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The breeze was soft on his skin. Today, it wasn't so bad and complemented the memories in his head that sometimes wouldn't lie quietly. It had been decades since Hogwarts had been attacked on that May day, and he never forgot. The breeze then had carried a malicious overtone to it and at the time, he hadn't thought much about it. It was something that resided in his memories, hidden, waiting for something similar to trigger the release of said memories.
Fred, the smirk on his face.
Dobby, the love shining from his huge eyes as his hands curled around the dagger.
The Lupins, still as statues in death, their hands so close yet so far away.
The loss of others over the years as the inexorable march of time moved ever onward.
Ron at age 85, arguing about his fantasy Quidditch matches, expounding about the Keeper and his record one moment, gone the next.
Luna, three years after that, hands curled around the Snorkack snuffling into her side and a dreamy smile on her face and a soft breeze ushering her into the After.
Ginny, a week after that, in defense of her granddaughter and showing hoodlums what it meant to make a Weasley mad. She outlived all twelve of them and died watching the newly-made ashes drift in the angry breeze.
Draco, the day after, not wanting to live without Ginny. The surprise still echoed throughout everyone, even though it had been forty-five years.
Neville, five years after that, succumbing to injuries inflicted by a band of eighteen Neo-Death Eaters who thought their ideology was the greatest... and finding out that The Longbottom was hell with a blade in his hand and a righteous wind following that blade.
Percy, a year after that, practically ancient (or so it seemed,) at his desk at the magical orphanage he'd set up. The children still there put flowers on his grave where he wanted to be buried, next to his kids. It never went without and the blossoms waved gently even in the absence of a breeze.
Others departed this life when their time was met - some with joy, some without. Some expressions of that joy came upon hearing the news of their departure, and some of those expressions created a new breeze that carried the news.
Harry paused, feeling the breeze that seemed so familiar, wondering why it was flirting with the edges of memory. His hands trembled as his brain tried to quickly work out where he'd experienced it before. It took him several minutes, but another puff that carried the scent of lilies told him. This breeze was just like the one in the Forbidden Forest, so long ago.
"As easy as falling asleep," he muttered.
"Harry?" a voice came from his side, where she had always been. "What is it?"
He couldn't say anything, all of a sudden, but his aged hand closed over her's and grasped. She wasn't quite the brightest witch anymore that she had been, but she still left many with less decades to their count in the metaphorical dust. She gasped at the silent message carried in that touch and stared into the green eyes she'd spent a lifetime with, ever since she burst into that compartment looking for a toad.
"Is it...?"
Harry nodded, his voice rough.
"It's time."
He looked up at the entrance to their room, opening into the balcony they were on. The sun was setting, sending beautiful colors of red and gold through the air, and the figure that stood there seemed unaffected by the sight. Everyone that passed by seemed insensate of the figure's presence, and he snorted to himself.
"Showoff," he muttered.
"Who?" she asked, then looked up. "Oh!"
She straightened up as much as she could at her advanced age and condition, brushed the still-wild hair back (daring the being to comment on it,) and sat beside Harry. Her spot there was as natural as breathing and had been for... well, for a long time.
"Whither thou goest..." she murmured.
The breeze rose, carrying with it a promise and when it faded away there was no one there to feel it.
The End