All he wanted was to be alone. He had just lost one of his best friends, he murdered someone, albeit the most powerful Dark Wizard in the world's history- and now what? Now what will he do in the wake of the downfall of Voldemort's empire?

But for now, he couldn't think of that. Because, right in front of him, was the gravestone he had been looking for. It was the most ornate grave he had ever seen; ironic, in that he had the best he could have after death, while his family had to do without all his life. He read the words imprinted on the headstone.

Fred Weasley
April 1, 1978- May 23, 1996

Mischief Managed

He smiled as he thought of the Marauder's Map, and how the ending incantation was the most fitting epitaph for Fred's life.

He couldn't bear to think of the other remaining Weasley family members; that only added to his pain. So he tried simply focusing on his one true love; her face flashed into his memory, and he couldn't hold them in anymore.

Tears began to course down his face. His heart felt heavy, weak. He dropped to his knees, feeling his kneecaps hit the ground with a punishing force. He didn't care, though; his grief outdid any pain he could have been experiencing. He simply lay there, curled up into a tight ball; he recognized that he was soiling his new suit, but he didn't care at all. He simply had to cry, to let it all out. After a long time, he felt no energy course through his body, and he simply fell asleep.

It was their third year at Hogwarts. Fred and George had just given him the Marauder's Map and told him how to sneak out of Hogwarts to get to Hogsmeade. Harry turned to the twins to congratulate them on finding such a treasure; Fred was gone, and George was overcome with tears.

"Why are you crying?" he asked George. "And where's Fred?"

"He- he's dead," sobbed George. "You were at the battle."

Time flew by; it was now his fourth year. He had just finished the first challenge of the Triwizard Tournament; he was in the Gryffindor common room, his mates all bearing him on his shoulders. After he was let down, he walked over to an oddly morose George, sitting in one of the armoires by the fireplace.

"You look a little down," he told George. "What's wrong with you?"

"He's dead," came the reply. "You were at the battle."

Time slipped away; he was now in his fifth year. Dolores Umbridge was administering the O.W.L. exams when Fred and George burst into the room on their brooms, lighting fireworks and causing havoc, like they always did. He turned to George to tell him his congratulations, when he noticed Fred was no longer at the scene.

"Where'd he go?" he called out amidst the clamor.

"He's dead," came George's reply as he zoomed out of the room. "You were at the battle."

"Should we wake him up?" asked Hermione.

"No, I think he needs to do this on his own," replied Ron, clutching tightly to Hermione's hand. Ron's tears began to flow again, and Hermione helped him away from Fred's grave, shedding tears of her own.

He found himself before his sixth year, visiting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes with Ron and the other Weasleys; he was, oddly enough, holding tightly to Ginny's hand; she had an expression of heavenly satisfaction on her face. He and Ginny and the others entered the shop. Almost immediately, George came up to meet them; he wasn't his normal peppy self, but he managed to warmly welcome them.

"Where's Fred?" he asked. "In the back, doing inventory?"

"He's dead," came George's reply as he walked away. "You were at the battle."

He found himself once again bypassing time; next thing he knew, he was by Ron's bedside in the Hogwarts infirmary. Ron was deathly ill, due to Professor Slughorn accidentally poisoning him with a bottle of oak-matured mead. He noticed one thing odd- Fred was nowhere to be found. He watched as George laid Ron's birthday gift on the bedside table.

"I'm surprised Fred isn't here with you," he told George.

"He's dead," came the reply. "You were at the battle."

He awoke in an instant; he was covered in sweat and dirt. He had been thrashing around the whole time. Slowly, with every part of his body in an aching fire, he got up, using the headstone for support.

"What the hell was with that dream?" he asked himself. "Am I destined to forget him? Just because he's dead, doesn't mean he's gone… does it?"

"You don't have to forget him, you know," came the reply from behind him. He recognized the dreamy quality to her voice.

"I tried so hard, Luna," he said, tears coming down his face again. "I tried so goddamn hard during the fight to not let anyone else I've loved get killed. And here Fred lies, killed by a Death Eater. I failed, Luna…"

Luna stepped up to his side, gently enclosing his hand in hers. "You are not a failure, Harry. You are the bravest person I've ever known." Her voice cracked a bit, and Harry looked up to see her shedding tears of her own. "You've been through so much… things I can't even bear to think about."

Harry looked up at Luna, happy that he had chosen to make friends with her. A thought came to his grief-befuddled mind. "Luna… what are you doing here anyways?"

"Oh, I just came here to visit my mother's grave," came her reply.

In spite of his grief, he was a bit intrigued by this piece of information. "I didn't know your mother was buried in this cemetery."

"Oh, yes. I come here a lot, to visit her, to talk to her- when I'm not in school, of course." She looked at Harry. "I truly am sorry, you know."

"I know," said Harry, squeezing her hand. "You know what it's like to go through the death of someone you love."

"Would you like to come see her grave?" Luna asked, the wide-eyed wonder coming back to her.

Harry considered this to be a bit of an odd request, but nevertheless he really did want to. "Sure, I guess," he said. A smile crossed Luna's face, and she led him to where her mother lay, the two still hand in hand.

They soon ended up at the very edge of the cemetery. Luna pointed to a rather small gravestone. "This is hers," she said.

Harry was, in spite of himself, a bit outraged that they had only given her a small headstone to remember her by, while the much less fortunate Weasley family had been able to procure a rather lavish grave marker for Fred. He pushed his rage aside, though.

"From what I've heard you say about her," said Harry, "she was an excellent woman."

"My father loved her dearly," came her reply. "He was quite overcome when she passed away. I was only nine at the time so… I didn't really 'get' it." The tears began to flow again. "There are times when I miss her so much, Harry…"

Harry let go of Luna's hand; she was a bit surprised- until Harry took a few steps in and wrapped both his arms around her shoulders; her tears finally got the best of her, and she collapsed into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Harry simply held her tightly to him, stroking her hair.

He waited until her tears subsided a bit. "I can only guess as to how much you miss her," he said. "And this may not be any consolance to you, especially after so long, but… she died doing something she loved."

Luna looked up at him, her eyes red from her tears' exit. "How you can be so strong, when you're grieving yourself… I will never know." She hugged him one last time, then straightened herself up, stopping only to plant a single kiss on Harry's cheek.

"Fred really was a great man," said Luna.

"That, he was," said Harry as he took Luna's hand again. "You saw that earlier. You were at the battle."