Harry slipped out of the Great Hall, trying to be as quiet as he could under his cloak. On his way out, Harry spotted Mrs. Weasley and Ginny in one another's arms, comforting each other. Harry yearned to talk to Ginny, to tell her that he never stopped thinking about her, that he was sorry for Fred—sorry for everything. Now wasn't the time, he knew that much. Sitting a few feet away from Ginny was Percy and George, who were engaged in a tearful conversation. The loss of Fred so fresh in their eyes. Harry wished, more than anything, that he could erase all of their pain—for the Weasley's, Teddy, Andromeda, McGonagall and all the others who have lost someone they loved. Harry knew that pain all too well. The pain of loss is all-consuming, it follows you and never leaves.

Before he changed his mind, Harry turned his back on the Great Hall. Harry wandered the familiar path towards the Gryffindor dormitories. It was not until he reached the Fat Lady's portrait did it dawn on him he had no idea what the password was. Harry huffed and took off his cloak, eyeing the Fat Lady, who looked stunned to see him appear out of nowhere. "I'm sorry, I don't know the password," Harry said tiredly.

The Fat Lady gave him a slight smile, something Harry had rarely seen her do. "My dear, you don't need a password from this day on," she assured him as the portrait swung open.

Harry was relieved to see that the common room was empty and he stopped in the middle, looking around at the familiar sights that he missed so very much. Harry couldn't help but think of all the times Hermine and Ron argued on the couch, or that spring morning when Harry and Ginny met at the end of the stairs to sneak out and play Quidditch. Over the past six months, Harry so desperately wished to be back and to know that everyone he loved was safe—he was only granted one of those wishes.

Slowly, Harry made his way up the stairs to his old dormitory. When he opened the door and walked over the threshold, the floor creaked in the same spot as always, which sent a shiver through his body. Despite the world changing so much, despite all the death, all the hurt, the room where he spent so many nights remained the same. The beds were arranged in the same fashion, and all of them were made. Harry slowly walked towards the one that used to be his and fell into it. Despite his bruised and scarred body, and despite his dirty clothes he put on three days ago, Harry fell asleep.

He slept without a single dream for the first time in nearly a decade.

Hermione and Ron slowly tiptoed into the dormitory, anxiously looking for their best friend. Harry laid on his bed, with his shoes and glasses still on. Ron looked over his friend and turned to Hermione with a look of sadness. For the past year, Harry had seen very little joy and for all this life, he has had to fight.

Ron knew that Harry often thought of himself as a boy with no family, consistently inconveniencing people with his existence. What Ron had failed to truly notice until that moment, standing beside Hermione, looking at his best friend, was that they were Harry's true family. Ron had thought Harry dead when he laid in Hagrid's arms, he never thought he would see his best friend take another breath. "He did it," Ron whispered tearfully as he moved to take off one of Harry's shoes.

When Hermione saw that Harry didn't wake from having his shoes removed, she moved to take his glasses off. It is not often Harry is ever seen without his glasses, and something about him reminded Hermione of the boy who saved her from a troll all those years ago. How could it be that they got here? "We did it," Hermione corrected Ron as she rejoined him at the end of the bed.

Ron looked to Hermione, but his eyes were lost. "When I saw him in Hagrid's arms…," Ron trailed off, tears rolled down his cheeks.

"I know, I know," Hermione assured Ron as she guided him back out of the dormitory, not wanting to wake Harry. As soon as Hermione closed the door, they fell into each other's arms.

"I saw him, and for a split second, I wished I had followed him into that forest," Ron admitted to Hermione.

Hermione kissed Ron's cheek lovingly. "I did too," she whispered.

When he woke up, there was blinding light streaming through the window and Harry momentarily forgot all that had happened. For a split second, Harry thought it was just a normal day at Hogwarts. It was the ache of his own bloodied and bruised body that reminded him of what had happened. Harry looked around the room, saw no one was there, and allowed himself to cry.

