Title: Requiem
Author: Lux (quietlygorgeous@hotmail.com)
Pairings: Harry Potter/Severus Snape; various
Rating: R
Summary: It was supposed to be over now. That's the way it always went in the stories. The Good Side won and now the story ended because nothing mattered after that, everything was perfect after that. But it wasn't.
Feedback: I like feedback. It makes me feel all warm and gooey inside. And appreciated. I like feeling appreciated.
Categories: Angst, pre-slash (if you really poke and prod it )
Warnings: excessive blood, lots of character death and violence
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me. Nope. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Your mother is a monkey. See? Nothing!
Author's Note: So, I'm pretty sure no one else has done something quite like this. If someone has, well, I haven't read it. This is pretty Gen, really, with a few het pairings but the pairings really aren't what's important in this. This, dare I say, has substance. I know, I'm shocked too. Thanks: This story has been in the making since November of 2003. I had planned on it being finished in February of 2004. However this didn't happen and wouldn't be here now if it weren't for the following people: KC for her endless support in all things, Manny who read the first five pages back when it was just a silly short and said, "That's it?! You can do better than that", Lisa for reading the first 44 pages and telling me it was worth continuing, Tine who read it at 60 pages when I desperately needed encouragement and input and when she had much more important RL stuff to do, and to Lunarennui for reading it at 60 pages then 100 pages then through all the edits. And, finally, to Diagonalist for her freakish knowledge of how to eviscerate someone and how long it would feasibly take. Love you all so much. I can't express my gratitude sufficiently.

Requiem

Part 1: Thursday

It was supposed to be over now. That's the way it always went in the stories. The Good Side won and now the story ended because nothing mattered after that, everything was perfect.

But it wasn't, Harry realized. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't all sunshine and flowers and candy canes. There weren't parties, there weren't medals given out by the Ministry, there was only Harry standing in the middle of an open field with blood on his hands and drying into his hair and a body lying at his feet that looked so innocent now.

There was no one there to catch him when he fell to his knees and felt the ground squish against his jeans, saturated with blood and dew. He stared at his hands; they were murderer's hands. Later, they would tell him otherwise; tell him that what he did was Right and Just and even Deserved. It didn't stop him from wanting to cut them off, to get rid of those dirty, murderer's hands covered in bright, suffocating red.

Desperately he tried to wipe the blood away on whatever surface there was. He scraped them through the grass as he had done as a child. Grass could get mud off, surely blood would be the same -- but it wasn't. Frantically he balled his fists up in his robe and rubbed until it hurt. But it wouldn't leave him. He could still feel the heavy weight of it on his fingers, weighing him down. It was wrong, so very wrong.

The Hero never dies, he remembered. At the end, The Hero got The Girl and everything was Fine and Happy and Perfect. But there was no Girl and it wasn't Fine and it wasn't Happy and it wasn't Perfect. It was Terrifying. He had Killed someone. It didn't matter that it was Voldemort. Someone had died and he had Killed them. He had never thought himself capable. In retrospect it had all sounded okay: Defeat the Dark Lord. He just never really thought that Defeat meant Kill.

He was na•ve, he suddenly realized. He had always thought of himself as being old. He had seen people die; he had had this responsibility on his shoulders. His life was Hard.

But he was a child. His body was that of a seventeen-year-old boy, his limbs were long and still a little gawky. He still tripped over his feet sometimes. His hands weren't yet rough with calluses and years of hard, honest work. He was a Baby.

At the same time, he felt like a man. He'd shouldered responsibility; he had saved their world. He had fought all his life for Justice and Survival; he had Killed. He was the very definition of a man, or what he thought it meant to be a man. Maybe he was wrong. Was this all there was? Did it all end in Killing? Was he doomed to spend the rest of his life fighting for his Freedom and his Life?

Carefully, he sat down. His knees were beginning to get cold. He stared at the remains of Voldemort's body. Had he Deserved to Die? Did anyone Deserve to Die? Voldemort had done Terrible things. But he had done it all for a Vision. His Vision of a Perfect World and wasn't that what Harry wanted? Didn't he want a Perfect World, too? Was it so wrong to strive for what you Believed in? And hadn't he done just that by Killing Voldemort? He had gotten his Perfect World -- a World without Voldemort.

But it didn't feel Perfect.

He sighed heavily and ran his brown fingers through his hair. He should've known this wasn't going to be easy. Killing wasn't meant to be, he supposed. It felt good to sit, though. It felt like he'd been on his feet for days.

It was calm for a field harboring a dead body. There weren't any birds singing or other animal noises. Not even the rustle of leaves, just his own breathing and cloth snapping in the wind. "I hate you," he whispered to the fallen body. "I hate you," he said a little bit louder. "I HATE YOU!" he screamed, his voice carrying across the valley.

He grabbed a fistful of Voldemort's hair and yanked his face up from the ground. Voldemort's eyes were open in shock, mouth agape in a silent scream. "You murdering bastard," he hissed and punched the cold flesh as hard as he could and let the head fall back to the ground with a dull thud. He wanted to get out of here, away from this corpse. He needed to get as far away as possible.

Harry searched the area for his wand before he found it. His beloved wand was split in half, the phoenix feather poking out from between pieces of splintered wood. "FUCK!" He shouted. He grabbed it and tried to hold it in the middle to keep it together. "Lumos!" He shouted and dropped the wand with a pained hiss as it burned his hand. "Fuck," he growled and pressed his burning hand into his thigh.

How was he going to get out of here without his wand? He could Apparate but he didn't know where he was so he couldn't come back to show everyone the body. No one would believe that Voldemort was dead without his corpse as proof. Harry cursed loudly again and gave Voldemort a good kick in the side to make himself feel better. He would have to pick a direction and carry the body.

It wasn't fair. This was supposed to be Over. There wasn't supposed to be anymore of this. Voldemort was Dead; Harry could live his life Alone and without threat -- but not yet. No, first he had to carry Voldemort's corpse across a Field until he found some place to contact Dumbledore. Perfect. Just Fucking Perfect.

Gingerly, he shoved his broken wand into his pocket and grabbed Voldemort's cold, clammy hand. "I don't want to spend any more time with you than I have to," he growled and began to pull. He felt sick to his stomach as Voldemort's stomach sloshed against the ground. It made a strange suctioning noise.

"God you're heavy," he wheezed and stopped after a few feet. He would never make it this way. He was already exhausted. He came around to the side of the body and grabbed Voldemort's hip. He heaved the body onto its back and stared into what was left of Voldemort's stomach. All he saw was pink, fleshy intestines and sharp bone before he turned and threw up in the grass. The smell was horrible and the picture was worse. Over and over he vomited until his stomach gave up. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned back. His stomach rolled but he swallowed back the bile.

He stared at the body and tried to figure out a way to carry him. Dragging was too exhausting but throwing it over his shoulder would result in intestines spilling out all over him. He took a deep breath and held it as he grabbed an arm and pulled. Pulling only resulted in Voldemort's torso falling forwards onto his legs. A loud, wet crack of bone breaking echoed in the field as blood poured out of the corpse's mouth. Harry pressed his hand against his mouth as he gagged. It flooded his mouth before his stomach contracted and liquid spilled over his hand and into the grass. It happened too quickly for him to stop it. He bent over and heaved until his back hurt. His breathing was heavy and wet in his throat. He swallowed what was left in his mouth and cleaned himself again.

Voldemort's body was bent double and in an awkward position. Harry knelt down next to him and put one of Voldemort's arms around his neck and his own arm around Voldemort's back. He took a few more deep breaths through his teeth to try and get rid of the smell. He got to his feet and pulled up. Voldemort's head rolled and fell against Harry's shoulder. "Ugh," he groaned and pushed the head onto the other side. He couldn't walk with those two glassy eyes staring at him like that.

Harry took one careful step and then another until he got used to the added weight. It didn't help that Voldemort's feet dragged, bringing grass and mud along with them as Harry walked.

"I better get a medal for this," he grunted. "No, a fucking holiday. Harry Fucking Potter Day."

With each step, his back hollered at him to drop the extra weight. Let the fucker decompose right here in the middle of this field. He could get back fine on his own. But that stupid Gryffindor sensibility stepped in from its long absence and ordered him to keep going.

"You know what I'm going to do when we get back?" He shifted Voldemort's weight against his hip. "I'm going to buy a house in a nice, quiet village and I'm going to find someone and get married and have lots of little babies so I can tell them all about how you DIED," he growled. "Lots of little Potters so you can watch them grow up and piss on your grave."

He was breathing through clenched teeth. Quidditch never prepared him for this. "And I'm going to have a garden. A really big fucking garden with all those stupid ingredients for potions. And I'm going to live a really, really long life just to spite you and everyone else. I'm the Boy-Who-Fucking-Lived, damn it."

One foot in front of the other. Just one foot in front of the other. "And I'm going to be happy. Really, fucking gloriously happy for the first time EVER. I'm going to sing songs and dance and be a crotchety old bugger when I'm old. I'm going yell at the children for flying over my garden and ruining my Witch Hazel and I'm going to love every fucking minute of it."

Finally he threw Voldemort's body down and leaned against a tree. He was exhausted. His legs and back ached as feeling started to return to his arms. "And you know what the best part is, Tom?" He felt empowered using the bastard's given name. "You won't be there. You hear that?" He crouched down next to Tom's ear. "YOU WON'T BE THERE!" he screamed and fell back against the trunk of the tree.

For the first time in what felt like hours, Harry looked away from Tom's body and stared up through the branches of the tree. The sun was high overhead and light burst through the leaves. He was so frustrated. It would be days before they reached any sort of town -- Wizard or Muggle; days that he would have to drag Tom's body along with him. He looked at Tom's carcass out of the corner of his eye and gave his head a sharp kick.

He wished his wand hadn't broken. With it, he could've levitated Tom and gotten home much sooner. Hell, with his wand he could've shot up sparks. Someone would see them and come find him. But he was alone with a dead body and no wand. He could pass for a Muggle, and a Muggle dragging a dead body was not something people saw often. He would be thrown in jail before he could explain himself, which he wouldn't have been able to do anyway given the circumstances.

"Dumbledore better be looking for me," he grumbled. "He better be looking really fucking hard."

Unbeknownst to Harry, if he had only turned in the other direction, he would've found everyone else in less than a day.

Several miles away from Hogwarts, there was another field littered with dead bodies. Both Good and Bad. The wounded groaned for help as the intact brought whatever help they could. Medi-witches and wizards from St. Mungo's were frantically scattered as they tried to find the live ones and take them to safety.

Amongst the wounded was Albus Dumbledore. Next to him sat Severus Snape, clutching at his hand and trying to keep him from sleeping. Severus' robes were tattered; he'd torn off pieces and stuffed them into Albus' wounds to stop the bleeding. "Stay with me," he said.

Albus smiled weakly at him and coughed. "Have they found Harry?"

Severus shook his head. "No." They hadn't found Voldemort either, but that was implied. This battle was really between Potter and Voldemort; the rest of them were casualties until someone won.

"You're bleeding," Albus said, suddenly.

"I'm all right. It's just a flesh wound." He didn't tell Albus that his knee was smashed to pieces and he was slowly bleeding out of his side, but his black robes hid it. It was the reason he wore them, after all. He stared down at his extended leg and the wet patch above his joint. The healers would be able to fix it, but the others were more important; he wouldn't die...at least, not yet.

Albus wheezed and Severus pulled himself and his useless leg up so he could be closer to him. "Where are the others? The students?"

"The students are fine. The faculty--," he grew silent. "We were very fortunate," he finally said. "We lost very few."

"I want you to promise me something," Albus said as his eyes fluttered and his breathing became more constricted.

"Hang on, the medi-witch is coming." Severus could see her running as fast as she could with her bag. Just a few more minutes and it would be okay.

Albus patted his hand as though Severus were the one dying. "I want you to leave Hogwarts when this is all over."

"Albus--"

"--Listen to me, Severus," he hissed and coughed violently before continuing: "I never told you," he wheezed. "I'm proud of you."

Severus looked away from his old, grey eyes and could only watch as the Medi-witch ran her wand over Albus' body. She gave him a somber look. "He's bad," she said. "But I think we can save him. How're you?" She raised her wand to scan Severus, as well.

He waved it away. "Take care of him, I'm fine." Just you wait, you miserable old bastard, he thought. You're going to live to be older than all of us; I'll make sure of it.

Albus smiled.

"I'm worried," Hermione said as she paced the common room. Ron sat in one of the armchairs, watching her carefully. She took a second to stare out the window, hoping for a glimpse of the staff or Harry. "You don't suppose--?" She whispered.

"--Don't say it, Hermione," Ron warned. "Just don't say it."

"Why shouldn't she be realistic?" Ginny said from her spot in front of the fire. She was lying on her stomach with her ankles crossed in the air. She looked up from her magazine. "There's a chance Harry isn't coming back."

"Don't you dare say that," Ron hissed dangerously at his little sister. "Harry is coming back."

Hermione stayed silent and stood by the window, gently fingering the curtains. It might as well have been raining for the way they felt, cooped up in their common rooms and unable to leave until the Headmaster returned.

There was a cold feeling in the center of Hermione's chest, like a great, big block of ice was being crushed against her heart. She wanted to be as confident as Ron, she wanted to believe so badly that Harry would come back and smile his silly lop-sided grin and tell them he was all right, everything was fine.

Ginny sat up and came to stand beside her. Quietly she whispered, "What if--what if he really doesn't come back?"

Hermione wrapped an arm around Ginny's thin shoulders and hugged her close. She wasn't sure what to say. She didn't know what would happen if Harry didn't come back or what they would do without him. But she felt better having Ginny so close to her.

"He's coming back," Ron said and glared at them. He was so angry with them and himself. He felt trapped in this tower with the rest of the house. It felt like they were all crawling over each other to find a good spot to sit and wait. He felt Suffocated. He just wanted to get Out. He wanted to go Fight. From the looks of it, the other boys did as well, even Neville looked caged.

The girls could stay here, he decided. They would take care of the little ones and he and the boys would go out and Fight. It was their Duty as Wizards and Men. He got up from the chair and headed over to the corner where Seamus and Dean were pretending to play chess while whispering to each other. They stopped when Ron leaned over the table. "We're not done playing," Dean said.

"I'm going out there," he said.

"We're coming with you." They joined him and headed toward the portrait hole.

"Where are you going?" Hermione demanded.

All three winced as everyone else turned toward the escaping party. "We're going to fight," Ron told her without turning around.

"You can't!" She screeched. "We're supposed to stay here."

"I'm coming with you," Neville exclaimed and leapt from his chair.

"We're going, Hermione."

She stared at them pleadingly. "B-but I'll take points!"

Dean scoffed. "Take all the points you want, this is more important then points."

"Harry needs us!" Seamus shouted and looked around sheepishly. "Well, he does," he muttered.

"You have to stay here!" What if you get Killed, she wanted to cry but there were Little Ones in the room and she didn't want to Frighten them. But deep down she knew they needed to go.

Ron whipped around to face her. "I'm not going to let my best friend die out there alone!" He shouted. The full weight of the truth settled on all their shoulders. Harry could die, could already be dead.

"Then I'm coming with you," Hermione said.

The entire room went silent.

"You can't come with us," Ron grumbled and began pushing the reluctant portrait open.

"I won't have you going out there alone. I won't let my best friend die, either!"

"If Hermione goes, we go, too," Lavender said and Parvati nodded her agreement.

"NO!" Dean shouted, unable to stop himself.

Parvati scowled at him. "We'll do as we like, Dean Thomas."

He stared pleadingly at her. "Please. Vati, please," he begged.

She shook her head. "No, I'm coming with you."

"Sixth years and below, will stay here," Hermione ordered and turned to Ginny. "I need you to stay here, all right?"

"I want to come with you and Ron," she whispered.

Hermione smiled softly at her and hugged her tightly. "I know, but I need you here."

Ginny looked over her shoulder at Ron. He nodded and the boys turned toward the portrait hole again. She clutched Hermione's shoulders. "Just come back in one piece, right?"

Hermione nodded. "Right."

Ginny stood by the group that had gathered near the steps to the dormitories. Colin Creevey joined her side and nodded to the seniors. "We'll take care of them," he said bravely.

"Thanks," Ron said and disappeared. The others followed and the portrait closed. The Fat Lady was hollering after them to come back immediately. She stared, dumbfounded, as they didn't even turn around to acknowledge her.

"McGonagall's going to murder us," a little second year whispered.

Ginny laughed despite herself.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ron shouted.

The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were a few feet ahead of them. Ernie McMillan turned around. "We're going to fight, what else? You're not the only brave ones, you know."

Scattered amongst them were familiar faces, students they had attended classes with, developed friendships with. It wrenched something in Hermione's heart but she didn't let it show. She would Fight. "Come on, then," she said and the three houses mixed together.

Ron and Ernie led the way at the head of the group. They were the rest of Dumbledore's Army and they would Fight the best Harry had taught them, they would make him Proud.

"So we didn't miss the cavalry then," a sweet, high feminine voice called from the other set of stairs, the stairs that led from the dungeon.

They all turned, stunned, to see the small group of Slytherins. "Wha-?"

Blaise Zabini rolled her eyes. "What are you waiting for? Let's go." She and Millicent Bulstrode pushed forward to walk with Ron and Ernie. "If I'm going to die, I don't want to be late to the party." She showed her teeth as she grinned and Ron felt like he was getting in way over his head.

There was general mumbling from the rest of the group. The other Slytherins didn't look as comfortable as Blaise, nor were the other houses, being so mingled together.

Millicent sighed. "We're not all Death Eaters in training, you know," she said, her husky voice echoing off the stones.

Ernie shifted uncomfortably but nodded. Ron stepped forward and offered his wand hand, palm down. Blaise rolled her eyes. "Quit it, Weasley. I'm here to fight, the same as you. I know you aren't going to stab me in the back."

"Can we go now?" Susan Bones said uneasily from the back. Her fear was palpable and seemed to wash over the rest of them. No one moved to go back to their dormitory.

Professor Binns was floating in front of the door. He paused when he saw the flock of students approaching. "What are you doing out of your dorms? Go back, this instant!"

Instead, they pushed open the doors and bravely stepped out into the yard. It was so quiet without the sound of students laughing. Even the lake seemed perfectly still and made no noise. The air was stale in their mouths and beads of sweat trickled down their foreheads.

Professor Binns shouted after them but he was ignored. He huffed and as he disappeared through the floor he muttered, "Youth these days -- no respect for the dead!"

Together, the small army marched away from Hogwarts and away from the students that watched them through windows. No one said anything. The only sounds were their feet against the grass and their own breathing. Each of them clutched their wands in sweaty hands and wiped their foreheads on their sleeves. They were Marching off to War and they all knew no one would come back alive.

"You couldn't have picked a place near a water source could you?" Harry snarled as he trudged along. There was a trail of blood behind them and Harry was pretty sure he could see the spot where he had started. It was maddening. "You had to drop us here, in the middle of nowhere." He sniffed the air, hoping to smell something other than exposed intestines baking in the sun and the heady smell of grass. Something putrid caused him to step back and nearly drop Tom. He knew that smell. Years of cleaning his Aunt and Uncle's bathroom made him very familiar with that smell. "You fucking bastard," he groaned. He kept dragging the body and took great gulps of air every ten seconds. "I refuse to clean up your shit," he mumbled. "I didn't do it for them and I won't do it for you, that's for sure."

He sucked in another breath and kept walking until his lungs felt like they would explode and exhaled. He tried to think about what his friends were doing. Exhale. He hoped they were safe. Inhale. But if he knew Ron, he was probably trying to find a way to join in the fight. Stupid Ron. Exhale. Hermione wouldn't let him, though. Inhale. Hermione was Sensible. Hermione would tie him to the chair if she had to to keep Ron from getting himself Killed. Exhale. At least, he was pretty sure she would. Sharp inhale.

"I swear that if my friends die I'll--" He paused and tried to think of something. "--Well I don't know what I'll do but you better believe it'll be something horrible." He grunted and kept going, his mouth open and his tongue hanging partially out of his mouth as sweat covered his face like a blanket. It was probably three, by Harry's calculations and he hadn't eaten since the night before when this whole mess had started.

Tonks had sent an urgent message to Dumbledore during dinner. Harry had known something was wrong; no one got mail in the evening. He remembered swallowing tightly around a mouthful of potatoes before Dumbledore turned to him and nodded. It was Time. He could hardly believe that was just last night when he was laughing at table with his friends, ragging on each other without a care in the world. And less than twenty-four hours later he was carrying Tom's corpse.

They had needed to cut Voldemort off. He had a small army headed to Hogwarts. The plan was to steer him away from the school and toward a small rise nearby, block them against hard rock. It shouldn't have been that hard except there were hundreds of Death Eaters all over Great Britain who had struck out on the same night to keep the Aurors busy. It had been time to bring in the rest of them and Harry.

Hermione had looked like she was going to cry as she clung to him. Ron squeezed his shoulder and gruffly told him to come back as soon as he could. Now, he wished he had given Ron a proper hug. Male pride didn't matter during War. You hugged the ones you loved because there was a chance you weren't coming back. When he got back he was going to give Ron a good, long hug. If Ron had had the good sense to stay in the tower where he belonged. "Stupid Ron," he said fondly.

He sighed and looked to his right. Tom's head bobbed on his chest with each clumsy step. It was a sickening sound as his bones ground together. At the same time it almost sounded like...he paused and focused as far into the distance as he could. Then, he saw it. Water. Glorious, wet, clear water!

"Maybe you didn't go far enough," he grinned at the body and hobbled as quickly as he could toward his paradise. Where there was water there was surely a town nearby or Hogwarts, even. "Please let Hogwarts be close," he whispered as he panted and gasped for air while trying to run. It wasn't far, he could make it. Just a little farther and he could rest and set the body down and drink until his stomach ached.

He was starting to salivate the closer they got. He could already hear it: beautiful, gorgeous water running over stones and calling to him, begging him to come and play. He wheezed and ran, Tom's head snapping and bobbing through the air.

And then it was there, right there at his feet and he could See it. He dropped to the ground and threw Tom off of him. Frantically he brought handful after handful of water to his mouth and drank. It was so cold and crisp as the sand in his mouth began to disappear and he could feel his tongue again. He wanted to laugh and cry as he splashed it on his face and ran it through his hair; his fingers came back streaked with blood.

He drank more and more until his stomach hurt. He'd never felt so good in all his life. He panted and smiled as he pulled off his clothes and stomped them into the water. He watched the dirt and blood travel down the stream until it ran clean. His clothes were freezing against his body and cooled his heated flesh. He ducked his head over the bank and shook his hair in it. He rubbed and scratched until his hair was clean before pulling it out.

Harry grinned and shivered. It had never felt so good to be clean and cold. He lay down on the bank and just listened to the stream babble and flow. It was almost like he could understand it with his ear so close. Hogwarts, it whispered, get to Hogwarts. He yawned and let the sun beat down on him. On the other side of the stream was a forest that looked easy enough to pass through but he wasn't sure that was the right way. He would have to wait for nightfall to see the North Star before he knew which way he was going. He was exhausted and needed to rest.

Minerva opened her eyes.

Her head ached and there was a foul taste in her mouth. She sat up slowly and spat into the grass. Her saliva was tinted red. She stared at the body next to her and grinned. "Got you, you old bitch," she hissed at Bellatrix Lestrange's body. They had been rivals at school, once. Playful enemies that bested each other at everything. There had been no real malice between them, at least not in school. It was after they had graduated when that rivalry turned to hatred.

Carefully, Minerva stood up and wobbled a little before she found her equilibrium. She checked her body for any other injuries but other than her ankle there was only a gash on her forehead and dirt covering her from head to toe. All around her were bodies and not far from her was Severus. She tried to walk and yelped when her ankle protested. She hobbled as well as she could. "Are you hurt?" She shouted as she neared him.

He looked up and nodded gravely, his hand pressed into his side trying to hold a piece of black cloth in place. Minerva stood over him and saw his knee. Half of his trouser leg was missing and his knee was exposed in the air. "It's nothing," he said to her.

"Where's Albus?"

He sighed. "Mungo's. I don't remember what she said was wrong with him." He stared at his knee. "Blasted thing."

She looked around the field, already covered in redcaps. "I'll be right back." She turned from Severus and began toward the nearest medi-wizard. "You there!" She called and went a little faster. "Do you need help?"

The Wizard smiled tiredly at her. "We've a few left, most of'm are already dead."

Minerva came forward and looked at his charge. Her breath caught in her throat. "Remus? Are you all right?"

His eyes fluttered and opened; he smiled softly seeing her standing over him. His fingers twitched at his side as he tried to reach out to her. She took his hand and held it tightly.

