Harry sung the dirge quietly to himself, while he lit each candle. He had found a large candlabra, and since the Battle of Hogwarts, he had lit a candle for everyone who had died that he had known personally. There were so, so many.

The first, for his mother, the vibrant, red haired Lily Potter nee Evans, who had given her love and life to save her only child. The second, for his father, James Potter, who had fought a losing battle. The third for Cedric, who had been the first casualty, and who had been the epitome of a Hufflepuff. The fourth, his godfather Sirius, who, despite only knowing each other a short time, had developed a deep, paternal bond.

On and on the list went, from Dumbledore to Colin Creevey. Then, the final candle: Severus Snape, cynical Potions Master, ex-Death Eater, spy...and the unsung hero of the war. Putting the final candle in the center, he gazed at the candles, tears running down his face for all the lives lost. The pain had been too much, had driven him away from his friends because he couldn't deal with people. But without those people, he had never noticed how he'd been wasting away.

His body was frail from malnutrition, his eyes dark from lack of sleep and his hair lank from too few showers. He was unaware that he was dying, having no one to look after him in his grief. He had released Kreacher from his bond, allowing the poor old house elf his needed peace. But without Kreacher, he had no one to regularly make him food, nor force him to drink.

His body started to collapse into the chair, exhaustion taking over as he stared into the candles. He murmured to himself "I'm sorry, Professor Snape. I wish I had made your promise easier instead of making it more difficult." With a sigh, he allowed himself to drift asleep, that final sleep. In his grief, his magic had decayed to the point where he could no longer fight, and his soul began to gently detatch from his body.

When he woke up again, it was to see an empty expanse of white and black. Getting up, he started walking, hearing his footsteps echo eerily. He stopped when he came to a gate, and looked at it dispassionatley. He blinked as he saw someone opening it and holding out a long, pale hand to him.

He asked as he took it "Did I do well?" He allowed himself to be drawn past the gate, feeling no pain anymore, no grief or fear.

"You did well; though I do wish you had sought help when you realized all you felt was your grief. Still, appropriate for this day of all days to be your last. Either way, the Dark Forest accepts all who come to it needing peace. Come along Mr. Potter, don't dawdle now." Harry smiled, soothed by that familiar, silky, cynical voice. Even though it had been softened in death, that familiarity allowed Harry to accept the inevitable. Peace; yes, that would be nice...after 19 years, peace would be so very nice.