Harry lay in the sunshine thinking it quite ironic that the day he killed Voldemort was the hottest day ever in England.

Another splash of pebbles fell on his face, opening more small cuts.  The blood stung his eyes and left a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth.

He wondered where Ron and Hermione were.  They’d been next to him and were lost in the battle.

It was mid-afternoon before he heard his name being called.  He didn’t answer, preferring instead to wait until they found him.

Harry opened his eyes.

Hermione knelt and gasped.  “Harry, why are your eyes red?”

“Avada Kedavra!”