"He'll be fine," the Wizard said. "The lycanthropy saved him. I have to get him to St. Mungo's though. I'm waiting for the next portkey. I can't Apparate him in this condition, not by myself anyway. Need me to look at that ankle?"

She sat beside him and he pulled her shoe off. "What's your name?"

He smiled at her and tenderly touched her foot. "Name's Applegreen, ma'am. Barry Applegreen."

"Barry, my friend is injured. His knee is shattered and he's bleeding out his side." She pointed in Severus' direction.

His face darkened as he prodded her foot. "Minor injuries are being transported to Pomfrey over at Hogwarts. Take him there."

"It isn't a minor injury!"

"Look, lady, we're here to save the good guys, our guys. Let the others find their own medical care," he sneered. "Your ankle'll be fine in a few days."

"He's on our side," she hissed and grabbed her shoe. "He's done more for it than you have, you stupid ass." She stomped her aching foot into her shoe and left him there by Remus' side. Angrily, she walked, as best she could, back to Severus and took out her wand. "I'll set it myself."

"You can't do that!" He shouted. "You don't have any medical training!"

"I'm not the Transfiguration teacher for nothing, Severus," she said and pointed her wand at his injured joint. "Just relax."

He scowled. "How can I relax with you pointing that thing at me!" He howled as she tried to fix him. "You bitch!" It slipped from his mouth before he could stop it.

"I'll let that slide seeing as you're injured." She offered her hand. "Come on, stand up." He growled at her but let her pull him up. Without the use of his right knee, his leg stayed straight at his side but he could put a little weight on it. "Now, put your arm around my neck, that's it. We're going back to Hogwarts."

He scoffed at her and held his side. "It's six miles away! How do you propose we do that?"

She looked exasperatedly at him. "Walking, Severus. I won't risk levitating either of us, not in this condition and I'm too tired to try and transfigure something."

He groaned as they took a few tentative steps. "When we get back, I want a potion. Lots and lots of potion."

Minerva grinned and allowed him to put more weight on her. "I've no doubt Poppy will be thrilled to pour them down your throat." She pressed her hand over the wound at his side and held tightly.

"Shut up, you miserable old woman," he hissed, appreciating the pressure to his wound.

"I'll have you know I'm in the prime of my life," she quipped and slowed her pace for him. Severus didn't say anything about it and she stopped joking. Determined, they headed home.

Dumbledore's Army hadn't gone very far before they ran into the rest of Voldemort's army. "Well, well, what have we here?"

Ron glared. "Shove off, Malfoy."

Blaise pushed forward and stood in front of Draco, arms crossed over her chest. "Daddy isn't here to save you, Draco," she taunted and grinned as he blushed furiously.

He glared. "What are you doing here, Zabini?"

She pointed her wand at his chest, right at his heart. "Not all of us are like you, Draco."

"Spying, sneaking, mugglefucking little bitch!" He hissed. "You're just like Professor Snape."

"Don't you dare talk about him like that you ungrateful worm!" Blaise shouted and nearly charged at him but Millicent grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"Wait," she hissed in Blaise's ear.

Draco grinned, getting his baring back. "If you're headed to the battlefield, you won't make it."

"Why not?" Hannah Abbott piped up.

"Because you'll be dead before you take another step." He drew his wand and pointed it at Ron's chest. "One more step and I'll blast your brains out," Draco threatened. "Now, turn around and we'll all go back to Hogwarts." He kept a wary eye on Blaise and Millicent.

Seamus scoffed. "We're not frightened by the likes of you."

Around the bend came the rest of the army, some fifty grown wizards and witches with their wands at the ready who had been hiding on the outskirts of the woods. "Oh no?" Draco said with glee.

Ernie gulped loudly. "Well," he whispered. "It's what we came to do, isn't it?"

Suddenly, one of the Death Eaters dropped to the ground. Everyone turned to see who had cast the first blow. "Neville?" Lavender squeaked at the boy standing next to her.

He was glaring at the fallen Death Eater like he was the scum of the earth. "I've waited sixteen years to do that," he said. The next spell came from the other side and Dean crumpled to the ground, holding his arm. After that, it exploded.

The air filled with shouts and clouds of smoke. Hermione could hardly hear anything except for the beating of her heart in her ears. She yelled every spell she could remember in all her seven years at Hogwarts but she couldn't bring herself to yell an Unforgivable.

The Death Eaters were not so courteous.

Crabbe and Goyle charged Neville but he knocked them out before any of their spells hit him. Adrenaline was pumping in his veins as years of anger and pain came to the surface and he forget to remember that he was clumsy and not very good at magic. "That's for my mother!" He shouted and killed a witch. "That's for my father!" A wizard fell. "That's for Grandmother and me." Two more in quick succession.

Bodies fell all around them as they fought -- some friend, some foe. Still, the fighting waged on as a new generation of wizards and witches began to understand what it meant to hold a wand and the responsibility behind it; what it meant to Kill.

Ron stood face to face with Draco; his Voldemort. Draco was on his knees, tears spilling down his cheeks, fear evident in his gray eyes. He wasn't supposed to Die, he wasn't supposed to Lose. Malfoy's Didn't Lose. Father would be so disappointed in him. Ron raised his wand and pointed it between Draco's eyes.

"What are you waiting for Weasley," he spat. "An engraved invitation? Kill me. I know you want to. You've wanted to for years." Terrence Higgs was coming up behind Ron.

He had. He'd waited years to see Draco die but in that way he wished Snape would die so he wouldn't have to go to Potions in the morning. And as much as he wanted Draco to go away and not call him names, he couldn't actually kill him.

"RON!" Hermione screamed and he turned, just in time to see the spell hit her. Numb, Ron watched as she collapsed to the ground. Tears stung his eyes as he turned to Terrence who grinned at him.

Ron raised his wand and silently killed him. His hand swung around and Draco fell. Ron stared down into his shockingly wide eyes that were slowly turning an odd shade of green.

"Weasley! DUCK!"

He fell to his knees as a bright blue spell flew over his head, barely missing him. Blaise rolled out of the way and collapsed next to him. She pointed her wand over his shoulder and shouted something he didn't recognize. A white light came out of her wand as she tried to catch her breath. He stared at her but her eyes were tightly closed and tears were streaming down her face.

"I think they're all dead," she said and lay down, too exhausted to move.

As the smoke began to clear exhausted students fell to the ground. No one wanted to look up to see who wouldn't get up.

"I think I'd like to risk levitating," Severus wheezed against the tree they had stopped at.

Minerva puffed beside him. "I think I'm inclined to agree with you." Her ankle was throbbing and she had little doubt that Severus was in agony. "I don't suppose you have a broom on you."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Of course I do, I keep one with me all the time," he groused. "Incendio!" One of the branches from the tree dropped down. "There," he said and pointed at it. "You can charm it now, I'm exhausted." His face was pale, paler than normal and it had a grayish tint to it. She watched as he clutched his side. He was in no condition to do magic, however little it was.

Carefully Minerva aimed her wand at the branch and chanted a spell she'd learned from her mother when she was a child. The branch wobbled and hovered above the ground. "There," she said with a pleased grin and transfigured it into a carpet before falling to her knees.

"Are you all right?" Severus asked and tried to help her up with one hand.

She laughed softly. "I'm fine," she replied tightly. "Just a bit dizzy is all.." Carefully she stood. "Let me help you onto it."

He shook his head and brought the carpet closer. Cautiously he lowered himself and grabbed the side when it wavered. They waited for it to steady before Minerva joined him.

"I'm afraid its not as strong as it should be but I think it'll last at least a mile or two." She tapped the carpet with her wand and off it zoomed at a steady pace.

Severus lay down and covered his eyes with his arm. "I hate flying," he muttered and held his stomach.

"I didn't know you got broomsick."

He groaned. "I avoid them at all costs," he said and tried to ignore the rocking of the carpet.

Minerva happily watched the scenery fly by but she worried at the weakness in her. Her hands were shaking and there was a strange feeling crawling up her leg. It felt like she was turning to ice but when she touched her skin, it was warm and fleshy. She lay down beside Severus and watched the blood from his side soak the carpet.

Ron was the first to stand on wobbly legs and stare around their small battlefield. "Hermione?" He called softly.

No answer. His heart was pounding frantically in his chest as he searched for her. She couldn't be dead. His breath caught in his throat and he choked on it.

"Hermione!"

A groan. "I heard you, Ron."

He fell to his knees beside her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm alive if that's what you mean," she said and tried to sit up. "I think he just got my leg."

Ron looked her over and saw the blood coming from her hip. "Lie back, all right? I have to check on the others."

She nodded and did as she was told.

Some of the others began to stand. Neville was covered in blood but Ron wasn't sure if it was his own or not. He seemed to be walking just fine; he gave each Death Eater a firm kick in the hip as he passed them. Ron didn't say anything to him about it. Neville's hatred went far deeper than his own.

"Neville," he shouted and the boy's head snapped up. There was something gone from Neville's eyes, something that made Ron shiver. "Bind them. I don't want any surprises."

Neville nodded curtly and began.

A few feet away, Dean was lying on the ground. His arm looked broken and he was breathing shallowly. Ron crouched beside him. "How are you?"

Dean managed a toothy grin, stained red. "Did we win?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "We won."

Dean coughed. "Good."

Seamus came over and took Ron's place next to him. Seamus was walking a little strangely but he seemed all right.

Ron slogged through their fallen army. Lavender was tearing off pieces of her clothes and using them as tourniquets to keep the twins alive. Both of them had wounds on their arms that were bleeding heavily. All three girls were deathly pale. Ron left Lavender to doctor as best as she could.

Hannah Abbott was crying bitterly over Ernie McMillan's body. Ron bent down and closed Ernie's eyes and noticed a rat near his head, a rat with a golden paw. He would know that rat from a thousand feet away. Ron grabbed it before he got away. "Hello, Scabbers." The rat shrieked and wiggled frantically. "You coward," he hissed at it. "Ran away from your Master and you couldn't even fight us. Fucking coward." Peter screamed as Ron broke his little neck and dropped him. He watched the small rat become a large bald man with blood pouring out of his mouth. "Bastard," he growled and Hannah shrunk away from the foul creature.

Neville stood beside him. "That the one who murdered Harry's parents?"

Ron nodded. "More or less."

Neville patted his shoulder. "Harry'll be glad to know it."

"Did you tie up the rest?"

"Yeah. We should put them all together so they're easy to keep track of," Neville said. "I think a few of them are still alive."

He and Ron grabbed Death Eater ankles and pulled them into a circle, tightly packed, live and dead. Ron stared into Draco Malfoy's face. It troubled him to see Draco dead and he wasn't sure why. All through school he'd talked about getting Even with him and giving him what he Deserved but Ron wasn't sure anymore if he deserved Death. In some part of him, he would miss Draco, but he would shed no tears of loss. Draco had chosen his side a long time ago, whether by choice or force and Ron couldn't fault him for that.

He put a charm around them so he would know if anyone woke up or tried to leave the circle. With the Death Eaters on one side, their numbers seemed so feeble in comparison. Somehow, less than thirty students had taken down more than fifty grown wizards and witches -- but they had suffered their own losses.

Ron sat beside Justin Finch-Fletchley. "Are you all right?"

Justin's head lulled from side to side heavily. "I can't feel my legs," he whispered as a tear fell down his cheek. Justin's legs were crumpled beneath him, but Ron didn't dare move them in case he caused more damage.

"Can you move your arms?"

He nodded and wiggled his fingers. "My shoulder hurts, though."

Ron pulled a three-inch strip off the hem of his shirt and tied it around the wound. "Anywhere else?"

Justin paused as he moved various parts of his body. "No, no I think that's it."

Ron left him to check on the others while Neville watched the circle of Death Eaters like a hawk. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the remaining hem of his shirt. For a second, he wished he'd stayed at Hogwarts.

The carpet deposited them only feet away from where the remaining troops of Dumbledore's Army lay. By Minerva's calculations, they were only a mile and a half from Hogwarts. She and Severus climbed to the ground and supported each other. They left the carpet behind. Neither of them were strong enough to take the charms off and it refused to follow them.

"How are you feeling?" Severus asked.

"Better than you, I imagine," she replied and gave him a weak smile.

It was slow going for them. Minerva hobbled and Severus hopped. In the beginning he could briefly stand on his right leg, but Minerva's charm had begun wearing off and he could feel it with every step. They huffed and puffed as they went until they came around the bend and found their students.

Horrified, Minerva identified her house, her Gryffindors scattered on the ground. She gasped and a red head shot up. "Ronald Weasley!" She screeched.

"That's my ear," Severus muttered.

Ron ran up to them and skidded to a halt. "We stopped them," he said. "There was a group of Death Eaters headed for Hogwarts and we stopped them."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "And how did you know they were coming?"

Ron flushed. "We wanted to help, all of us. We're old enough and we felt so useless at the castle so we left," he said and stared at the ground. "The sixth years are watching the younger ones."

"You could've been killed!"

He didn't say anything, only hung his head even further.

"How many have you lost?" Severus asked.

Ron swallowed. "We're not sure yet. Some medi-witches found us and they've been checking them over. Ernie's dead a-and I think Mandy Brocklehurst."

"Injuries?"

Ron found it so much easier talking to Severus than Minerva. "Dean's having trouble breathing, Hermione broke her hip, I think. Justin can't feel his legs and the twins are both going to lose an arm. Susan Bones isn't dead but she's unconscious. Hannah, Neville, and Seamus are okay."

"And yourself?"

"I'm fine, sir."

Severus nodded and he and Minerva began walking again. "Let's join the others, perhaps we can find an easier way to get back to the castle."

Ron stayed beside them. "The last group just left about ten minutes ago, they should be back soon."

Severus stared at the circle of Death Eaters that Neville was still watching. "How many?"

"About sixty-five, sir. Not all of them are dead but they're all tied up just the same. I got Peter Pettigrew," he said softly.

Minerva let out a whooshing breath but didn't say anything about it. "Who've they taken to the castle?"

"Dean, Justin, Susan, and the twins. There's a medi-wizard who's checking over the rest of us." He pointed to the medi-wizard who was checking over Blaise who refused to get up. Millicent was crouched next to her, a wound over her eye still bleeding through the bandage.

Minerva helped Severus sit down under a tree before sitting herself. "You did a foolish thing today, all of you. You deliberately went against the Headmaster's orders. You could be expelled for this sort of thing."

"Yes ma'am, I know," Ron said. "We all took that risk, every one of us. We all knew we would die but we came anyway."

Minerva's throat clenched. "Go help your classmates and make sure they get to the castle. We'll wait here."

Ron nodded and skidded off.

"Fool-hardy Gryffindors."

Severus stared at her.

"Oh bugger off, you," she snarled and crossed her arms angrily over her chest.

Harry opened his eyes to darkness but overhead stars were sparkling. He yawned and stretched before sitting up and taking a drink from the stream. He could just make out the outline of Tom's body in the darkness.

He felt much better having slept but he dreaded picking up the corpse again and trudging along in the dark. It had to be done, though. He had to get back to Hogwarts. Carefully, he searched the sky until he found the North Star to the right of them. Their path didn't look very promising and Harry didn't like the idea of heading out without a light. But he was brave, wasn't he?

With a loud groan and a kick to the body, Harry picked up Tom and began anew. He started off whistling softly just to have a sound around him but it only magnified the quiet. Somewhere in the distance, an owl was hooting and there was rustling in the grass that made him jump. Without his wand, Harry felt vulnerable and weak.

He sighed and trekked on. He thought of how good breakfast would be if he were home. He could almost taste the fluffy pancakes and the syrup that always seemed to melt in his mouth. He could smell the sweet bacon from the platter just down the table that Seamus would dive for first. He could feel the rough texture of the bread as he buttered it. He swallowed the saliva collecting in his mouth and decided that thinking about food was a bad idea when he was starving.

Harry stopped suddenly and held his breath as a twig snapped a few feet away, a twig he had not stepped on. He swallowed tightly and looked around as best as he could. "He-Hello?" He called softly. "Is anyone there?"

The reply he received was a low growl and a pair of eyes that materialized in front of him. Without the light of the moon, Harry wasn't sure what it was but he could only assume it was a wolf. At least, he hoped it was one.

Carefully, he began to walk backwards. He should've known, though, wolves don't play fair. Harry felt it before he saw it. Suddenly his arm snapped backwards as a heavy weight pushed him down to the ground, his head cracking against the earth. He could hear growling and cloth tearing as he pushed himself up and small bobbles of light swam in his line of vision. The wolf's head was buried in Tom's chest cavity but from the noises he was making, the wolf was not pleased.

When Harry struggled to stand, the wolf's head snapped up. Harry tried to stay very, very still but he was finding it hard to keep his balance and fell back to the ground. The wolf walked over Tom's chest and sniffed Harry's left arm that was covered in Tom's blood again. Behind him, he felt around for a rock or something to hit it with. As he found a heavy branch, the wolf sunk his teeth into Harry's arm and pulled. He screamed as tears prickled his eyes and his bone snapped. The wolf wagged its tail and used his hind legs to try and pull him. Another scream tore from his throat.

Breathing wetly through clenched teeth and tears, Harry grabbed the branch and brought it down on the wolf's head over and over again until the pressure left his arm and the wolf fell unconscious to the ground. He dropped the branch and stared at his mutilated arm. It was too dark to see the extent of the damage but he didn't need to see it to feel the white hot spears of pain shooting up and down his arm and through his chest. At least it wasn't a full moon, he thought as he tried to catch his breath and get his heart to stop racing. He could assume that with the scent of fresh blood in the air more than just wolves would be after him tonight.

He tore off a part of his shirt and wrapped it tightly around where he thought the whole bite was. Carefully, he cradled it to his chest and tried to get Tom off the ground using only one arm. He put his one good arm around Tom's waist and heaved as sweat trickled down his forehead and his knees screamed. One good push and they were both upright. With the new threat, Harry walked as fast as he could with the North Star in front of him.

It was dark when Minerva and Severus were lifted out of the last transport from the second field. Severus was very gray and Minerva felt worse that she'd ever felt in her entire life. They were reassured over and over again that they would be all right, everything was taken care of, the children were fine. Minerva felt comforted as they passed the portraits. They were home now, everything would be all right.

She smiled when Poppy hovered over her. "Hello."

"I need you to take this potion," Poppy said to her.

It was bitter and more lumpy than she would've liked, but Minerva swallowed like a good patient, the kind medi-witches dreamed about, and fell asleep.

Part 2: Friday

Severus was not so lucky. While he had to take a bitter, lumpy potion, he was awake while the medi-witches poked and prodded at his knee. "Lost some of the bone," one tittered.

"We'll have to re-grow it," the other said.

"It'll not be the same with new tendon. It's been nearly split in half, poor dear. The thing's going to be useless once we're finished."

It was not comforting, to say the least. Severus didn't fancy spending the rest of his life using a cane to get around. After all his years as a spy, this is what he got for his trouble. It was unfair in his opinion, but at least he was still alive. He supposed he had it better than the poor sods still out on the field; rotting; full of redcaps by now, no doubt.

The medi-witch on his right side chirped: "He'll need a blood-restoration." She poked at the hole just below his ribs and smiled sweetly when he hissed.

A cup was put in his hand. "Drink this, dear," the second medi-witch said. She was nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet. He was too tired to argue and threw it back with a grimace. He definitely preferred being on the other side of the cauldron. Almost immediately it began to work.

"We'll finish you up while the bones grow back," the third one said as she pulled back the skin on his knee and poked at the shattered bone.

It was very, very unfair that Minerva got a sleeping potion.

"Ron!" Ginny came speeding down the corridor and leapt at him, throwing every limb she had around his torso. "You're alive!" He held her tightly, burying his face in her neck and breathing in the scent of her peach shampoo. "Don't ever do that again," she whispered furiously into his ear. "Where's Hermione?"

"The Infirmary," he said gently. "Madam Pomfrey says she can fix her."

Ginny held him tighter. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"Me too," he whispered. "Me too."

Dean was not so lucky. Seamus sat beside his hospital bed and held his hand tightly. "Stay with me, Dean," he pleaded.

He was breathing shallowly but he smiled at Seamus. "I'll be all right," he said and wheezed.

Madam Pomfrey had given him a few potions but didn't want him to fall asleep. Seamus didn't understand why. Surely Dean would feel better if he were sleeping, but she had ordered him not to let Dean doze off, even for a minute. So he stayed by Dean's side (he would've anyway) and tried to think of ways to keep him awake. "Mum said you could stay with us this summer before we go to University."

"I'd like that. I got accepted to Grimblemere. I wanted to wait to tell you," Dean coughed. It was thick with phlegm.

"That's really great." Grimblemere University was the best there was for wizards and witches who wanted to study archaeology, just like Dean. "You're going to make a really good archaeologist."

Dean smiled. "Dad's real proud of me. He wanted me to be a Spell Breaker but he says this is just as good."

Seamus grinned. "It's perfect. When I get my license, we can go on excavations together. I'll be your on-call Spell Breaker."

"I'd like that," Dean said. "We'll be the best there is. Thomas and Finnegan."

"Finnegan and Thomas."

Dean nodded. "Yeah." He shifted uncomfortably. "I'm cold."

Seamus swallowed thickly and took another blanket from the shelf near the bed. Carefully, he spread it over Dean's body but looked away when he saw the sweat pouring down his forehead. Seamus looked around at the other beds packed with injured wizards and witches. The medi-witches scurried around the room from one bed to the other. Across the room he saw Hermione crying and he wished he could do something for her.

"Seamus?"

He sat down on the edge of Dean's bed. "I'm here." He took the wet cloth from the bowl on the table and placed it on Dean's forehead.

"I'm tired, Seamus."

His throat constricted. "I know, but you need to stay awake, okay?" He tucked the blanket a little tighter around Dean's shoulders. "Dean?"

"No," she cried, tears streaming down her face. "You can't."

"Listen to me, Hermione." Poppy settled beside her and took her hand. "It's the only way to make sure the curse is gone."

She shook her head. "I want to keep it," she whispered, staring pleadingly up at the nurse. "Please."

Poppy looked seriously at her. "Do you want your baby to grow up without a mother?"

Hermione broke down into a fit of weeping and clutched at her stomach. "I didn't know," she wailed. "I wouldn't have gone if I had known."

She held Hermione and allowed her to lament. "I know you wouldn't have. But if we don't take out your uterus, I don't know what will happen to either of you. We may be able to re-grow it once you've healed properly."

She clung to Madam Pomfrey as every word sunk into her head. She was pregnant. She was going to have a baby. Ron would've been so happy if he had known. He always talked about how much he wanted a family -- a family with her. Hermione knew he would be devastated to know this one wouldn't be their first. "Don't tell Ron," she whispered. "Just don't tell Ron, please."

Poppy gently laid a hand on her head and wiped Hermione's tears with her thumb. "I'll get everything ready. I'll pull the curtain and it'll be just you and me, no one else has to know if you don't want them to."

Hermione looked away and nodded. Molly would've been so happy. The first grandbaby. She sniffled weakly. "C-can I have a few minutes alone?" Poppy pulled the curtain so no one else would see Hermione cry and left. She pressed the pillow to her face and howled as she rocked back and forth. "I'm sorry," she gagged. "If I had known you were there I wouldn't have fought." But she had helped keep Hogwarts safe. Wasn't it worth it if only her child died and not hundreds of others? Hadn't she done the honorable thing? The horrible press in her stomach said otherwise and she could only be glad that Ron would never know.

Poppy returned with a tray and a vial. "I need you to drink this."

"W-what will it do?" Hermione asked as she cradled it in her hand.

"Induce labor," she said frankly and uncovered the tray. Hermione's eyes trailed from one knife to the other, so many things there that she didn't understand the purpose of. So many things that would be used on her body.

She threw back the potion and swallowed it as quickly as she could. It would be all right, she thought before she felt the contractions rip through her. "Oh God."

"It's all right, Hermione. It won't take long."

Hermione cried into her pillow.

Ron stepped back from the curtain, safely under Harry's Invisibility Cloak. He had wanted to surprise Hermione but he was the one with his voice caught in his throat and his heart beating sharply. He sank down to the floor out of harm's way and put his head in his hands. A baby. Hermione was going to have a baby.

He heard her scream and all he wanted was to go to her, to tell her that he knew and that it was okay. A sob escaped his throat as he put his head between his knees. He would've been a father. It felt like someone had stabbed him in the heart.

Ron closed his eyes tightly and wished he could close his ears to her scream. He wouldn't cry Ð not when she needed him. There was another wet sob and carefully he got to his feet and draped the cloak over his arm. He slipped past the curtain and stepped inside the small cubicle. He knelt beside her and took her hand. "Look at me, Hermione." He couldn't help the tears that spilled over his cheeks when he saw her face.