Harry cried for Fred. He cried because he wouldn't be able to bring laughter to the Weasley table again. Harry cried for a brother, friend, son lost. He cried for Remus and Tonks who will never know their son, never grow old with one another. Harry cried for little Teddy, who will live without knowing his own parents—something Harry was all too familiar with. Harry cried for Severus Snape, who despite all his shortcomings, was a man of tremendous courage and love. Snape loved Lily, and that love transcended everything else in Snape's life. Harry thought of Sirius, who he saw in the Forbidden Forest not too many hours ago. Death didn't hurt, Sirius was right. Harry cried for the godfather, a man which life hadn't been very fair to.

Although his death felt like a lifetime ago, Harry cried for a headmaster he was never able to properly morn. Albus Dumbledore always had the bigger picture in mind. All he ever wanted was to keep out the darkness—to make the world a better place, permanently. Harry didn't even begrudge Albus for not telling him about his true fate; Harry had to die. It all played out as Dumbledore had hoped, and had Harry known he had to die a year ago, he might have lost all faith.

Tears fell silently as Harry stared at the sunlight trying to bleed through the thick curtains. He didn't feel shame as his whole body shook with pain, rage, and grief. Harry allowed his emotions to take hold of him completely, perhaps for the first time in his life. He cried until there were no tears left. Harry's last thoughts before he promptly fell back to sleep were of his parents and their loving gaze in the Forbidden Forest.

In the time that Harry had slept, Mrs. Weasley set up a chair next to his bedside and stowed some clean clothes at the end of Harry's bed. Mrs. Weasley sat and watched the sleeping boy for a few moments, remembering the sweet, sad, small boy with messy hair that he once had been. The man in front of her was just as scared and sweet, but even as he slept, Molly saw the worry and pain etched onto his features. Molly wanted to erase all of his pain. More than anything, she wanted a happy life for Harry from here on out.

Molly stood slowly, and just as she had done with her own sleeping children when they were young, we swept Harry's hair to one side and out of his eyes. "Rest, my boy," she whispered.

When Mrs. Weasley made it back to the common room, she saw her daughter sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace. "I told McGonagall to get some rest. Is he alright?" she asked her mother. Ginny must have noticed her mother leave the dinner table when they were dining in the Great Hall. When Molly went upstairs to check on Harry, she left Minerva in front of the fireplace. No one wanted Harry to wake up to an empty common room, so they all made an unspoken agreement that someone would be there, waiting for him.

Molly sat next to her daughter, taking her into a tight hug. She saw true worry and passion in her daughter's eyes, and for the first time it occurred to Molly that what Harry and Ginny had might be the real thing. "He will be," she promised. They would all see to it.

The next time Harry woke, it was dark. He knew he must have slept for a long time because his stomach was rumbling. Harry shifted a bit in bed and winced in pain—he was sore, particularly where the killing curse had hit him in the chest. Moving a bit to retrieve his wand, he saw there was an empty armchair pulled beside his bed and clothing laid at the end of the bed. Harry grabbed his wand. "Lumos," he whispered. He felt for his glasses and put them on.

To Harry's relief, the remaining beds were still empty. He didn't know if he had it in him to face everyone just yet. Slowly, Harry lifted himself into sitting position and felt the pain in his ribs from the killing curse. Forcing himself up, he stood but needed to grab onto the armchair for support. Harry knew that he must have been asleep for at least a day. Holding his wand tightly, Harry grabbed his fresh clothes and walked towards the bathroom. His body ached for a hot shower.

Harry peeled off his clothing and looked at himself in the mirror. The spot on his chest where the killing curse hit was scarring over, it looked like a firework exploded across his chest. At the very least, it wasn't another lightning bolt. His face was covered in small wounds and across his arm he had a deep gash from a stunning curse. Harry's eyes are shaded and his cheeks look sunken. He's not dead, but he looked like death himself.

Tiredly, Harry forced himself into the shower. The water flowed across his body and soothed his muscle aches. Harry scrubbed his body, hoping to wash away every terrible memory he's ever collected in the past seventeen years. He scrubbed and re-scrubbed until he's exhausted himself again.

