This story is based on characters and developed from some situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Harry Potter and the Essence of Revenge.

By T. Gibson.

2008.

Ah! Black as Jet, but long ago
In dignity and lace,
The ladies wore around their necks
A flash of ebon grace.
But oh! To-day Great Broughton mourns
Still waves the merry corn,
The beer flows at Jet Miners' Inn,
But jet's no longer worn.
Still, fashions change, mayhap some day
Again the craft will thrive,
And Yorkshire Jet will ring the earth,
Black, flashing and alive.

The Poem above is by an anonymous traveller who left it on a table in the Jet Miners Arms Pub at Great Broughton, Yorkshire UK and never returned for it. My thanks to this traveller for his message of hope, which was another inspiration for this story.

Chapter 1.

Ginny.

The sun was gently breaking over the mountains, along a path it had followed for millennia to peep over, then rise steadily above those heather, clad peaks of rock that surrounded this particular valley. It's warming early summer light dispersing the dark of night, gently kissed the roof of one of the tallest towers of the ancient castle that lay next to the lake and forest between the mountains. Its light, with natural ease, swept away the last of the darkness, as those within the stone walls of the castle its rays were slowly spreading over had swept back the darkness in their world, it broke over peace.

Yesterday that same sun, had risen over the immediate aftermath of a war, fiercely fought. It had appeared over a scarred landscape around the grey stone structure, heavily damaged by the attacks it had suffered, just at the moment the fight had ended. The small local stars life giving light had fallen over those injured who awaited help, and the temporarily abandoned remains of the victims of the conflict. It had witnessed the very end of a war, as it's light had passed through a window in the hall of that great building, it had illuminated the demise of one who had gone further towards immortality than any of his kind had before. His death, caused by the actions of a teenager, a boy he himself had marked as his equal years before, all because of an obtuse prophesy, which he, in his insecurity and need to be unopposed, had chosen to believe. It had shone over the beginnings of the celebrations of those below, the start of tidying the inevitable residue of the fighting and the emergent fresh shoots of the beginnings of recovery and rebuilding from the destruction, the outset of healing both the living and the buildings themselves. Yesterday it had shone over the relative buzz of human activity in the castle and grounds as the occupants became a hive of activity preparing for peace after the victory of the boy, yesterday it had dawned over a new beginning for those who had survived.

Today there was peace in the battle ravaged and scarred grounds, even the forest almost surrounding the battered, but still proud, building was far from unscathed. The bodies of those who had been killed, and the ones who had been injured had been removed from the lawns, but there had been little other movement outside since. The lawns remained deeply scarred with wide gouges of earth cut into the lush green turf, in places it looked as if giant handfuls of earth had been scooped up. Waters from the lake had filed one such trench, while in front of the steps to the entrance of the castle, the ground was churned to mud by the footfall of the hundreds who had been milling around on it and fighting on it. Inside the castle the survivors tended the wounded, had secured the captured, sheltered while they gathered their wits and rested within the thick stone walls. Only the dead had departed.

The light of the sun continued to spread over the grey stone tiles on the roof of the tower, illuminating its pinnacles in the golden glow and slowly creeping down its walls as it rose higher, the brightly coloured lichens and mosses clinging to the tiles radiating in the early morning glow, wakening the roosting birds in their nests and on perches. Soon, it was reflecting from and refracting through the glass of the windows in the walls, to scatter evenly over the stone slabs and red rugs on the floor of the seventh year boys dormitory within. An imperfection in the glass of one pane formed a rough prism, causing a rainbow of colours to be cast on the stone floor next to the rug, a familiar sign to generations of those who had occupied the room that the day was dawning bright and clear. The warming, life giving power, seeming to recognize not just a new day, but a new beginning, the first day that the darkness, which had cast its shadow over the world for so long was, at last, banished from the world, destroyed as the dawn had broken into the windows of the Great Hall of the caste the day before.

The boys, who were laid in the four-poster beds arranged around the circumference of the circular dormitory they had shared for most of their time in the castle, gently stirred from their slumber. All were completely unaware that someone who did not belong in the room, had watched over one of them protectively, hopefully, for the entirety of the previous day and through the night. That individual had woken before any of them and had just left the room, when the sun had appeared over the mountains moments before.

The first of the boys to fully awaken was a tall, thin, scruffy haired, muscular, but dirty, bloodied, heavily scarred and freshly injured youth. He more than any of them was used to rising early, thanks to the relatives he had lived with for most of his life so far. When he had entered the room, he had no idea how long it had been before this, he had been far too exhausted to care about his appearance. He had quickly eaten a snack brought to him, and his friends by his inherited House Elf, then fallen gratefully into the bed he would have occupied in the previous months, but had not been able to thanks to the events that had led to this morning. He automatically reached out an arm covered with cuts, burns, scratches, scars and bruises, much like the rest of his body, to pick up his wire framed glasses from atop the bedside cabinet next to his bed. The spectacles were surprisingly undamaged in the battle, which was remarkable in itself as one of his friends had often needed to repair them over the last seven years. Considering the role this boy had taken in the events of the last days, weeks and months, he was thankful that he had made it through alive, he considered the injuries he had to be a small price to pay and not worth worrying over. He hurt, ached in every joint of his body, he knew he should seek out Madam Pomfrey, the school healer, but she had others, more seriously hurt to worry about. He gingerly placed his glasses on his injured face, carefully avoiding the cuts and bruises he had accumulated, then glanced round the room as it came into better focus. They may be undamaged, but he knew he still needed a new pair with an updated prescription.

Despite spending the last couple of weeks in the comfort of Shell Cottage, he was still slightly surprised to awake in such snug surroundings, it took him a moment to remember exactly where he was and that his quest was over, his predestined journey fulfilled. For the last few months, since late last summer, he had become so used to waking under the canvas of a wizards tent, which was admittedly far more comfortable than a Muggle one, yet it was still certainly not a house. He and his two closest friends had roamed the country for months over the Autumn, Winter and early Spring, evading capture and searching. Searching for what was needed to fulfil his mission, that had become their quest. It had been far from easy, one had succumbed briefly to the influence of one of the dark objects they were seeking, before they could destroy it, but had returned to them a few weeks later as they continued the search, just in time to destroy the object. Then, almost suddenly, in a thirty-six-hour period, that felt like it had been much longer, but had passed so quickly as well, ending at the dawn before this one, they had achieved their goal.

At the start of that period they had broken into Gringotts, the supposedly impregnable Wizarding bank, using subterfuge. Despite betrayal by the one who had got them past the security and into the bank, they had broken back out again, having retrieved what they needed to help complete their main task. They had Ridden a blind dragon for almost the length of the country, before travelling to this very castle where, although others had destroyed the remaining dark objects that anchored their enemy to life, it had been he and he alone, had defeated the most powerful dark Wizard ever born. Just as prophecy had predicted, because that Wizard had marked him, it had all come down to a fight between the two of them. A fight he knew he had won more through luck than for any other reason, fortune had favoured him this time.

