for editing

:(

He leaned his head back into her and she looped her arms around his neck, resting her chin on the top of his head.

"The war is over, Harry," she said softly. "You can let yourself feel now — it's okay to be upset."

"I'm not upset," he said stubbornly.

She just looked at him with those piercing blue eyes, and the emotions hit him like a truck. Harry had never given himself a proper amount of time to grieve Sirius; to remember Fred, Hedwig, Lupin, Tonks, Cedric; to mourn Dobby. Whenever someone he loved died, Harry told himself to keep going, keep fighting. It would all be over when Voldemort was defeated.

Now his lifelong mission was finally finished, those emotional wounds and scars reopened like brand new ones, cutting deep into him like slashes of a sword. Harry felt genuine, physical stabs of pain in his heart, driving him into the floor as he helplessly remembered faces. It was as if they had all died yesterday: his family, his friends — all because of him.

"Harry — Harry, look at me," said Oona urgently as she held his face in her hands. She knelt onto the ground beside him, her long hair falling into his face, which he realized was wetted with tears.

He blinked them away. He refused to let her see him cry; he could not bear the shame of it. But Oona wrapped her arms under his shoulders and held him so tightly that the worst of his pain was ebbing away, the tip of the iceberg in his heart starting to slowly chip off. Her vanilla scent washed over him, and the lead in his chest began to melt, pooling into his stomach as Harry pulled her closer, letting her hold him and whisper to him, assuring him that it will all be alright. He wanted to believe that it would — Maybe if she kept holding him, he could start to.

"I'm sorry," he said in soft tones, clearing his throat and keeping the tears out of his voice.

"Don't say that," said Oona tenderly, refusing to let go of him. "You have no reason to be sorry."

He wanted to fight this, to argue that he should be apologizing for putting this on her, for forcing all of his problems onto her and for acting like such a disaster in front of her, for dragging her into the darkness of his life, a dead man's life, one with no logical reason for still existing.

She had no reason to put up with him; she could easily walk out and leave him alone to wallow in his self-pity. But for some reason Harry might never understand, Oona stayed with him, and continued to rub reassuring circles into his back. He never wanted her to see him like this — he was supposed to be the Chosen One, a brave hero who saved the world from Voldemort's reign. He was not supposed to cry, yet he could not stop. She never told him to.