She turned towards him and hiccupped as she cried. "Ron, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He kissed her forehead and stroked her cheek. "It's okay. I'm here."

She closed her eyes and groaned painfully through her teeth. "It hurts."

Ron squeezed her hand and kissed it over and over again. "Focus on me, okay? Remember that trip to Egypt we were going to take?"

She nodded and sobbed.

"Just think of it. The sun high in the sky and pyramids just waiting for you to explore. The sand sliding underneath your feet. Just you and me."

Hermione opened her eyes and sniffled. "I wanted it," she said.

"And we'll have a baby, just not now. It's going to be all right," he whispered to her and felt her hand relax in his.

Blaise sat in a chair in the Slytherin common room, sobbing into a faded black handkerchief. Her hand was bandaged where it had been burned but all she felt was the pain in her chest. She had killed him. She'd warned him, told him over and over again that he was wrong; he didn't have to do everything his parents wanted him to do!

She ignored the younger years whispering to each other in the far corner, wondering what had happened. A few of the boys were grumbling that they hadn't gotten to fight, too. They thought it wasn't fair.

When Millicent came in with a fresh bandage over her eye, she went straight to Blaise. "He's at peace now," she tried for reason; tried to tap into that part of Blaise that was intelligent and rational.

"But I killed him!" she cried. "I loved him and I killed him."

Uncomfortably, Millicent knelt in front of Blaise's chair. "He could've left. He could've gone to Dumbledore like Professor Snape. Flint was an idiot and he wasn't good enough for you."

Blaise shook her head over and over, her hair whipping her in the face. "He just wanted to be normal. His parents made him!"

Millicent frowned and grabbed Blaise by the shoulders and shook her. "Listen to me! He had a choice! There's always a choice! You had a choice, too."

She buried her head in Millicent's shoulder and continued to weep. "I know that," she hiccupped. "But I loved him. W-we were going to get married."

That was something Millicent hadn't known. "But what about--?"

Blaise just shook her head. "We just sort of pretended that it would never happen. Somehow, Voldemort would be dead and Marcus wouldn't be." She sniffled and wiped her eyes on her bandaged hand, wincing quietly. She picked at a loose end of it. "He'd already bought a house," she whispered. "I saw it a few weeks ago. It's perfect, Millicent. There was even a second room for--," she wailed as her eyes grew wide. "We just wanted to be normal!"

Millicent continued to hold her, unsure of what to do or say. "I'm sorry, Blaise. I'm so sorry."

It was Hagrid who thought of it, completely by accident. He had been sitting in his larger than life chair and trying to think of some way he could help. He'd already helped move the necessary bodies to wherever they needed to go, but he had no skills when it came to healing so he had been dismissed. Thoroughly depressed, he resigned himself to spending the evening in his chair where he would no doubt fall asleep and wake up with a horrible cramp in his neck.

He sighed heavily and stared out at the star-laden sky. It wasn't fair that he couldn't do anything to help. It seemed like his girth was the only reason he was kept around. Granted it was probably quite helpful to have a half-giant on hand but he had feelings, too, and he didn't much like being used as a wheelbarrow all the time.

"That's righ," he muttered to himself and looked down at Fang. "But you need me, don' yeh?"

Fang looked up lazily from his spot in front of the fireplace and woofed gruffly before putting his head back down on his paws.

Hagrid stared at him for a long time. Fang was a strange dog. He was pretty good for company but otherwise he was quite useless except for that nose of his. Fang quaked in the knees the moment he even suggested going into the Forbidden Forest.

And that's where his train of thought ended and the little light bulb in the attic flickered and burst into flame.

It was too soon to be awake in Minerva's opinion. Her eyes felt like they had been welded shut and her whole body felt like it had gone through a press. She managed to pry her eyes open and stare at a bright white ceiling. "Poppy?" she rasped and coughed harshly.

"It won't do you any good calling for her, she's at her wits end," came a snide voice from beside her. She smiled.

"Hello, Severus." Carefully, she managed to move her neck enough to face him. "You're looking horrible." He really was. The hospital shirt really didn't become him at all, nor did the thatch of greasy hair on his head. She wondered if she could start a petition to get him to wash it at least twice a week. From the look on his face, she was more likely to be swallowed by the giant squid.

He curled his lip at her. "I didn't have time to powder my ass this morning like some people."

She smiled wanly at him before looking up at the window. The sky was dark and gray, rain was coming. "Have you heard anything about the children?" About Harry? She didn't like the idea of him being lost, possibly dead somewhere, with rain coming.

"No," he replied. It was strange to see Severus worried. Not that anyone could really tell, but Minerva had suspected for a long time that when Severus' fingers twitched the way they were now, it meant that he was anxious.

"We'll find him."

"I don't care about the brat," he snapped and looked away from her. "He isn't the one in St. Mungo's with Merlin-knows-what potions pumped into his body. What if they mix something wrong?"

Minerva stared at him and blinked slowly. She had always known that Severus cared for Albus, though on exactly what level she was never quite sure. "They're professionals. I'm sure they'll manage just fine."

"You didn't see him," he said gruffly.

"Are you getting sentimental in your old age?"

He glared at her. "Shut up, you miserable cunt. I'm only concerned because if he dies, I'll be thrown into Azkaban before he's even cold."

She glared back. "You're a prick."

"It's all your fucking fault," Harry cursed as he hiked up the hill, his arm pressed against his chest. It was growing cold and he couldn't feel his fingers anymore. "Just had to come to our house didn't you," he growled. "I wouldn't even be in this mess if it weren't for you, you fucking bastard. I would've grown up normal with parents. But no, you had to come to my house and kill my parents and leave me with the fucking Dursleys. I would have preferred the orphanage!"

He swore loudly when thunder rumbled over ahead and almost immediately it began to rain, great sheets that beat down on his head and made it hard to see through his glasses. "Well, this is just peachy," he sighed, his shoulder slumping just that much more as Tom weighed him down.

He was at the top of the hill before he started to speak to Tom again. Even if he wasn't alive, it felt good to finally tell him exactly what Harry thought of him. "And it's all your fault that I like older men. If I'd grown up with a positive male role model, I'd like normal boys. Not stupid, unattainable potions masters." He scowled into the bleak sky and blinked rapidly against the rain drops. "I hold you completely responsible for my inability to like anyone under the age of twenty-five.

"But you don't know what that's like, do you? I bet you were too hung up on your "great plan" to let anyone near you. Who'd want to love you, anyway?" He sneered. "I'd sure like someone to love me for a change. But instead, I've fallen in love with Snape. The very last person in the world who would ever love me." He scowled at the corpse. "It's all your fault my life is the way it is. If you hadn't killed my parents I could be happy for a change. I could be nice and normal."

He sniffled angrily and leaned against a tree, letting the body fall to the ground. "You ruin everything!" He shouted and kicked Tom in the stomach, his shoe sinking into the remaining pieces of his gut.

Harry fell to his knees next to Tom's body as the rain forced him down. "But you won't anymore, will you?" He laughed softly and spoke into his ear. "You can't hurt me anymore."

He sat back against the tree, his knees pulled up to his chest and cried. He wasn't completely sure why he was crying, but some part of him had died yesterday when he'd called upon that curse and all the hatred and loathing that was inside of him. Was this the way he was supposed to feel after killing someone? He had very little remorse for what he had done and while it frightened him, he could only feel relief that Tom was finally gone. He could move on now. And maybe that's what he feared the most, living life without the guise of The Savior. Was he any more than a lucky boy with no special talent? Did Tom's power flow through his veins? Could that be why his wand had broken? He no longer had the power to wield such a powerful conductor?

No.

No, that couldn't be it.

Neville sat in the common room, far in the corner, out of sight and out of mind. He twirled his wand between his fingers and watched the sleek wood whistle through the air. He had gotten his revenge. Sixteen years of waiting and finally he had gotten his chance and he'd grasped it. The only problem was...revenge didn't return his parents' sanity.

He had gone to fight with the same understanding as the rest of them: they were going to die, no one was coming back. But here he was very much alive and more angry than ever. Why didn't he feel better? Shouldn't he have rejoiced for the fallen enemy? Been at peace knowing he'd finally done something good and right and just? But the turmoil only raged on inside of him.

Gran had told him never to kill. She had brought him up with morals and he had broken the cardinal rule. She didn't want a murderer in the family, she said. But she didn't want a grandson in St. Mungo's with his parents, even more. He would've gone crazy going to see them every holiday and not being able to do anything. And now he had done the only thing he could think of: revenge.

But revenge wasn't as sweet as he had once believed. He thought he would've felt different, lighter. Instead, he wanted to curl up in a ball and hide in the corner. He had fallen victim to his lust for revenge and death. He was no better than the ones he had slain.

It wasn't hard for him to convince Fang that Harry needed to be found. Even with the dreary weather, he seemed as energetic as Fang ever got and obediently followed Hagrid out into the rain and towards the castle. The dog's claws clicked against the stone floor as they headed towards Gryffindor tower.

"Hagrid? What are you doing up here?" Ginny asked as she came through the portrait. She'd never seen him anywhere in the castle other than the Great Hall.

"I'm in need of somethin' of Harry's, somethin' that smells like him."

She looked from him down to Fang before her eyes widened. "Let me come with you!"

He smiled at her and chucked her gently under the chin. "I can't risk it, yeh bein' a student an' all. Besides yeh'll get awful sick in this rain."

Ginny sighed, her eyes downcast. "I just want to help."

"I know yeh do and yeh can help me by findin' one of Harry's socks, a d'rty one if yeh please."

She nodded and dragged her feet as she climbed back through the portrait. He waited impatiently for her return as Fang wandered the hallway and sniffed every corner he came across. Hagrid bounced on the balls of his feet; the portraits on the walls shook in their frames and hollered at him.

Finally she came out with her fingers pinching her nose and a sock between her thumb and forefinger. "I'm pretty sure it's Harry's," she said. "It was under his bed."

He took it gratefully. "Thank yeh. I be'er be off, now." He called Fang to him and as he rounded the corner he heard a shout. Curiously, he stuck his head back around.

Ginny was biting her lip and twisting her fingers. "Just...be careful, all right?"

After promising to be careful, Hagrid continued barreling down the steps, Fang hot on his heels.

It was the end of her shift and nearly dusk. The other medi-witches had insisted that she take a few hours to rest -- she'd been working the whole night through and most of the day. She had to admit that her eyes were beginning to droop and she could hardly tell her fingers from her toes. She retired to her office where a cot was pressed against the wall. It would do in a pinch. She locked the door and put up a silencing charm before throwing the first breakable thing she could get her hands on -- a glass vase her late husband had brought home from China.

She'd always hated that vase.

She sat at her desk and began to weep -- great, heaving sobs that wracked her aging body and turned her heart to stone. The things she had done today bore down upon her soul like lead. So many patients lay in her beds waiting for treatment, some of them waiting to die.

She'd listened to Hermione Granger's pained sobs and screams as she'd forced an abortion. She'd listened to Ronald Weasley whisper things to her, things that her husband had once said to her. She'd barely saved Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan had cried and crawled into his bed to keep him warm. Mandy Brockelhurst had been brought back somehow. Padma and Parvati Patil were pumped full of potions to help bring back the dead nerve endings in their arms. The rest, the rest were just blurs of blood.

She wiped her eyes and managed to pull herself into the small cot. The warming charm brought life back to her aching feet but no charm could warm the cold in her chest. There were people, students, children dying in her Infirmary and she didn't know how much damage there would be in the end...to them and to herself.

He was cold. He couldn't feel the rain on his back anymore but he could hear it rustling the leaves of the tree and pounding against the ground. He tried to unlock his knees but they hissed in pain before he flattened them against the sopping grass. He needed to get warm. Moving, moving would make him warm. But moving required so much work and he was so tired and the tree was so comfortable. He pulled his robe up over his head as best he could and fell asleep before he realized he couldn't feel either hand anymore.

Fang didn't stray far from Hagrid's sight. The rain persisted and light was fading quickly. Even with the small ball at the end of Hagrid's umbrella, it was hard to see more than ten feet in front of him. But he refused to turn back. If Harry was in this rain then he needed finding more than Hagrid needed to be dry.

He jogged through the rain towards the battlefield, the last place anyone had seen Harry. His mighty boots sank into the mud, leaving deep trenches that filled with water before his foot had completely left it. Fang lopped at his side, never whimpering about being in the rain.

Even with his longer legs, it took Hagrid several hours to find the field. He leaned against a tree to catch his breath and called Fang to him. He took the sock from his pocket and held it to his nose. "Find Harry."

Fang sniffed the sock and ran behind Hagrid and the tree he had stopped against. Hagrid turned more slowly and tried to focus through the sheet of rain. He held his wand farther above his head before he saw the roots protruding from the ground Ð a forest. Fang barked but was far ahead of him. Hagrid ran after him, breaking through the dense underbrush as his feet crunched fallen logs when he stepped on them. His coat whipped behind him in the wind, the trees providing shelter from the pounding rain that splashed against the leaves.

Part 3: Saturday

Ron clutched Hermione to his side and tried to remember that she didn't want to be carried. "You should've stayed in the Infirmary longer," he said softly.

She shook her head as she took one careful step after another. "I can't spend another day there when they need the bed." She clutched his shoulder tightly in her fist. "Besides, it's not that bad. Madam Pomfrey gave me a whole bunch of pain potions."

He didn't say anything. He knew that pain potions were perfectly adequate at keeping her from feeling any pain. It didn't keep him from wanting to tuck her into bed and guard her. He didn't want anyone near her until she was all right.

Carefully, he led her through the portrait hole into the common room.

"HERMIONE!" Ginny screeched and came plowing toward them. Ron stepped between them and kept Ginny from touching her. He glared threateningly at his little sister. She frowned. "Ron? What are you doing?" She tried to step around but he moved, blocking her view. "Stop it!" She demanded.

Hermione put her hand on his shoulder. "Ron, it's all right. Ginny won't hurt me." He stiffened as she slowly pushed him to the side and let Ginny hug her.

Ginny stared at him out of the corner of her eye. "Are you okay?"

Hermione smiled. "Of course I am. Just an order to stay in bed."

"I'll help you!"

Ron growled.

Hermione glared at him. "Stop it, Ron. Besides, you can't come up to the girls dorms, anyway."

Ginny came around to her side and put an arm around her waist. "I'll take good care of her." She turned back to look Ron in the eye. "I promise."

Reluctantly, he nodded and watched Ginny support Hermione's weight as they navigated the steps. "Maybe she should just stay here in the common room, on the couch," he yelled, worried about her climbing the stairs and getting hurt.

Hermione sighed heavily. "Ron, I'm okay."

He came to the bottom of the steps and watched them carefully, ready to catch Hermione if she tripped or throttle Ginny if there was even the slightest cry of pain. The hair on his neck prickled as a few first year girls came racing down the steps and just barely missed hitting Hermione. This was going to kill him.

Seamus lay beside Dean in his hospital bed and gently stroked his hair. He was still terrified that if he wasn't watching, Dean would slip away, right through his shaking fingers. Several hours ago, Pomfrey had announced that Dean was allowed to sleep as long as Seamus kept a close watch on him. He hadn't even blinked since Dean had closed his eyes.

It was nearly eight o'clock before Dean stirred and turned to him, a sleepy smile plastered on his face. "'Lo," he whispered.

He pushed himself further up until their foreheads were pushed together. "Hi," Seamus said. "You're awake."

"Is that what happens when I open my eyes? I hadn't a clue," he teased and coughed but there was a definite lack of phlegm that pleased Seamus.

"Well if you didn't sleep so much, you'd know, wouldn't you?"

Dean grinned at him. "So what does a bloke have to do to get some breakfast around here? I'm starving."

One of the medi-wizards came strolling over. "Good to see you awake," he said with a smile. "I'm Barry Applegreen, I'll be attending to you."

"I'd like some food, if you don't mind."

Applegreen smiled thinly, as though it hurt him to use the muscles. "I'm sure there's a house elf around who'd be glad to help you with that request." He took out his wand and looked to Seamus. "Could you move? I don't want him to be crowded, it might hinder his recovery."

Startled and a little humiliated, Seamus crawled off the bed and sat back in the uncomfortable plastic chair while Dean was examined. He watched carefully as Applegreen poked and prodded and ran his wand over various parts of Dean's anatomy. He seemed to be favoring his right arm, where the Death Eater curse had hit him early on in the fight. Seamus scooted farther onto the edge of his chair and stuffed his hands into his lap to keep himself from reaching out to Dean.

"I think you'll be just fine in another day or two. There's still a bit of damage in your stomach but another round of potions and that should be cleared up. As for your arm, it might be tender for a few months. You were hit pretty deep into the bone and it seems to be sticking. I'll check on you later." He left to tend another patient.

"Bastard," Dean sneered and moved off center and patted the space next to him. "Come on back, he's gone."

Seamus eyed the spot. "I-I'm not so sure. You heard what he said. I could just hurt you." He chewed on his lip while Dean rolled his eyes.

"Come off it, Seamus. He's just a prat. You being here is only making me feel better. Now come here before I throttle you."

Carefully, Seamus situated himself stiffly and stared up at the ceiling. "So how're you feeling?"

"Really left out," Dean muttered.

"You heard what he said!"

Dean put his head on Seamus' shoulder. "I don't care what he said. I'm going to do what I want in this bed whether that's sit up, move, or shag my best friend," he said defiantly.

Seamus' heart skittered in his chest. "R-really?" He squeaked. "You wanna shag?"

Dean was silent for a second and Seamus was sure he was going to move his head. "Well, no, but you know what I mean. Not going to let him decide what I can and can't do," he mumbled.

"Right," Seamus said and put an arm around Dean's back. "Course." His heart fell to his stomach.

"You know I was serious before, I'm starving."

Justin stared blankly at the stark white ceiling. He'd been asleep for...he didn't know how long but it felt like years. He was afraid to look away from the ceiling in case he saw something he didn't want to. He remembered the cut-off sensation of not being able to feel his legs so clearly that, even in the safety of the Infirmary, he didn't try to look down or move either leg.

He didn't have to wait long before a kind looking woman bent over him and smiled, the heavy bags under her eyes standing out against her pale skin. "Morning, Justin," she said and started to pull the blanket away from his legs. He swallowed tightly when she lifted one of his legs and bent it toward his chest. "Now, I want you to push against my hand, all right?" Her hand was firmly gripping the sole of his foot.

Justin nodded and scrunched up his face as he pushed. He felt a tingling sensation and could practically hear the grind of his knee unlocking. He gave up with a whoosh of breath before he'd moved her a good six inches.

She just kept smiling and put the blanket back around him. "That's all right. You've got the feeling back, a definite improvement to your earlier condition."

He bit his lip and turned to face her. "W-what happened to me?"

Her smile faltered only a second but Justin saw as she sat beside him and took his hand. "You lost most of your nerve endings but we managed to grow them back, that's why you were asleep so long. But you've lost most of the muscle in your leg. I've never seen anything like it before." And to him, she looked like a woman who'd seen a lot of things. "I'm quite sure you'll be good as new in a few months. We just have to get that muscle built back up. Are you hungry?"

When Harry woke up, the rain had stopped and the sun was shining brightly over his head. He stared upwards and swore loudly. Had he slept through...what had he slept through? Time seemed to have slipped away from him. He wasn't sure where he was or how long he'd been there.

He pulled his glasses from his pocket and stuck them on. There, a few feet away, was Tom's body. It was soaked completely through and seemed to be turning an odd shade of green. Harry groaned and stood. His arm ached, the make-shift bandage having been ruined long hours before. Carefully, he unwrapped it. The gaping wound seemed to open and close around the air. Harry could see his pink and red muscle ripped in two and if he had looked harder, he was sure he would've seen his milky white bone. He tore off another bit of his shirt and re-wrapped the injury. It pulsed angrily and every time he brushed it, the pain was excruciating. He tied it securely with his teeth and let the soiled dressing fall to the ground. He was too tired to worry about leaving a trail.

He stared at the body before giving it a good kick and listening to it squelch. His stomach rolled violently. He didn't want to pick up the stinking corpse again. Just let the fucker rot, he thought. He was in pain. He just wanted to go home. He didn't care what happened to Tom anymore. Let some poor bastard find him and deal with him. Harry was done. He'd spent the last seven years of his life dealing with the live one, he was through carrying around dead weight.

"So long, Tom." He turned back toward his chosen path and began to walk, water squishing in his shoes and his clothes freezing on his back. He coughed into his good hand and kept going. Just keep going, he told himself. Just keep going, everything will be okay once you get to Hogwarts. Just get to Hogwarts and you'll be all right.

Severus growled at the medi-witch moving his leg in a circular motion. "I assure you, I'm fine!"

She just shook her head and kept at it. "I'll tell you when you're fine."

He crossed his arms and glared at Minerva. "I'm sure you find this to be hysterical."

Minerva shrugged from beside his bed. She'd been given permission to leave the Infirmary the day before. "A chance to see you man-handled is a rare thing, Severus," she said.

He harrumphed as the medi-witch set his leg down. "You'll be all right. Just go easy on the knee for awhile. A supporting spell will only do so much; use a cane."

He was about to protest when Minerva spoke, "I'll make sure that he takes care of it."

He hated being cornered. And by women no less. His life had definitely taken a downward turn. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. "I'll be quite fine looking after myself," he snarled and managed to stand.

Minerva rolled her eyes. "Fine. Go down to your dungeons by yourself."

He wanted to stick his tongue out at her. Instead, he walked very slowly toward the door. His knee was screaming for support but he would show them. A little pain wouldn't stop him. He looked over his shoulder and grinned vilely at them before stepping out into the hall and promptly collapsing against the wall.

Severus grunted and propped himself up using the solid stone. Carefully, he walked toward the dungeons. His knee was screaming at him for support but he would be damned before he gave those women the satisfaction. He stumbled on a crack in the floor and barely kept himself upright. Sweat sprouted on his brow as he took a few minutes to rest.

"Professor?"

He looked up and growled. "What are you doing out of your tower, Longbottom?"

Neville flinched slightly. "Are you hurt, Sir? You should be in the Infirmary."

Severus tried vainly to remind himself that strangling students was something Albus wouldn't approve of. "I have just come from the Infirmary. I've been given a clean bill of health. Now, get out of my way." He took another step and nearly crumpled to the ground, but Neville grabbed him by the arm and helped him stand. Startled, he stared at the boy and was a little mollified to see Neville looking back at him, terror evident in his eyes. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Kindly let go of me, Longbottom."

Neville tightened his grip on Severus' waist. "I-I can't, Sir. You'll fall."

He snorted. "Fine. Help me to my dungeons."

Neville nodded and took slow steps. The only sound was the occasional squeak of a shoe on the polished stone. "Can I ask you something?" Neville whispered.

Severus glared at him. "If it isn't anything ridiculous."

"Have you ever killed anyone?" He stopped walking and found himself unable to think of an answer. Neville tried again. "I mean. I guess you have." There was a pained silence. "I'd never killed anyone before," he admitted.

"Mr. Weasley seems to think you did quite well." They began shuffling along again.

Neville was quiet for a few steps, his breathing very loud to Severus. "My Gran always told me never to kill anyone, no matter what they'd done. She didn't want me to be like--" He looked sideways at his professor. "--like the people who hurt my parents."

"'Hurt' your parents? Say it Longbottom, we shucked your parents like clams," he sneered. Not that Severus was proud of it. The things he'd done were irreparable, but at the time he'd felt like he was a part of something great, something important. He had been needed for something, acknowledged for his great skill and adored by his Master. Lord Voldemort had promised him eternity as a boy; whispered promises of immortality in his ear while he stood over his cauldron, face scalded from the heat and hands splintered. It had been worth it, though. At least, he thought it had been at the time.

"It felt so good."

Severus stared at him. "Pardon?"

"It felt good to kill them. I grabbed one of them and I broke his neck with my bare hands." He stared at his free one and flexed his fingers. "I felt like I could do anything."

"That's a dangerous feeling."

Neville made a vague noise as he helped Severus down the steps. Severus pressed his right hand against the wall to help the process along. He would never live it down if Neville told anyone about this. He reminded himself frighten the boy once they reached his rooms. "I'm so angry," Neville said suddenly, heat rising in his voice. "I'm just as bad as they are! I killed them. I used my wand and I said those words. I cast an Unforgivable. I could go to Azkaban."

"The law is more lenient in times of war."

"But I deserve to go!" Neville protested. "I didn't do it for honor or because it was the right thing to do. I didn't do it to defend Hogwarts. I did it because I wanted them to feel pain. I wanted them to feel what I feel when I see my parents in St. Mungo's. I wanted them to die, Sir. And I wanted to kill them."

Severus leaned against the wall next to his door. "Why are you telling me these things, Longbottom?"

Neville shifted uncomfortably. "Because I thought you would understand. You've killed before."