With all that had happened, perhaps he could be forgiven for his momentary lapse in memory, forgetting where he was as he woke. Not knowing how long it had been since they had retreated to the dorm, as well as for sleeping for what he guessed was quite likely to have been a long time. He hoped he would be forgiven by those who had wanted to celebrate, while he had just wanted to sleep. Goodness knew, he would readily forgive any of those who had helped him before that final fight, for doing similar, he was simply relieved it was, at last, over.

The victory that they had gained had been hard won, at a heavy cost, to both sides. It all seemed to him that it could have been a particularly vivid dream as he looked round the familiar room, hearing the familiar noises of his room-mates slow rise from slumber to complete wakefulness. It seemed almost impossible that it had all happened at all. The surrealism of his memory seemed unreal, incredible to him, too fantastic a series of events to even be an actual dream, so fantastic that it could not be anything other than real, though still dreamlike. Most surrealistic of all to him though, was waking in this familiar room that, throughout it all, seemed to have remained unchanged.

He knew, though, that no matter how phantasmagorical they might be, his recollections were in fact reality and that despite the familiarity of this room, his world, this world, had changed and would have to change further from here on. It couldn't help, but to have done so, things were not the same as they had been, so much had changed and would still do so. He hoped it would be for the better, time would tell if the opportunity to improve things would be taken, or if like the last time he had defeated this particular dark lord, the opportunity would be wasted. If it was, then it all would have been for nothing and this society would fall back to eventually have this same fight for a third time, albeit against a different Dark Lord. If this chance was not taken this time, then he could see the British magical community dying out completely, he for one could not see himself remaining here if that were to be the case.

He stretched, relishing the warmth of his bed, content beneath the covers, he had slept soundly, for the first time he could remember doing for many months. The moment he had managed to completely escape the attention of those celebrating his victory, he had made his way automatically to this room. He had entered this tower shortly after leaving the headmaster's office, neatly avoiding the continued hero worship of him from the well-meaning crowds holding a party in honour of the end of the oppression of the Dark Lord in the Great Hall. He didn't want to celebrate anyway, he had been too exhausted for that.

There was only one person he yearned to be with, but finding her at that moment would have meant facing the jubilant mob, or her grieving family. He had been far too exhausted to face either situation, so he had taken the easy way out and quietly come up here, feeling selfish for doing so, but far too worn out to change his mind. His two companions on the adventures of the last seven years were with him, he had hardly noticed as they had led him, worriedly, up to his old dormitory.

They had been awake as long as he had, had fought in the battle, experienced the emotional roller coaster of the victory, but they knew their friend was physically and emotionally spent. It had been he who had carried the most, he destined to defeat the Dark Lord, he knew they were worried about him. He had disappeared during the battle, they didn't know where to. He would tell them about that time, he was sure that they knew he would eventually. After all from their point of view, all they knew was he had reappeared in the arms of Hagrid, apparently dead, then in a short space of time, it was all over, and he was under his invisibility cloak as they led him to his old dormitory in their old school house. Food had arrived for them, sandwiches, along with drinks. He guessed it had been brought by his house elf, who he had inherited from his God father. He could not recall if he had eaten any of them though, he had been that dog tired at the time, he could barely remember getting into the bed.

He sat up in the familiar bed, which had been his for the six years he had attended the school, nursing the aches and pains that told him his body was still protesting about the treatment it had received during the battle. After all he might have been hit with it twice in his life now, but even for him it wasn't every day that he was hit by the killing curse and survived, he certainly didn't want it to happen a third time. That had been just one of the spells he had been attacked with of course, he had also been flung round like a rag doll and received wounds dodging spells as well as directly from them. He was still alive though, refreshed after his rest, free for the first time to live his life as he wanted, not dictated by others. He wondered about his time apparently with Dumbledore at Kings Cross station, after Voldemort had hit him with the killing curse for the second time in his life. Thanks to a part of Riddles soul being lodged in him from his first survival of the curse, cast by the same man, he had survived this second time. Though his soul would seem to have been elsewhere, chatting with his old Headmaster for a time afterwards, he had survived.

He knew that he had been more than lucky to win, as he had. The battle here at Hogwarts had, in fact, been a pair of fights, separated by a single hour. Before it had resumed he had seen the lines of bodies, both of Death Eaters and of those who fought on the same side as he had, laid out in the Great Hall of the castle during the truce between the two halves of the battle. They had all come here, to this castle, because his search had led him here and Voldemort had known he was here, in a place he could easily be attacked, a place Riddle had believed he would be vulnerable. Voldemort had believed that he would be able to convince the occupants that fighting was useless, he had, it seemed, believed that his hold on those in the castle, and the Wizarding world at large was so strong, few would dare oppose him. He had miscalculated the resolve of those he had ruled through fear, the oppressed found strength and refused to simply hand him over, they chose to fight for their freedom, to buy time for destiny to be fulfilled. Rebellion against tyranny had been inevitable, it seemed.

He knew that those who fought with him against the tyrant, had chosen to fight, not for him, he was certain of that, but alongside him. They fought and died for what they believed in, to prevent others dying and stop the spread of oppression in its tracks, just as so many through history had before them. Knowing that, didn't make the losses any easier for him to bear, nor did it lessen his feelings of guilt for those deaths. He was hardened by his life and the war, but not inhuman by any means. He had survived where others had not, he had a duty to them now, to see that what they had died for was fulfilled. Perhaps selfishly, he hoped that he would not have to face this, or the celebrants and press, that were bound to want his attention, alone.

He had no true family left in the magical world, at least none that had lived long enough to fight in that final battle, the Dursley's were his only living actual relatives. After the way they had treated him over his life, he didn't count them as family, not even in the Muggle world, though he had ensured they had been protected during the war, and he wished no real harm on them. Even, so he had, had none to lose during the fighting. That didn't mean he hadn't lost people he cared for deeply, or who he regarded as close as family in the battle, he most certainly had. His old teacher and friend, Remus Lupin and his wife Nymphadora Lupin other wise known simply as Tonks, both killed only a few weeks after the birth of their first child, their only son, for example. Fred Weasley and Colin Creevey were two others he was close to who had been killed in the battle, but they were not the only ones. There were some he was yet to earn the fate of as well, he also had no idea how many seriously injured there were, or how many.

The deaths of his friends had hit him hard and personally, but they were neither his first, nor his only losses since last July, when he had been evacuated from Privet Drive, to the Weasley's home via Tonks parents house. Thinking of that day and those lost then, he momentarily wondered if the Motor Bike had been retrieved from where it had crashed, next to the pond in the Tonks garden, but his thoughts just as quickly returned to the here and now. He didn't even know if they would be the last of his friends to die, he knew that amongst the survivors there were likely to be quite a large number of badly injured people, the question was still bound to be not if any more would die, but how many of them would survive their wounds at all.

