Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and I probably never will.

Chapter 2 – Hospital Blues

Harry would like to be able to say hospitals didn't bother him. He'd like to be able to say the white color, uncomfortable beds and smell of disinfectant didn't bother him at all.

Unfortunately, that would be a complete and utter lie.

Taking all of his adventures in Hogwarts into account, as well as all of his quidditch related injuries, Harry had probably been Madame Pomfrey's best 'costumer' ever; and after Hogwarts, the injuries he suffered while tracking down the horcruxes and battling death eaters and all manner of dark creatures ensured he knew a fair share of hospitals and infirmaries around Europe. Understandably, he came to dislike them.

It wasn't that he developed a phobia towards hospitals and the like (although it was pretty damn close), he just didn't want to be forced to stay there, and got a feeling of permanent discomfort whenever he had to, mainly because it was a given that he'd be in pain for awhile.

Therefore, awakening to see a pristine white ceiling, coupled with the lovely scent of disinfectant, caused a groan of exasperation to escape Harry.

'Someday, I'd like to come to a hospital to visit a sick friend, or maybe taunt a bedridden enemy, without being a patient myself. Is that too much to ask?'

"Hello, commander! How are you feeling?" asked the same woman that had helped him apparate to St. Mungo's.

"As if Grawp gave me a massage. How long was I unconscious?" asked Harry.

"Not long, two hours at most. We've secured an adequate sized ward of the hospital, as well as the necessary medical staff to ensure a proper treatment to our woun…"

"Did you have to threaten the doctors, or was it their choice to stay?" interrupted Harry.

She thought it over for a couple of seconds, then replied "Some stated it was their duty to treat the patients, no matter who they were; others nearly got on their knees, thanking the gods for the opportunity to treat the great hero Harry Potter and his men; the more reluctant ones were told to stop bitching and get to work, otherwise their next meal would consist of their own teeth."

Harry smiled slightly and said "Good work. Now, what's wrong with me?"

"Crushed and broken bones in the chest. One of your broken ribs punctured a lung, and you started coughing up blood and choking as soon as we arrived, that's when you passed out. We managed to drain the blood in the respiratory system and keep you stable until you were seen by a doctor, other than that, a few minor wounds."

"I see. How long will I have to stay here? Can I leave today?" asked Harry hopefully, looking for a few moments like a kid begging his mother for sweets.

"Two days at least and no, you can't. Your wounds are serious, even if they're not life-threatening. And please," she added, at the look on Harry's face "never show the rest of the men that look you just gave me, commander. It was beyond pathetic."

"I'm not pathetic. I'm just sick, and I don't like hospitals." mumbled Harry, trying and failing to look angry at his lieutenant and friend.

The woman grinned and said "I know you're sick, commander, but your mental state doesn't concern me! Just your physical health, so I'll make sure you stay put for as long as necessary."

Harry dropped his head and let out a long sigh; he was stuck there, end of story. At least the company wasn't so bad, but seeing so many people he felt responsible for injured was enough to tone down the feelings of elation and triumph he felt at Voldemort's death. Of course, thinking about the injured led him to think about the dead. His dead. He didn't want to ask it, he didn't want to hear it, but eventually he would need to know.

The woman Harry had referred to as Soi watched as Harry's face went from content resignation to a pensive frown, and then to sorrowful in a few seconds. It would've been hard for anyone else to read all these emotions in him, but Soi had known him for years, and had been through situations like these before, so she knew what to expect from him; after all, brothers-in-arms develop a rare level of understanding between them, and as one of Harry's second in command it was required of her to sometimes interpret the needs and thoughts of her superior. Therefore, Harry's next question was far from surprising.

"How many died?" asked Harry with an almost subdued voice.

"We lost eleven of our people." she said, trying to keep her composure, although it was clear she was upset at what she was reporting. "There are three more critically injured. Two of them probably won't last the night." she finished, her voice low and her head bowed.

"Eleven?" asked Harry wide-eyed. "We lost a third of our forces?" He couldn't believe the death toll had been that high on his side. It was worse than his worse predictions, not that he had had much time to think about it.

"There were too many of them, sir! We were outnumbered, not four-to-one as you thought initially, but five-to-one, not counting the dementors and giants! There were too many of them and too few of us."