"So has Professor McGonagall." But he knew what Neville meant. He had killed for no reason other than by Lord Voldemort's orders. Neville had killed for no reason other than by his own rage. Both senseless things that never should've been carried out, but unlike himself, Neville and the rest of the students would no doubt receive medals for their "valiance". He wondered when it had become acceptable to send children to War.

Hagrid was exhausted when he and Fang reached the stream. Two hours before, they had found the blood-soaked ground on the other side of the forest. They'd followed the beaten down grass across the valley. Harry had been dragging something behind him, or so it seemed. The path was so wide and in some places, the dirt was turned and exposed. A single rain fall wouldn't do that. Hagrid hoped that with the extra weight Harry wouldn't have gotten too far.

Fang bounded excitedly around his legs. He'd already drank from the stream and was hardly tired at all. Fang hardly ever got to do anything so exciting. Hagrid bent and swallowed a few mouthfuls of water before ringing out his water-soaked hat and slapping it back on his head to shield his face from the sun. He burned easily.

The beaten path turned north, up the steep ground to the right of the water. The sun was overhead and he was exhausted after plundering through the night, but he wouldn't leave Harry out here on his own. He sat down to rest his legs and for Fang to take a few more laps at the stream. His legs could carry him twice the distance Harry could in a day, maybe triple if Harry still had the extra weight.

But he was impatient in his rest. Not even ten minutes went past before Hagrid was back on his feet and Fang was running ahead of him, bounding up the hill to get to the top. Hagrid scaled it at a slower pace to keep his strength so he could sprint when the ground leveled out. Fang had stopped a few feet ahead of him and was sniffing around. He came bounding toward Hagrid, something dangling from his mouth. Hagrid took it from him and cringed at the blood stains it left on his mighty hands. It was cold but the fabric was familiar; it was the same texture as the students robes. He pocketed it and followed Fang the way he had come to the rocks stained a faint pink. There was no smell, the rain would've gotten rid of all traces of it. Fang's tracking skills were good after traipsing through the Forbidden Forest for so many years, but he couldn't find something as well once it had rained and washed away most of the clues.

"Come Fang," he said somberly and climbed to the top of the hill. Not even twenty feet away was a body. Horrified, he ran to it, almost certain that it was Harry's. As he neared, the stench overpowered him and he stopped dead in his tracks. Fang whined from a few feet away. He pinched his nose and cautiously approached. The body was horribly mangled and looked to have been dead for several days.

He prodded it cautiously with his foot before turning the corpse onto its back. He gasped and looked away. It wasn't Harry. Thank Merlin, it wasn't Harry. It was someone Hagrid had never seen before, but there was something menacing about it that made him keep his distance. He didn't wish to touch it.

The body was wearing what seemed to be an old, tattered robe. His face was pulled sharply back, showing his angular cheekbones. On his feet were sturdy boots but the toes were caked in mud. Hagrid remembered the overturned soil he'd seen and for a moment, he was relieved. This was what Harry had been dragging with him, it must've been. It didn't make sense otherwise.

But that would mean...

...No, it couldn't.

Could it?

Hagrid crouched down, covering his mouth and nose with one arm, and pulled up the eyelids. Red. Piercing, red eyes. He may have never seen Voldemort but Hagrid had heard tales of his strange red eyes.

Harry had been dragging Voldemort's corpse. But why? It didn't make sense, especially now that he was left here after so much work on Harry's part. If he calculated correctly, he wasn't more than five miles away from Hogwarts by now. Harry was so close. Why leave his load behind?

He stood back up and covered Voldemort's face with a piece of his cloak. "Find Harry," he ordered and Fang shot off.

Hagrid kept up with him, adrenaline pounding through his veins. Harry couldn't be that much farther ahead. "Harry!" He bellowed, searching in every direction for any signs. "Harry!" He shouted again.

Fang panted up ahead. His great paws beating against the earth, Hagrid's own feet making the ground vibrate angrily. Harry must be hurt to leave Voldemort behind, too hurt to carry him further. Harry was hurt!

Harry's feet were dragging. He was so tired and it was so hard to see against the harsh light of the sun. His feet were stuck in cement blocks, he was sure of it. The scenery passed slowly around him but he heard nothing, not the rustling of the leaves in the wind or the birds flapping their wings. Just his own labored breath stuck in his chest and the pain of his arm but even that was beginning to dull.

He hardly made a noise when he fell; tripped over a protruding rock, and crushed his arm beneath him. He didn't hear the snap of the bone or the wet squelching noise of the blood squeezing against his skin. He smelled it in the air. Hot and sour. He rolled to his side and wheezed for breath. Far off in the distance he heard something, someone was calling him. It grew louder until something blocked the light of the sun.

"Harry," Hagrid whispered and pulled the boy into his arms. "Can you hear me? We aren't far from Hogwarts. I'll have you back in no time."

"Tom," Harry wheezed. "Get Voldemort."

"All right. I'll be right back."

Harry rolled onto his side when Hagrid left and vomited into the grass. His arm hurt horribly and there was a dull throbbing in his leg. He vaguely remembered falling.

Something wet nuzzled him. He opened one eye and managed a weak smile. "Hello Fang."

Fang woofed softly and licked his face.

"I'll be all right."

Hagrid returned and picked him up carefully, cradling Harry in his arms. "I don't want yeh going ta sleep, all right?"

Harry nodded. "All right."

It felt good to be carried. He was going to Hogwarts, everything would be all right. Hagrid had found him. It seemed sort of fitting that Hagrid should be the one to take him home. Hadn't that been the way in the beginning? Always rescuing him when Harry needed him most. He curled his good hand into the lapel of Hagrid's long trench-like leather coat and listened to the beating of his boots against the ground.

"Hi."

Justin turned his head and smiled. "Hi."

Hannah fidgeted nervously, hands folded in her lap. "How are you?"

He shrugged. "Can't complain."

She moved her chair a little closer to his bed. "Ernie. Ernie didn't make it."

"I know. Madam Pomfrey told me."

Hannah nodded distantly and took his hand in hers. "I'm really glad you're okay."

"Did you get hurt?"

"No. Just a burn on my hand, but it's gone now." She didn't say anything else or prompt Justin to reply. She watched the clouds roll past the window and listened for anything other than sounds of the Infirmary. If she concentrated, she could hear the lake rippling in the breeze. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this," she said suddenly. "No one was supposed to die!"

"That's what happens during war," he said softly, squeezing her hand gently.

"No! There wasn't supposed to be a war!" She shouted, wrenching her hand away. "No one was supposed die except for You-Know-Who and H--" she stopped. "You-Know-Who."

"And Harry. You meant Harry."

Fire blazed in her eyes. "So what if I did! It's what he's supposed to do isn't it? Kill You-Know-Who. It's his job!"

"Who says?" Justin shouted back. "Just because You-Know-Who came back?"

She clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. "You wouldn't be lying there, paralyzed if Harry had done his job."

He glared furiously at her. "If Harry hadn't done his "job" then You-Know-Who would've won already. No Death Eaters have stormed the gates, have they? Harry did his "job"." Justin turned away from her. "Go away."

"JustinÑI didn't mean--"

"I know exactly what you meant," he growled. "Go back to the Common Room," he ordered. He heard her sigh heavily and shuffle away. He pushed himself up on his elbow and grabbed the potions bottle next to his bed with his other hand. He stared at the dark blue glass before throwing it against the wall as hard as he could. It burst into a thousand tiny pieces that glittered in the sunlight.

Hannah raced from the Infirmary feeling more the fool than she'd ever felt in her entire life. She hadn't meant it, she was sure she couldn't have meant such a horrible thing. Justin was right, it wasn't Harry's job but she'd been brought up idolizing him; all of them had. Her parents had tucked her in at night with stories of The Boy Who Lived, the boy who conquered a great evil when no one else could Ð an infant.

She didn't understand why there was this scorching fire in her chest that told her over and over that it was up to Harry to protect them. Ever since they'd started school and all those strange things happened, Harry was always in the middle of it. There was always something going on that he was honored for. It didn't make any sense. It was like the ideal had been burned into her head as a child and it was being nurtured now; she was being led to believe that it would be Harry who saved them.

What if they were wrong? Everyone knew that Dumbledore favored Harry above everyone else but it didn't really matter to any one she knew. He was Harry Potter. She'd never been jealous of him though she knew Ernie had been. She can remember very vividly how he had told everyone that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin. And when they were fourteen and Harry was in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He'd brought Cedric's body back. It still sent chills down her spine, remembering the way Harry had looked down at Cedric in his arms; like he'd seen real evil.

She shivered and pulled her robe tightly around her shoulders to keep out the chill.

Ernie shouldn't have died though. But Harry shouldn't die either, she realized. Just because he was in the middle, didn't mean he had to die for them. Guilt washed over her so thickly that she thought of going back to the Infirmary and apologizing to Justin.

She sighed heavily and leaned against the wall. Her shoulders shook as tears fell down her cheeks and landed on the stone floor. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and stared at the high ceiling. Her head lolled to the side as she heard footsteps. A red head appeared around the corner. "You're Ginny Weasley, right? Ron's sister?" She asked.

Ginny jumped and blinked at her. "Yes."

Hannah rubbed at her eyes again. "Have they heard anything about Harry yet?" Ginny had to know something.

"No."

"Oh."

Ginny twirled a piece of hair nervously around one finger. "Are you okay?"

Hannah laughed bitterly. "As much as any of us are, I guess."

"Yeah."

She pushed herself off the wall. "See you later."

"Bye," she called weakly after her. Ginny was sure she knew who that was but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. A Hufflepuff, obviously from the insignia on her robe. Abbott, something. She shrugged and walked slowly through the winding hallways until she reached the huge front door.

Carefully, she peered out the window but all she saw was green grass and a cloudless sky. She paced the entrance hall waiting for Hagrid to return with Harry. She'd bitten her nails until they'd started to smart and now she twisted the hem of her shirt, leaving small traces of blood along the seam. She glanced out the windows anxiously but there was still no one in the distance.

"Miss Weasley?"

She jumped, immediately letting go of her shirt. "Professor."

Professor McGonagall stepped towards her; her hair still pinned up in a tight bun as though nothing had happened. "What are you doing?"

"I'm waiting for Hagrid, Professor. He went looking for Harry. He left yesterday evening; he's not back yet." Ginny looked up. "I'm worried," she whispered.

A hand came around her shoulders and squeezed. "I'm sure they are both fine. Fang is a very skilled tracker."

Ginny nodded weakly into McGonagall's robes and wiped her eyes gingerly. "Of course."

"You should go back to your Common Room," McGonagall said, her tone nothing more than a formality. "I suppose, though, it wouldn't hurt to have a look out. You will let me know as soon as Hagrid returns."

"I will, Professor. Thank you." As McGonagall turned away Ginny shouted, "Wait!" She blushed deeply. "W-would you mind waiting with me?"

McGonagall smiled but it looked like it hurt her to do it. "I'm afraid I cannot. I must check on the progress in the Infirmary and address the Minister of Magic. I am acting Headmistress, now."

Ginny had heard that Dumbledore was in St. Mungo's. "Yes, I forgot. I'm sorry." She stepped back into the shadow of the window. "Don't let him come here. Especially when Harry gets back. He'll just make it worse."

McGonagall didn't say anything, only followed the familiar stone hallway to the Headmaster's office. She stroked the goblin behind the ears. The stone purred faintly. "I need to get inside." The goblin moved away and let her pass. The stairs moved slowly, the gears grinding together as if they were made of some Muggle device. The door to the Headmaster's office creaked, the walls groaned with the absence of their master. Carefully, she pressed her hand against the thick stone. "He'll come back," she said firmly and ignored the portraits as they shifted.

The old desk was piled with letters recently delivered from official owls. Things had not gone according to plan. The children had been ordered to stay indoors. She couldn't help the little swell of pride that bloomed inside her. They would all make fine Wizards.

Another owl swooped in with the Minister's badge on its chest. She plucked the letter from its talons and fed it a treat. "Stay here for a bit; rest," she instructed. Even Ministry owls could be bribed.

She sat in one of the visitor chairs, unable to bring herself to sit in Dumbledore's. It just wouldn't be right. She slit open the envelope and carefully extracted the note. She sighed heavily. The Minister wished to visit Hogwarts. He was outraged over the student involvement. Weren't they all?

Fawkes fluttered down onto the arm of her chair and stared at her. She stroked his head and rubbed him under his wing. "He'll come back," she whispered. For a second she wasn't sure if she meant Dumbledore or Harry; maybe both.

Her ankle throbbed gently, a slow grating pain that caused her heart to beat in her ears. She closed her eyes tightly and pulled the pain potion from her pocket. A few swallows and the pain ebbed away to the back corner of her mind. Carefully, she stood and took a piece of parchment from the pile and a quill. Somehow she needed to deter the Minister's visit until Harry was safe.

She turned to Fawkes. "I don't suppose you have any idea where Harry is?"

Fawkes squawked and a great clump of feathers fell onto the chair she'd just vacated.

"I didn't think so," she sighed and tapped the quill against the page.

She'd just started on a semi-decent response when a persistent knock rang through the room. Relieved, she set down the quill and called the person inside. She smiled hearing the familiar thunk of wood against stone. "Hello, Alastor."

"Minerva." He shut the door behind him. "I see you survived."

"And you."

They stared awkwardly at each other for several long minutes. Fawkes coughed wretchedly and turned a strange color.

"How are you?" He asked gruffly.

"I've been better. I'm sure you've heard about the children."

He nodded. "Front page of The Prophet."

"Of course."

He stepped a little closer. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I was...needed elsewhere."

"I understand. Tonks gave us ample warning."

"She's a good one."

"Yes," Minerva agreed. She dared look him in the eye and felt the hair on her arms prickle. Nothing about him had changed; it was a small comfort.

He looked away and she stared back down at the letter she'd started to the Minister. "I should be going. I wanted to see that you Ð that the students were fine."

"You can't stay?" It left her mouth before she could stop it.

"No." Though his tone clearly conveyed that he wished to stay. "Perhaps when this is all over."

She nodded. "I'd like that."

His face colored a deep pink. "So would I," he said and let her press a soft kiss to his flushed cheek.

Before he could leave, she grasped his hand. "Be careful, all right?"

"Yes."

He slipped out as quickly as he'd come, leaving Minerva alone in a room that felt far too big all the sudden.

Alastor descended the steps as they whimpered pitifully. It had been three years since he'd set foot in Hogwartsm but it was the same now as it had been when he was at school. The portraits looked at him dubiously, clearly remembering his last visit very well. He showed teeth and they all looked away quickly. Yes, it was good to be back at Hogwarts.

He had never thought he would live to see the end of this war. He would've been content to die in battle with honor. Truth be told, he was done fighting. He was more than ready to find some cottage in the middle of nowhere and age peacefully. He'd been ready more than a decade ago, but Albus insisted he keep the Order alive just in case. He sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands.

His wooden leg thumped heavily against the stone and echoed in the surprisingly empty corridor. Every other time he had been at Hogwarts the hallways had been swarming with loud conversations and giggling and running students. It was strange to see it so empty, nearly lifeless. He knew there were students huddled in their common rooms, too afraid to come out. He really couldn't blame them.

Bermuda. He heard Bermuda was nice.

One of the suits of armor saluted him as he passed. He gave it a kick in the shin and smirked when it toppled over. That made him feel a little better as he spotted Ginny Weasley in the entrance hall.

"Ginevra."

She whirled around and breathed a sigh of relief. "Mr. Moody."

He joined her in front of one of the windows and addressed her as though she were one of his Junior Aurors. "What are you doing?"

Ginny tried to stand straighter but she was too anxious. "I'm waiting for Hagrid to return with Harry."

"The dolt's gone after him, eh?"

"Yes, sir," she sighed and set her arms on the high windowsill. "Do you think Harry's still alive?"

"Well, he's managed not to blow himself to pieces in the past."

She laughed tightly. "Hagrid says he's alive but -- but I'm not so sure," she said miserably.

He leaned against the wall next to her. "So why are you driving yourself crazy out here waiting for him to come back?" He patted her on the head as she blushed. "Take care of the troops."

"I will, sir."

"I'll tell your parents you're all right," he said as he slipped out the front door.

Ginny watched him walk away towards the gate. Why was she waiting here? She wasn't really sure why. Of course she wanted Harry to be alive. There was no question of that, she just wasn't as positive as way Ron was about the whole thing. She was pretty sure that Ron thought Harry could do anything no matter what it was. She wondered if she'd ever been that blind.

Even after the Chamber she'd idolized him. He'd saved her. It was like all the books she'd read as a child. The Handsome Prince Always rescued the Damsel in distress and they Always got Married and lived Happily Ever After. Until she'd seen him in the Leaky Cauldron before her second year, she'd been sure that they were Destined to be together.

After that summer, though, after seeing him look so strange she'd begun to lose interest. Even now she's not really sure what made her fall out of love with him. Maybe it was just how all the other girls in her year worshipped him. More than once, she'd caught quite a few of them batting their eyelashes at him and purposely dropping quills by him just hoping he'd get a peak at their cleavage. She hadn't wanted to be one of those girls.

She sighed heavily and watched Moody as he Apparated away. She couldn't wait until she could Apparate. She would be able to go almost anywhere. Another year, she told herself and scanned the green for what felt like the thousandth time. It was nearly three in the afternoon already and her stomach was beginning to ache with hunger. She thought distantly of going down to the kitchens and getting something to eat but her heart nagged at her to stay at her post. She had promised Professor McGonagall that she would stand watch until Hagrid came back. It was easier to think of it as an order.

She twirled her finger around one of the cobwebs in the corner of the window and distractedly turned it into different things to keep herself entertained. First a piece of string, then a small flat disc, then a cup. She hummed softly to herself as she watched it melt like a piece of wax into whatever she wanted it to be. When she finished, it looked like Dumbledore's bird that she'd seen in the Chamber. A small phoenix. She tapped it once with her wand and watched it turn back into spider web.

She was about to start all over again when something appeared out of the corner of her eye. She strained to see what it was. She clung desperately to the window sill. Her already sore fingers and toes were stone cold and her stomach danced wickedly up her throat and back down again.

And then right outside of the gates was Hagrid. She stared unblinking before throwing open the front door and running as fast as she could down the beaten path. Her chest burned and her legs throbbed but she didn't care. The nearer she got, the more she saw. "Hagrid!" She shouted, waving wildly.

Hagrid was exhausted, Fang was trotting behind him looking very pleased with himself and looking after something floating next to him. She stopped when she saw a drop of blood stain the dirt. Was Harry--?

She skidded to a halt and doubled over to catch her breath. "Hagrid," she wheezed, clutching at her stomach to calm the Devil's snare twisting its way around her intestines. "Hagrid, is he dead?"

"See fer yerself," he boomed.

She looked up through her messy bangs at a very tired face, stained with blood. "Harry? Oh Harry!"

He smiled tiredly at her. "Hi Ginny."

She scowled. "You asshole! Worrying us sick like you did!" But her foul mood dissolved into a blazing smile. "Morgaine, I'm so glad you're alive!"

Hagrid looked down at Harry. "And you said no one would notice."

Ginny glared but hopped aside when Hagrid put Harry down. "I need you teh take Harry the rest of th' way. I have something I need teh take care of." He tapped the side of his nose at Harry and whistled for Fang.

"Okay." She immediately got under Harry's arm and allowed him to put his weight on her. She was a little stronger from playing Chaser on the Quidditch team but that certainly didn't prepare her for one hundred and thirty pounds of boy. "God you're heavy," she groaned.

"Sod off, you," he grumbled as they began hobbling towards the castle.

"I'll have you know," she said as she shifted his weight around until she could stand up mostly straight. "As soon as you can stand on your own two feet, you're getting a good flogging!" They walked in silence for a few feet before Ginny thought to tell him: "The Minister is frantic," she confided. "He's been sending Owls to McGonagall like crazy."

Harry frowned and stared down at her. He'd never noticed before how Ginny had grown. She'd be taller than him soon. "Why would he send them to her --? Where's Dumbledore?" He demanded. "Is he--?"

"St. Mungo's," she said seriously. "That's all I know."

He sighed heavily and she staggered a bit under the weight. "Is everyone else all right? Did they try to take the castle?" He wasn't sure what made him ask it. What would Voldemort want with a school, of all things?

She bit her lip and looked away. He would be angry with them, of that she was sure; but she could handle his wrath, if only she had been there to help defend the castle. She was just as good a duelist as any of the seventh years and she knew she could've held her own. She squeezed the hand that lay on her shoulder. "You've missed a lot."

"Tell me," he ordered. She hesitated, but he was a senior officer in the Order. She couldn't lie to him anymore than she could to Dumbledore. Carefully, she told what parts she knew. About Hermione and Ron, Justin and Dean, Parvati and Padma, Mandy and Ernie, and all that she had heard through the whisperings of the portraits that she couldn't get out of her brother. "Why couldn't Ron just listen for once?" He whispered.

"He wanted to help you. Everyone did. Ron made the rest of us stay behind. Even me."

"Good. At least he has some sense in that thick skull of his," he growled. "Honestly! What was he thinking?"

Ginny would've hit him if he weren't all ready wounded. "He was thinking about you, you stupid git!" She shouted. "That's all anyone was doing!"

"He shouldn't have led everyone to slaughter. More of you could've been killed. So much for our Brave New World," he mocked.

She pushed him to the ground. "You arrogant snot-nosed little shit!" she shouted, heat rising in her face. "The whole castle would've gone to defend your sorry hide and you ridicule their love for you? Their devotion? They may have left you to the wolves in the past but this time they came through. This time, when it really mattered, they disobeyed orders to follow their Captain." She sneered at him as he sprawled on the ground, cradling his injured arm. "I ought to leave you here to crawl on your own. You obviously don't need anyone's help," she huffed.

Harry stared unblinking at her. Leave it to Ginny to knock him flat on his ass. He didn't know what to say. He felt like he should apologize but wasn't really sure how. Instead he tried to get up but failed, falling back with a hard thump.

"Oh, give me your hand," she groused, and yanked him none too gently to his feet. "I'm doing this as a favor to Hagrid, not you. I'd as soon leave you here to rot!" There was a slight trembling to her voice that made Harry uncomfortable.

He walked slowly beside her and mumbled an apology. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Damn right you shouldn't've." But the tension had left her voice and Harry felt at ease once more to ask questions.

"How are the Professors?" How's Snape, he really wanted to ask. Was Snape dead? Had Voldemort killed him while Harry wasn't looking? Had Bellatrix taken out his most reviled Potions Master the same she had his mangy Godfather? He swallowed thickly as Ginny spoke.

"McGonagall seems fine. I haven't seen the other teachers, they're keeping to the houses and I suppose the rest are helping in the Infirmary. Remus didn't come back. I don't know what happened to him." Harry's step faltered. Ginny hoisted him up again. "Snape's pretty bad. I saw him earlier, walking through the halls, but he doesn't look very good."

"When does he ever?" Harry joked and wondered how it was still so easy to make fun of him.

She smiled weakly. "I expect he'll stay in his rooms until he's healed enough to be menacing again."

He made a noncommittal noise as they came to the front steps and Ginny helped him up. She watched as Harry politely asked the doors to open. "I didn't know you could do that," she whispered as they creaked open without a hand or wand to assist.

He shrugged. "It's just a bit of magic."

Ginny stared at him, really looked at him, and realized, for the first time, how old Harry seemed. She could tell he was badly hurt, but he didn't gripe about the pain. There was very little of Harry left that she recognized.

She forced her eyes back to the hallway and paid close attention as they began climbing the stairs to the Infirmary. The steps didn't move, they didn't even quiver. The portraits bowed their heads as they passed Ð as Harry passed. The suits of armor saluted. She felt tears prickling in her eyes and she finally understood. Suddenly, everything made so much sense. They were welcoming a soldier home. This was Harry's home. These were his walls and his paintings and his armor; his banners and his stairs and his doors. She held a little more tightly to his arm. Harry kept walking, head as high as he could bear.

When they reached the Hospital Wing, Harry stopped her from opening the door. "There's something I need you to do for me." He fished two pieces of wood from his pocket and pressed them into her hand. "See if you can fix that."

She stared at the severed wand. "I don't know how to fix a wand!"

He winked at her. "Ask Ron, he'll know what to do."

Ginny blinked and was about to argue, but she snapped her mouth shut and put the wand into her pocket. "I'll do my best."

"Thank you."

She gazed between the Infirmary door and Harry. He looked anxious...and petrified. "I have to go tell McGonagall you're here. I promised her I would get her as soon as I knew. I'll walk you in first."

"No! No, that's okay. I'm all ready wounded and, no offense Gin, but I don't think my pride can handle being carried in by a girl."