They may have won the fight, defeated oppression, killed the tyrant, hopefully gained peace, but it was at a heavy price for all on both sides, and the work to clear up, recover and rebuild was barely beginning. He sat in the bed, staring at the hangings, drawn back to the four corner posts of the bed, he wondered what they would all expect of him now, he just wanted to be allowed to recover and try to rebuild his life just as he was sure they did, then he felt guilty, for the thought.

The sight of the curtains hung round the bed reminded him how tired he must have been, however long ago it had been, too exhausted to even draw them round the bed for privacy. He saw that the others in the room had not drawn theirs either, it was a change to the habit they had all followed since they had started school here. It had been an unwritten rule amongst them that if the curtains were drawn then they would not be disturbed, except if they were late for a meal. Overnight was the only time all the curtains would be closed regularly, while they were all at school. He was surprised at the change, the realization bringing him from his thoughts, fears and hopes, back to the present, and the early morning sunlight that had disturbed them all. Though none of them had risen and only he had not simply rolled over in bed, to try to return to sleep some more, the lack of snores from any of them betrayed the fact that they were awake though.

Steadily, as the sunlight brightened and began warming the room, the rainbow of colour steadily tracking across the floor as the sun rose higher, he began noticing more about the room, that he had not noticed when he had come up to bed. He was amazed at how untouched by the events in the castle it was, perhaps a little more dust than he remembered, but it was otherwise untouched it appeared. It was reassuring, in a way, that his home for most of the time since he had returned to the Wizarding side of Britain was the same, so much in his life would change from now on. He continued to dwell on what he wanted to do and feared what he might be expected to do instead. There was no doubt that people would want him to be available, he hoped that some of the attention at least, would fall on others as well.

As it had dawned outside, he realised that he must have slept for the whole of the day and night following the battle, which itself had concluded at sunrise, he supposed the day before, he could not envisage that he had slept for longer than that without being disturbed. Though admittedly it had been quite a while after he had cast the spell that had given them the actual victory, when he had been able to escape the jubilant crowd, to get to bed. He added the twinge of guilt of his long rest, to his feelings about the dead, he was anxious to return to his world, he knew that he would be treated as a hero by most. Not that he wanted that attention, nor did he think it deserved for that matter, not for himself at least, but he knew it was inevitable, just as it had been since he had re entered this world.

Could that really be only seven years ago? So much seemed to have happened in his life since then, which had all led to him being laid in the bed he was in, as this dawn broke. He was, after all, now not simply the boy who lived, or even the chosen one as some had dubbed him. Both titles, which were born in heartbreak and had brought him more heartache than anything else, were ones that he disliked, but now he was also the one who had defeated the most powerful Dark Lord that had ever lived.

He bitterly wondered what the Press would call him now, what pithy title they would give him in their headlines, or perhaps already had. Wondering what they had written about him already, he dreaded what Rita Skeeter may have added to her typically particularly sensational pieces. He expected that even the more accurate articles may have painted him as the Hero, he hoped not the tragic hero, though he supposed they may well have done. Not that all he had achieved was him alone, he may have been the one who had faced Voldemort in the end, but he knew and readily acknowledged that he could not have done it all on his own. He had needed the help of his friends, especially while in hiding, a fact he readily acknowledged. He knew, however, that was not likely to mean much to the press, they would recreate him as a hero again, until they found a reason to knock him down once more. Yes, he was determined that he would avoid being directly interviewed by the Wizarding press, at least for as long as he could, and he would definitely make every effort to especially avoid Rita Skeeter, the reporter from the Daily Prophet who twisted everything for her own unique style of malicious gossip. She never let the facts, stand in the way of a juicy story, ensuring every line, each quote and all opinions were embellished for her own agenda. She was one person he would be glad if he never saw her again, he didn't wish her harm of course, but he would be very pleased to be told she had been sent away on assignment somewhere, anywhere on a different continent in fact.

He was not looking forward to meeting the families of the dead either, though for very different reasons. How could he face those who had lost so much, would they blame him for their loss? He knew some would, especially those who had fought alongside Riddle, yet it was something he was sure he would need to do, would be expected to do, though he hoped he would not have to do it alone. He knew Ron and Hermione would be with him, even if he didn't ask them, but it was not the two friends who had been with him during his mission that he wanted at his side when he visited the families, but another. Of course, he would not reject their support, if they offered it, he knew they would help and that there would be some expectations of them as well. It was just that there was another he hoped, so desperately wanted, at his side and not just for helping him carry out duties or look good on his arm either. She meant far too much to him for that, he hoped she felt the same, she had, but that had been months ago, before they had been separated by their different roles in the fight, events had inevitably changed them, he just had to hope she still wanted to be bothered with him. He also knew that he had his own grief and feelings to deal with at some point, would he be able to have the luxury to grieve at all? It was not something he was used to doing though, he had always bottled up such things, never quite letting them go despite appearances to the contrary. He wondered if he would really be allowed to have a life of his own, or if his life would be even more public than before. Just now it all seemed to be building within him, perhaps, with luck, eventually a balance could and would be reached.

Despite all his worries and self doubts, he could not help, but feel quite optimistic for the future, mixed with a touch of pride in his friends. After all, for the first time since before he was born, the Wizarding world, his world, was truly free to start again. Voldemort was dead, his followers either dead, captured, or being hunted down, but certainly they would not be able to influence the recovery from the occupation they had presided over. There would, at the very least, be no more mass murders; half bloods, the Muggle born and Muggles were again safe from that, life for the whole community could return to a normality, what ever that was. This was, he hoped, a new era of freedom beginning for everyone, maybe even for Harry, who for the first time in his life, had no prophecy to fulfil and no quest to follow. He was, for the first time, fully the master of his own destiny he thought to himself. Well, he was as much as anyone one really was, he conceded and part of him wondered if that would really be true.

He finally emerged from his thoughts realizing they had leapt around his head, passing through many of his fears and hopes, not very coherently. Having emerged from his random contemplations, he looked again around the room, this time taking in what he saw in more detail, settling his random thoughts as much as he could, the familiarity of the surroundings helping to calm his mind.

First he noticed a pile of clean clothes, neatly folded on a chair beside his bed. Kreacher, he guessed, must have placed them there ready for him. There were also a few fresh toiletries on top of a towel next to them, he certainly needed them. He smiled, despite his discomfort, and he rose from the bed to sit on the edge of the mattress, his feet firmly planted on the warm rug at the side of the bed. It looked like his house elf, who had at one time hated his new master, had forgiven him for not returning to the house back in September, when the trio had nearly been caught, not for the first, or even the last time. Reaching for the clothes and toiletries, he realised the elf he had inherited and who had proudly led the school elves into the battle when the fighting had entered the castle, must have decided to remain loyal to him. He was grateful for that, he had come to like the Elf while they had been in the house. He picked up the pile of things that his elf had supplied and stiffly walked over to the bathroom to prepare or the day, trying to stretch the stiffness from his still strained muscles as he went.

