'They're not my family,' she said smartly. 'Shouldn't you be with Ron and his family?' Harry asked, his voice laced with bitterness.

Hermione found him that way not too long after. He had had a family, and they had died in the war protecting him. It was time, he realized abjectly, that he stop trying to adopt his way into a family. He knew that were his mother still alive, she would have sat by his bed at night after Sirius's death, would have sat with him and made him talk about Cedric's death. Yet they responded like this to Fred's death. They hadn't even mentioned anything after Sirius's death. It wasn't like any of the Weasleys had helped him after Cedric's death. It was a fairy tale, and one that was crashing in around him. He wondered if that was what had attracted him to her- the chance of officially being part of her family. At best, he would be taking their daughter away and making her a Potter. He had truly thought that one day he would be a part of the Weasley family, yet he knew it wasn't true. It wasn't hard to feel abandoned and alone again. He wished he had family, but having family meant he could lose them. He vaguely wondered how long it would take for someone to find him. His favorite rock was still there, his reflection was still there, the underlying tranquility was still there. It was peaceful out here, and though the castle and land behind him were marred, the lake was not. He strode though the busted out doors and made his way over the spell-tilled and broken ground until he reached the lake. The castle was littered with bloodstains and broken memories, and Harry knew he needed to get out.

He had intended to go up to Dumbledore's office to talk to his portrait, but now it no longer seemed like a good idea. He thought Hermione would want to stay with her boyfriend. He briefly thought about grabbing his friends, but Ron was busy with his family. Everyone who heard looked around, and Harry slid the Cloak up over himself, and got to his feet. 'Use your Cloak.'Īnd before he could say a word she had cried, 'Oooh, look, a Blibbering Humdinger!' and pointed out of the window. 'I'd want some peace and quiet, if it were me,' she said. He didn't feel like family at that moment. They had not been in the group to rush over to him, instead finding a spot off to the side. If it weren't for the war, Fred would still be alive. He could never join them for this, could never share this moment with them when he was responsible. Although he had always thought of the Weasleys as his family, he felt distant right now. His eyes trailed around the room and caught the Weasleys, welcoming home one son and mourning the loss of another. He watched the Malfoys huddled together, unsure if they should be there, but surrounded by other Slytherins who had changed sides. everyone wanted to shake the hand of the boy who lived, but not harry. To the masses, he was a symbol rather than a real person. Yet not a single person crowding around knew him as Harry, as the scared little boy who knew far too little about the big world of magic. Everyone wanted to congratulate the victor. Everyone wanted to shake the hand of the boy-who-lived (though he supposed it would soon turn in to some other ridiculous moniker, like the man-who-won). He knew he should have felt euphoric from the victory and a sense of belonging from the masses, yet all he felt was empty. People from all over came up to him to shake his hand or to thank him. Harry was an integral part of that celebration. As the sun rose over Hogwarts, the people inside celebrated the fall of the Dark Lord.

Dusk today green lake