A/N: Harry's POV

I've always been one for happy endings. But things haven't turned out that way for me. The first death in my life was that of my parents. I was left orphaned and alone without anyone to love on the doorstep of my Aunt Petunia. Quirrel, though clearly innocent, grew to be Voldemort's ally and my enemy. I killed him. When I was twelve, I destroyed a monster; a basilisk, in the dark, damp catacombs underneath Hogwarts and lived to tell the tale. I entered the gruesome tri-wizard tournament as the fourth contestant. Cedric Diggory came back in my arms; dead. In my fifth year at the school that became my home, Sirius Black, the friend and god-father I knew only for a few years, became my bad luck's next victim. Albus Dumbledore, my mentor and one of the greatest wizards who ever lived, was killed by the traitor, Severus Snape. But the only one I never expected died last week. The grief of losing a loved one, a husband, just took too much out of her. I was the one who pulled her out of the freezing cold water. Her soaked white dress hugged her elegant features tightly dripping excess liquid on the ground. All around me I could see people screaming and sobbing but time seemed so lonesome and the sounds did not reach my ears. No sound at all, until, "My god she's dead! Headmistress McGonagall is dead!"