He did not take long to refresh himself, quickly showering to swill off the grime of battle, the soap stinging in every cut and graze, of which there were many, on his body. Deliberately, he had avoided looking in the mirror, not wanting to know the extent of his injuries, knowing if he saw them he would have to acknowledge they were there. He considered that they were minor compared to the ones others had suffered in any case, and he knew they would heal on their own in time. Yes a healer could probably deal with them instantly, but he knew that they were busy with others and having been raised in the Muggle world he knew he would heal anyway, so long as he was careful, in time.

Refreshed and rejuvenated to a surprisingly large extent after the shower, he dressed and returned to the dormitory where he resumed looking around the familiar room that had been his first real home. This had been the first place he had ever truly relaxed, his first home, but one he had not seen for almost a year. It was quite as he remembered it, five beds, five wardrobes and the same number of bedside tables arranged around the central pot-bellied heater for the room. He noticed a second chair had been placed on the opposite side of his bed from the one that had held the clean clothes. It was on the side nearest the door, close by and angled so that anyone who may have sat in it while he slept could have seen his face on the pillow. Whoever it was for, placed seeing him over their own safety, he thought, but then was such a precaution still necessary? To sit with his back to the door was something he had not done since Voldemorts rebirth, it was too much of a risk to take. However, from the position of the chair, it looked just like someone had decided to watch over him whilst he slept, at least for some of that time, but who and why? Whoever it might have been he had no idea, the chair was empty, though a comforting flowery fragrance lingered faintly in the air above it, it was somehow familiar to him, reminiscent of a scent he had missed for far too long.

Neville, Dean, Seamus and Ron were also beginning to rise now, sitting up, smiles on their faces, as they began to emerge from the warm cocoons of the sheets and got dressed, they gave him thumbs up signs. Harry crossed to the window, every muscle in his body, it seemed to him, ached once more in protest at the movement, despite having taken a shower. He considered taking a bath to ease them further than they had been in the shower, but quickly decided against it, his body would ease as it got used to movement after his rest he told himself. It usually had in the past after all, even at the Dursley's, before he had come to Hogwarts for the first time, most of his aches and pains had faded as he got on with his day.

Having dismissed the thought of a bath as self-indulgent, he looked out through the glass in the window, across the grounds, where the newly risen sun was already warming the waters of the lake. The giant Squid swam just below the surface of the calm water, small ripples were lapping the shore as always, the geese and other water fowl taking flight as the giant decapod glided gently beneath them just below the surface, to take refuge in the new channel gouged into the bank. He noticed a few Mermen swimming after the squid, playfully antagonising its tentacles, then dodging them as it tried to retaliate to their game. One was too slow once and was flipped above the surface, to splash back in and resume the game. The water was quite clear despite the destruction on the land, he could see the shapes of rocks and plants on the lake bed, quite a distance from the shore he could see three regular shapes, one was much larger than the others. They were too deep for him to make out clearly, but each resembled ovals, though with pointed ends, he wondered why he had not spotted them before and tried to work out what they might be.

A moment later he was distracted by a movement he spotted in the water, from corner of his eye. He quickly dismissed the thought that the shapes resembled a trio of eyes and turned his attention to the movement. The mystery forgotten he watched from his vantage point at the window in the tower, quickly identifying the cause of the motion. He had spotted the faint glow of a ghost in the water, probably moaning Myrtle, who he knew from experience would visit the depths of the lake via the pipes from her bathroom from time to time. The ghost flashed past the shapes and headed directly amongst the Mermen, disturbing their teasing pursuit, then seeming to lead them off as they chased it across the lake instead. He smiled at the antics in the water, the apparent normality of the scene amongst the destruction in the grounds and his mind fell back, deep into his own thoughts, as he watched, unseeing, the scene on the grounds below the tower.

All was peaceful in the grounds now, at least from this high vantage point. He could see the lawns were heavily scarred by the battle, deep trenches had been gouged in the lawns, including the one filled by the waters of the lake, by badly aimed spell fire or maybe even the giants. The outline of a giant, brought here by Voldemort, had been imprinted where it had fallen in the soft earth, the depression becoming a pond as water leached from the soil around it. There were even a number of trees from the forbidden forest, which had been up rooted. They lay forlornly, strewn randomly over the area he could see, giving every appearance of having been tossed around like twigs in a wind. Still, birds scavenged for insects in the bark and soil, there were a few Daisies and Dandelions among the flowers that had survived, sought by Rabbits hunting breakfast in the damaged grounds.

Once again his thoughts drifted back to those lost and his memories of them here at Hogwarts. Asking Lupin to help him to defend himself against Dementors; Colin taking pictures with his old camera to send home to his Muggle parents; Quidditch matches with Fred; Sirius appearing in his dog form at one match, later seeing him off on the back of Buckbeak having rescued him from where the man had been held after he had been caught. Tonks walking him to the school after Malfoy had stunned him on the train; the funeral of his old headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, almost a year ago, when he had made one of the hardest decisions of his life. It had been there and then, that he had very reluctantly decided that he had no choice, but to leave Ginny behind. A choice he both knew had been necessary at the time, but one he regretted more than he had ever believed possible both the moment he had made it and every single second since.

His regret at his choice was tempered by the memories of happier times they had spent together, walking along the edge of the lake hand in hand. He recalled sitting by the still surviving Beech tree on the lake shore, talking with her, cuddling her, kissing her, laying with her in his arms beneath those leaf laden branches last summer before the headmasters' death. He still felt the bitter pang of emptiness that breaking up with her had left, the joy of that kiss on his last birthday only for the pain of leaving her behind during the attack on Bill and Fleurs wedding to return. Without a doubt it had been the right thing to do, for her sake, for her safety, but still it had felt so wrong. Had he ruined any chance he might have had, to be with her again? Merlin, he hoped not.

He was suddenly distracted from his thoughts by a slight, localised disturbance in the canopy of trees of the forbidden forest. Directly in front of him, the leaves and branches of a group of trees within the forest shook, sending birds chattering into the air in alarm, then suddenly the branches of the trees parted. He watched ruefully as a lone Thestral emerged, taking flight, majestically, out through the canopy of the trees, leaving a trail of damaged leaves and twigs to fall back down in its wake. Levelling out, it flew gracefully over and around the lake, dipping its hooves into the water occasionally, before heading back to land on the shore and disappear amongst the trees of the woodland from where it had emerged.

"What the bloody hell was that thing?" Exclaimed Ron from behind him.

