It was raining glass. Glass and bits of stone.
Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, Vanquisher of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and immortal twenty-one year old, watched with a vague sense of detachment as the old castle he had lived in for so man years fell before him as though it had aged centuries in the span of a few seconds.
This was further proof of Voldemort's last curse - destruction of magic.
As if the bodies hadn't been proof enough.
They lay there, glassy-eyed, looking like remnants of a mass Dementor's Kiss.
Harry snorted. Somehow, he doubted it had been as painless as that. The fact that the bodies had still twitched for hours after the act, despite their owners being long gone clued him in on the kind of pain levels involved in having your magical core sucked out of you.
Harry looked up at the sky, allowing a sense of melancholy to settle on him. HE'd long since gotten past the tears - having traveled the world only to see that he truly was the last magical being on the planet allowed him to - not really come to grips with the situation, but rather accept it, as he knew there was nothing he could do to fix it.
Te fact that he had been broken so many times before might also have had something to do with it the more ironic part of him supposed.
Albus Dumbledore. Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and manipulator extraordinaire. From the time Harry had first met him, the man had set himself up as a kind of grandfather figure and, later, mentor - despite stealing valuable heirlooms from him and keeping him ignorant of those very same heirlooms so that he wouldn't know to argue. Not to mention all those other things the old man had kept him ignorant of.