The Great Hall was silent. Voldemort’s body lay motionless on the cold stone floor, his lifeless eyes staring into nothing. Harry stood frozen, the Elder Wand slack in his grip, his chest heaving. The air was thick with grief and relief, a suffocating mix that dulled the edges of the moment. Harry felt like he couldn’t breath, the only sound he could hear was the rattling of his gasps as he stared at the tormentor of his life.
Faces flashed through his mind—his parents smiling in the Mirror of Erised, Hagrid’s massive hand clapping him on the shoulder as they first walked into Diagon Alley. Hermione’s determined voice echoed: “We’ll figure it out, Harry.” Ron’s laughter as they sat by the fire in Gryffindor Tower, free from worry for just a little while.
But other faces forced their way in. Cedric’s blank stare, blood trickling from his lips in the graveyard. Sirius falling, disappearing into the veil before Harry could reach him. Dumbledore’s lifeless form sprawled at the base of the Astronomy Tower. Molly’s heartwrenching sobs over Fred’s body. Remus and Tonks reaching for each other in death.
His throat tightened. Ginny’s choked sobs reached him as she knelt beside Fred, her shoulders shaking. He couldn’t look, couldn’t let his gaze fall on what they had lost. It wasn’t just Fred—it was Lupin, Tonks, Colin. Young, sweet Colin. So many gone, their sacrifices stacking like bricks, heavy enough to bury him. It wasn’t just the deaths, Lavender’s gnarled face from where Greyback had bitten her, Pansy’s missing hand, it was all on him.
But then a memory surfaced, fragile and warm like a candle flickering in the dark. His mother’s voice, soft but firm: “You’re so loved.” The warmth of her arms as she shielded him that night in Godric’s Hollow. A Christmas at the Burrow, Molly pressing a plate of treacle tart into his hands as the twins argued over decorations. Colin’s smile as he takes his first ever picture of Harry. Cedric at the yule ball, Dudley shaking his hand in thanks.
He blinked back tears, his hand clenching around the Elder Wand. Seven minutes of memories, and he didn’t know if he could bear a second more.
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The sunlight spilled gently across the room, catching the edges of framed photos on the mantel. Harry rested in his bed, his breaths slow and deep. The sounds of his family drifted through the house—laughter, footsteps, the soft hum of conversation.
He closed his eyes, and the memories came.
Ginny’s face, flushed with laughter as they sat together in the common room, stealing a quiet moment from the chaos around them. The way her hand fit perfectly in his on their wedding day. The birth of their first child—James’s wail as he entered the world, Ginny’s exhausted smile lighting up the room.
He saw Teddy, a small boy with bright turquoise hair, running toward him with arms outstretched. He remembered teaching Albus to fly, guiding Lily as she learned to cast her first spell. Christmas mornings filled with warmth and chaos, grandchildren spilling through the house like a tide of energy and joy.
The bittersweet moments lingered too. The empty chair at the Weasley table after Arthur passed. Watching Hermione and Ron lay a rose at Fred’s grave each year. Ginny crying quietly in the garden after Bill’s funeral. But those memories were softened by time, their sharp edges dulled.
More recent memories surfaced—Ginny’s laughter still strong, even with silver streaking her hair. Teddy’s little ones calling him “Granddad,” climbing into his lap to hear stories of adventures long past.
His body was tired, but his heart was full. He reached out, his hand brushing the quilt Ginny had made decades ago, every stitch a testament to their life together.
The memories slowed, fading into warmth. The sounds of his family faded too, replaced by a sense of peace so profound it felt like stepping into sunlight. He thought of Ginny’s whispered promise from years before: “We’ll see each other again.”
And as he exhaled his last breath, Harry knew she was right.