Harry almost leapt out of his skin in surprise, he hadn't heard his friend approach. He turned his head sharply and as he looked to his friend sadly, the realisation that Ron could now see the creature sank in."A Thestral!" Harry simply told him with heavy heart, his eyes falling to the floor between them. "The beasts that pull the carriages from the station each year and flew us to the Ministry that time."

That Ron could now see these skeletal beasts was a shock that he might have anticipated, if he had thought about it. It simply hadn't occurred to him that it would be the case, but did it mean that he responsible for the events that had caused his first ever friend his own age could now do that?

Ron's head dropped "Bloody Hell!" He muttered.

He too, had realised the significance of being able to see the creatures that pulled the coaches full of students to the school each year, from the station. All the boys in the dorm room would, more than likely, now be able to see Thestrals, not to mention nearly all the other seventh year students and perhaps many of the younger ones as well. For those who could, no longer would the school carriages appear to move on their own, each of them had seen death with their own eyes. They had witnessed and understood what that meant, so now the cadaverous winged horse-like animals would be visible to them and one wondrous part of attending the school had been lost to them.

Harry returned his gaze to the grounds, feeling even more guilty. The after effects of the battle would be far-reaching on his friends and not just physically. He leant resignedly, against the stone work next to the window.

"You alright, Harry?" Neville looked at his friend with kind concern.

"I don't know, Nev." Harry softly replied, more truthfully than he intended. "I honestly don't really know. I am not even sure I am certain what that means any longer, my friend."

Turning back to his friends, he saw the concern in their faces and sighed, shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts, before in a more confident tone adding. "Don't worry, I'm just trying to get my head round everything, that's all."

His friends continued to look at him, though with slightly less worry evident on their faces, Seamus spoke first. "Harry mate, we won, no one is going to blame you for any of it, God even me Mam won't be able to find anything to blame you for over this, you know that don't you?"

Harry looked up sharply. "Aren't they?" He snapped shortly, then closed his eyes, took a deep breath and calmed, before opening his eyes again. "Sorry Seamus, it's just I'm not so sure that they shouldn't, you know. If only I could have got it done earlier, the lives that wouldn't have been lost, those who would still..." Harry's voice trailed off, he knew he had acted as soon as he possibly could have, he had done all he could as quickly as he was able. "Oh hell!" He exclaimed.

Dean broke the silence that followed for a moment. "Look Harry, you did what you had to, as fast as you could. Don't blame yourself, it was his fault, not yours, you can't live in what ifs What if you hadn't been born? What if you had been a Squib? What if you had been killed that Halloween? I'm sorry mate, but if any of those things had happened, then he who must not be named would be in power now and there would be no hope." He couldn't bring himself to say the name that had been taboo all the years he had known in this world, especially during the last few months.

"I suppose so Dean, I guess time will tell. I'm just used to them all turning it against me I suppose, that's all." Harry replied sadly, remembering that of the five room-mates, only Neville had been at Hogwarts during the past months.

Seamus sighed. "Aye, that's true, you ain't had a lot of luck that way, that's for sure."

The friends fell into silence for a moment, remembering times most of them had turned against Harry during his time at the school. Of them all, they could only say that Neville had never once spoken against Harry in their time at Hogwarts.

Neville broke the silence. "Well if any do, they will have me to answer to this time." He said firmly, the others quickly agreed.

Ron looked round them all. "Right, now you know we all have your back this time, can we eat? Come on, let's go for breakfast. I'm starving." Ron said eagerly, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Harry smiled, looked at his friend, grateful for the distraction from his mood and replied cheekily, "Priorities right as usual, Ron. You fancy a plate of mushrooms mate?"

Harry, Ron and Hermione had practically lived on fungus scavenged in woodland from the rotting wood of fallen trees, during their months of camping, Ron had not enjoyed the monotonous diet. It had been one of the things he had complained about, the night he had stormed off, before Christmas.

Ron looked horrified at the thought of eating the fungi again. "You must be joking Harry. I never want to see another one of those things again, thanks. I'm talking about real food, bacon, sausages, eggs, black pudding, that kind of stuff. Oh, it's going to be so good to eat Hogwarts food again, almost as good as Mum's cooking. Come on then, or it will all have gone by the time we get there, if there are still all those people here." He set off towards the door.

Harry laughed dryly and shook his head before following him. Whilst Ron could usually be relied on to cheer him up and had done again, this was not the redhead that Harry really longed to see.

The boys left the dormitory and walked silently down the familiar stairs to the common room, past the doors to other dormitories, Harry wondered how many were or had been occupied that night. Reaching the common room they found that no one else was in it and it too was undamaged, just like their quarters; the chairs and sofas awaiting use. A fire burned brightly in the hearth beneath the familiar circle of blocks high up in the wall of the chimney breast near the ceiling, despite the warmth that was steadily building as the sun continued to rise outside. Harry remembered seeing Sirius face in the fire, before the first task in the tournament. The house notice board was bare, already someone had removed all the notices placed there during the occupation of the Castle, it was a strange sight, the blank board not something they had seen before. Even on the night of the welcome feast, start of term notices would have already almost filled it. From the condition of Gryffindor tower, it was hard to believe a battle had raged here in and around the school at all, except when a view out of the window showed the damage to the grounds and other parts of the castle. They crossed the room, the silence breached only by the crackling of the fire, and the soft whispers between the friends. For some reason it didn't feel right speaking above that, in this room, not yet at least.

Harry pushed open the Fat Lady's portrait and climbed through the hole into the corridor just as he had so many times before. He waited for the others, looking back into the room they had left, he wondered if he would see it again, after all he had not attended the school at all this year. He didn't see how he could finish his education, even if he decided to. He guessed that if he did, it would be made possible, but he didn't want that if it could not be done for a those who had also missed the year so far as well. Then, as he was rejoined by Ron who was bringing up the rear ushering the others through, he watched the large frame close behind them.

"Well done, Potter!" The fat lady called, smiling tipsily, empty bottles strewn at her feet, she leant against the frame as if frightened she might fall out with the movement of her picture as it covered the entrance again, she swayed back and forth a few times as it stopped in place.

Harry returned her smile, nodded and waved briefly in acknowledgement. He was relieved the portrait was undamaged, for all the Gryffindors she was as much a symbol of Hogwarts as the ceiling in the Great Hall. He turned round to follow the others and walk down the corridor, before stopping mid stride, stock still, in his tracks.

