All is lost when we finally win.
Harry sat in the empty house, a house that had once been so full of noise, laughter. This place had once been full of love and happiness. A refuge from the world. Now blood stained its walls, tables smashed in two, chairs upturned and broken.
Bodies… every where, friends foes… all mingled together, limbs bent in awkward angles.
Harry gazed around at the destruction nothing made any sense nothing had meaning any more. Harry walked through the house, Aurors dead. Kingsley Shaklebolt and some one who's name Harry couldn't remember, A Death eater lying next to them and next to him a werewolf. All dead, Harry was the only one left. Fleur had been the first to fall on our side. She took out a fair few death eaters defending Bill. Mr. Weasley was next then Mrs. Weasley until only Ron Hermione, Lupin, Tonks and Ginny were left. Then a curse straight for Lupin … Tonks throwing herself in front of it. Lupin transforming tearing out the mans throat as Tonk's Lifeless body fell to the ground. Lupin died short after but not after taking out most of the death eaters.
Harry's heart beat sped up as he recalled the memory the horrors of what already was the past though it happened just moments ago. Hermione and Ron had died with in seconds of eat other, Ginny and Draco Malfoy Dueling. Harry Killed Malfoy. Voldemort killed Ginny. Then the real fight began, Flashes of light, pain, burning, dodging, fighting, surviving. Death.
When Harry finally killed Voldemort there was no joy, no relief every thing had been destroyed. Harry went up stairs, pulled out his trunk, a quill, ink, and the knife Surius had given him.
He went own stairs, Even Hedwig was dead… she had swooped in front of a curse. He turned the table the right way up and sat down. Calmly he spread out the parchment and began to right.
It all came down to this last fight. Every one of my friends, my family are dead… they are the hero's that stood against lord Voldemort, He's dead too.
Its hard to say whether the fight it won or lost, won for the rest of the world and lost for me because my world is destroyed.
Harry Potter.
The boy who lived then died by his own hand.
He rose and sat amongst the bodies of his friends and the girl he loved. Taking out Surius' knife he flipped open the sharpest blade and cut deeply in to his wrist. The wound from elbow to palm bled profusely. Harry's blood pooled around him as his heart beat slowed then eventually stopped.