She scowled as she finished talking, as if remembering something unpleasant "Those others aren't even worth mentioning!" she spat "Useless spell-fodder, the lot of them. Did you see them fighting those giants with stunners? It's incomprehensible that they were able to last this long without getting killed, if that's a measure of their usual modus operandi!"

"That has always been our problem from the start. Being too few, that is." interrupted Harry, before the lady lieutenant worked herself into a rant. She had advised Harry to take an aggressive stance towards the Order more than once, and was the foremost speaker amongst the Crimson Brigades to criticize the other group's policies.

Harry sighed, and said "It didn't seem so bad during the battle. How could we have lost so many without me noticing it? Even in the middle of that chaos, I would've noticed!"

"That's because most died from their wounds, some even after arriving here. Their injuries didn't keep them from helping though; most of those who died kept firing spells at the enemy after being injured, even though they knew it would weaken them. They literally fought to their last breath."

Harry bowed his head in grief. He had no problems killing death eaters, they were his enemies and the scum of the Earth; the time when he would feel remorseful for the deaths he caused among Voldemort's followers had long passed. He also had little problem accepting the deaths of aurors and Order members, they meant nothing to him now. Accepting the death of friends and companions, people he saw on a daily basis and shared his goals and ideals, however, was a lot harder.

And as always, at times like these, his old lack of self-confidence made a comeback, and Harry started questioning himself, wondering if there was anything else, anything more he could have done to prevent their deaths, or even if he should have approached them at all, trying to get them to join the fight against the dark lord.

Fortunately, these moments never lasted long. The time when he questioned each and every one of his own actions was also in the past, and he brushed his doubts aside. No one could be a leader in times of war (and remain alive for long) without being decisive and without a strong personality, and Harry was no exception.

He had done what he could, as had the men and women that had lost their lives this day, and Harry knew them enough to understand that they would've eventually been dragged into the conflict, one way or another. The fact that they were not the sort to stay idle while there was trouble brewing was one of the reasons they had been approached by Harry in the first place.

Harry and the rest of the survivors would grieve, honor the memories of the fallen, and eventually move on. There was nothing else they could do.

"I wasn't the only one entitled to a private room, was I? I hope the rest of them aren't cramped in some infirmary sleeping in army cots while I get this." said Harry, gesturing to the room he was in.

"No problem; like I said, the ward we occupied is adequate and we all have rooms. Scrimshit was none too happy about it, and had his aurors storming the place. The ones that weren't... discouraged, shall we say, by the wards we set up, were soon flying down the hallways with their tails between their legs when they saw there were still some people here, including yours truly, capable of casting curses."

"Scrimgeour is just being an asshole, as usual. It's not like any ministry staff actually needs medical attention." said Harry, shrugging.

"True. The few aurors who actually were in the alley are beyond medical help. Hell, they'll need shovels to scrape them off the floor and walls." she said with a little smile.

"Scrimgeour should be given the Kiss for that! His conduct during battle was nothing short of criminal!" stated Harry hotly, thinking about the actions of the cowardly politician. "Oh, to hell with them! Let's stop talking about stupid animals and focus on the important things. Like, where are Athena and Gerard?"

Athena McGonnagal and Gerard Crécy were the other two lieutenants in Harry's forces. Together, they helped manage the Brigades by taking care of the little details Harry had no time for, like supplies, medical assistance in the field, monetary compensations for the Brigades' members (at Harry's expenses), lodgings, etc.

Athena was Minerva McGonnagal's younger sister by two years. Unlike her older sibling, Athena wasn't very concerned with following rules, but she was no less forceful in standing up to her ideals. This led to some considerable attrition between the two sisters when Minerva found out Athena belonged to Harry Potter's militia.

Death Eaters had been allowed to get away with all sorts of crimes, just because most of them belonged to the upper echelons of wizarding society; Athena didn't like it, but she had little to do with the wizarding world, so she was perfectly content to let the wizards take care of their own mess. However, a dangerous line was crossed when death eaters threatened her family.

She was contacted by some pureblood from a self-important family. He had appeared on her doorstep, where he delivered a rousing speech about blood purity, loyalty from ancient families to the greater causes, and made not so subtle threats to whoever tried to fight the inevitable rule of the purebloods, led by the glorious Voldemort.

