Disclaimer: Not mine…
***********************************************
He stood slowly, feeling around for his glasses. The world around him seemed frozen in time, silent and still. He felt unusually tall standing in the quiet, looking blurrily around himself for a gleam of glass on the ground to show him where his spectacles had fallen from his face in battle. Turning, he looked in the other direction. He tripped over something unpleasantly still and heard a crunch of broken glass beneath him.
Quickly he picked up his glasses and put them on knowing he would not be able to see well even with them on. The world was reflected a hundred times over in his left lens, which was cracked from the fall. The right lens was mostly in pieces on the ground. He looked at his hands, seeing only a strange sea of blood-stained fingers. Brushing his hair away from his face, where it was sticking to the dried blood and salty tears, he looked around at what he had tripped over. Or rather who.
His old headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, lay stiller than if he had been etched in stone. Tears forever stained on his pale cheeks and running into his matted hair and beard. He looked around to his left and saw Potions Master Severus Snape locked forever in a frozen death match with Bellatrix Lestrange.
Tears running freely down his cheeks, he turned to see more teachers and some of his classmates laying dead on the battlefield and Lord Voldemort's lifeless body transformed back into an older Tom Riddle, the evil having left the body along with his soul.
Win at all costs. The dead will be avenged a thousand times over. That was what they were told, and they had won hadn't they he thought as he walked to a small weeping willow. Sixteen year old Virginia Weasley lay unmoving under the fallen branches. The young tree seemed to have died from lightening. He kneeled down and traced the hundred faces of his best friend's only sister he saw through his glasses. He flung himself at the ground, shattering what was left of his glasses. Tears fell through the empty frames and damped the blood soaked ground.
He thought about what they had been told. Win at all costs. Had it all been worth it? Almost every witch and wizard in Britain older than fourteen lay dead in front of him. Did he alone have the power to avenge all the dead? He knew he did not. The dead would never be repaid, no one had the power to do that.
Harry Potter looked up one last time at the frozen scene of the last battle and wondered if he could ever begin to repair the world that was as shattered as his own glasses.
*********************************************
A/N Not my usual style. I don't know why I even wrote this. A bit depressing, but I'm very depressed at the number of tests I'm taking next week. Please give me a little feedback here!
^-^ (meow!)