Harry and Hermione sat, temporarily silenced, outside the festivities in the Great Hall. So much triumph was sick, he thought.

"Harry?" she asked, her voice timid.

"I should have died. It should have been me, not Lupin. Not Tonks. Me, rather than them. Me!"

Harry's voice bit sharply into the silence that surrounded the Great Hall, and Hermione flinched the tiniest bit.

"Harry—"

"Don't you see how many people are dead?"

Silence followed his words, and eventually Hermione took his hand and met his eyes.

"But don't you see how many people are alive?"

Harry couldn't meet her eyes.