She rolled her eyes. "You are such a boy." But she helped him inside so he could lean against the wall before anyone could see them.

"Go," he mouthed to her and she shot off down the hallway and stairs as fast as she could. Harry watched her fly down the steps before he closed the door and looked at the chaos of the Infirmary. Medi-witches and wizards he'd never seen before were running around, fetching potions out of the once organized stores Madam Pomfrey kept.

Harry stepped further in, putting as little pressure as possible on his leg. He could see Seamus and Dean tucked away in the corner, but not the state of Dean's injuries. Not far from them were Padma and Parvati, bloody bandages covering stumps that used to be their left arms. He wondered if there was a potion that could grow a whole arm. He looked away as they reached out for each other.

Just to his left was Susan Bones. She had a potions drip going directly into her throat. Her pretty blonde hair was matted to the side of her face. Carefully, he pushed it away and saw the wound it had been covering. Most of her right cheek was missing and farther down he could see the shining white bone of her jaw.

Why couldn't they have stayed in the castle and done what they were told?

Next to Susan was Terry Boot and a sea of other students he knew he should recognize. He turned away and started towards Madam Pomfrey's office, hoping to find someone who could tell him what was going on and maybe give him a potion so he could sleep; some food too.

He found Madam Pomfrey in the potions store room, bent over a cauldron and stirring as slowly as she could manage. She looked exhausted and her usual meticulous appearance was disheveled. He wondered when she'd slept last. He knocked softly.

"Just a minute! I'll have the potion ready in a minute!" She said, not bothering to look up, and Harry stepped back into the shadows to wait for her to finish. He watched her stir and add ingredients he knew he should recognize from Potions class. Her hands were steady, though the rest of her seemed to shake as she stared into the cauldron and finally sighed. "It's done," she whispered and turned down the flame. She picked up a tray of vials and slowly began funneling the potion into each one.

When the last one was corked, Harry cleared his throat and knocked again. "Madam Pomfrey?"

She froze and looked up, blinked and rubbed her eyes as if to rub the image of him away. "Harry?" She stepped around the table and stood in front of him. "What in the world are you doing in here!" She exclaimed. "Get to a bed this instant!"

He yelped as she pushed him out of her store room and back out into the hospital. She found him an empty bed and nearly threw him into it. "I'm fine, really," he protested. "Its just my arm and my leg."

She didn't answer him, only ran her wand all over him several times and made soft Medi-witch noises like she did. "Well, let's get you undressed and cleaned up a bit. You're covered head to toe in blood."

He blushed and stuttered as she flicked her wand and his bloody clothes disappeared leaving him in nothing but his shorts beneath a thin white sheet. "W-was that really necessary?"

She rolled her eyes. "Harry, I've seen you naked too many times now to care. You stay here and if you even move a toe out of this bed, I'll bind you to it, understood?"

He nodded meekly. "Yes ma'am."

"Good. I'll be back to fix you up as soon as I distribute those potions." She pulled the curtain around him and disappeared.

He stared down at his injured arm and felt a little queasy looking at it without the guise of cloth to cover it up. It looked bad, even for him. He pressed it with his thumb and hissed as renewed pain shot down his arm and up his shoulder. He shivered and slid down under the sheet.

He listened as feet echoed up and down the aisle of beds. He felt a little protected by the curtain, shielded from anyone who might disturb him. He needed to sleep, it felt like years since he'd slept, though he was sure he'd passed out once on the way back. It was hard to really sleep pressed into a half-giant's gut. He pushed and poked at the pillow to fluff it up just a little when he heard determined heals clicking and he knew exactly who it was. He sighed and made sure his chest was covered when McGonagall slipped through the curtain.

"Potter."

"Professor McGonagall."

They stared at each other for several minutes, assessing the other: she to make sure it was really Harry and he trying determine if he was in trouble somehow. She sat down next to him and seemed to deflate. "We've been very worried about you."

"Has the Minister given you trouble? Ginny said they were pestering you about me."

She dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. "That doesn't matter. Are you all right? No life-threatening injuries?"

He shook his head. "Just a wolf bite and a twisted ankle. I tripped," he grumbled. It would figure that he would leave the battle unharmed and get hurt trying to find his way back. "Some bruises." He could tell she wanted to ask about Tom, ask if he was really dead. "Not yet," he told her honestly. "He's not dead yet."

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Do you know where he is? Is he weak enough to be finished?"

He grinned wickedly at her. "He's safely in Hagrid's hut. Fang has orders to guard him just in case. He's mostly dead. I seem to have destroyed most of his internal organs. But," he motioned her forward. "I'd like that to stay a secret between you, me, and Hagrid. For all intents and purposes, tell the Minister that I blew him to pieces and there's nothing left of him."

She shook her head. "They'll go looking for the pieces, Harry. You might as well just hand him over to the Ministry so they can take care of him properly."

"No."

She sighed. "Harry. You can't just walk all over the Minister just because you hold a grudge about Sirius. They're professionals, they know what they're doing."

He growled at her, he'd never done that before but she masked her uneasiness. "I killed him. He's my prize. I did what everyone wanted and they'll stay the fuck away from him." He was breathing heavily now, as the anger from the last two days seemed to wash over him like a tidal wave. He shook and clenched his fist in the sheet until he was sure he was going to rip it.

No wonder Albus couldn't control him, Minerva thought, and took Harry's hand from the sheet. "How do you plan on finishing the job?" Harry relaxed only slightly and told her his plan. She was impressed. "When are you going to carry it out then?"

"Monday."

She nodded her approval as Poppy came through the curtain with a tray full of medical bandages and several cups full of potion. "I'll leave you and Madam Pomfrey to dress your wounds. Get some sleep, Potter, you deserve it. I will inform everyone that you are safe. Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley have been waiting anxiously for you." She slipped back out and Harry listened to her retreating footsteps.

Poppy set about carefully washing his arm and assessing the loss of skin. "How did you manage this magnificent wound?"

He rolled his eyes. "It's hardly a battle wound. A wolf bit me."

She froze. "When?"

He shrugged. "Yesterday, the day before. I don't remember. It was dark, I couldn't see him but he could smell the blood. It wasn't a werewolf. Full moon isn't until Monday."

She nodded and continued to clean the wound. "We'll just tell everyone that it's a battle scar. The girls will love it." She winked lecherously at him and he managed a weak laugh. Snape wouldn't love him covered in scars; Snape wouldn't love him, at all. He sighed and hissed as she dabbed a tissue-healing potion into his arm.

"Can't you just bandage me up?" He hated being poked and cleaned. It reminded him of his days at the Dursleys and being rubbed with antiseptic.

"No," she said simply but worked more gently. She spoke the activation spell and Harry whimpered as the tissue and muscle around his exposed bone began to grow. It burned far worse than the potion, and he gripped the side of the bed until his knuckles turned white and his fingernails scraped against the metal frame of the bed.

"Ow," he said weakly once the burn diminished to a dull tingle. He could no longer see his bone but there were two other layers of skin left to grow. He held out his arm valiantly as she prepared the next potion.

"As soon as I'm finished patching you up, you can take Dreamless Sleep," she promised and that mollified him enough to bite his lip through the pain of his growing flesh.

The final potion healed the rest of his skin except for the very top layer of skin. The wound was littered with the criss-cross of scar tissue; puncture wounds from the wolves teeth stood out like balls shoved under his skin. It looked awful, glaring up at him from his left forearm. He was relieved when Madam Pomfrey put on a salve and finally bandaged up the wound from wrist to elbow so he wouldn't have to look at it.

His ankle was healed easily, but she left the bruises on his chest to heal themselves for reasons he wasn't quite sure of. But finally he was given Dreamless Sleep and he'd never been so happy to drink the foul-tasting potion. His stomach didn't lurch as he had expected and almost immediately he was yawning as the full weight of his exhaustion curled around him like a thick cotton blanket. He snuggled down in the bed and allowed Madam Pomfrey to fuss a little more. She tucked the sheet around him and conjured up a much heavier blanket to keep him warm.

As he drifted off he dreamt of soft lips pressed against his forehead and it warmed him from head to toe. A whispered, "I'm so glad you're alive," made him feel wanted and with a muttered sigh he finally got the sleep he deserved.

Poppy watched him for a few minutes, just to make sure that he was really there before she stepped out. She pulled the curtain securely behind her to keep him from being disturbed. She sighed and stared out the window as the sun finally began to set. She ached all over and there were still potions to be made. Her stores weren't built for such a catastrophe. She wished she'd been more prepared.

She headed back to her store room and was surprised to see Minerva bent over the cauldron, happily adding ingredients and stirring. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I would help with the brewing. I wasn't too bad at it when I was in school." She lowered the fire under the cauldron and began bottling. "I'll head down to the dungeons to see how Severus is holding up and if he has any potions you could use. No doubt he's been brewing this whole time."

Poppy highly doubted it, but helped Minerva steady the funnel as the hot potion bubbled. "I appreciate the assistance."

Minerva smiled. "To tell you the truth, I'm dreading going back to Albus' office."

"Any word on his condition?"

"No," she sighed. "Not a word about any of them."

Poppy sniffed as she cleaned the cauldron as hard as she could to get the stench of Skele-Grow out of it. "I guess we'll just have to wait then, won't we?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

Poppy cleared her throat and stood up, wiping her hands on her robe. "I'll take these out," she said and picked up the tray of potions.

"I'll go see if Severus has any he can lend." They parted without another word. Minerva left the Infirmary and took her time going down to the dungeons. She hadn't even begun to think about the Slytherin students. Were they being watched? Was Severus capable on his own? This quickened her step.

She knocked loudly on his closed door. "Severus?"

"Come in."

She slipped inside and secured the door behind her. "I was wondering if you had any extra potions I could take to the Infirmary."

"No, I've been busy looking after my house, as no one else has, and that has taken up all my time. I will have them for you by morning," he said. "Anything in particular?"

Minerva listed a number of potions she'd seen in the store room that were low. "And Harry Potter has returned." She left before she was dismissed.

Severus stared at her empty space while the thought sunk in: Harry Potter had come back. Unconsciously, he rubbed his Dark Mark. It couldn't be possible. If Voldemort were dead, the Mark would've dissolved, wouldn't it? He'd always assumed that he would be free of it once he was rid of Voldemort. The thought of wearing it for the rest of his life made him sick.

He stared into the flickering flames of the fire. They had handled the situation horribly. The teachers shouldn't have left to fight, they should've stayed to defend the children. None of students would be dead now if they had stayed. For a moment he wondered why he cared so much. For years he griped about how he hated his students, how he'd rather eat slugs than teach another day in his life. But maybe in some cold, dark place he felt concern for them, guilt for leaving them behind.

He shook it off quickly before he could think more on it and resigned himself to bed. He levitated from the chair to keep from putting weight on his knee and managed to float himself down the hallway to his room. He only knocked into the wall twice. He would need to brush up on his Charms after he was finished brewing potions for Poppy. Tomorrow, he promised himself.

Part 4: Sunday

Albus woke up.

It wasn't something he really thought about on a day to day basis. After all, he woke up every morning the same as everyone else. But usually, when he woke up he didn't think, "I'm awake!" like he did today and that was unusual.

He stared around his little room, unable to move his head very far, and a great pain was slowly climbing its way up his legs. There was a potions drip attached to his hand through a milky tube that kept him from accurately guessing which potion it was that they were pumping into his body.

This was only the second time he'd stayed at St. Mungo's as a patient. The first time was when he had killed Grindelwald. He'd been so leached of magic that he'd been taken to St. Mungo's just to rest and get some peace and quiet. The press had been everywhere trying to catch a glimpse of him or be granted an interview. He remembered being grateful to the persistent staff that refused to let anyone through that wasn't directly related to him. He'd had the best sleep of his life in that bed on the fifth floor.

He sighed and tried to think of how long ago that had been. Fifty? Sixty years? Was he really that old? He looked down at his hands, thin and covered with papery skin, and realized that he was older than that. His knuckles nearly pushed through when he clenched his fists. Had he lost track of time? When was the last time he had celebrated his birthday? Before Voldemort had risen, surely. There hadn't been time to think about birthdays and getting old.

He fingered his very long beard and equally long hair and wondered why it was that he let them grow. Why not cut it short for awhile, shave off his beard and see what happened? Maybe he wouldn't feel so weighed down all the time. Maybe it really was time to settle down somewhere and spend his days knitting socks. He thought he might like that. He would miss his students, though. They always brought him joy when they came through the doors of the Great Hall and he saw the next generation of Wizards and Witches. Maybe it was someone else's turn. He wasn't sure Minerva really wanted to be Headmistress though.

He would need to settle his affairs. The next Headmaster would need complete access to his offices, the complete cooperation of the castle. He thought of how nice it would be to stay on at Hogwarts but not as Headmaster. He would like to stay there. He was quite sure he didn't belong anywhere else, and he'd spent the majority of his life there. Yes, he would find a new Headmaster to take over his position and find an apartment out of the way and spend the rest of his days wandering around like the old fool everyone claimed him to be. He liked the idea of playing his own tricks on the students after all they'd played on him. If only the Weasley twins were still there.

He was enjoying thoughts of retirement when a friendly-looking witch came humming into the room. She beamed when she saw him awake. "I see you've finally decided to join us, Mr. Dumbledore." He smiled at her and allowed her to help him sit up. She fluffed the pillows and checked his potions drip. "Well now," she said. "You look like you've perked up quite a bit. We were beginning to think you wouldn't wake up. You've been asleep for days," she nattered on, fussing over his blankets and making sure his feet were warm.

That surprised him. He knew he'd been asleep for a long time, but he hadn't thought of it in terms of days. "Could you bring me a copy of the Prophet please?"

"Don't believe me, do you," she clucked. "Well, I wouldn't believe me either but you've been here since Thursday, same as the rest of them. It's Sunday morning."

The rest of them? His eyes widened. "Good lord, the war," he muttered in astonishment. He'd completely forgotten the reason he was here.

The nurse nodded sadly. "Yes, the war. We're still taking in Aurors that got lost in the field. We just got a shipment of Aurors in from Germany that the hospital over there managed to patch up as best they could. But I'll fetch you a Prophet as soon as the post comes in. It'll be a good ten minutes, I reckon."

"Thank you."

She stared at him closely. "Can I get you some breakfast? I bet you could use some foodstuff in you."

He nodded absentmindedly as he tried to think of what he remembered last. Severus. Severus was sitting next to him, telling him something. He couldn't remember what, but he'd been tying bits of cloth around his arms and legs. He rolled up the sleeve of his hospital gown and saw the remnants of a deep lesion. It had since scarred over, no doubt due to the potions they'd give him. He hadn't made it to see the very end of the battle. Had they found Harry?

It felt like a bludger had struck him in the chest and knocked the breath right out of him. He clutched his chest and gasped for air desperately. Where was Harry? Did anyone know where he was? Was he hurt? He wheezed and some of the pressure eased, but the fear still clutched his heart like the cold hand of death. Was Harry dead? Had Voldemort won? His mouth tasted sour as that thought permeated his mind. They couldn't have lost. He was suddenly much more anxious to get the Daily Prophet. If anything had happened, it would be reported in those pages.

When the nurse returned, she had a tray flowing with food in her hands and the paper under her arm. "Now," she said, setting down the tray. "I want you to drink this pumpkin juice, first. Has a nice rejuvenation potion in it to help you heal up all nice." She handed it to him.

Without thinking to look for poisons or other spells, he drank it all. It tasted awful, but he managed to keep it down until she allowed him to eat something to get rid of the horrible taste. She read the paper in a chair next to his bed as he carefully ate the scrambled eggs and toast he'd been given. They were nice and runny, just the way he liked them.

The nurse suddenly jumped up and shouted as the whole hallway seemed to come alive with the roar of triumph. "He's alive!" The nurse exclaimed, hugging the paper to her chest. The photograph on the cover mumbled its discomfort. "Merlin, he's alive." She suddenly burst into tears.

Albus stared at her, absolutely astonished. "What is it? Who's alive?" He demanded, forgetting all about his stomach and the wonderful eggs and toast.

She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and grinned through her tears. "Harry Potter!" She handed him the paper as she blew her nose loudly on a handkerchief.

His hands shook as he took the paper and saw Harry looking bashfully up at him. He waved tentatively and Albus laughed. "You're alive," he whispered. Harry looked tired in the photo, his hair sticking up like normal. He was thin and there was a great bruise on his shoulder. Albus couldn't take his eyes off the photograph. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so happy Harry was alive.

There were still shouts coming from the corridor and the other rooms on the floor. There were nurses and Medi-wizards dancing up and down the hallway singing the old songs of war and victory that had been sung sixteen years ago.

"Three cheers for Potter!" One of them shouted and it seemed to echo through the whole hospital.

Albus stared down affectionately at the boy in the picture. "You've done good, my boy," he said and Harry smiled warily. He suddenly had the urge to get home and quickly. He had no doubt that his boy needed him. "Nurse? When am I to be released?"

She looked up, as if she was surprised to see he was still there. "Tomorrow, I think."

He didn't think that was soon enough but it was best not to argue with the ones in charge of your care. After all, they could slip you a poison in your pumpkin juice if they wanted to. He yawned. He could use a few more hours of sleep. He'd need his strength to help Harry when he was discharged. He fell asleep, smiling.

Seamus watched Dean as he slept. He'd done this several times over the last few days, just lay next to him and watched him sleep. He supposed it was the fear of not being around just in case Dean stopped breathing, even though the Medi-wizard had said he was out of the woods now and his lungs were healing up really well. But Seamus still worried something would go wrong.

He'd left Dean's side yesterday to check on Parvati and Padma, per Dean's request. The twins had been asleep and they too had migrated to the same bed, their arms wrapped around each other in silent vigil. Seamus had wanted to throw up, seeing the stumps left behind after their arms had been amputated. Madam Pomfrey had said there was nothing they could do. Once an appendage was gone, it was gone. Seamus was reminded of Professor Moody and his one leg.

He listened as the door to the Infirmary opened and closed. He could hear Professor Snape grumbling about something and Madam Pomfrey replying just as clipped as he. There was scuffling of feet and he was sure he heard someone mutter Potter and he thought that was funny for some reason. He giggled into his hand and just kept going because he suddenly realized that was all he could do. He didn't have any tears to shed and laughing was so much easier.

He laughed until he was practically choking into his hand. After all this, after everything, Professor Snape still grumbled about Harry and Harry was alive and even though he was lying next to his best friend in a hospital bed, it all seemed so natural. It was all right.

He wiped his spit-covered hand on his pants as Madam Pomfrey came over with a potion in her hand for Dean. He helped her rouse him and got him to swallow the foul-tasting potion. "You'll be able to go back to the dorm tomorrow," she said. "But only if you promise to stay in bed."

Dean promised, and Seamus said he would make sure of it. She smiled and went down the row of beds and disappeared behind the curtained bed. Seamus leaned against the wall as Dean yawned. He wanted to bend down and kiss him on the forehead, run his hands over Dean's barely-there hair. Just touch him.

He was distracted from his thoughts when Parvati and Padma both got up from their bed and came their way. He swallowed thickly and looked down at Dean and saw him watching them, too. But he was grinning. He was smiling so big and Seamus' stomach hurt seeing his face light up like that. Parvati sat down on the edge of the bed while Padma stayed standing but still in arm's reach of her sister.

"Hi," Parvati said.

Dean reached out and grabbed her right hand, her remaining hand. "How are you?"

She shrugged and Padma looked so sad behind her. "Okay, I guess. It still feels like its there. It's weird."

He sat up and stroked her left shoulder and down to the stump. "I think you're beautiful."

"Don't be stupid," she said as tears spilled over her cheeks.

"I'm serious!" He proclaimed and Seamus felt sick. Dean stared into her eyes. "You're as beautiful as you ever were." He stroked the side of her face with the back of his hand and wiped away her tears with his thumb.

She leaned into his hand and Seamus felt like he was a peeping tom, witnessing this obviously private moment. "Um, I need to, um, I need to use the toilet," he said and got away as fast as he could. He went out into the hall, the first time he'd left the Infirmary in nearly three days, and finally wanted to cry because his best friend loved someone else. He leaned his forehead against the cool stone wall and tried to calm his rapid breathing. It wasn't fair.

He heard the scuffling of worn out shoes and tried to put on a brave face. He was just getting some air. It was suffocating in there, he needed to breathe. That's all. Ron came down the corridor, whistling softly and scuffing his shoes against the stone as he walked. "Finnegan."

Seamus managed a smile. "Weasley. Come to visit the invalid?"

Ron nodded. "I figured he could use a friendly face." Their joking came to an abrupt half as Ron neared him. "How's Dean?"

Seamus shrugged and jammed his fists into his pockets so he wouldn't fiddle with the end of his shirt. "He's better. Pomfrey said he could go back to the Tower tomorrow."

Ron grinned. "Good, that's really good."

He nodded. "Yeah, it is."

"I'll see you later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Seamus said. He'd give Dean and Parvati a few more minutes before he went back in.

Ron squeezed his shoulder and went inside himself. It was emptier than the last time he'd been there, when he'd left with Hermione. He supposed people were being taken to St. Mungo's to make room, so Hogwarts could be a school again and not a refuge for the wounded.

He looked around and saw a few of his classmates more awake and talking to each other. There was something different about them, though, and he recognized it immediately. He'd seen that look in Harry's eyes for years and was quite sure it was in his own now.

Death.

Death had come to Hogwarts and they had met it with wands drawn and determination in their hearts. They had won, of that Ron was sure, but it didn't really seem like it. He'd always imagined that victory felt more like, well, like relief. He thought he should feel this great swell of relief and pride but he found his heart empty of it.

He sighed and headed toward the back, where the curtained bed was. He looked around to make sure no one saw him and slipped inside. Harry was sleeping. He was wrapped up thoroughly in a thick blanket with his head practically buried beneath the pillow. Ron smiled and sat down next to him. "Harry," he whispered.

Harry groaned.

Ron leaned closer to his ear. "Harry, we have Potions in five minutes!"

Harry swatted at him. "Go Ôway!"

He grinned and pulled on Harry's ear. "Come on."

One eye opened and Harry glared at him. "I hate you so much right now. Does that curtain mean nothing to anyone? First reporters, then McGonagall, now you. Can't a suffering hero get some rest?"

Ron just rolled his eyes. "Budge over, I fixed your wand."

Some of the hatred left Harry's face as he wiggled over, taking his blanket cocoon with him and glared threateningly when Ron tried to get under, too. "Mine," he growled and held the blankets closer.

"You're a fuck, you know that?"

"Give me my wand."

Ron pulled it from his pocket. It was covered with tape and was sparking angrily. "I did my best. It took a while to get the feather back in. You'll need a new one. Hermione put some temporary spells on it to keep it together without zapping you every time you try to use it."

Harry only nodded and stared at his wand. It looked just as bad as he did. He stroked down the side, where it had been repaired, and felt the misery clench around his heart. He cast a spell to see how it worked. It sputtered and wheezed and produced a cloud of smoke before the tip began to glow faintly.

Ron smiled apologetically. "I'm really sorry I couldn't do better."

"It's better than I could've done," he said honestly. "I'll get a new one sometime."

Ron nodded. "So-o. How're you feeling?"

Harry shrugged. "Okay, I guess. I thought I'd stay in here to get some sleep but no one seems to want me to sleep." He glared at Ron for good measure. "Thanks for this, though," he said indicating his almost as-good-as-new wand.

"I figured you'd need it for some reason. I saw the paper this morning and no one seems to know where You-Know-Who's body is except you." Ron grinned. "Let us in on the fun, where've you hid the bastard?"

He rolled his eyes. "You're such an ass. He's safe for the time being."

"What've you got planned then? Don't leave me out of it."

Harry stared at him. Ron stared back unblinking and Harry realized how common it was to tell Ron everything and have Ron in on the adventure and even though they'd just fought a war, Ron was still, for all intents and purposes, Ron and Harry was suddenly so happy and just relieved to be alive and here and sitting with his best friend talking about Death as if it were some kind of big joke.

Ron's demeanor faltered as he watched all this play across Harry's face like so many words and he thought for a minute that he hadn't been let in on the joke. "You don't have to tell me. I understand. Hush, hush and all that."

Harry began to laugh and threw his arms around Ron and just hugged him. They were both alive and he just laughed because maybe it was just one big joke and they were the idiots who didn't get the punch line. "It's not important," he finally said because right now, it wasn't. Voldemort didn't matter anymore. "Come on," he said. "Help me find some clothes and get me out of here."

Ron grinned and went in search of Madam Pomfrey. Harry cradled his wand and whispered soothing words to it until the furious sparks ceased. He thought of going up to Fawkes and asking for another feather, but he wasn't sure how you asked a phoenix for one of its feathers even if it was Fawkes.

