I don't own Harry.

Neither can live while the other survives.

Harry barely noticed Ron sitting down next to him, absent, for once, from Hermione. He was still lost in thought. His entire life since entering Hogwarts had been centered around the destruction of Voldemort. So what was he to do now?

There was also the other things that had happened tonight. Fred's death. Lupin and Tonks' death. His own death and coming back to life. The destruction of the Horcruxes. The near-demolition of the school he cared so much about.

Ron's voice was hoarse when he suddenly spoke. "We should probably get some sleep."

Harry gazed around the familiar dormitory. They weren't the only ones still awake. In a bed next to them were Dean and Seamus, catching each other up on what they'd been doing all year, glad to be reunited once again. Glad to be alive.

He was exhausted. Had it only been this morning that he'd walked out of Shell Cottage with the intention of breaking into Gringotts? It seemed years past, more like a memory of another life.

Because the grief still weighed heavily on him, heavily on his friends and the families of the fallen. The Weasleys, George especially, would take a while to get used to Fred's death. And he, Harry, was now left with a two-month-old godson. Harry shook his head. Those thoughts could wait until morning.

Glancing over at Ron, he noticed tears in the boy's eyes. He placed a hand over Ron's, suspecting that he knew the cause of them, and waited for him to speak.

"How could so much happen in one night?" Harry waited quietly. He knew that Ron would eventually say what he wanted to. Another minute passed in which the only sounds were the quiet, almost melodic voices of Seamus and Dean. Ron's voice was constricted when he continued. "It was...the worst thing, Harry. To see you dead."

"I wasn't dead." Harry corrected automatically.

"Didn't matter. I thought you were." Harry remembered the time when he had thought that Ron was dead, when Mrs. Weasley's boggart had turned into him. "It was like my insides were frozen."

"I know."

Ron's eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, the blue reflecting Harry's own green. "And then Fred died."

"He died before I did." I think. Harry added. All the events were getting jumbled in his head. The Room of Requirement, the diadem, Ravenclaw Tower, Voldemort, the Great Hall. Which order had they appeared in?

"Oh, yeah."

Harry didn't have siblings, or at least he didn't have any official ones, but he felt at that moment that he could not miss the laughing red-head any more than he would if Fred had been his own brother.

The dragon, Snape dying, memories, his parents coming out of the ring, Kreacher leading the house-elves into war. More memories, more than he would have thought he'd get in a life time. And Harry understood why Dumbledore had needed the Pensieve.

Ron's hand suddenly floated out from under his and the bed creaked. The sound seemed to remind Harry of his exhaustion. For he was exhausted. It had been the longest day in his life, and he'd had a lot of long days.

"Good night, Harry."

At the same time, across the room, Seamus said the same thing to Dean, and the light that had made the room bright was extinguished.

The snake, the shrieking shack, Fred pinned under gigantic rocks, the searing flames, mountains of hot metal, Dumbledore, walking towards him at Kings Cross.

Eventually, the flashes stopped coming, and as Harry gazed out his window, his sight blurred by the loss of his glasses, he saw smoke coming out of Hagrid's chimney.

As he drifted off to sleep, he registered that his scar had stopped burning for the first time in nearly a year.

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