The scene in the corridor before him was one of almost complete and utter devastation, the damage here was in stark, shocking, contrast to the almost perfect state of the rooms they had just left. House elves, and a few of the suits of armour that were mostly intact, moved amongst the pieces of broken stone from the walls and statues, gathering the pieces and sorting them into piles along one side of the corridor. Broken glass and pieces of lead from the windows along with wood from the doors and frames was mixed with the stone strewn over the floor. It too, was being gathered, sorted and placed ready for later reuse when repairs reached this part of the Castle. It was disconcerting to see the severed stone head of a statue giving orders to an elf, which was gathering the bits that had come from the sculpture, ensuring that care was taken over it's separated body parts strewn over the floor, which were brought to be stacked close to the cranium barking instructions.

The boys stood, united in stunned silence, none of them had noticed this damage when they had made their separate ways along it to the dormitory when they came up to the tower, too tired or distracted to notice. After the normality of Gryffindor tower, this devastation and the sombre scene that was before them now, had brought them suddenly and brutally back to the reality of the events that had brought them here.

In his mind Harry again sank back into the mixed feelings of sadness and guilt at his part in those events, how could he have returned here and brought so much destruction to this castle? This was the first place he had known that had felt like a real home to him, and he had brought such damage to it. How could he have led Riddle and his army of Death Eaters here? He knew he'd had to have come here, if he was going to destroy the self-styled Lord Voldemort, but he regretted the necessity all the same. Tom Riddle, which was the Dark Lords real name, had hidden one of his Horcruxes here at the school, one of the seven pieces of his soul that Riddle had magically created through the act murder each time, in a vain attempt to become truly immortal. Now all were destroyed, including the one that had been inside Harry himself, and the remnant that had remained within the creature Voldemort had become. Riddle was truly dead now, all the fragments of his soul were destroyed, he could never return to life once more, no ritual could be used to resurrect him as had been done once before.

So deep in contemplation was Harry, that he hadn't heard the fat Lady's portrait reopen behind them, scraping lightly over the floor, so didn't turn to see who had come out. Neither had the others with him, they too were deep in their own thoughts, engrossed in the oddly macabre activity they watched before them, captivating the entirety of their attention in those moments. As a result the sound of footsteps approaching from behind did not distract them either, while the figure approached, heading for one of them in particular.

An arm slipped through Harry's, startling him from his thoughts, he looked sharply to his side knowing he had been caught off his guard. His free hand automatically moved quickly towards his wand, before his brain engaging properly once more. He realised that an enemy was hardly likely to take his arm with theirs in so tender a manner as this one had done. His eyes began to focus on the figure who had arrived beside him, taking in the identity of the person who had so gently placed her limb in his, his nose detecting that familiar flowery scent that he had detected close to the chair that had been placed next to his bed. At the same moment as he realised who it was, his heart leapt with joy to see her smiling affectionately, lovingly, yet sadly up at him, an expression he returned almost without realising it. He had dreamed of her each night in the tent, feared she would want nothing more to do with him, but prayed she would forgive him at least enough to want to be near him. Now she was here, beside him, her arm linked through his, almost as if they had never been apart, he was so relieved that she still wanted to be close to him.

"Knowing you and I think I know you a little better than most." She breathed softly so only he could hear her. "You are trying to convince yourself that this is all your fault, Harry. I can feel you are trying to do that, you wouldn't be the noble man you are if you didn't. We can sort that out properly later, perhaps after we have eaten though, but for now come on." She softly whispered, resting her head on his shoulder as she began to guide him forward, stepping carefully through the debris, the statues head silently watched, and the Elf stood to the side letting them pass.

Harry's heart leapt again at her words, the reassurance of her scent and the softness of her hair as it brushed against his cheek, giving him hope, he meekly, willingly, let her lead him forward.

"Time you realised it's not your fault, my love, you are not to blame." She added kindly, squeezing his arm gently.

Again, Harry's heart felt like it was trying to force its way up to his throat as it performed delighted gymnastics in his chest. All melancholy thoughts were banished in the feelings of comfort he felt by being with her, at least for now he was reassured. Just maybe he hadn't blown it with her after all, or was she just being kind to him? Or perhaps leading him on, no she wasn't that cruel, but she may merely want to be his friend and nothing more. He had to know, he needed to take the risk, considering what he had been through, he thought it the most significant he would take. He took his arm from hers and slipped it around her waist instead, then spoke so low that only she could hear him. "I love you Ginny Weasley, I always have."

"I love you too, Harry Potter." She whispered back, sliding her arm round him and meeting his gaze, flashing the enchanting smile she knew he loved.

He smiled back and gazed into her eyes, he saw the love and the sadness in them, but he also saw something else. Relief? Had she been as unsure as he had? He realised that didn't matter, not now, now they both knew they were together. At last, here was one thing of which he could be completely sure, the first of which he could be certain since waking that morning. Without a word being spoken between them, they stopped near the top of the staircase and turned to face each other, their hands resting on the others sides.

Ron had noticed Ginny and Harry getting closer as they walked through the debris, he and the others walked past them when they stopped. He did not look pleased as he walked, his eyes never leaving them as he went down a few steps. He stopped as they gazed at each other, his expression turning angry, he opened his mouth to speak, but didn't get chance.

"Don't you dare start, Ronald." Ginny warned him firmly, her eyes not flickering or leaving Harry's while she warned her brother off. "You know how I feel about Harry, I have waited months for him to do what he had to do, then come back to me. Now he has and if you think you are going to stop me being with him after I have waited so long, then you have another think coming. I give you my word, if you try to interfere in any way, you will suffer, brother dear."

"But Ginny...!" Ron spluttered.

She turned her head to glare towards him, stopping whatever he was about to say and fiercely retorted. "But, nothing Ronald Bilius Weasley, not if you know what is good for you anyway. This has nothing whatsoever to do with you, it is none of your business. I need Harry in my life, especially right now, just like you need Hermione. Yes, I know you finally realised what the rest of us have seen, and she has hoped for, for years. She is like Harry's sister to him, has he objected to you catching up with the rest of us? No, he hasn't, he is more bothered that the two of you are happy, so behave yourself. I love Harry and always have, so be happy for us." Ginny told her brother in a tone that brooked no argument.

"She's right, mate." Grinned Dean wistfully. "I could see that, even when she and I were together, I hold no grudge about it. Harry, Ginny, I'm glad for you both, it's what we were fighting for, and you two are just right for each other. It's good to see you back together, as you should be."

"We could all see how much she missed him all this year, Ron." Neville told the rapidly deflating redhead.

"Okay, fine." Ron reluctantly admitted, holding his hands up in surrender "I can see it too, but I just don't want to see my sister hurt again, that's all."

"I know Ron." Harry looked at his friend. " And I understand that, but I love Ginny. To be honest I am so relieved she feels the same way and wants me back. It's more than I could have hoped for, much more. I don't want to argue with you about this, but I will if I have to. Remember how every night in the tent I was looking at the map, what do you think I was looking for? I was searching for your sister, doing the only thing I could to watch over her. Now that we have got rid of Riddle, she is my number one priority, the best thing to every happen to me was and is Ginny, she means everything to me."

