Chapter 3: Sadness

Harry opened his eyes. As his thoughts cleared he knew that he must have been sleeping, but he couldn't remember being asleep. For the first time in weeks, months, he hadn't had those dreams, or at least he didn't remember them if he did.

"Harry, mate. You're awake—do you fancy some breakfast? I'm starving!"

He recognised Ron Weaseley's voice. His joints felt stiff and he ached all over. He picked up his wand and gave the command: "Accio glasses hand". The spectacles flew into his free hand and he placed them on his face. He raised himself up onto his elbows, then slowly swung his legs around until he was sitting on the edge of his bed. He looked around, taking in the familiar landscape of the Gryffindor dormitory he'd shared with Ron since their first day at Hogwarts.

"Er, morning, Ron." He was still wearing his clothes: the same clothes he had been wearing when—

"Ron. How long have I been asleep? What's been happening? Where are the others?" Ron seemed to hesitate for a moment before he answered:

"It's May the 4^th—you've been asleep for nearly two days, Harry. We didn't want to wake you. Most of the school have gone home, but some have stayed to help with the clear up: Hermione, Luna and Neville are still here. Ginny wanted to stay, but mum and dad have taken her back to Auntie Muriel's. They're coming back tomorrow, when Fred—" His voice faltered and he looked away from Harry.

It was then that Harry remembered the events of a few days ago, and his body sagged, as if the magnitude of the recollection was like a heavy weight pressing down upon him.

"Ron! Fred, Lupin, Tonks—"

"Yeah," was all that Ron could manage. He was suddenly no longer so hungry. "Professor McGonagall asked me come and see if you were awake."

Although Harry would have liked nothing more than to continue to hide himself away at that moment, he knew that he must once again face the world that he had recently sought refuge from. He had no clean clothes to change into, so he just took a deep breath and got up from the bed, saying to Ron as he did so: "OK, Mate, let's go!"

Harry and Ron's journey from the high Gryffindor Tower down to the Great Hall took a little longer than usual. Every corridor, landing and staircase seemed to bear the signs of the battle. Although exterior walls and windows had been repaired—at least temporarily to keep the elements out—some of the internal decoration appeared either gouged, blasted, or hanging askew. Every few yards, Harry would feel compelled to stop and look at places where something familiar had been damaged or destroyed.

At last they reached their destination. Harry wasn't sure what he expected, but somehow the familiarity of what he saw raised his spirits. It wasn't exactly as how it had been: there was now just one, long table in the centre of the hall. At one end were his familiar, although tired-looking, teachers; at the other end, the dozen or so pupils who had stayed behind to help. They all looked up as Harry and Ron approached. Every face he saw bore a bruise, scratch or cut gained during the fighting. The euphoria and exuberance of the immediate post-battle had passed, however, replaced by the careworn expressions of those who have seen things that will live with them for the rest of their days. Everyone seemed to wait for someone else to speak. It was Professor McGonagall who interrupted the silence:

"Good day, Harry. I hope you are rested."

Then, as if they had all been given tacit permission to speak, Harry was greeted by the rest of those seated at the table. He sat on the bench between Hermione and Ron. Hermione just smiled and gave Harry's hand an affectionate squeeze.

"Did you sleep well, Harry?" said Luna. Of all those seated in the hall, she seemed somehow least affected.

"Well, you did it, Harry!" beamed Neville, his weeks of mistreatment at the hands of the Carrows, the school Death Eaters, apparently forgotten.

"We all did it, not just me, Neville," replied Harry warmly. "Have you still got the sword?"

"No, Professor McGonagall has put it somewhere safe. She said she didn't want me to cut myself."

Just then there was a loud Pop, which caused Harry to jump. Kreacher, the house elf, had appeared behind him.

"Would Master Harry like some breakfast? Kreacher is proud to serve Master Harry!"

After they had eaten some food, which appeared to have cheered them, Hermione turned to Harry and Ron:

"Shall we go for a walk in the grounds, down by the lake?"

The outside showed the same signs of battle that Harry had seen inside. There was broken masonry from the walls and parapets, blast marks from duels, and gouged and trampled lawns from centaurs' hooves and giants' footprints. With Hermione now between Ron and Harry, they linked arms as they walked slowly, stopping first at the final resting place of Albus Dumbledore where, to Harry's great relief, the Elder Wand had been replaced and all indications of Voldermort's violation and any fighting had been removed. For a few minutes Harry was lost in thought. Ron and Hermione, hand in hand, looked on in silence from a little way off, as Harry bowed his head in contemplation. Then they led Harry towards a secluded area a few hundred yards away from Dumbledore's tomb. Hermione was the first to speak:

"While you were asleep, Harry, they decided that this area would be set aside to bury those that fell during the battle."

"Not—" gasped Harry.

"No, of course not," said Hermione, firmly, but not unkindly, "—only the ones on our side."

"Professor McGonagall said people from the Ministry of Magic came during the night to collect the bodies of You-Know—Voldermort—and the Death Eaters," said Ron.

"What about Severus Snape?" asked Harry.

"Those people who didn't hear you in the Hall didn't think that he should be buried with the others, but once they knew the truth they changed their mind and his body was brought back from the Shrieking Shack," said Hermione.

"I noticed that Hagrid wasn't at breakfast this morning," said Harry.

"He'll probably be here tomorrow, but he's in the forest now with his animals, and the centaurs," said Ron.

"Yes," said Hermione, in response to Harry's quizzical look, "some of the centaurs were killed, too. Professor McGonagall asked Bane if he would like them to be buried with the others, but he declined. He said that centaurs, 'Have their own ways'."

As if the conversation needed an antidote to seriousness:

"Er, do you think we can go back now—it must be nearly lunch time," said Ron, hesitantly. Harry and Hermione laughed.

"Oh, Ron!" said Hermione, in her familiar exasperated tone of voice, "Whatever am I going to do with you!"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something," he replied.

He and Harry exchanged knowing smiles. Hermione squeezed Ron's hand a little tighter, but she was smiling, too.

That afternoon, everyone gathered at the burial site by the lake, and between them they prepared the places for those who had fallen. Most of the graves were human-sized, but there were a few, much smaller in length, for the house elves who had fought and died alongside them. At the head of each plot there stood a simple white marble headstone, each one now blank, awaiting the name of those who would tomorrow lie beneath it. The graves were arranged in a double row, facing each other, with a wide path separating the rows.

There was still much to do in the school, so Harry and the others were kept busy going around the school buildings, repairing as much of the damage as they could. Harry preferred to be kept busy. The school was also filled with reminders of his past: six mostly happy years at Hogwarts.

Harry and Ron awoke early the next day. They no longer had their dress robes: Harry had left his at the Dursley's. However, the school was able to find suitable clothing for all those who required it. Although the general mood was lighter than when Harry had arrived for breakfast yesterday, the solemnity of the coming day was having an affect on everyone's mood. Friends and relatives of the fallen would be arriving soon and Harry knew that, as on the day of the great battle, he would be expected to be there to speak to and console the bereaved. But of course, Harry's thoughts constantly returned to Ginny Weaseley.