He shrugged and stretched, feeling his spine separate and click happily. He wiggled his fingers and noticed a delay in the fingers of his left hand, the arm that the wolf had gnawed into. He tried to move his index finger separately and it did but it was hard. He frowned and tried to hold his wand in that hand but he couldn't get a good grip on it and it fell to the sheets.

He hadn't thought about damage to nerve endings and he was pretty sure Madam Pomfrey hadn't. Hadn't they healed his nerves? He slipped his hand back under the sheet as Ron came in with a new set of clothes. "Dobby was more than happy to get you some new ones. Pomfrey muttered something about rags and the bin. I think she threw your kit away."

Harry figured it was probably for the best and began to dress in the new set of clothes. He had just gotten his pants on when Professor Snape came bursting in. "Oy!" He cried and made a move to cover himself but Ron stepped in front of him.

"Could you give him a minute, Professor?" He asked, without the usual contempt in his voice that was saved for Malfoy and Snape.

Harry made a grab for his trousers with his left hand and swore when they fell. His fingers wouldn't grasp the fabric correctly. "Shit," he mumbled and got them with his right hand. This would've been embarrassing enough if it were just Ron but in front of Snape as well, Harry felt absolutely mortified and wished he was still under his blankets.

Ron looked over his shoulder but didn't move. "You all right?"

He managed a nod and tried to put on his trousers one handed. Quickly, he learned it was very difficult when one side went up and the other side didn't and he didn't have the assistance of his wand, which was still sitting on the bed looking absolutely pitiful as it sparked miserably. He tried using his left hand again and just barely got his trousers over his hips when Professor Snape sighed and made a Ôhurry up!' motion with his hands.

Harry glared at him and for the first time realized that Snape wasn't standing, he was levitating. So, it was true then. "If you could please step outside Professor, I'm having a little difficulty using my left hand." Somehow he managed to say it with as much dignity as he could muster and his voice never faltered.

Snape stared at him for a moment before leaving and Harry wondered how he could still look imposing while floating. Ron turned and without a word, zipped and snapped Harry's trousers and pulled the shirt over his head and helped him get his arms through. Harry felt absolutely ridiculous but he'd rather feel ridiculous in front of Ron because Ron wouldn't say anything about it or tease him about it.

"Thanks," he whispered when Ron grabbed his wand from the bed and slipped it into the wand holster in his pocket.

He grinned. "What're friends for, anyway? Shall I let him in then?"

Harry sighed. "If you have to." He may have had very strong feelings toward Snape but that didn't mean he actually liked him. You could love someone without actually liking them and that was just how he felt about Snape. He couldn't decide if he wanted to push Snape off a cliff and fuck him against a wall. Or fuck him while pushing him off a cliff.

That train of thought abruptly halted when Snape floated back in and stared at Ron until he blushed and slipped out. Harry didn't like how vulnerable he felt being alone with Snape. "Where is the body?" Snape said, not even bothering with questions about his health or his faulty hand.

Harry sighed and rubbed his eye with the back of his hand before answering: "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

Snape growled. "I am not Ôeveryone', Potter."

"Look, he's dead. What do you care? You're free of him. Go dance in a meadow or something," he said, amazed at his own balls. He wondered if he'd grown new ones while he'd been asleep. Were you suddenly able to stand up to Severus Snape once you killed a Dark Lord?

"I won't believe he's dead until I've seen the body myself."

Of course. Be difficult, Harry thought. "Fine. I'll need your help with it anyway. Come with me." He slipped through the curtain and nodded for Ron to follow as well. Might as well show them both at the same time.

They were just going down the steps when a shouted, "Where is he?" stopped Harry's heart cold in his chest. It couldn't be the press again, he'd already talked to them. He descended the stairs cautiously with Ron flanking his left side, his wand drawn but lowered. Harry managed to pull his wand awkwardly out of his right pocket with the same hand but it looked pathetic in his hand.

In the Entrance Hall, Minister Fudge and several official looking Aurors were arguing with McGonagall. Harry groaned and thought about just bashing their brains against the wall. He was a hero, right? He could get away with anything. Instead he stepped forward and motion for Ron to stay a step behind him. He could feel Snape at his back, directly behind him on his right. He wondered what the three of them looked like. "I suppose you're looking for me?"

The Minister's head whipped around and he thundered forward, fists clenched at his sides. Harry noticed he didn't have his wand out so there was no challenge. The Aurors, however, were well equipped. Fudge stopped barely five feet away from them and just stared. His chest was heaving and his fists clenched and uncurled over and over as if he wanted to strangle Harry. Though the only thing he'd done was do the Ministry a favor.

He waited for someone to say something.

"Minister, I think it would be best if we continued this in the Headmaster's office," Minerva said. She wanted to avoid an altercation on Hogwarts grounds, especially involving the Ministry. Fudge ignored her. She stepped back, inwardly hoping that Harry fried him.

Harry cleared his throat. "Are we having a staring contest or are you here for a reason?"

"Don't give me cheek! Where is the body? I know you have it. You must. I demand to see it. It is Ministry Property and must be dealt with," he said, shifting back into his position of politician.

Harry sighed, feeling dŽjˆ vu all over again. "First of all, he is the property of whoever killed him. I killed him, thus he is my property. Don't deny it, I've read the ordinances. He is a prisoner of war and he is mine."

Fudge tried a different approach. "But wouldn't you rather we had it in our custody, just in case?"

"Just in case I can't kill properly? I assure you, he's very, very dead." Harry grinned, making sure to show teeth and flashed that feral smirk at the Aurors. They didn't bulk the way he'd wished, though Fudge looked a little uneasy.

"But that's what we thought before, and look what happened!"

For the first time since Harry had met Fudge, that was probably the smartest thing Harry had ever heard him say. "You," he said and nodded to one of the older Auror's. "How old are you?"

The Auror obviously didn't like being treated like an inferior and puffed up his chest. "Forty-five."

Harry regarded him carefully. "What's your name?"

"Herald."

Harry turned back to Fudge. "Herald may witness the burning ceremony. He will attest to seeing the body and seeing him properly disposed of. That's it."

Fudge looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. His eyes watered with anger. "How dare you undermine me!"

"How dare you try and take my property from me!" Harry shouted back and he felt Ron bristle beside him. He was the best second a boy could hope for. "I'm doing you a favor allowing Herald to see it. It's within my right to banish any and all from seeing him."

The Minister snarled. "You don't have Dumbledore protecting you now, boy. It's my right to make sure my country is safe."

"Your country. Your. Country." He rolled the words around in his mouth and spat on the floor when the bitterness overtook him. "So, you want the body so you can take the glory for it? Bullied a seventeen-year-old boy into giving up his possession so you could sleep easy knowing you did a good day's work? This isn't your fight, Minister. It's mine and I will keep him. I revoke my offer. If you will kindly remove yourself from the ground."

"Now see here!" Fudge protested but two suits of armor climbed down from their perches. Each took one of the Minister's arms and dragged him from the castle. "You'll regret this, Potter! I can ruin you!" His shouts were drowned out by the clatter of armor and the resounding thud of the front doors closing.

Harry turned his gaze to the three Aurors staring at him, wide-eyed. They hadn't seen him command the armor, or even flick his wand. They were trained to notice such things and it had happened without even the slightest movement. "You may escort yourselves out or you can be assisted." He nodded to the armor.

They quickly left though Herald stayed staring at him. "My wife and five children were killed by Death Eaters. So were my parents, my brother, and his wife and children. Why should I believe he's dead?"

Harry weighed him again and stepped forward. "Would you believe it if you saw his body?"

Herald hesitated before he nodded.

"Surrender your wand."

He tensed and stepped back. "Why?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "So you don't stun us and run off with the body. If you want to see it, you see it under my terms, got it?"

He thought for a very long time and Harry could feel Snape getting impatient, it radiated off of him. Harry didn't like this sudden ability to sense people. He wanted to turn around and yell at him because Harry was giving him the privilege of seeing Tom's body.

Herald finally took out his wand and held it out, handle first. He trusted Harry to show him and not to hurt him. "Will you take my wand as a symbol of trust and not use this trust against me?"

Harry looked back at Ron, he'd never heard such language used before. Then again, he'd never asked someone to hand it over before. Ron leaned over and whispered the proper phrasing back to him. Harry took the handle of Herald's wand and said: "You have my faith that no harm will come to you while your wand is in my hands. You are under my protection."

Herald, seeming satisfied, let go of his wand and watched carefully as Harry slipped it into his pocket.

"So, now can we all get going?" Snape said through clenched teeth.

Harry rounded on him and was about to start yelling when he realized how pale Snape was and how his hand was shaking. "Are you all right, sir?"

Snape glared at him. "I'm fine. I'd just like to get this over with before he starts to rot."

He studied Snape carefully. He would've cast a levitation charm himself if he were sure his wand wouldn't blow up in his face. And he didn't want to embarrass Snape by asking Ron to do it. But Snape was a grown man and it wasn't Harry's responsibility to make sure he didn't collapse from over-doing it. "Follow me."

He led all three through the door and was relieved to see that Fudge and the other two Auror's had wisely left the grounds. He was looking forward to collapsing into his bed in the dorm and sleeping. He'd make Ron put up a silencing charm so no one would bother him and he could just sleep for days and days.

On that happy note, he marched them down the hill toward the Forbidden Forest. Every once in awhile he'd turn to make sure they were following and to make sure Snape wasn't about to fall to the ground in convulsions. He wondered if Snape would be up to making the potions for him. He tried not to think about it.

When they finally arrived at Hagrid's front door, Harry knocked once, twice, threefourfive. A tiny hole opened. "Password?"

Harry grinned. "Norbert."

The hole closed with a bang and the door opened. "Hello Harry," Hagrid beamed. "Ron, Professor Snape..." he glared at the newcomer. "'Oo's he?"

"Don't worry about it. Is Tom safe?"

Hagrid nodded proudly. "Jus' been tendin' teh him. He's gettin' a bit ripe."

Harry patted his arm. "I'll have him out of your hair in a few hours. We'd like to see him."

Hagrid eyed Herald carefully but nodded slowly and motioned them to follow him. They left Hagrid's hut through the back and into the pens where Buckbeak was once kept. There was a shed in the property and Fang stood outside of it looking very important but wagged his tail when he saw Hagrid approach. "'Ee's in there."

Harry thanks him and opened the door. "Uugh!" Herald exclaimed and clamped his hand over his mouth and nose. "That's disgusting!"

Harry stared at him. "What did you expect? He's been dead for three days." He and Ron rolled their eyes at each other before going inside. Snape followed and Herald more warily. In the corner, Tom was in what looked like a cot with his tattered cloak over his head. "Brace yourself," he said and pulled back the cloak.

The stench was more foul without the cloak to shield it and Herald ran outside. They could hear him retching violently. Ron looked absolutely green but he refused to budge. Snape knelt down, though it looked as if it pained him, and studied Tom's face carefully. He went so far as to inspect his liquefied innards.

He levitated back up a little uneasily but nodded. "He's dead."

"I told you," Harry said tartly and recovered him. "I don't think Herald needs anymore proof," he teased and they left the shed, shutting the door securely behind them. "Thanks Hagrid. I'll be by around 11:30 this evening."

"'Course. I'll be waitin' for you."

"Are you all right?" Harry asked Herald, who was leaning his head against Hagrid's main house and was trying to keep from vomiting again. "I hope I've offered you enough proof."

He nodded quickly but it turned him green again. "I've seen a lot," he said. "And I'm embarrassed I lost it over the smell."

Harry shrugged. "Who cares?"

Herald managed a pain smile of thanks before vomiting again. "I think I best get back. The Minister will be waiting for me."

Harry handed back his wand. "You've nothing to worry about anymore, Herald. At least, don't worry about him." He thumbed the shed.

Harry, Ron, and Snape walked back through Hagrid's hut and out the front door. They began climbing the hill again when Snape spoke: "I suppose you'll want me to make the potions for you."

He nodded. "It would appear I've little use of my left hand at the moment so it would be appreciated. Though you don't look like you've much strength either."

Snape snorted. "Those potions take months to make, Potter."

"I want to do it tonight. Full moon," he said, authority pushing at his voice.

Snape stopped in mid-flight. "Potter," he said as if Harry were still a First Year. "I've had those potions waiting in my stores for the last decade."

"Oh good, so it won't be a problem."

"On one condition. I want to watch him burn."

Harry nodded. "Done."

"Good, now, if you will excuse me." He took off, leaving Potter and Weasley behind him. He needed to get back to his quarters before he made a fool of himself by collapsing in the hallway.

It was getting harder and harder to keep himself upright. His toes were skidding against the grass and he wasn't sure he'd make it to his rooms without tripping over a stone in the floor. He tried to go a little higher and he just barely made it over the steps and through the front door. He was already breathing heavily as he took a moment to lean against the wall when he made sure no one was around to see him.

His head was swimming and he was having trouble focusing. He blinked rapidly and leaned his burning forehead against the cool stone. His hands were shaking and he was finding it hard to move. He tried breathing through his mouth to relieve some of the delirium swarming around him. He could feel the bile working its way up his throat and before he could stop it, he threw up violently in the corridor. Somehow, he managed to clean it up with a flick of his wand.

Feeling only marginally better, he started back down the hallway. It was only three floors to his rooms. He could make it, surely. He just needed to lie down for a little while. Yes, just sleep for a bit.

He was unconscious before his body even hit the floor.

It was Harry and Ron who found him lying in the middle of the Entrance Hall. Immediately, they rushed over. "What do we do?"

"You levitate him and we'll take him to the Infirmary, I guess," Harry said, walking around Professor Snape's fallen body.

Ron nodded. "Right." Once he was in the air, the two boys sped off with their professor's prone body floating behind them.

Soon, they were bursting through the hospital ward's doors. "Madam Pomfrey!" Harry shouted and rushed into her office. She was standing over a pile of parchment when he came barging in. "Professor Snape," he said desperately. "He's unconscious."

She sighed, used to over-zealous students and their diagnoses. "I'm sure its not something so serious," she told him but allowed Harry to pull her to the bed Ron had placed the professor on. She frowned. "Where did you say you found him?"

"In the hallway. He had just collapsed," Ron said helplessly.

"He's been levitating himself around," Harry added and Ron nodded.

"Yeah, he was really pale before. That's kind of dangerous, isn't it?" Harry agreed with him and they started talking about the dangers of using so much magic.

Madam Pomfrey ignored their chatter as she examined Severus. His breathing was shallow and slow, his skin was gray and clammy. But his heart was steady. "He's all right," she said. "He's just gone and overdone himself, stupid bastard," she added almost fondly. "This'll teach him not to follow medical orders. Ron, fetch me the cane that's in my office."

Puzzled, he did as he was told and came back carrying what looked to be a plain piece of wood. "What're you going to do to him?" He entertained the idea of Madam Pomfrey punishing Professor Snape for being disobedient.

She merely grinned at them in a way that made Harry a little uneasy. He never wanted her to look at him like that again, at least if he was the one who was going to be the victim. He watched carefully as she picked up his hand and placed one end of the wooden cane into it. "This is the fun part," she confided and cast a spell that fused flesh and wood together giving Severus a very strange sort of sloth-like appearance. "He won't be able to take that off no matter how hard he tries."

Harry looked at her, completely stunned.

She shrugged. "What? It's my job to keep everyone in this castle healthy under whatever means necessary. This is necessary. He'll have to use the cane now or risk looking like a complete idiot." Though she thought he looked like an idiot most days without trying. She fetched a potion from her stores and forced it down his slack mouth. "That'll wake him up in an hour or so." She turned on them, looking stern. "Now, get back to your dormitory. I've got things to do and I'm sure you're both sick of being here. Shoo!"

Harry hesitated. "Are you sure he'll be all right? He looks really pale."

Madam Pomfrey smiled at him. "He'll be fine. I've patched you up more times than I care to count. I'm sure I can handle Professor Snape."

He flushed faintly but wasn't really sure he should leave. "Can I stay, just to make sure? What if something goes wrong and no one's here?"

She stared at him intently and what she saw there made her heart break for him. She sighed but conceded. "All right but as soon as he wakes up and can walk, I want both of you out and I don't want to see either of you in here for three weeks, got it?"

He nodded. "Yes ma'am."

Ron cocked his head and considered Harry. He'd never known him to care even one iota about Snape. None of the students did. It was strange to see Harry looking at Snape so deeply, like if something went wrong, his entire world would fall apart. Like when Hermione would look at him when she thought he wasn't paying attention. That was a vaguely frightening thought.

He watched as Harry pulled up a chair and sat next to Snape's bed and kept on just gazing at him. After a moment, he knelt down beside Harry's chair. "Harry?"

Harry looked at him. "You don't need to stay. You can go back to the dorm. Hermione's probably worried sick about you."

He wanted to laugh but he didn't. "You know nothing is going to go wrong with him. You know Pomfrey can take care of him." He felt a little bad when Harry winced.

"I know," he said and stared down at his feet.

Ron got up and kissed the top of his head. For some reason it made him feel so good being able to do that. So what if boys weren't supposed to kiss other boys. They weren't boys, they were men. That didn't make his rationalization much better but he thought Harry could use it. "I'll see you in the common room, later."

Harry smiled gratefully at him and nodded. "Okay."

Ron patted him on the shoulder and left him to pine over Snape all alone. Harry turned back to the bed and sighed. He really wasn't sure why he'd been so insistent on staying. Ron was right, Pomfrey knew what she was doing. But at the same time, that little voice in his head made him stay. Maybe he was just afraid that he'd never get another chance to just sit in complete silence in the same room with him.

Harry started to think of all the things he'd like to say to Snape, just like he'd done with Tom. That day with Tom seemed so long ago, like another lifetime. His memories of it were clouded and only half-formed. Like it had happened to someone else and he'd heard the story and imagined it all inside his head; the way it would look. But sitting next to Snape was decidedly very, very real and it made the palms of his hands sweat.

I hate you, seemed to the appropriate place to start. Because he did hate Snape. Who wouldn't? He was absolutely wretched to everyone he met without any thought to their feelings. He treated all his students horribly, Harry worse than most, and his only enjoyment seemed to be writing scathing remarks on their essays and making fun of them in front of their peers. So why did he love Snape? He had no idea. All rational thought seemed to cease to exist when it came to his feelings for Snape. Granted, his rational thought had always been lax.

Harry slumped in his chair. Snape wasn't even attractive! Maybe he would be if you took away the greasy hair and the crooked, yellow teeth and the horrible breath and his yellowish green fingers and the absolutely endless wardrobe of black but Harry was doubtful. He just couldn't get his mind around the fact that he had a genuine, dare he say it, affection for Snape. Sure, he wanted to hit him as much as the next person but he'd be the only one that actually felt bad about it afterwards (besides Hermione). And would probably do something stupid like apologize and try to make it up to him with flowers or a badly made healing potion. God, he was such an idiot.

It really wasn't fair. Why couldn't he like decent, normal people? Why couldn't he like witches like the rest of his friends? Like Ginny. Why couldn't he just settle down with her? It would be perfect. He'd be a Weasley for real, and it would be nice, because she was fun now that she'd gotten over the whole creepy in love with him thing. They'd have some kids and settle down near the Burrow. It would be great. And perfect. And the most boring sex of his life, he was sure, but who needed sex when he had a nice, normal life. He liked the idea of nice and normal, and pursuing Snape was not nice nor was it normal.

He groaned and put his head in his hands. This was impossible. He looked at Snape again and sighed. So why did it feel like his heart was being ripped from his chest when Snape would sneer at him or call him an idiot? He, thankfully, wasn't stupid enough to believe those things were endearments of some demented sort. He was painfully aware that Snape didn't care a wit about him and he could probably fall off a cliff without Snape even noticing. Unless he forgot to turn in a Potions essay or something equally dull.

"Unfeeling bastard," he whispered and was ashamed to hear the hitch of despair in his voice. Look what you've done to me, he wanted to shout, but he kept his mouth firmly shut in a thin line. It was like when he was at the Dursley's and watching Dudley get everything he wanted while he looked on from afar. Even after the things had been broken, Harry didn't dare try to snatch them up just to see what it felt like to have a toy in his hands.

But Snape wasn't a toy. He was flesh and blood and breathing and a person. Nor was he broken. At least, Harry didn't think he was broken. But didn't Harry at least deserve the chance? Shouldn't he have a chance, just once, to touch what wasn't his? To snatch it up before someone bigger and stronger came along and took it away? Somehow, this made him feel incredibly brave and powerful. And suddenly he was standing over Snape and bending forward.

He had to take the chance. Wasn't that what life was all about? He had survived a war, he could survive the wrath of Professor Snape. And he'd only regret not doing it later, he was sure of that. He took a deep breath and leaned a little closer until he could feel the gentle puff of Snape's breath against his cheek. He'd never been so close to anyone before, he thought, as he braced his hands on either side of Snape's head. He licked his lips carefully and tried to breathe as quietly as possible. This was it. This was the defining moment of his life.

Harry watched Snape's face carefully as he closed in. He tilted his head just enough so they wouldn't bump noses and with one final shaky breath, he placed his lips on top of Snape's. At first he was taken back by his own daring, his own insolence. But that quickly melted away when he actually felt Snape's lips. They weren't soft, they were rough, just like the rest of him. They were dry and cracked and felt like sandpaper on his mouth. But Harry just let his eyes flutter closed and kissed him deeper, wishing it could go on forever. He wanted to grab Snape by the hair and shove his tongue into his mouth.

He massaged Snape's lips with his own, trying to get a feel for what it might be like were the kiss reciprocated. He could just imagine how intense it would be, clawing at each other and trying desperately to get inside the other. His breath hitched when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Oh God, he thought and licked Snape's lips. But the hand slid from his shoulder to his neck and squeezed.

Harry squawked and was detached very quickly from the fantasy running rampant in his head. He was overcome with terror as Snape glared at him and the hand around his neck tightened. Harry tried to smile reassuringly but quickly stopped when Snape snarled.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" He hissed, voice deadly; like claws on a chalk board.

Harry tried to swallow but it got stuck. "Making sure you were still breathing?" He cried out softly when Snape jerked him forward until they were nearly nose to nose again and Harry thought that maybe Snape was going to kiss him back.

"Get out of my sight," he growled, spittle hitting Harry right in the eye. And tossed Harry away from him as if he were garbage.

Harry cowered on the edge of the bed, shaking as he realized just how angry Snape really was. He'd looked ready to kill. He never wanted to see that look again and quickly scrambled to his feet. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Snape looked ready to spring on him and rip him to pieces. "Get. Out."

Harry ran.

In the bed just down the row, Justin watched as Harry ran. Everyone in the infirmary who had witnessed that kiss knew that it was love for Harry. Some twisted, deformed sort of love but love nonetheless. Justin could only imagine what it must be like to love someone so unobtainable. Sure, he'd had his share of unrequited love but never something like falling in love with a teacher. For Harry's sake, he hoped that he grew out of it really, really fast because Snape looked like he was ready to go on a rampage and his mood was only heightened by the cane now permanently attached to his hand.

Justin pulled his blanket up to his nose and watched carefully as Snape tried and tried to pull the cane off. "POPPY!" He bellowed.

Poppy sighed in her office and poked her head out. "What?"

Severus glared. "What is the meaning of this?" He shouted, holding up his caned hand waving it around like it was a sword.

She grinned at him. "It's a cane, you daft fool."

"I demand you take it off this instant!"

"No."

"Poppy, this is not funny."

She strutted over to his bed and got right up in his face, her own anger very apparent. "No, it isn't funny. It isn't funny that you're so bull-headed that you won't even use a cane just so you don't look like some invalid, even if it means collapsing on the floor of the Entrance Hall. It isn't funny that you're stupid enough to try levitating yourself all over the place without eating enough. It isn't funny that you are surrounded by children who need my attention far more than you do and you go off and do something as foolish as this! That cane will stay on your hand for as long as I say and I have no problem bashing you over the head with it until it finally enters your thick skull."

Severus blinked at her. Twice. And swallowed a little more audibly than he would've liked. "And how am I supposed to use it?" He asked but there was only a slight note of curiosity in his voice and none of the previous venom.

"You lean on it!" she shouted and stalked off, slamming the door to her office behind her.

The infirmary was silent for a solid minute before anyone even dared to cough. Justin cowered in his bed and tried to keep from laughing. It was about time someone stood up to him. He stifled his giggles in his blanket but they died quickly as Snape tried to stand using the cane. He wobbled and swayed, clutching at the cane desperately with both hands. He looked absolutely mortified and Justin quickly turned away. As much as he'd wanted someone to tear Snape down to size, he just couldn't watch his professor struggle just to walk. It humanized him and made Justin feel sympathy for him and that was a feeling he wasn't used to. He shut his eyes tightly but all he could see in his head was Snape and his cane.