Ron nodded, and he, Dean, Seamus and Neville started to walk down the stairs again. Ginny held Harry back until the others were out of earshot and sight round the corner, then turned to face him.

"Harry, did you mean all of that?" She asked.

"Yes, of course, every word." He said gently. "You are the most important person to me and always will be, I love you."

"Oh Harry, you don't know how long I have waited to hear that." Grinning widely, she pulled him into a tight hug. "Dean is right, this is what we were all fighting for. Having the freedom to be with whoever we want, to love whoever we want. So, no more feeling guilty about what you had to do, alright? Fred wouldn't want that for you, nor would any of the rest of us either. I would expect none of us survivors know quite how to feel, sad at the losses, guilty for surviving even, or happy that it's all over. So lets just concentrate on the feelings we know and just at the moment for us, that's our love for each other. There are things we need to talk about, there are bound to be after all, but that is for later, right now we need each other, we need to see this through together, then we shall see what comes after. One thing is for sure though, I am not going to let you go again, my love, so you better hadn't even think about it."

He nodded as they drew closer to each other, gazing deeply into each other's eyes, seeing the other's relief, pain and love, their heads tilted slightly, they moved towards each other slowly. Their lips drew gradually closer, the warmth of their gentle breathing disturbing the air between them. Each rejoicing as they inhaled the intoxicating scent of the other, the soft velvet of their lips were about to touch in their first kiss since Harry's seventeenth birthday. They could feel a gentle spark tickle their lips, they were so close, their hearts beating in unison in anticipation of the long awaited kiss.

"Oi! Are you two are you coming down here or what?" Ron's voice echoed up the stairs as he called loudly and impatiently to them.

The moment inevitably lost, the couple laughed and touched fore heads, the moment gone. "I am really going to have to teach my dear brother about picking better moments," Ginny grinned slightly exasperated, as they turned, arms round each other again then descended the stairs, before Ron had the chance to come back up and find them.

They caught up with the others; Ginny glared at Ron.

"What?" He asked incredulously at her glare.

The others, realising Ron must have interrupted the couple, burst out laughing as Ginny just shook her head slowly and Harry rolled his eyes. "You are beginning to make a habit out of that mate, twice in a row."

"Habit out of what? What do you mean twice in a row?" Ron asked in puzzlement, increasing the laughter from his friends.

"Harry's birthday last year, when I was giving him his present from me." Ginny growled at him.

This brought renewed laughter from Seamus, Dean and Neville who, having realised exactly what was being inferred, now had to lean against the wall for support.

Realisation hit Ron and his mouth grew into an oh of understanding, then the thought sank in, and his skin coloured with embarrassment in the face of the laughter ringing in the landing and along the stairs.

"Bloody hell Ron." Whimpered Seamus through tears of Laughter. "For goodness' sake, never lose touch with me, whatever you do. Whenever I need cheering up I shall need to hear your latest way of putting your foot right in it, I shall never need to be depressed, so long as you are around mate."

His comment brought renewed laughter from the others, Harry and Ginny joining the laughter at Ron's obvious discomfort, led the way down the stairs the others had waited at.

Ron behind them all, the continued subject of mirth as they descended, muttering. "Well how was I supposed to know?" Before he followed them, to continue their descent through the castle.

They sobered instantly a few moments later, they had reached the moving staircases, which were still moving, although some had been damaged. Most had sustained superficial scars or the banisters were broken, but the set directly opposite the one they had emerged onto had lost half it's length, but continued to move, unable to reach any of its destinations, it was almost lost in its inability to find its place. They looked up and saw that a further three were similarly damaged and behaving in the same way. They continued down, being careful not to step on any of the damaged sections until they emerged on the landing where they could go down to the entrance hall.

This had been where the battle had spilled into the castle from the grounds, it was as strewn with rubble as had been the corridors, that they had picked their way through on their way from the tower. The damage was heaviest here though, where the battle had been brought into the castle. The walls and pillars heavily gouged from the spells, whilst myriad jewels of shattered crystal shone brightly amongst the debris on the floor, the remains of the crystal balls hurled from above by Sybil Trelawney. Flag stones from the floor were misplaced and broken, stained with blood. Metal from suits of armour was twisted and bent into strange shapes. While the doors to the Great Hall seemed to have been repaired, the other doors were all heavily damaged, the entrance to the dungeons was blackened and heavily damaged, the steps down covered in rubble. One of the great wooden entrance doors hung, swinging in the breeze on just one of its hinges whilst the other lay across the steps outside. The open space giving a view over the scarred lawns to the tranquillity of the glistening waters of the great lake and still majesty of the mountains beyond.

They made their way sombrely along a path that had been cleared through the rubble to the repaired doors of the Great Hall and entered the room where the final victory had been won. The hall seemed to have changed little from when Harry had seen it last, although the tables had been restored and rubble moved to one side. Few of the occupants present even appeared to have moved in the time he had been asleep, though he guessed most would have probably been up to the dormitories or elsewhere to rest at some point. Most were sat at one or other of the house tables in family groups, some even taking the rare opportunity to sit up at the staff table, no one seemed to mind the breach of protocol in the least though. Most were either eating or quietly talking, some healers were moving amongst the occupants of the room, checking people and healing any minor injuries they had not had chance to tend earlier while they were dealing with more serious cases.

Some of the younger students, sent away to safety before the fighting had begun, had already returned to the school since the battle to be with their parents, who had come to help defend the castle, or older siblings. They acted as runners for the healers when needed, fetching potions and equipment as instructed. Those more seriously injured, Harry guessed, must have been moved to the hospital wing, or perhaps even St. Mungo's, to be treated. He thought that he would be expected to visit them at some point, as a boost for their morale. He was beginning to realise that now the battle was over, he would likely be expected to carry out many such duties. While he didn't resent visiting them, especially if it helped them even if he could not see how, but he wondered if he would get any time for Ginny and himself to heal for themselves as well.

The three members of the Malfoy family were sat, slightly apart from everyone else, isolated in the centre of the Slytherin table in front of the large fireplace, ignoring those around them, trapped amongst the victors. As Harry watched, a healer tentatively approached the Malfoys, but remained resolutely ignored by the family, as he attempted to speak with them, shrugging the wizard quickly moved on. Harry and Ginny were almost unnoticed as they walked between the tables, but as they passed the Malfoys, Narcissa raised her head and mouthed "Thank you!" To Harry, her head dropped back down before he could respond, or her husband and son had chance to notice what she did.

The couple continued to walk along the aisle between two of the rows of tables, slowly people began to notice who was passing them, they started to stand and applaud. Ron joined his family, ravenous for breakfast; Hermione was already there, sat with the Weasley's and welcomed Ron with a kiss. The family were gathered around the ashen-faced George, crushed at the loss of his twin.

