the beginning or the end
There is a slight coldness in his bones now. He didn't notice it back when he came out of the forest, carried in Hagrid's massive arms, but now he acknowledges it. He also knows that his hands are uncontrollably shaking and that his glasses are sitting crookedly on the bridge of his nose; he doesn't bother correcting their position.
He is so tired it aches. It feels a bit like dying right now. He knows his lungs are taking in oxygen and his heart keeps beating, but on those dark days, the ones that left him empty and numb again, he always thought that living, being alive, was more trouble than was worth it.
The war, real death, just made it worse, he thinks.
Now all he thinks about is death. His own, that of his friends, all the people he has lost in the fight for the greater good.
Sirius' death.
He won't ever know they've won.
Harry scoffs lightly at his own selfishness and turns towards Molly, who is still cradling Fred's head in her lap. All the Weasleys are quiet for once, but even then, grief can make everyone retreat. He knows that better than some others. He has been grieving the little boy he was six years ago for a while now. He also mourns after the parents he never had. The possibliity of Sirius and what that man represented.
What he was to Harry.
His thoughts always return to the first adult Harry called family. Tears settle at the corner of his eyes, but then he sees them; Ron And Hermione. They are holding hands and softly smiling at one another and something heavyand ugly forms in Harry's stomach. So they will focus on one another now, huh.
It's predestined for him to be alone, after all.
Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, never to learn how to live.
He cracks a soft joke and watches his friends smile at one another, before they turn to him. He can't meet their eyes, he realises. He has been starring at their chins for their whole interactions.
Everything seems so much right now. He just wants to rest.
He doesn't know what is going to happen next, all he knows is that he is shivering and cold.
At some point, everything moves like a blur. One second, he stands in the great hall, bodies lied on top of bodies, friends, colleagues, foes, the next he is at the broken bridge, the even more broke elder wand in his hand.
He drops the broken wand and watches it drop down that horrid height and feels for the first time since he came back to life a little bit lighter.
Then, he closes his eyes and knows no more; his mind is quiet for the first time in a loooonggg while.
Only Ron and Hermione on his side persist, warming him from both sides