While Athena's husband, Martin (Marty to his friends) Weasley, a retired accountant, listened calmly and uncomprehendingly (he had even less to do with wizarding society than his wife) to the strange man's monologue, Athena cracked her knuckles, tightened her jaw, and got a dangerous glint in her eyes, accompanied by her gritting teeth.

The death eater kept talking on and on, oblivious to his rapidly approaching doom, while Marty was still trying to understand what was it that the young man was trying to sell them. Athena then told Marty to go inside, and that she'd take care of things; this would've been the death eater's last chance to make a run for it, but he still didn't understand the danger he was in.

There was no prolonged duel, no last words, and no flashy spells. Athena merely turned her wand on the death eater, transfigured him into a common earthworm and stepped on him. Realizing that death eaters wouldn't leave them alone if they chose to remain neutral, especially after the death of one of their recruiters, she joined Harry's group soon after.

Harry had a rule he absolutely enforced: if a couple had children to look after, only one of the spouses could join his group. He made it so to try and prevent children becoming orphans of both parents, should anything go wrong. In Athena and Marty's case, he didn't have to worry.

Their children were already adults and living on their own, so an exception could be made; however, as soon as he met Marty, Harry realized he wasn't cut out to fight, not that that was a bad thing. Marty Weasley shared his younger cousin Arthur's fascination with muggles, so much so that he chose to live like one. His desire to fit in with the muggles led him to seek one of the most boring, mundane jobs he could find, and so he became an accountant (a job he considered absolutely fascinating, from the first day until he retired); in fact, most of his relatives forgot he was a wizard, and considered him a squib.

An affable man, Marty was everyone's friend, easily distracted, and obsessed with videogames and car racing. The first time Harry saw him, he struggled not to laugh at the sight of a stick-thin, red-haired man, wearing old fashioned racing goggles, a cap and a scarf, driving a car that clearly belonged in a museum and doing laps around his property. However, no matter how fond Harry was of the eccentric old man, he didn't have the abilities or the inclination to fight a war, so only Athena ended up joining; being just as intelligent and organized as her sister, but a lot more easy-going, she was a real asset to Harry's army.

Gerard, on the other hand, couldn't be described as intelligent, organized, or as being particularly wise. He was a gambler and a small-time crook, and one of the laziest people to have ever lived. He could literally spend days on end in bed, lying down and doing nothing, and few things or people had the power to make him come out of such lethargic, near comatose states.

He was only a few years older than Harry and pretty good company when he wanted, so the two of them got along famously after Harry got him out of some second rate jail in France, where he had been arrested for disturbance of public order (actually, he started a fight in a bar with a few blood purists, and things just got out of hand).

Of course, Gerard had other qualities that made him eligible for his position. He got the Brigades whatever supplies were needed at half the normal cost, and was able to acquire pretty much anything that was asked of him, including rare items or restricted merchandise, despite whatever monetary, geographical or legal barriers he had to overcome.

He also had a talent to come across bits and pieces of information that would normally be extremely hard to come by; normally, if a death eater or Voldemort supporter got a little tipsy at bars and spoke too much, or if any relevant merchandise was bought through the black market, Gerard was one of the first to know.

Of course, just these qualities wouldn't have gotten Gerard into a command post inside Harry's Brigades. However, if Gerard was an all-around crook and thief, just like one Mundungus Fletcher, he also happened to have a deep-rooted hatred of Voldemort, and particularly of the dark lord's servants.

When Gerard was about 5 years old, a few months before Voldemort's first fall, the death eaters started spreading their activities to other parts of Europe, confident that the struggle for the control of Britain was already won (indeed, a large part of the british wizarding society had given up hope of Voldemort ever being defeated, and was fully prepared to live under the dark lord's rule).

The death eaters' next target was, of course, France, and one of their few raids on that country had resulted in the death of Gerard's family; his father, a prominent speaker in the french ministry for the rights of muggleborn wizards and witches, was immediately targeted, and Gerard, still a child, had to watch his house being invaded in the middle of the night by black-robed strangers, and his mother and baby brother being murdered by the first killing curses thrown that night.

His father ran and dragged Gerard with him to the house's second floor. Unable to apparate away, the man opened a window and levitated a crying Gerard to safety, hiding him behind a thick cope of trees near his house. Gerard's father told him to run away and those were his last words, as an explosion ended his life. Gerard stayed hidden for hours, crying and watching his house and his family burn down.

