abruptly when he heard the sharp crack of a twig breaking. He looked around wildly and thought he saw a flash of white. Perhaps he was dreaming. Harry walked back to the fields.