Disclaimer, None of the characters or concepts associated with J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter novels belong to me, everything else does.
Death of a friend.
He walked between the graves, so many names he recognized. He paused at some of them. There had been so many deaths; they had to bury them randomly. But all of them had been victims of the Dark Lord one way or another. He reached a simple grave.
Dumbledore, his teacher, his hero. He missed him so much, his lemon sherbets, his all-knowing twinkling eyes. He died, giving his live to keep Hogwarts save. He would have loved to teach under him, but the Hogwarts staff had been almost completely replaced since he was a student. Only McGonagall had stayed.
He walked on until he reached a grave covered with stone books; he stood still for a long time.
Hermione, his friend, the love of his life. He missed the way she knew everything and the way she ran to the library if she didn't. He remembered the last kiss she gave him, just before they left to fight. He remembered her empty eyes when he held her in his arms.
He walked on. A grave, black as the night, stood alone between the others.
Snape, he did not want to admit it, but he missed the cynical teacher. They got to know each other the last years, they had fought side by side. He did not like him, but he had great admiration for the man who lived divided for so many years. Death had been a welcome change for him. Peace at last.
He walked on. More names he knew. Then he walked past a grave, beautiful carved with roses.
Ginny, he had loved her, as a brother is supposed to love his sister. She had become so beautiful, so bright, a strong witch. But he always remembered an eleven-year-old girl ready for her first day at school.
He brought his hand to his face.
Tears. He knew that if he could, he would bring her back, bring all of them back.
He walked on. The list of friends, death friends grew. He stopped in front of a grave, the biggest one, the best-kept one, and the one with the most flowers. The Quidditch player was still chasing the snitch.
Harry, I miss you. His friend, he still missed him. After 5 years he still missed playing chess with him and beating him at it too. Playing tag on broomsticks, all over the Quidditch pitch. Laughing at Hermione because she was reading again. Sneaking out of the tower at night to save the world.
He was no longer alone; voice's talked about The Boy Who Lived.
It was ironic, talking about The Boy Who Lived while standing at his grave. But that was how they saw him, a hero. Perfect in every way, but to him Harry had not been perfect; he was like a brother to him.
He walked on. There was one other grave left for him to visit. There it was, a little secluded from the rest. Just as if they wanted to say it didn't belong here.
They all had said he didn't belong here. He had not the right to be buried here. This was a place of remembrance and they didn't find him worth remembering. But he was worth it, he had saved his life. He had not thought it possible, but he had saved his life, only to pay with his own. He had never used his given name, he had found him annoying and now he was death. And only Ron Weasley mourned about him.
He walked on. He looked back at the grave that said:
Pigwidgeon Weasley
Pig
My hero
1994-1998
A/N, This tells what I hope will not happen. Only one of the Trio surviving, losing the things he/she loves the most. And I just can see Hedwig, Crookshank or Pig save their master.