He's gone. And you're yelling his name. Again. And again. Because he can't be dead. And you're clutching Ron's arm, but you don't even care. Because Harry Potter cannot die. Not after all you've been through to save him. You've fought a freaking troll, and gotten Petrified, and traveled back in time. You've helped him learn Accio for the TriWizard competition, and never once doubted that he didn't put his name in the goblet. You've fought dementors, and Death Eaters, and- damn it, he can't die, not after all you've been through together. And then Neville's starting towards the Death Eaters, and you're terrified that he's going to switch sides, but he doesn't. He starts talking about how much Harry did, and how even if he's dead, Voldemort will die. And he will, if you, a common Mudblood, has anything to do with it. Because even if Harry's dead, he would want revenge. And you, sweet, book-loving, will do it for him. Because Harry was your friend. And he didn't judge you. Ever. And it's the least you can do. So you pull out your wand, and dive into the battle. But then you realize that Harry's body is no longer in Hagrid's arms, but rather in the Great Hall, roving around and around. And he's alive. In mortal danger, yes, but when is he not? The important thing is that he's alive again, and somewhere, a part of you is, too.