As Harry put his clean clothes on, he heard a knock on the door. Most of all, Harry just wanted to ignore whoever it was, but they probably heard him in the shower. There is no hiding from whatever comes next.

"Hello?" asked Harry as he pulled on his shirt, embracing the clean feel of it against his fragile skin.

"Master, Kreacher has brought you a sandwich," a familiar voice said. Unlike previous encounters with Kreacher, his voice sounded upbeat.

"Thank you," Harry said as he throws open the door.

"Kreacher would like to congratulate his master on defeating the Dark Lord," Kreacher exclaimed.

Harry walked past Kreacher, reaching for the sandwich that sat on a plate at the end of the bed. Despite being starving, Harry took slow bites. "Kreacher, I appreciate it, but you don't have to look after me," Harry insisted.

"Oh, Kreacher wants to help. Miss. Hermione made me vow to stop all my talk about mudbloods and blood traitors. Kreacher is trying to be a better house elf for Master Regulus, and for Master Harry," Kreacher proclaimed.

"Thank you, but for now, I need a minute alone," Harry told Kreacher directly.

"Of course," Kreacher said and was gone in a snap.

Harry finished his sandwich and sat back down on the bed. He knew that he would have to face the world, but part of him just wanted to stay in the dormitory forever. Harry walked back into the bathroom and looked at himself again. His hair was slightly wet, and as unruly as ever. He needed to shave, but Harry decided that it is a battle for another day.

Ever so quietly, Harry walked out of the bathroom and towards the door leading down to the common room. He pulled the handle and stuck his head out into the hallway, seeing that no one is outside, he walked down the staircase. Everything was quiet, but as Harry stepped into the common room, he was greeted with a familiar sight: Ginny sitting in the armchair next to the fireplace.

Harry never truly did see how beautiful she was while Ginny was still his. Her hair seemed to be playing games with the shadows of the fire and her face, despite looking sleepless, was beautiful in the glow of the fire. Moments ago, Harry didn't want to face anyone, but one look from Ginny and he found himself walking towards her.

"Harry," she whispered, barely loud enough for Harry to hear her.

Harry took a seat in the chair beside hers, not taking his eyes off of her. "Where is everyone?" he wondered aloud.

Ginny gave him a slight smirk. "They're everywhere. Charlie and Bill are surveying the castle's damage. Ron and Hermione are with my mother in the Great Hall, helping students arrange to get home. Everyone else is trying to get things figured out," Ginny said, her words falling off.

Harry knew that by "figured out" she meant "plan funerals". Harry dropped his head, feeling ashamed for not being there to help anyone, instead he went and slept away his own pain. "I'm sorry, Ginny," he murmured.

Ginny placed a hand over his. "You've been asleep for over twenty hours. For that entire time, someone has been down here waiting for you. Do you know why?" she asked.

Harry looked into her eyes and saw hurt. "Why?" he countered.

Ginny tilted her head, looking at him sadly. "You still don't get it, do you? We are your family, we have been sitting here, waiting for you to come down those steps and return to us. We love you Harry, all of us," Ginny told Harry easily.

Harry didn't want to read too much into her words. All he heard was family. Guilt washed over him as he was reminded of Fred. Of everyone they lost and will never get back. "Ginny, it's not that easy," Harry insisted.

Ginny laughed him off a little. She stood up and pulled him up out of his chair so that they were standing eye-level. Harry looked down into her eyes, which were filled with a sort of anger that Harry hasn't seen before. "You are not to blame, Harry Potter," Ginny said adamantly.

When Harry didn't answer Ginny sighed. "You are not to blame," she repeated, this time softer.

Harry began to cry and Ginny hugged him tightly. "You are not to blame," she whispered again. Harry knew that she would continue saying it for as long as it takes, until Harry truly believed her. Tears fell onto Ginny's hair, but she didn't care, she simply held Harry tighter. That is what family does, and Harry Potter belonged to theirs.