A/N: Written for the 19,000 Prompts, 500 Words, One Week Challenge by andthearrowflies on the HPFC Forum. Prompt: 'earth'

The Threshold

It had been the understanding beyond words that had compelled Ron and Hermione to follow Harry out of the Great Hall a week after the final battle. Perhaps they knew what he had to do, perhaps they only guessed. But as Harry's footsteps led them down the hill outside the castle and into the Forbidden Forest, none of the three said anything at all.

Harry was sure he didn't have the energy to speak. Part of him was relieved that he was making this journey - he needed nothing more than closure at this moment - but the other part was fiercely apprehensive. What would he see when he got there? Would it open up more wounds than it closed?

It seemed a remarkably quick journey for what had taken an age as he'd walked to his death with his parents, Sirius and Lupin by his side. He didn't say anything, but scanned the trees, looking for the place. His recollection of that night was so firmly etched in his mind that he did not believe he could ever forget. Soon enough, they broke into a small clearing, much like any other but for the memory of what had happened there. Harry moved to the place where he'd stood, and fixed his eyes on the place where Voldemort had been. Had it really been only a week?

'Is this where -' began Hermione, in a hushed voice.

'Yes,' said Harry. When Ron still looked confused, he elaborated. 'This is where I died.' He shrugged, trying to be light-hearted about it all. It seemed so long ago, the night in which he'd prepared himself for death, not wanting in his heart to die, but doing it because there was no choice, because it was the right thing to do, because he would never be able to live with himself if he let everyone else die instead of him. Emotions running high, he'd waited for death, had been hit by the curse ... and then death had been snatched from between his very fingertips. And it was this very place, this exact spot. This was the threshold, the stepping-stone between life and death, visions and reality. He had not begged for death, not tried to flee from it, but had come towards it with a cold bravery and greeted it as an old friend. He had wondered, countless times, why he still lived and others, ones far more worthy of this magnifient gift of life than he, did not. He had yet to come up with an answer.

'Harry?' It was Hermione who spoke, and Ron who put a steady hand on Harry's shoulder. 'Are you OK?'

'I'm all right,' he told them. It was the truth. It had taken days to shake the feeling that something was wrong from his weary brain; even now, he could scarcely make himself relax, stop himself from constantly looking behind. There was no reason to look behind anymore. Voldemort was gone, and the only way onwards was forwards.

Yes, for the first time in a long time, he felt truly all right. Someday, too, the pain from the deaths of Lupin and Tonks, Fred and Colin would pass, to be replaced by understanding - and then, eventually, acceptance. Dumbledore had once said that understanding was the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance could there be recovery.

'Dumbledore always knew what he was talking about,' he murmured.

'What's that, mate?' Ron said, but Harry could hear Hermione shushing him.

Harry remained silent, just thinking. The sacredness of this place had dimmed in his mind. He was sure he could sleep now, without the flash of green light invading his dreams and causing him to wake up, sweating and shaking, to Ron's concerned face. The long day was over; this was the morning.

Ron and Hermione had not strayed from behind him all this while, and it gave him immense strength just to know that they were there, that they were with him no matter what. They were the ones who had stayed with him from the very beginning, who had sometimes wavered and doubted, but always stuck by his side, until the very end.

His hand rose to the scar on his forehead. It hadn't ached for a week ... would never ache again. There were some things he missed. That was not one of them. Neither, he realised, with a burst of clarity, was this place in the Forest, or the memories it held. He could never come back here in his life, and he would not miss it. Not anymore.

'C'mon,' he said to Ron and Hermione. 'Let's go.' Without another word, they turned and left, the crunch of their footfalls the only sound they heard as they made their way up the castle.