Somehow, Severus figured it out. If he put his right leg and the cane attached to his left hand first, and followed through with his left leg, he could just manage to wobble a few steps. He repeated this pattern until he made it to the Infirmary doors without too much strain on his leg. Miserably, he had to admit that it was much more comfortable and not nearly as tiring as levitating.

He slipped out of the Infirmary and listened as the cane cracked against the stone and realized that he'd never be able to sneak up on anyone ever again. They'd hear his cane and run away before he could catch them. He grumbled but kept on going, until he finally reached his rooms. He had work to do before midnight.

He stalked, as best as he could, through his store rooms looking for the meticulously made base potions he'd completed almost two decades ago. He felt helpless only being able to use one arm to carry ingredients and bottles. He cursed his knee and the cane and Potter.

Mostly Potter.

Potter who had the audacity to...to do that to him. He ought to be drawn and quartered, Severus decided as he began heating cauldrons and measuring out aconite. He was so furious he could hardly see straight, and the only reason he was still making the potions was so he could be sure that Potter did it correctly. He wasn't going to let something so important be done by a complete incompetent.

He stirred the base potion carefully to make sure his freshness seal had lasted. When it didn't explode, he added the aconite and watched the fresh purple of the base potion dissolve into a swirl of silver. The other two potions needed for the ceremony were already made. Unlike the base potion, they could be stored without the possibility of combustion.

Severus left the final potion to boil as he paced his laboratory. He was still a little sore from Poppy's tongue-lashing but what burned him the most was Potter. He'd been ready to rip the boy's throat out with his teeth. It had been a long time since he had been so angry, felt so helpless. He hated vulnerability as much as the next person but it struck a chord in him that often resulted in unpleasant results. The last time he had felt so weak he'd been twenty and just realizing his mistake of joining Voldemort. He'd never been physically abused but knowing he couldn't escape had filled him with hate.

He wrapped his arms protectively around himself and leaned against the table to keep his balance without the cane. He'd never wanted to feel so trapped again and then this afternoon, he'd been pinned beneath Potter's insistent juvenile mouth and he'd choked the boy, which was less than he deserved, as far as Severus was concerned.

He added a tuft of hair from the tail of a centaur and the yolk of a thestral egg. He stirred twelve times for the Witching Hour and added a fingernail he had ripped from Voldemort's dead hand that afternoon in Hagrid's backyard. He watched as the potion ate away at the fingernail, its first taste of a human. He sealed the top of the cauldron and lowered the fire beneath it. He'd need to keep it warm until the ceremony that evening.

He was about to pour himself a very large tea when a very insistent knock came from his window. He sighed and opened it to the fluffy white owl he immediately recognized. "What does your master want?" He asked. As much as he hated the owner, he could not fault the bird for its unfortunate holder.

Hedwig stuck out her leg and hopped forward, encouraging Severus to take it.

He was surprised by her eagerness and slipped the note from her leg. She ruffled her feathers happily and squatted to wait for an answer. As he unrolled the small piece of parchment he hoped, for Potter's sake, that there weren't promises of chocolates or, Merlin Forbid, potions in the note. To his relief it only said:

Ten O'Clock

"So," he said, looking down at Hedwig, who had a strange dreamy look about her. "Potter plans on doing it by hand, then." He wanted to laugh at Potter's stupidity but found that he couldn't. Being thorough was the only way of ensuring Voldemort never came back again.

Underneath Potter's message he wrote his reply:

On the pitch.

It was the largest place on the grounds and would allow for enough space. He tied it to Hedwig's leg and watched as she flew away after nibbling on his finger. He had things to do before evening.

Hedwig glided through the air, flapping and soaring until she landed on the windowsill outside of Harry's room and tapped her beak against the glass. She tipped from one side to the other waiting for him. The red-headed one opened the window for her and she flew in and sat on Harry's bed. She pulled at his hair and pecked him softly.

He allowed her to sit on his knee as he untied the note. Ron stood in front of him. "Did you really kiss him?"

Harry nodded miserably. "Yeah."

"Oh Harry," he said, sitting down beside him. "That was a really stupid thing to do."

"I know," he sighed. "I couldn't help it, though. He was right there!"

Ron patted him on the back. "At least he didn't kill you."

Harry snorted. "He almost did." He rubbed his neck where Snape had held on so tightly. Still, feeling Snape's hand around his neck was probably the closest he was ever going to get, so he wasn't complaining. Even if it had hurt a lot.

"Come on," Ron said. "Let's go get some dinner from the kitchen. I'm starving."

Harry followed him down the stairs to the packed common room. Most of the students were still wary of going out into the hallways except the brave few who went to find their friends or siblings in other houses. Some of the fifth and sixth year boys had begged Hermione to tell them what had happened. They wanted to know all the gory details. She had yelled at them, scolded them for being barbaric. She'd taken three hundred house points before she burst into tears and hugged them close to her until they complained of lack of oxygen.

"You write to your parents right now and tell them you love them, do you hear me?"

They'd all run up the stairs as quickly as possible, nearly knocking Harry and Ron over in their haste.

Parvati and Padma had come back hours ago but had gone up to the girls dormitory and hadn't been seen since, though Hermione suspected they were writing a joint letter to their parents or talking with Lavender.

Ginny and Neville were talking heatedly in one of the far corners. She looked close to tears while Neville just looked tired and defeated. Ron had told him what Neville had done and he meant to go talk to him at some point. Tomorrow, he'd talk to Neville tomorrow.

It was strange wandering the hallways in the near evening and still Harry felt naughty. But curfew wasn't for a good three hours so they had some time. They walked in silence as they neared the kitchen. There was something about silence that Harry was beginning to appreciate. It wasn't about being alone, it was about being able to carry on a conversation with someone without actually opening your mouth. It was comforting.

Somewhere along the way, they walked past the kitchen. Harry wasn't sure but his hunger had receded and it was nice to just be for a little while. "You know you're my best friend, right?"

Ron looked at him, brow furrowed. "Of course. You're mine, too."

Harry nodded, as if assuring himself that that was indeed true. He opened his mouth to say something else but nothing came. Bashfully, he closed it again and stared down at his shoes, nearly tripping over a flight of stairs. "And you know what I have to do tonight, right?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Stop being so dramatic. It doesn't suit you."

Harry sighed and leaned against a nearby wall. "You're right."

"And hey, if anything goes wrong, Snape'll be there, right? He won't let you screw up."

"That doesn't help much," Harry growled.

Ron grinned. "And if you get hurt, he'll lift you up into his big strong arms and whisk you off to his dungeons where he'll give you some sexual healing." He waggled his eyebrows.

Completely mortified, Harry stared as Ron laughed. "YouÑyou git!" He shouted and chased after Ron as he raced down the corridor.

Ron's laughter echoed off the walls and followed them deeper into the castle. "You know it's true!" He shouted and nearly stumbled.

When Harry finally caught up, he launched himself at Ron and tackled him to the ground. "He's still an asshole!"

They wrestled, laughing as hands touched soft places. They rolled against the cold stone and open fists connected to stomachs and shoulders. "Surrender!" Ron shouted through gales of laughter and lay limp on the floor, breathing hard. Harry lay next to him, grinning. They were silent for several minutes before Ron muttered, "Can't believe you want to have sex with him."

Harry punched him in the shoulder, hard. "Shut up," he ordered. He watched a spider disappear into a crack next to his head. "Hey Ron, what time is it?"

"About eight, why?"

Harry sighed. "Have to meet Snape in two hours."

The two got up with few punches. "You can use my wand if you want," Ron offered. "I won't need it."

"Are you sure?"

Ron shrugged. "Sure, why not?" He handed it over.

"Thanks." It was smooth and light in Harry's hand, not as heavy as his own was; used to be. It didn't put up much of a struggle at the new handler. Harry slid it into his pocket next to his own wand.

As they wound around corridors and up staircases, Harry fingered the handle of Ron's wand. He'd never used someone else's wand before and wondered if there was some sort of protocol involved. Should he talk to it? Stroke it? Tell it he was only borrowing it for a little while? Instead, he just patted it once and left it alone.

They passed a suit of armor with a large axe in its hand. Harry stopped and stared at it. It was silver and shone in the torch light. "How heavy do you suppose that is?"

Ron shrugged. "Pretty heavy, I think."

"Excuse me," Harry said, addressing the suit of armor. "Could I borrow your axe? I'll bring it back when I'm done, I promise."

The armor clinked and screeched as the arm lowered.

Ron stared, wide-eyed. "Do you know how many times Fred and George have tried to get one of those? Always thought they were spelled."

Harry grinned and pulled the axe from the armored glove. It fell right to the floor, the sharp blade wedging itself between two stones in the floor. Harry tried to pull it out but he couldn't. "It's too heavy."

Ron pulled his wand from Harry's pocket and lightened it while Harry wasn't paying attention. He gave it one hard yank and stumbled backwards as it came loose. "Wow." Ron replaced the wand. "Thanks," he grinned and tried to get a good grip on the handle. "This is perfect." He slung it over his shoulder, the heavy silver digging into his shoulder but he just beamed. Ron shook his head and followed Harry down the corridor, back towards the kitchen.

Harry was almost finished casting the circle when Snape arrived at precisely ten o'clock. The circle boundary was made up of thousands of tiny rocks. Nothing could get in or out without Harry noticing. Carefully, Snape touched the circle. Harry's head snapped up and waved Snape into the circle. He felt it seal behind him. The circle vibrated as Harry cast the last spell.

Voldemort was laying on a slab of wood that Harry had borrowed from Hagrid. His clothes had been removed and were already smoldering in the fire. Harry was sitting in front of the warm blaze, trying to get up the rest of his courage to finish it. It had seemed like a good idea when he was still furious but his anger had been taken over by fear and apprehension.

He watched carefully as Snape put a large cauldron on top of the fire and took two potions from the folds of his robes. He knew what they were for. Snape stood on the other side of the fire, shadows cast over his face but Harry knew that look. Snape was impatient.

He stood on wobbly legs and accepted the first potion that Snape offered. He turned to the body on the slab and just stared at it. The smell coming off of the body was horrendous and was starting to give Harry a headache, even out in the open. But it was just a body now. There was no evil wizard left inside, but you could never be sure until you tied the soul to the flesh and murdered both.

Harry cleared his throat and took out Ron's wand. He poured the potion on the body from head to toe. It was a strange green color that seemed to burrow its way into the dead flesh. Harry swallowed and began to chant the spell: "I bind this body to the soul of Voldemort. When the body is bled and the bones are broken, then shall the soul be at rest forever. I bind this body to the soul of Voldemort."

The skin glowed green before Voldemort's eyes blinked. Quickly, Harry took up the axe he'd borrowed from the suit of armor and brought it down on Voldemort's head, severing it from its body in one quick blow. He picked up the head, its eyes open and confused but there was still life in them. Life that hadn't been there since Thursday. Harry tried not to throw up as he set the head on the fire. The head began to scream.

He flinched and tried to ignore it while he stabbed the body in the chest. He carved out a portion of skin and hacked away muscle and bone until he reached the heart. It was beating slowly, still pumping life blood. He needed to work quickly to kill the body all over again. He reached in and yanked out the heart. It pulsed and squealed in his hand. Harry gave it to Snape who put it in the large cauldron. It disappeared immediately.

"Give me the other potion." This was the part he had dreaded. Even fishing for the heart wasn't as bad as he'd imagined the skinning would be. Again, he picked up the axe and cut off Voldemort's feet and hands. These joined the screaming head in the fire.

The potion was clear and the consistency of the tanning oil Aunt Petunia used at the beach. Levitating the potion bottle, he poured some of it into his good hand, and began to work it into the dead skin. Over and over he rubbed it in until the skin began to separate from the muscle and fat. With the help of a knife, he began slicing away large chunks of skin starting with the legs. Each one was added to the fire until the sour smell of rotting flesh became noxious.

He was starting to get dizzy by the time he'd finished both legs. At each armpit, he sliced around it. One sharp tug, and the skin came off in a long roll, the torso separated in pieces of varying sizes. But all of them a strange greenish gray tint. When the last of the skin had been added to the fire, Snape motioned for him to stop and let the fire eat what it had been given. Somewhere a long the way, the head had stopped screaming and now only the skull was left.

Harry sat on the ground panting and staring at the fire. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Snape standing to the side, using the cane for support and watching his cauldron. "What time is it?"

"Nearly eleven. Can you finish by midnight?"

"I better," Harry joked and watched as the skin sizzled and snapped, like pig fat, he thought, and turned back to the blood-soaked slab of wood. Voldemort had been a very thin man and had very little muscle for Harry to rip through. He tightened his grip around the knife in his right hand and stared down. He threw the knife to the side, stood, and picked up the axe. It was light enough for him to wield with just his right hand. He brought it down with a crunch to Voldemort's ribcage. The muscle split just like the pig used to on Privet Drive and the bone splintered. "I hate you," he whispered.

Over and over again, the axe met Tom's chest cavity. "I hate you." He began to chop at the legs and arms. "You're nothing. You're worthless." He threw the axe aside and began ripping the muscle from the mangled bone with his good hand. "You made me what I am and I don't know what that is." He tore at a particularly large bit of muscle, digging his nails deep into it. "This time you're going to stay dead," he promised.

He stood and piled the muscle onto the fire, trip after trip until all that was left on the slab of wood was bone. A pile of pearly white, splintered bone. "Time!"

"Eleven thirty."

Carefully, Harry found the larger pieces of bone that hadn't been split and began chopping them in half and exposing the marrow. The fire was still heaped high with skin and muscle but he began adding the bone. The fire ate away at the marrow first, leaving the husks of white behind to burn slower, cracking and splitting.

The blood on the slab would have to wait. Harry sat down on the ground and put his head to his knees. He felt sick and he had a throbbing headache. He just kept reminding himself that it was almost over. At midnight it would all end.

He spared a look at Snape and he seemed just fine. He stood impassively, leaning on his cane. Every once in awhile, he'd use it to poke at the fire to move around the innards on it. But other than that, he didn't seem to move. Harry watched him closely for a long time and wondered if he should apologize for kissing him. He didn't want to. He'd quite liked it and wanted to kiss him again, just without the whole trying to choke him bit.

"Stop staring at me."

Harry quickly looked away, embarrassed that he'd been caught. He stared intently at the fire and watched a bone splinter and snap like wood. The pile was slowly becoming ash. He could see part of Voldemort's intestines wrapped between muscle and bone. The bloodied board still called from behind him but there wasn't enough room yet to add the wood.

"You're running out of time," Snape said.

Harry sighed and stood again. His legs ached and he was covered with blood from head to toe. Again, the axe was taken into hand and the wood was chopped into pieces. Quickly he added it to the fire before the blood could soak into the ground. The wood burned faster, crackling and snapping around the entrails.

He stared up at the sky and the full moon glaring down at him. He thought of Remus in St. Mungo's and wondered if he was locked in a cage in the basement where he couldn't kill anyone. Or did they have Wolfsbane on hand? He hoped for the latter. He wondered if Dumbledore was awake yet, if he would be back soon. Had he seen Remus? What about the rest of the Order? The Weasley's? There were a lot of things he would need to check on in the morning.

For now, he just watched the blaze.

Part 5: Monday

"It's time."

Before he dealt with the fire's remains, Harry took the knife and cleansed it. He stepped in front of the cauldron and slit his left wrist. His blood trickled down his arm and into the still warm potion. It bubbled and hissed. It seemed to sigh as if a great hunger had been sated. "My blood to bind my offering. Take this and be done with him. I banish Voldemort from this Earth for all eternity."

Then, he took the final potion and poured it over the fire. The flames died down and there was no smoke. With the help of the transfigured axe, Harry began to shovel the ashes and blackened bone into the cauldron. It began to sing and splash. Finally, the only thing that was left was the skull. It was blackened and looked ready to fall to pieces. Harry carefully handled it with the shovel and smeared his blood on it. He took a minute to look at it, really look at it. Even dead, Voldemort was laughing at him.

He threw the skull into the cauldron. Immediately, it disappeared with the rest of the body. He looked nervously at Snape. "Could you turn around for this part?"

Snape rolled his eyes but complied.

As much as Harry wanted to sleep with him, he didn't want Snape to see him naked. Carefully, he took off his blood-soiled clothing, with one clumsy hand, and cast them into the cauldron. He put his bloody hands into the cauldron and it took the blood off of them, except for his own. He took a handful of potion and dipped his face into it. The potion was thicker than water and didn't try to escape through his fingers. When he took his hand away from his face, the potion was still the same green but his face was blood-free. He checked himself carefully and found that no blood remained. Satisfied, he took the cloak he'd laid aside and slid it on. He allowed Snape to turn around so he could witness the final stage.

"His blood to bind my offering. The soul dies with the body and blood. I have given you his heart and you have taken it. I have given you his body and you have taken it. I have given you his head and you have taken it. I banish Voldemort from this Earth for eternity. This is my offering's end."

The potion solidified and disappeared.

Harry blinked and stared into the empty cauldron. It was completely clean. "Where did it go?"

Snape sighed as if he had a great headache. "Magic, Potter. Have you learned nothing? Voldemort's gone."

Harry continued to just blink into the cauldron. The grass where the fire had once burned, was clear of all ash. "Wow."

"Now, if you could break the circle, I would appreciate it."

Harry nodded and cast the spell. The small rocks that had been the boundary were sucked down into the earth. He kept on staring as Snape left, taking his cauldron with him. The only thing left to show Harry's efforts was the axe, the knife, and the blood he could feel covering his entire body. It didn't have to be there for him to feel it crawling all over him.

He picked up the axe and knife and began walking back to the castle. He felt far dirtier than he had when he'd killed Voldemort that first time; Tom's blood all over him. He felt it digging its way into his skin like worms. He itched all over but scratching proved useless.

As he climbed through the portrait hole, he felt some of it disappear. Here, he was safe. He climbed the steps to the dorm and deposited the knife and axe on his bed. He sat down on the edge of his bed and watched Ron as he slept. His mouth was open a little and his pillow had a small wet spot. The sheet shifted and Harry laughed softly as he saw a tuft of fluffy hair over Ron's shoulder.

Harry pulled his knees to his chest and just watched them sleep for a little while. He could hear Neville in the bed on his other side of the circle. Neville always rolled in his sleep but otherwise, he was surprisingly quiet. It was unnerving.

But Ron and Hermione looked so peaceful together. He remembered wanting something like that the night after he'd killed Voldemort. He just wanted someone to be there instead of the corpse. And now he could feel the carcass all over him and he wanted to get rid of it. He spared another look at them as he put on his pajamas. There was just enough room in the bed for one more if they squished.

Harry scratched the back of his neck and took a step toward them but stopped short. He couldn't. They needed each other. He didn't belong there. He sighed and turned back to his bed.

"You are so stupid," he heard Ron grumble in his sleep. "Just get over here, all ready, would you?" Ron was very much awake and Hermione was peering over his shoulder smiling at him.

"We've been waiting for you," she whispered. "Must've dozed off."

Anxiously he stood in front of Ron's bed and tried to decide where he fit into this equation. It was strange and foreign to him but familiar all at once. "Umm.."

Ron rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless," he said and pulled Harry into the bed and pulled the blanket over him. There was a lot of rustling and kicking as Hermione moved to Harry's other side so he was in the middle.

She drew the curtains around the bed and held Ron's hand on Harry's stomach. "We were afraid Snape would kill you once the ceremony was done."

"You told her?!" Harry squeaked.

"Of course he did." This time it was she who rolled her eyes. "Ron's right, you are hopeless. Now go to sleep. I'm exhausted."

Ron agreed and Harry snuggled up to both of them somehow. Having both of them with him made him feel so much cleaner, so much more human than anything else could've. He almost wanted to cry knowing they were still alive, knowing they were still his best friends. They still needed each other.

As his eyes began to close and sleep's veil covered him, he hoped that Dean and Seamus were still keeping each other company.

On the other side of the castle, Seamus slept beside Dean. They were pressed together in the small hospital bed, Dean's head resting on Seamus' shoulder. Around them, their classmates slept along with the various Aurors that hadn't been released yet.

Seamus was dreaming horrible dreams of war and death. There was smoke and flames and he woke up terrified. Shivering, he shifted until he and Dean were facing and the blanket was drawn up to both of their chins. He stared at Dean for a long time, memorizing his face carefully. Even the strange mole on the side of his neck that no one really noticed but Seamus had always wanted to poke.

Careful not to wake him, Seamus slid his hand into Dean's and laced their fingers together. Something felt very wrong and he didn't know why but he wanted to be as close to Dean as possible. It was suffocating him, pressing down on him and then as he rested their foreheads together, he realized what it was.

Dean wasn't breathing.

"MADAM POMFREY!" He shouted, not caring if he woke up the whole Infirmary. He got up on his knees and turned Dean onto his back. "Dean?" He slapped his cheek gently, as if he'd just passed out from too much alcohol. "MADAM POMFREY!"

The light in her office flicked on and she burst out. "What is it?"

"He's not breathing!" Seamus remembered something from muggle school and began pressing down on Dean's chest over and over again.

Madam Pomfrey swatted his hand away and felt Dean's pulse at his wrist. For a whole minute, Seamus' world stopped. He stopped breathing, his heart stopped pumping and all he could do was stare as she counted out his heartbeats.

Madam Pomfrey set his arm down carefully and spent a moment fussing over the placement of it as she tried to think of ways she could've saved him. There was nothing to bring him back. He'd been dead for several hours. "I'm so sorry, Seamus," she whispered.

Seamus stared at her and back to Dean. No. "He can't be," he said desperately, tears plugging up his throat. "He was fine. He was going to go back to the tower today."

"Sometimes, the body is ready to go and there's nothing we can do to save it. Even magic has its limits," she said, just to keep talking and sound like she was in control.

But Seamus wasn't listening to her. He was thinking about Grimbelemere and curse breaking. They were going to be a team. Finnegan & Thomas. They were going to be the best. He couldn't be a team all by himself.

"Maybe you should go back to the tower and get some rest," she suggested.

He shook his head. "I'm staying here." He lay back down and pulled Dean close to him, feeling just how icy his skin was. He listened as Madam Pomfrey went back to her office and waited until she'd flicked off the light before he started to cry. He held Dean close and rocked back and forth. He'd do anything to have Dean back. "Just bring him back," he whispered through his tears and buried his face into Dean's hair. "I need him."

Seamus rocked back and forth, Dean's neck slack against his arm. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. It was something his father had said to him when he was very young, maybe ten, when his beloved pet chameleon had died unexpectedly. He had cried and cried and his father had told him about death. At ten, he thought he would never feel anything so painful.

"Please," he whispered. "I'll be good, I promise. Just bring him back." He choked as he tried to breathe. "I'll do anything you want!" he hissed furiously into Dean's scalp. "Please." He felt like he was drowning. "Dean," he whimpered and dug his fingers into Dean's arm.

Grabbing the blanket, he wrapped it around Dean and rubbed it furiously against his icy skin. Dean hated being cold. "Enervate!" he shouted but nothing happened and he dropped his wand.

Seamus choked as his heart broke in his chest and he realized that Dean wasn't coming back.

In the dark of her office, Poppy listened to Seamus' weeping and stared down at the letter she'd written to Dean's parents. A tear slid down her cheek and smeared the ink. She would need to tell Minerva.

She threw powder into her Floo and called softly into the flames. Minerva was sitting at Albus' desk scribbling furiously. "Minerva?"

Startled, she looked up and squinted. "Poppy? Is everything all right?"

Poppy only shook her head. "I'm afraid," she felt tears in her throat. "I'm afraid we've lost Dean Thomas."

The quill in Minerva's hand snapped in two. "You're sure?"

"He went in his sleep. I've already drafted a letter to his parents." She didn't mention that Seamus Finnegan was in hysterics and she was a little worried for him.

"I--" she swallowed thickly and nodded. "Thank you, Poppy. I shall inform the Gryffindors tomorrow."

"Good night, Minerva." She closed her Floo.

Minerva stared at the empty fire. How was she going to tell them? She let the broken quill drop to the desktop and cradled her head in her hands. What was she going to do?

At nine that morning, Minerva met Albus at the Floo in his office. "Good morning, Albus."

"Minerva," he smiled. "I'm glad to see the school is still in one piece."

"We're trying," she said, offering her arm for him to lean on. Gratefully, he took it. "I'm very glad you're back, though."

"So am I." She helped him up the stairs to his private rooms and tucked him into bed. Before she could leave, he motioned for her to sit in the chair beside the bed. "Tell me what has happened." His voice brooked no argument. This was the stern Headmaster who'd kept the castle and students in line for decades.

