Not Really Winning

Title: Not Really Winning

Author: Michelle

Status: Finished

Disclaimer: Do you really think that I'm JKR? For one…If I was I certainly wouldn't be writing fanfiction! I'd be working on book 6!

Summary: They had dreamed of this day since that fateful night when Harry Potter had become famous. Voldemort's defeat was the one thing everyone had wanted. But no one felt like celebrating because they had been defeated too.

Not Really Winning

The war was over. It really was. Voldemort was gone. After seventeen years of anticipation and waiting. After seventeen years of pain. He was finally gone. It's what everyone had wanted. The deatheater attacks had stopped. The dementors were once again under control and all his followers were either killed in battle or living in Azkaban. Most would assume this to be a great time of joy and celebration. But very few people felt like celebrating when Voldemort was gone. Some people even wondered if it was too late to go back. Back to the times when Voldemort was alive when people were fighting and people were walking around; not knowing when the end was coming and if they'd be able to stop it.

Harry Potter looked around at the people walking on the streets of Hogsmead. No one looked up from the ground, no one was crying. Everyone had the same, stone look on their faces. They were on autopilot. Walking around under grey clouded skies like doom was upon them. How ironic that that very thing had caused them so much pain; not the fight. The aftermath.

The world seemed to be silent and grey. No one spoke; no one comforted. Everyone had lost someone. They had won the war; but at a very high price.

Harry walked up the stone walk way to Hogwarts. The one place he had always called home was now in runes. Walls were crumbling; the great hall had been almost completely destroyed. The astronomy tower had fallen down onto the Quidditch pitch which was now damp and bare. The bleachers were broken and the flags that supported the teams that had once proudly flown were ripped and lay limp in the wind. It was one of the worst sights Harry had seen in his life.

He walked though the halls that were now grey like the rest of the world seemed to be, no longer full of life as they once were. The paintings on the wall, though most were gone or completely destroyed, were silent. Harry thought of the times they had run through these halls, late for potions or some other class. They had run into Malfoy in these halls more times than Harry could count. But none of it seemed bad. What Harry would give to walk down these halls once more, only to be interrupted by Malfoy.

He walked past the Gryffindor common room only to see the fat lady with the same stony look on her face as everyone else. The portrait was completely open and she didn't speak a word as Harry passed though. He walked into the open common room. The red chairs and couch were torn and dull. The fireplace only brought back memories of Sirius. He remembered Hermione sitting on the red chair on the far side of the room. It was her favorite chair; Crookshanks curled up on her lap as she read Hogwarts: a History again. Ron would sit with him on the other side of the room and plat wizard's chess. Ron would beat him every time.

He walked up the stairs into the dormitory where he had spent many sleepless nights staring out at the lake. He looked though the window that was now broken like everything else. The lake was partially drained down into the chamber that had been flooded during the battle. The giant squid still struggling to remain underneath the water. Harry looked around the room remembering nights when he was awakened by Ron's snoring. He remembered when Fred and George had come into their dorm and they had test-tasted all the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes candy they could eat.

George had not been the same since the battle. When Fred had fallen at the hand of a death eater somehow George had fallen too. The face that once always bore a smile; the face that always had something to say. The one that always had an idea was now as sunken as saddened as everyone else. Harry held back tears as he exited the common room. He walked towards another hallway that he remembered as the one Ron and him had seen the troll in that Halloween night in their first year. He remembered rescuing Hermione in the girl's bathroom. He remembered the night that he had truly become Hermione's friend.

He walked though the halls until he found himself standing in front of a very familiar statue. The stairs leading to Dumbledore's office were exposed completely. Harry stepped onto them and climbed up remembering the time he had come up these stairs for the first time. He hoisted himself up into Dumbledore's office. The walls were still lined with artifacts and the paintings of the former headmasters; though just as darkened as the rest, were still in tact. The beautiful Phoenix that had once stood proud on the podium was now gone. Dumbledore's one true companion was no longer the bird it used to be. It held itself differently. It represented what the world had come to. Everyone had given up.

The sorting hat was no more wilted than it was the day Harry had first stepped into the doors of the great hall. He looked up at it and saw that it seemed to be staring back at him. Harry turned away from it and walked up the stairs to Dumbledore's desk. Papers were still scattered about the top and drawers were carelessly left open. Harry heard someone above him and walked up another flight of stairs to see Dumbledore staring out the window into the dark sky. Harry sat down beside him and stared out into the sky as well. He remembered when Hermione and him had flown by here on Buckbeak on their way to rescue Sirius. There was no more holding back tears. He let them flow freely and did not even notice that the once strong willed man was weeping beside him.

It seemed the world would never be the same. That everyone really had given up. There was no hope left. No will to keep living in the world that ultimately Voldemort had defeated. He had taken the world down with him.

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