The sounds of apparation startled him enough to move once more and he ran away, thinking it was the death eaters again. The ministry aurors, finding no signs of life, listed the whole Crécy family as dead, and so started Gerard's life on the streets.

These events in his life, which only Harry was privy to, led to his hatred of death eaters. Harry understood that deep down inside, behind his scoundrel attitude, his minor drinking and gambling problem, and his occasional bouts of depression that he disguised as laziness, there were deep emotional scars that had never truly healed and copious amounts of survivor's guilt.

Gerard pounced on Harry's offer to join the Crimson Brigades, not caring if he got a command post or not, as long as he got the chance to fight death eaters. The way he fought made it seem as if he was trying to prove something, to compensate something; maybe he thought that by killing enough death eaters he would find some sort of redemption for what had happened when he was 5 years old, which he perceived as an act of unforgivable cowardice on his part. Somehow, the fact that he was only 5 never seemed relevant to him when thought of his actions that night.

Streetwise and a veritable master of dirty fighting, Gerard still fought with the viciousness of a cornered, rabid stray dog. That, coupled with a few particularly destructive spells Harry had thought him, quickly turned him into a fearful enemy for whatever death eater that crossed his path.

Harry's thoughts quickly got back to the present and away from his friends' personal history, as he watched the same people he had been thinking about enter his room. There were noticeable differences in them, however. Athena's hair suddenly didn't seem so gray, and Harry was pretty sure some of her wrinkles had disappeared in only the few hours he hadn't seen her; Gerard had a hard to read look on his face, but for a second Harry was reminded of Sirius' smiles after he had left Azkaban, almost as if Gerard had been imprisoned for a long time and got suddenly freed.

All in all, he had rarely seen his friends so happy or carefree. His attention was then drawn to a third person entering his room, who Harry recognized, astounded, as being Marty. The reason for Harry's surprise was the fact that Marty looked beaten up, with a black eye and his right arm in a sling, even though the older man was smiling widely.

"Marty, what on earth..." started Harry, promptly interrupted by Gerard's loud voice.

"Ha! Old Mad Marty got jealous of us manly men and our battle injuries, so he decided to get some for himself!" said Gerard, grinning at a red-faced Marty.

"Humph! As if!" snorted Athena.

"I heard you were all here recovering from the battle, so I came to visit and to see if Athena was alright. But I was in such a hurry that I slipped and fell down a flight of stairs. Luckily, I was already in the hospital!" said Marty, speaking as if he truly was the luckiest man alive.

Athena started berating her husband for carelessness, while the other three occupants of the room tried not to laugh; Gerard was being particularly unsuccessful at containing his mirth, and started laughing as soon as Marty finished speaking.

"You don't look that injured yourself Gerard. In fact, I don't see a scratch on you!" said Harry, raising his eyebrows.

"Bah, you're just whining 'cause you took a beatin' out there! And honestly, I'm surprised you ain't in worse condition!" said Gerard.

"Yeah, that reminds me..." said Harry, touching his chest, and wincing slightly from the pain "Where's my armor?"

Athena sighed, grabbed something from a corner of the room, and said "I knew you'd ask about it. It probably saved your life, but you won't use it again." she finished, throwing a black lump of leather at Harry's lap.

Harry stared mournfully at what had once been a vest of black dragon leather that he used to wear beneath his robes, and now had a hole the size of a plate in it.

"Man, this will be impossible to repair." mumbled Harry.

"I never understood what's so special about that thing anyway. Why're you so down about it?" asked Gerard.

"Do you even know how rare these things are? Do you know how much it cost me? There's only one man alive on the entire world that has the ability to actually make this kind of items, and I had to hound him for weeks before he agreed to make me this."

Marty was genuinely interested, and the other three must have found it amusing to hear their commander whining about the loss of one of his 'toys', so they didn't interrupt Harry's rant.

"This vest was made with a dragon's outer layer of skin, from the scaled hide. Most articles sold that claim to be dragon skin are in fact made from a dragon's inner layer of skin, which although resistant, is not much better than normal cow or pig leather. To work on the scales though, to mold it into a usable vest, and have the skin retain its natural resistance, a master leatherworker is needed. And there's only one person alive capable of it, and now that Voldemort's dead he probably won't repair it!"

"Seeing as Voldemort's dead, along with most of his followers, then you won't need your armor anyway, right?" asked Athena.

Harry shot her a dirty look and grumbled "That's not the point."

