Dead. They are all dead. Not just the bad. But the good too. This isn't what I wanted. Voldemort is dead but at what cost? How many lives have been taken for him to die? How many lives have been ruined? Death is so destructive. Voldemort feared death above all others. Part of me can understand that. Not because I wish to live forever… no, why would I? Life is nothing but a series of endless twists and hardships till you die. I understand because of what death does to the survivors. Death is a cruel mistress. Leaving behind a hole in the surviving loved ones. A hole that can never be repaired, never be filled. They say with time it gets easier, how wrong they are. Sure, I never knew my parents but the hole they left behind never gets easier to bare. Some days the black pit of their absence gets worse, other times it stays the same. Never easier… no never. Time is just a reminder that you are alive while they are not. The precious seconds of the day just scream the injustice done to them. Time is a joke. A cruel mocking joke. Nothing will ever be okay again. Nothing will ever make the sacrifice of their lives okay. The greater good? Bullshit. How many people had to die in the name of the greater good? When does it become okay? That was always one thing Dumbledore never understood. At what number of dead people does it stop being for the greater good and it start being the same problem as Voldemorts? Okay, different sides of a war but we weren't innocent. We took the lives of the opposition just as heavily as they did to us. We believed they were wrong so that meant they had to go. Never once stopping to consider that war might not be the best answer. We were so sure that we were right. So conceited to think that we couldn't be wrong. It didn't matter if some people died as long as we won, right? Doesn't that remind you of anyone?
They say there is three sides to every story. Their side, your side and then the truth. Same applies to war. Their side, your side and the grey middle of both. There is never one right side and one wrong side. Take the number 9 for example; lay the number on a table, from one vantage point it clearly looks like a 9. From across the table it looks like a 6. Who is right? Both people will argue till their faces are blue that what they see is the correct answer. They don't try to understand what the other person is feeling or thinking. They only consider what they see. They think they are right and therefor the other person is wrong. Just because you are right does not mean that I am wrong. It is the exact same in war. Everyone is so emotionally blinded by what they believe is the right side that they lose sight of themselves. Sometimes you need to take a step back and see things in a different perspective. Once you see that the number is a 9 and a 6, fighting over it seems silly. You now can't understand why the two people are arguing so vehemently in the first place. Now you are the grey middle. One who understands both parts of the fight but chooses a different path.
People do things they aren't proud of in war. They say it like it is an excuse. Like it being war makes it okay somehow. It doesn't. If you did something you knew was wrong and use the excuse of it being war, then how are you any different from the opposite side? You knew it was wrong but chose to do it anyway. Doing something wrong in the name of your plight is not okay. War is bloody, messy and evil. Both sides of war. Never just one side. I wish I had realized that sooner, things could have turned out so differently. If I had just taken a step back and analyzed things from both sides of the war and not just my own skewed judgement. Things could have been different. I could have made a difference. One that hadn't killed so many people. By the time I realized this it was too late. I was already so deeply clutched into the light side there was no changing it. I am not saying I agreed with Voldemort. No that's silly. I could never have chosen his side of things. Even if I were to ignore that he killed my parents there is no ignoring his inhumane tactics at getting what he wanted. His viewpoints on nearly everything was skewed. But not all of it. If I could have picked and chose viewpoints from both sides and placed them in a basket. That basket would represent how the wizarding world should be. Or at least what I thought it should be. Again, it is the perspective. What's good for me isn't always what's good for you.
I wish Voldemort was alive. I wish I could have a do over and do things so different. I would bring him back to life to save everyone who died. It isn't fair. This was not the plan. I knew that people would die. I understood that. But the pain and the guilt stab me. The knowledge that it is all my fault hurts more than I ever thought possible. I am their bloody savior and I couldn't even save them all. I had their lives in my hands and they died anyways. How can I live with that? The what ifs and the I should haves eat at me. After the fact, I see things so clearly. I see the way I should have handled it. How could I have been so blind? Why now that it is all over do I know what I should have done. I am alive but they aren't. If they are going to die, then shouldn't I be dead too? Survivors guilt? Maybe.
Tonks. Lavender. Padma. Cho. Dennis. Hannah. Justin. Colin. Dobby. Percy. Sirius. Hestia. Dedalus. Moody. Dumbledore. All of them dead. And so many more. Many faces swim at me. All of them died for my sake. They died either battling for me or died protecting me. So many deaths. Too many to count. Each death feels like a stab to the heart that won't ever heal. Their faces suffocate me. Their eyes pierce my lungs, each breath is difficult to take. The war is over. Voldemort is dead. I should be happy, right? I should be celebrating like the rest of the world. But I am not. I can't. How can I be happy when those who died cannot? How is that okay. It is my fault they died. I may not have been the one who pulled the trigger. Or shot the final curse, rather. But I am just as guilty. If it wasn't for me they would be alive. If I had tried harder. If I got to him faster, if I had just taken a different perspective then this wouldn't have happened. So many people would be alive.
Anger. So much rage is pulsing inside me. I always thought this anger was Voldemorts. After we realized the two of us shared a connection, the anger was written off as his. The evil anger that lurks inside me did not die with him. I still feel it. I feel it mocking me. I feel it twisting my insides with no outlet. The sheer depth of it is slightly nauseating. It scares me. Not because I could do something awful with it. No, it scares me because I like it. I like the anger. Which scares me further. I shouldn't like it. It is a distraction from the guilt. Is that why I like it?
It has only been three days since the battle. Three days. Such a small amount of time. But it feels like a lifetime. I am numb. So numb. No emotions. Nothing but guilt and anger seep into me. The anger I can deal with. The guilt and utter sadness I cannot. I feel like I am losing myself. What's worse is I don't even want to fix it. I don't want to find myself. Finding myself means that I give up the guilt. As much as it torments me, I can't give it up. I need it. If I have no guilt, then means their deaths didn't matter. They matter! Someone needs to be accountable for their deaths. Voldemort is just as guilty as I am. He is dead so the guilt can't reside there. So I have to be the one to live with it.
Nothing is helping. There is this gaping hole that won't be filled. The one that represents my parents started out small, but with each death it tears slightly. Now it is a giant chasm that will never go away. Nothing brings me happiness. Nothing can help. Nothing. Ron and Hermione try to talk to me but I can tell they are scared. I don't blame them. Even before the final battle I wasn't okay. I am this empty shell. They deserve some type of explanation but there is nothing to tell. How do you explain that there is nothing left? How do you explain that the Harry they knew is dead? Gone. The person that used to be is nothing now. The person that used to their best friend is a shell of the man who once was.
Emotions are a foreign concept. It is like my body forgot what they are. Happiness, joy, kindness, love, wonder, amusement, hope; all of them are forgotten. All of them are missing. I wonder if this is temporary. If this is all a part of the grieving phase. I hope not. I don't want those emotions. I don't deserve them. I wish the attack on Voldemort killed me as well. I really do sometimes. What is there to live for? How can I face the families of the loved ones? How can I live knowing how much pain and suffering I have caused? How-
"Potter?" A timid voice brought Harry out of his thoughts. He looked around and realized he was sitting on a bench in the quidditch field. It took a moment to remember that he had gone out here for some privacy. It was dark. Way darker than it should be. Hadn't he gone out here during lunch? He couldn't have been out here for hours, could he?