A young man slept restlessly, his dreams tormented by haunting images, until finally; a beautiful red haired girl with blazing eyes, a flash of green light, and his whole world turned white.
The young man opened his eyes, but found the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window was momentarily too bright, causing his eyes to involuntarily close. He blinked several times before reaching out towards the small bedside table he could just make out next to him, his fingers locating what they were searching for as he sat up. He put his glasses on, brushing his shaggy black hair out of his eyes as he did so.
He was surprised to find himself sitting in a warm, comfortable bed. It was also a very familiar bed. As he surveyed his surroundings and comprehension dawned, he wondered how he came to be here in his old school bed. He considered this for a moment, but could not quite remember coming up to his old dormitory room.
The vivid images from his dreams had quickly faded from his consciousness, leaving only the image of the red haired girl floating in his mind. The girls’ image was familiar to him, he knew this girl, and he instinctively felt that he loved her, but this final image from his restless dream was threatening to fade from his mind. He tried to hold onto the memory; it gave him comfort and warmth. He felt the memory of the girl in his dream was important to hold on to, yet the image felt vague and fragile, like it may slip from his mind at any moment.
Harry Potter swung his legs out of the bed, placed his bare feet on the cool stone floor, and stood up. Harry found that his body ached from head to toe; a burning pain in his chest was causing him considerable discomfort. He pulled his shirt off over his head and looked down at his bare chest, startled by the ugly mark in the middle of his chest that looked as if the skin had been burned. The mark was about the size of a silver Sickle coin, and while it was circular in shape, the edges of the mark were jagged, the skin seemingly torn and ripped. Harry gingerly touched the mark and felt a bolt of pain shoot upwards through his body until it stopped at the lightning bolt shaped scar which had been on his forehead since he was an infant. Harry grunted as he clutched at his chest and forehead.
His memories of the previous evenings horrible events came flooding back to him with such force, he felt the breath leave his body. All memory of the beautiful red haired girl was gone as Harry’s mind was flooded with images of violence, blood, death and suffering. He remembered standing in a forest clearing facing the dark cloaked, white skinned, Lord Voldemort, the snake like features of the evil wizards’ face glowing in the darkness. The fear had gripped at his heart, and he knew he would die, yet he did nothing to prevent it. The memories left him feeling nauseous as he staggered towards the bathroom.
He reached the bathroom with only moments to spare, grabbing hold of each side of the wash basin as he proceeded to vomit. Once nothing was left in his body, he looked up into the mirror above the basin, and saw that his face was pale, badly bruised and battered, with a number of deep gashes and scrapes leaving him covered in dried blood and dirt.
Harry turned on the tap, and as he ran his hands under the slowly warming water, he noticed that they too were covered in scrapes and bruises. He cupped the warm water in his hands and began to wash the blood and dirt from his face. The warm water was soon mingled with his tears as a crushing sense of loss began to overcome him, causing his hands to shake violently and gasping sobs to pass his lips. He sat down on the stone floor and pulled his knees up to his chest, placed his arms across his knees, rested his head on his arms, and let the heartache he now felt take over him.
The immediate hour following the battle had seemed joyous to Harry, as the sun rose and warmth flooded his body. He had seen old friends and teachers, battered but alive, and the Great Hall had been filled with a feeling of hope after their freedom had been so dearly won. Those feelings had left Harry now, replaced by immense guilt and misery, knowing so many had died to help him, who would never have the chance to enjoy the very freedom they fought for.