"Boys are really attached to their toys, no? I thought you were past that stage, commander!"

Harry just huffed and turned away from them.

"Well, we'll leave you for now, Harry. The other visitors can wait, and you need to rest." said Soi Lin.

Harry has just got comfortable and ready to take a nap, and asked "What other visitors?"

"Scrimgeour, obviously."

"I'll pass." said Harry.

"Rita Skeeter."

"Pass, and tell her I'll make it a point to step on every insect I find from now on."

"Luna Lovegood, from the Quibbler."

"Send her up."

"Then there's a group of Order members. Ronald Weasley..."

"Pass."

"Remus Lupin."

"Definitely pass."

"And Hermione Weasley."

"Absolutely pass. Just ask Luna to come up and tell the others to sod off."

"As I suspected. And you have someone waiting to see you too, Athena."

"Let me guess. My sister?"

"Yes."

"Alright, I'll meet her in my room. See you later, Harry."

Everyone started moving out, but Gerard popped his head through the door for a parting shot at Harry.

"Nice work on gettin' a hot blonde to meet ya alone on a hospital room, Harry! But in the condition you're in, you won't be able to do much! Tough luck!" shouted Gerard, laughing like an idiot. He was still laughing when a flower vase thrown by Harry smashed against his face, knocking him out.

"Git." mumbled Harry, smiling at the other man's antics.

As Harry was waiting for Luna, he started thinking about all the people wanting to see him, none of which he was very keen on meeting. He knew he could avoid Scrimgeour until he was fully healed, his Brigades wouldn't have any problems fending off auror attacks, if it ever came to that. After he healed, there was very little, if anything, Scrimgeour could do against him.

He had nothing to say to any Order members either, and that included Remus and Ron; Harry and Ron had drifted apart, slowly but surely. There was no major argument, no fight between the two of them, they just realized one day they had little in common anymore, and so they just stopped talking and hanging out with each other.

Of course, not every separation went as smoothly as the one between Harry and Ron; some were rather stormy, and one even escalated into violence, namely, the one between Harry and Remus. It was one of the rare occasions in which the mild tempered werewolf lost his cool. Bitter words and accusations were traded from part to part in an epic shouting match between the two of them. No words were left unsaid, and all their perceived faults were thrown in their faces.

Remus' overused statement about Harry's parents being ashamed of him would have been largely ignored, had the werewolf not delivered it so physically, that is by grabbing Harry by the collar of his robes and lifting him off the ground. Remus would then spend two weeks in the hospital, regretting laying his hands on Harry and healing two smashed kneecaps. That had been the last time they met, prior to the battle in Diagon Alley.

As for Luna, Harry didn't mind meeting with her, as he genuinely liked the younger and eccentric witch. She had never been a Dumbledore or Order groupie, even if she was in good terms with most of them, and she was one of the rare people from Harry's time at Hogwarts he still called a friend.

The one person that truly bothered Harry was Hermione, formerly Granger, now Weasley. One thing that had not changed about her was her tenacity and stubbornness; once she got her mind set on something, she wouldn't rest until she got what she wanted. So, if she wanted to meet with him, she would probably hound and harass Harry every time he showed himself in public, not caring if she happened to be rude or inconvenient, until Harry agreed to speak with her, or until Harry got fed up with her and decided to forcibly extract her vocal cords.

Sighing, Harry wondered, not for the first time, why she hadn't employed all that energy and tenacity fighting death eaters during all the years she had been part of the Order.

Or maybe it was nothing important, and all those people who wanted to meet him just wanted to wish him a speedy recovery and would soon find something better to do and leave him alone. Unlikely, but he could always hope. He was drawn out of his musings by Luna's arrival.

"Hello, Harry. Did you know there's a man sleeping outside your room with flowers growing out of his nose?" she said calmly, as she got a notepad and pen out of her purse.

'Trust Luna to lighten up any situation.' thought a chuckling Harry.

Author's Note: Thank you for all the positive feedback on the first chapter. I'll try not to disappoint anyone and flesh out this future universe a bit more. To all the people who asked me to keep this as a one shot, my apologies, but I never meant it to be left that way. However, if I ever wrote a one shot final battle, it would be practically the same as the first chapter, so feel free to leave it at that.

Also, I'd like to apologize for taking so long to update, but I've got a job now and not much time to write.