Wearily she sat and dispensed all her knowledge. Deaths of the children, their injuries, the Minister's visit, and Potter. She'd never realized how exhausting Albus' job was and she was relieved to give it back to him -- to have a sympathetic ear to listen while she finally allowed herself to feel something. "We're all tired. The children haven't been outside in days, but most of them are too scared to leave their dormitories. The house elves have stayed very active and kept everyone well-fed, myself included."

He took her hand and squeezed it. "You've done well, but I won't ask you to take my place when I retire."

She wheezed. "Thank you. But wait-"

He nodded. "I have decided it is time to retire. I shall take quarters in some other part of the castle and be a recluse, I think. I shall knit socks and take walks in the Forest."

"But who will be Headmaster?"

He smiled. "I haven't decided yet. I wouldn't dream of taking you or Severus away from your Houses. I can't think of any of our current teachers who would be up for it."

"Neither can I," she admitted. "If you can't find anyone else, I'll take it."

He shook his head. "Who would I have to teach Transfigurations and keep the Gryffindors in line? No Minerva, I need you there."

She smiled slyly. "Listen to you, you'll be interfering forever, won't you? I know who can take my place if I'm to be Headmistress. Let me do my own meddling."

"Very well," he conceded.

She stood and smoothed the front of her robe. "You should get some rest now, Albus."

"Not yet. I think I should have a chat with Harry, my last act as Headmaster if you will."

"I'll go fetch him." She left him safely in his rooms and listened as the portraits talked quickly with each other about the Headmaster's retirement. The walls and stairs were chirping happily having their master home. But there was another name being whispered amongst their chatter. Potter, they whispered, stone to stone. So Happy Potter is home. We shall keep him, they said as she passed. "You'll do no such thing," she scolded. "You'll let him do what he wants."

But we want him, they sighed. He belongs here. They sounded sad.

She spared a moment to pat one of the corner stones. "I know. Maybe one day he'll come back." She left them to their cavorting. The hallways were deserted and she tried to think of ways to get everyone out of the castle for a while. The children could all use some sun and the danger was over now.

She climbed easily through the Gryffindor portrait hole and found several of the other children already awake and eating at one of the larger studying tables. For a moment, she just watched them before they noticed her. How was she going to tell them? Instead, she set her hands on her hips. "What are you all still doing inside? You should go outside and play Quidditch for awhile. It's a beautiful day." None of them moved, they were frozen with food half-way to their mouths and eyes darting from one to the other. Who was brave enough to go outside?

Struggling to keep her tears at bay, she went up the steps to the boys dormitory. She wouldn't cry in front of them her students. They needed her to be strong and she would be. She rapped her knuckles against the seventh year door. After several minutes, it opened and Neville poked his head out. "Oh, Professor. Can I help you with something?"

"Is everyone decent?"

He nodded.

"Then move aside." He did just that and she swept into the room. Just as she had suspected, Harry was still asleep, but he was in Ron's bed nestled between him and, "Miss Granger!"

All three bolted awake at once and Hermione's eyes widened in horror. "Professor!" She squeaked, mortification written all over her face.

Minerva was at a loss for words. How long had this little arrangement been going on? She knew very well that the girls came to the boys' rooms but she never imagined this happening. Instead of addressing it she singled out Harry as she intended. "Mr. Potter, the Headmaster wishes to speak with you."

Harry's face lit up. "He's back?" He scrambled out of the bed and Minerva was relieved to see him fully clothed as well as the other two. She didn't even want to think of what those three were capable of.

"Calm yourself, Potter." She swallowed but kept her face as impassive as possible. "I have some unfortunate news that I felt would be best delivered to you all first."

There was absolute silence. She could see Dean and Seamus' empty beds and their trunks. She would have a house elf come up later and pack up Dean's things. It would help his parents and housemates if they didn't have to do it.

"Professor?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide and her arm looped through Weasley's.

Minerva cleared her throat with difficult. "Last night...early this morning...Dean didn't make it through the night."

A bed squeaked as Neville sat down heavily, mouth open as wide as his mouth. Hermione gasped softly and buried her head into Ron's shoulder as he comforted her. Minerva could hear the tears in his voice. Harry just stared at her. "How is Seamus?"

"He hasn't left the Infirmary yet. Arrangements are being made for him. Both of them."

Harry nodded slowly.

"I'll wait for you outside, Potter," she said softly. "Miss Granger?" Hermione looked up, her cheeks wet and looking like she wanted to find a corner and die. "You and I will be having a discussion later."

She sniffed wetly. "Yes, ma'am," she whispered. McGonagall swept out of the room.

"I'm going to go see Seamus," Neville said softly and left the room.

Harry looked down at his left hand and cried to curl it into a fist. "You two should go with Neville," he said.

Ron peered up at him over Hermione's head. "Can you dress yourself?" he asked seriously.

He nodded and began removing his pajamas. He got out of them without much fuss and grabbed his tee shirt. "Dammit," he hissed and tried to use his teeth to pull the shirt over his head. Ron got out of bed and reached out to help him but Harry turned away. "No! I have to learn to do it myself." He smiled triumphantly when he got his shirt over his head and both his arms.

Ron sat back and watched while Hermione pushed down the urge to go to Harry's aid. She had to close her eyes as Harry tried pull his trousers up his legs.

Harry was frowning deeply and using his hips to get his trousers up. He grabbed the left side with his right hand and spread his legs enough to keep the right side at his knee. He hopped up and down determinedly; the trousers were sitting on his hips. "There!" He exclaimed happily and missed Hermione hiding her wand behind her back.

There was a sharp rapping on the door. "Do hurry up, Potter!"

He sighed and stared miserably down at his fly. He yanked at the zipper and howled as it snagged a few strands of hair on his stomach. He swore violently as he lowered it and made sure to pull away from his stomach, this time. It was the button that took him several minutes to get through the eye. He'd never realized before just how difficult it was to do something as mundane as dressing himself.

He smiled through a grimace at his friends and joined McGonagall outside. She eyed the other two still on the bed but motioned for Harry to follow her. He matched her step for step, and for a moment, she was just as sad as the stones knowing that he would be leaving and he wouldn't have a reason to come back.

They'd waited for ten years for Harry to finally come to them and that first night, the night Harry Potter had finally come to Hogwarts, the castle had been alive with chatter. Not just from the students and faculty, but from the portraits and the suits of armor. The stones had been the loudest of all. And now that he was leaving, the chatter continued but more subdued, full of sorrow. Harry Potter was leaving Hogwarts.

She sighed once they reached the goblin and gave it the password. She stepped aside to let Harry go alone. She had things to do and a new teacher to find, though she knew who she would be asking. "Go on up, Potter." He nodded in thanks at her and stepped up on the moving staircase. She watched him until he was out of sight, and the sadness gripped her heart so tightly she nearly choked. "Get a hold of yourself, Minerva. He'll come back someday," she whispered to herself and headed off in the direction of her own office to write that Owl.

Harry jumped off the steps and opened the door to Albus' office without bothering to knock. "Headmaster!" He called when he saw the office was empty.

"Up here, Harry!"

He ran up the steps to Albus' private quarters and his grin nearly broke his face. "Headmaster!"

Albus smiled at him, the ever-present twinkle less annoying now. "Come, have a seat."

Harry sat and stared at Albus. They had had their share of arguments and shouting matches, though Harry seemed to be the only one that actually shouted, but now that didn't seem to matter so much. Being alive was much more important. "I'm glad you're back," he said.

Albus patted his knee. "There is something very important I think I should tell you."

Harry nodded and scooted closer just in case he missed it. "What is it?"

"I don't think I treated you fairly while you were here. I indulged you like a favored son and then as a soldier of war. For that, I want to apologize." He held up his hand as Harry tried to interrupt. "Let me say my piece. I should have helped you more, trained you better, really explained to you what you were doing. I sugar-coated it, as I'm sure you realize now."

Harry nodded. "After it was over I understood that defeat had really meant." Killing. Murdering. He could still feel the blood lingering on his hands, like a glove that he couldn't take off. He shoved his palms between his knees. "What was it like when you killed Grindelwald?" It empowered him to say the name, like when he'd said Voldemort when no one else would.

He looked at Harry for a long time, really studied him, and Harry didn't look away. "I was much older than you. Maybe near thirty but I'm sure you've learned by now that we age differently than Muggles. When your Aunt and Uncle die, you will still look like you're barely thirty-five while your cousin will show every bit of his fifty or sixty-odd years.

"However, that's not important now. I think I had a far better grasp of what I did and it wasn't expected of me. I was hailed a hero after the fact, you were a hero before and now you're, well," he laughed softly. "You're practically a God now. I just threw the few killing blows."

Harry thought it was funny that they were just talking of this now. But he wouldn't have been able to understand before, he thought. "What happened to Grindelwald's body after you killed him?"

Albus shrugged. "I'm not really sure. I assume the Ministry took care of it as they did Voldemort."

Harry looked away from him. "No, I didn't let them."

Albus sat up suddenly. "Where is the body?" There was fear in him that Harry had never seen before.

He shook his head. "There is no body. Last night was the first full moon of the month. Snape helped me. I bound the soul to the body and offered him to the moon. She took it."

Albus' eyes widened but he lay back down. "And you did it correctly?"

Harry laughed despite himself. It hurt to laugh. "As if Snape would let me mess it up?"

"Yes, of course," Albus whispered and stared at Harry again but this time he wasn't considering, this time he was mystified at this boy before him. When had Harry become this young man, capable of taking care of himself and the rest of them? When had gleaned so much information that he could banish someone far stronger than himself. "We have all under estimated you," he said. Perhaps, Voldemort hadn't been so much stronger than Harry.

Harry shrugged.

"How did you get Severus to help you?" That was the part that surprised him the most. Severus did not help anyone unless there was something in it for him.

"He insisted," Harry said. "He said he wasn't about to let me screw it up when he could've helped it. And he had the potions."

Albus smiled. "I think you might've made a friend in him, Harry."

"Not likely," Harry scoffed. "He nearly killed me when I kissed him." Oh. Crap.

For the second time in an hour, Albus' eyes became as wide as saucers, nearly taking up all of his face that the beard didn't already cover. "I think I heard you wrong. You said you," he wheezed, "kissed," wheeze. "Professor Snape."

Harry buried his face in his hands. "He was there! He was lying there and he was unconscious and I didn't think he would wake up but he did and he would've killed me if we hadn't been in the Infirmary with lots of witnesses."

This didn't quell Albus' astonishment. "Wait. Why was he unconscious? You didn't knock him out...did you?"

"No! He'd been levitating himself around like a right twit and he overdid it."

"Why was Severus levitating?"

Harry sighed. "You've missed a lot." He started at the beginning, at least what he knew of what had happened. Snape's injury, from what he understood of it, meeting the Minister and Herald, going down to the body and back up, and finally finding him collapsed in the Entrance Hall. "Poppy sort of melted this cane into his hand so he has to use it now until she says otherwise."

"And then you..." He couldn't say it. He couldn't even imagine it nor did he want to.

Suddenly, Harry was incredibly embarrassed. All his courage had left him and he was an astonishing shade of red and just wanted to jump out the window. "Can we talk about something else, please?"

Amazingly, Albus agreed. "Yes, though I think I should say something."

Harry nodded and looked down at his lap. "Sure."

"You must understand something about Severus. He doesn't take kindly to anyone touching him if it isn't absolutely necessary."

Harry rubbed his neck. "Yeah, I heard that one loud and clear." But he still didn't look away from his lap.

Albus shifted and shuffled until he could face Harry without straining his neck. He nudged Harry's head up with his finger. "Do you have feelings for Professor Snape?" Harry flinched away but Albus kept a firm grip on his chin and brought his head back towards him. "Do you?"

Miserably he nodded. "Yes. I don't want to. I hate him! He's horrible to everyone, he's mean, he doesn't wash enough, and he's just...he's just him. I don't like him at all but I--" He caught himself before he completely spilled the beans. He didn't like how easy it was to open up to Albus, to let things slip that shouldn't slip no matter what.

"You love him."

He wanted to die. Maybe he was already dead and this was his torture. "It's not like I want to," he heard himself saying and thought of biting his own tongue off but he wasn't completely sure that Albus wouldn't find out anyway. He stuck his tongue in his cheek and bit down until tears sprang to his eyes just to see if biting it off would make a difference.

Albus shook his head sadly and he knew he would regret saying it, but it was the truth and he felt it unfair to encourage Harry even a little. Severus was just as cold-hearted as everyone believed him to be. "You know that he'll never love you back."

Harry felt like he'd been punched in the stomach and he let go of his tongue. He knew that, of course he did. He'd been telling himself that for months but hearing it, especially from Albus, hurt far more than he thought it would. "Of course," he managed to say and he suddenly relished that one kiss far more than he had before.

"I wish it weren't true," Albus said and was surprised to find that he meant it. "I can't tell you how pleased I would be if both of you were happy and if that happened to be together so much the better." He wished he could explain to Harry about love and how it came and went and sometimes you fell in love with people you shouldn't be in love with and sometimes you felt indifferent towards the person absolutely perfect for you. "I am sorry."

Harry shrugged. "It's no big deal. I mean, I knew he wouldn't, err, couldn't and that's okay. I mean, I'm sure it'll go away eventually. It's fine."

Albus managed a small smile for him. "Has anyone told you you're a very bad liar?"

Harry laughed softly and sniffled. He rubbed at his face and was surprised when his hand came away wet. "I wasn't expecting that," he said and wiped his palms on his trousers.

"It's all right to cry."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked suddenly. "I mean, are you sure he couldn't love me? Not that I want him to or anything, but are you sure?"

Albus nodded. "Yes, I'm quite sure. But I can't keep you from trying. I would be impressed if you succeeded. Though you of all people I never expected to feel this way for him. He's a difficult person to love."

"Don't I know it," he said and sniffled again as a fresh tear rolled down his cheek. "Maybe that says something about me. Maybe I'm just screwed up enough to love someone who'd rather cane me than...I can't say that word in front of you."

He ignored it but caught Harry's eyes with his own and kept his attention. "Or maybe it just means that you want a new challenge now that you don't need to think about Voldemort anymore."

"That's a very nice way of putting it," Harry said. "Can I borrow a handkerchief? I seem to be unable to stop these." Again, he wiped away more tears while Albus summoned a cloth and Harry pressed it to his eyes to stop the near flood rolling down his face. "This is embarrassing."

Albus rubbed his shoulder and suppressed the urge to hug him. "It'll be all right, Harry." Harry just nodded and continued to silently cry into the handkerchief.

On the other side of the wall, pressed against a bookcase and listening was Severus. He'd run into Minerva and she'd told him of Albus' return. She assured him that he was fine but Severus had wanted to see for himself. She hadn't said anything about Potter already being here. He should've waited in the office, he knew that, but his spying instinct had kicked in, the need to know things he shouldn't. And the carpet on Albus' floor and steps kept the sound of his cane muffled.

He could hear Potter sniffling and there was some light mumbling before he heard the reason why: "It's all right to cry," Albus said.

"Are you sure?" Potter asked urgently. "I mean, are you sure he couldn't love me back? Not that I want him to be but are you sure?"

So, Potter was in love with someone, a male someone. It didn't take him long to realize who it was the boy was in love with given the kiss Potter had bestowed on him. He'd already been pondering the very idea himself but hearing it made it much more real. He damned his spying habits and hobbled down the steps. Albus was fine.

He didn't want to hear anymore of Potter's confessions especially if any of those involved him. Some of his Slytherins at one point had expressed similar feelings towards him, because he was the only teacher that was even remotely kind to them. As their caretaker, some of them had seen him as a father figure. He'd never known of a student from another house having such feelings, of either kind, for him.

He felt ill. Very, very ill. Should he speak with Potter? Explain to him why he was a poor choice? No, he had no doubt that Albus had already explained that to him, given the snippet of conversation he had heard. There was nothing for him to even worry about, then. Albus had taken care of it, just like always, and he was free to go about his business and pretend he knew nothing of Potter's feelings for him. After all, the boy was leaving in a matter of days. This little crush of his would be gone within a week of his departure. Yes, Severus thought, no use worrying about it, really. It isn't as though he'll start sending me flowers. He shuddered. Despicable.

He resigned himself to this as he started back towards his dungeons. Potter was insignificant at the very least. Of course, he would be more popular than ever, now. He would need someone to keep his feet on the ground so he wouldn't become inflated like Lockhart. Though he suspected that even Potter wouldn't use Memory charms to get attention.

Severus remembered how Potter had ripped Voldemort's carcass to pieces and had muttered something that had sounded like hate. He'd wanted to do something quite similar for years. He had no doubt that Potter would become an Auror and keep on fighting the good fight. He'd be an asset to their defense.

However, he couldn't help thinking that maybe the boy wasn't totally hopeless at everything. Minerva had been making noise the last few years about his abilities at Transfiguration. He wondered if Potter had ever taken that into consideration. There were many job opportunities besides being an Auror. Perhaps he would let that be known.

After all, someone needed to keep the boy's feet on the ground so he didn't get himself killed. He didn't think Lupin would be up for it. He sighed. Of course the task would fall to him like always. He began thinking of new ways to keep Potter alive and unconsciously filtering out the ideas that would require Potter to live far away from Hogwarts.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts he didn't hear the other click of wood against the stones and he and Alastor collided together. "Watch where you're going!" He shouted, rubbing his forehead.

Alastor growled at him. "Get out of my way! Where's Minerva?"

"In her office, where else?"

He glared and thundered off in that immediate direction. "Woman is out of her mind!" He bellowed and Severus continued on his way, mumbling about retired Aurors who thought themselves so great. Alastor didn't hear him over his own growling and thumping. She was out of her sodding mind! He plowed through the hallways, ignoring the whispering portraits and practically beat down Minerva's door. "Open this door!"

When it did open, she stared at him, hands on her hips and looking very stern. He was doomed. "I'll thank you not to destroy my door and keep your voice down for Merlinssake. Come in." He did and she slammed the door behind him. "Now, what are you hollering about?"

He produced the parchment she'd just sent off to him no more than an hour ago. "What is the meaning of this?" He shouted, getting his wind back.

She sat at her desk. "I thought it was quite self-explanatory."

"Are you out of your mind?" He roared. "You must be to send this to me."

"I'm not. We're in need of a Transfiguration teacher and a new Head of House for Gryffindor for next term."

Alastor stared at her, completely flustered and unable to say anything else that wouldn't get him hexed. "B-but are you retiring, then? I wouldn't come here if you weren't here."

They both flushed a little. She shifted in her seat before standing and coming around to stand in front of her desk. "Albus is the one retiring. I'm Deputy Headmistress so it falls to me and I can't teach and run the school at the same time."

"There are hundreds of other people far more qualified than myself. Transfiguration Today alone must be crawling with people who would jump at the chance to teach here. I'll be ready to retire in a decade if the buggers don't kill me. You need someone who will be here for a long time."

She sighed. "How dense are you, really, Alastor? I'm trying to be diplomatic about this but if you can't get it through your thick skull then you being on my staff is going to be more troublesome than I thought!" She pushed herself off her desk and stood face to face with him. "I want you to teach here because I don't want you where I won't know where you are. I don't like you out there killing or possibly being killed. I want you here. With me," she added.

His eyes widened. "Oh."

"'Oh' is right," she scoffed and crossed her arms. "Honestly."

Alastor's lips twitched for a moment and his chest puffed up. "You want me here because you love me!"

Her mouth fell open. "I certainly do not!" She shouted indignantly and scowled tremendously.

He put his hands on her shoulders and brought her close to him. "Don't worry," he said. "I don't love you either." And he kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her and she clutched at him. They'd been dancing around each other for years and their progress had been set back when he'd been asked to teach three years before. He thought it was high time they got over it.

When they parted, Minerva's hair was not as impeccably stiff as it had once been but her cheeks were bright red. "Well," she said, a little flustered that she couldn't stop smiling. She flattened the lapel of the coat he was wearing. "I'm glad we won't have a problem with you being on my staff, then."

"No trouble at all," he replied and set about straightening her hair but he only made it worse. "What're the rules about a teacher sending gifts to the Headmistress?"

She flushed. "I don't know. I'll have to look it up."

"How about sneaking up to her room in the middle of the night?"

"If my stairs don't eat you, I suppose that would be allowed if the Headmistress consented," she said mischievously.

He leaned her against a wall. "And does she?"

She smiled coyly. "I'm not Headmistress yet."

"Pretend that you are."

"I think she is, yes."

He kissed her neck. "Good." He bit down lightly on her shoulder.

She gasped. "Professor Moody!"

He choked and looked at her. "Professor!" He cried. "I've been waiting ten years to hear you say my name and you call me professor!"

"Oh shut up," she sighed and pulled him close by the back of his neck. "I much prefer you silent, I think."

He grinned. "As you wish, Headmistress." She laughed.

As Harry passed McGonagall's office, he heard girlish giggling and decided he definitely didn't want to know what was going on. He said the password and the portrait swung open for him. Climbing through, he thought of the rest of his conversation with Dumbledore. It had gone well and eventually the waterworks had stopped, much to his relief. Surprisingly, he felt much better now.

Ron and Hermione were playing chess and he went over and sat with them. "Who's winning?"

"Who do you think?" Hermione scowled as Ron's bishop walloped her knight. "He's impossible to beat."

Harry grinned. "I know." He scanned the common room. "Where's Neville?"

Ron shrugged. "Still upstairs, I think."

"I'll be right back." He ran up the steps to the dormitory. "Neville?" He called as he shut the door behind him.

His curtains parted and Neville stuck his head out. "Hi, Harry."

"Hey. Are you okay?" He asked as he walked over and stood in front of him.

Neville shrugged. "I guess so."

"Can I?" Harry pointed to the spot on the bed. Neville nodded and scooted over to make room for him. Harry sat and got comfortable before continuing. "Killing is weird, isn't it?"

Only slightly startled, Neville nodded. "Yeah, it is."

"When I killed Voldemort, I was so mad at him for everything he'd done to me, you know?"

Neville nodded more eagerly. "That's how I felt. I killed them like it would bring my parents back, or something. I mean, they're alive but they're not. It was sort of frightening afterwards, knowing I could do that. I had that much anger and hatred inside of me."

"I know," Harry said.

Neville grinned before starting to laugh. "You do!" He fell back on the bed as he giggled. "Everyone else has just tried to console me but you know what its like. Your parents are dead, too."

Harry smiled back at him. "It was kind of nice, though. Closure."

Neville nodded and put his hands under his head. "Yeah. I'm not as angry as I was. I feel sort of..."

"...at peace."

"Yeah," they said at the same time and laughed.

"Thanks, Harry," Neville said.

Harry shrugged. "If you ever wanna talk, you know where my bed is." Neville nodded and kept on grinning. "I'm going to go fly outside for awhile, you want to come?"

He considered it for a moment. "Yeah, I think I would."

"Great!" He jumped off the bed and grabbed his Firebolt and Ron's broom. "I think it's about time everyone got out of this stinking castle."

Neville took his own broom from his trunk and followed Harry down the steps.

"Hey Ron, me and Neville are going flying. Wanna come?" Harry asked, his broom slung over his shoulder along with Ron's ancient Nimbus 2000.

Ron grinned big at him. "Yeah." He took his broom and the three walked out of the common room into the still quiet hallways.

When they stepped outside, they were bathed in the bright light of the sun and Ron climbed on his broom and kicked off before either of them. Harry watched him hover above, encouraging him to hurry up, red hair blowing wildly in the wind; Harry realized that maybe this was Perfection as he too climbed on his broom and kicked off. Neville wasn't far behind and was only a little unsteady on his broom. Harry remembered quite clearly how Neville had broken his wrist that very first Flying lesson when they were eleven. Everything had changed so much.

"Race you to the lake!" Neville shouted and off he went, leaving Harry and Ron in his dust.

"Hey!" Ron shouted and sped after him.

Harry hovered in the air, just laughing at them as they tumbled through the air. Ron caught up to Neville and kicked the tail of his broom. He spun in a circle, his whole body plastered to his broom. Ron was laughing so hard he lost his balance and only barely stayed on. Neville pointed at him and laughed until his face was purple.

Ron looked back at him, grinning. "Hey Harry! Come on! What're you waiting for?"

Harry took his time catching up to them, just enjoying the feel of the wind in his hair and oxygen in his lungs. Nothing was as he thought it would be, he realized when they were all in line.

"Ready! Set! GO!" Ron shouted and this time all three of them sped off around the lake to see who could go around the fastest.

There wasn't a holiday named after him, not yet anyway. But he didn't need a holiday named after him because that wasn't what was important -- and maybe, maybe that was okay.

End.

Just a quick note from me: My RL has been completely crazy which is why the final edit never really got finished. So, if there are mistakes then that's why. When I have time again, I will properly go through it and fix everything. In the meantime, you will just have to suffer through my mistakes. --Lux

P.S. COMMENT! *bats eyelashes*