Dean, Neville and Seamus sat at the end of a table together, they were all soon joined by others arriving for Breakfast.

As the applause spread round the Hall, Harry, embarrassed at the attention he was receiving, almost turned and fled, but Ginny squeezed his arm reassuringly. "Don't worry Harry, they just want to thank you, they are proud of what you have done. Happy you and they survived and about the result as well. They saw you stand up against him, where they couldn't, they are just showing their appreciation. Stick it out love, the sooner they can do it the sooner it will be over. They don't seem to blame you for any of it, just like I told you, so you shouldn't either." She whispered reassuringly to him.

Harry sighed, he knew she was right, and she was there with him. That in itself gave him the strength to overcome his natural aversion to attention, which seemed stronger than usual this morning.

"Alright Gin, I get it, I suppose I just have to catch up with the rest of you." He grinned nervously.

With Ginny at his side, nothing could get him down for now, he felt so happy, he just wished they could have had this time for themselves for a while, instead of having to spend it in such a public place as this.

Professor McGonagall approached Harry and Ginny, as more and more people looked round to see what was happening and noticed their presence before happily joining in the applause.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley." She nodded her greeting. "I am glad to see you up and about at last. Don't worry, most of us slept through yesterday as well, after the celebration split up in any case. I'm sorry Harry, but the Minister wants to see you later along with Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny and Luna about something he wants your help with."

From her tone this was clearly not a request, and Harry's surprise must have shown because the Professor sternly added. "We have been left with much to do because of what is now being described as the occupation, apparently, Potter. Both here in the school and across the country there is much to repair, not just buildings, but our society as well, so we must all play our part to repair the damage."

Harry bristled at this, had he not played his part, nearly dying in the process? All he wanted now was a quiet life, a chance to rebuild his relationship with Ginny and to have a chance to maybe complete his NEWT's. Ginny must have sensed his anger, she seemed to have developed a way of doing that with Harry in the months they had been apart, because she squeezed him gently. Looking at her, he saw reassurance in her face, and his anger swiftly subsided.

He turned back to his teacher and said, resignedly. "Yes, of course Professor."

Her expression became more sympathetic, "I know Harry, you have been through a lot, carrying the burden of the entire Wizarding world on your shoulders, without much choice in it either. I also know that in the past the ministry has not exactly been fair to you, but the new Minister specifically needs your help, and he is an honourable man. I promise that it is not to boost his own ego, as his predecessors may have done, but because he wants your assistance rebuilding our world properly. He is different, he wants to avoid the mistakes of the past. You do know him a little, give him a chance, he is a good man." She turned as if to leave, but had second thoughts, turned back and looked back at Harry. "Harry, I am so proud of you, I know James and Lily would have been too, well done Harry, really well done." Then to everyone's surprise, she hugged him, as a mother would to congratulate her child, with sincere warmth and emotion as silent tears of pride fell down her cheeks.

She held her student for longer than perhaps would be proper between a teacher and student in any other circumstance, but no one minded, although most were surprised by her action. She had not only seen the son of two of her favourite students complete a long and difficult journey, but had seen him triumph in a task he had not asked for. His parents were not there to do this, and she was damned if she would let anyone stop her doing what they would have done for their son if they had been here. Eventually her tears ceased, and she released him. "Thank you, Harry, they would have been so proud of you as well." She said fondly then, turned and sat at the table.

Harry was stunned; he stood unable to move for a moment, Professor McGonagall had just hugged him and cried on his shoulder, she had said she was proud of him. He found that, that simple statement, coming from her meant a lot to him for some reason. She had said that his parents would have been proud too, but combined with that hug, his head of house's words and actions meant much more to him than he could have foreseen. Finally, he looked at the giggling Ginny as he blushed. She took his hand, as she struggled to control her mirth and gently led him to her family. The Weasleys were sat together at the Gryffindor table, near the staff table end. Harry didn't know whether to be embarrassed or pleased when he saw they were laughing for the first time since the battle, looking directly at him. Only George seeming not to have noticed what had happened, he was sat apparently in his own grief, not reacting at all to what was going on around him. As they took their seats, the applause that had continued throughout, finally died down, as people resumed their meal or conversation.

"The look on your face when she hugged you, that was brilliant mate!" Laughed Ron, as Harry and Ginny sat down on the bench next to him.

"Someone, please give Ron some mushrooms will they, he's been longing for some all morning, hasn't stopped talking about it in fact." Grinned Harry as Ron suddenly stopped laughing and swore at him.

"Get used to it, Harry! There are going to be plenty of people wanting to hug you now, not just your head of house." Teased Charlie, then tried to look stern, which was only partially successful. "By the way, what are you doing with my little sister?"

Harry turned to see that Ginny was grinning at him, she winked, slid her hand round him and pulled him into a long, passionate, wonderful kiss. Harry, lost in the kiss, put his arms round her as nearly everyone in the Hall cheered. Even Grawp, looking in through a broken window on the opposite side of the hall, joined with the ovation, not that the couple noticed. They were lost in each other, and the long awaited moment they were enjoying. When they parted, the couple gazed at each other smiling, and then looked to the family. Ron's eyes were wide and mouth open, a fork full of scrambled egg hovered in front of it, he had gone a strange shade of red. Charlie was laughing, Mrs. Weasley was smiling sadly to them.

Even George had a faint smile on his face nodding his approval. "Well Charlie, he seems to be doing very well if you ask me." He muttered almost unheard.

"Does that answer your question Charlie?" Said Mr. Weasley, trying unsuccessfully to keep a straight face and placing a slice of toast in Ron's mouth, causing his son's mouth to close on it automatically, and the fork to fall with a clatter back onto his plate.

"Enough to put me off my breakfast!" Bill commented playfully, then yelped in pain as Fleur hit him on the arm.

"Be'ayve, Beell it is wonderful." She admonished him just as playfully. "I 'ave always thought zey made ze perfect couple, even back during zee Triwizard eet was obvious, even Gabrielle admitted zat, we al knew eet, even when zey did not know zemselves."

Harry and Ginny giggled to each other at her families antic's, as their plates filled with food, and they started eating.

Breakfast was a bit more cheerful after that, even George, encouraged by Lee Jordan, joined his brothers teasing Ginny about the kiss. Ginny gave as good as she got, but the boys were used to that, she had, after all, learnt from them, and they knew if they went too far, her revenge would be imaginative. Even Harry was somewhat used to it from his time with the family, though he was not as comfortable with it from quite so many of them, though he knew all of it was meant in fun, a way of welcoming him in. The banter died down after a few minutes as plates filled and attention turned to the important business of eating. The peace lasted only a few moments, before the noise of a commotion grew, coming from the entrance hall in the midst of which Harry heard a very familiar, though definitely unwelcome voice.

"Out of my way! Out of my way! Leading reporter from the Daily Prophet coming through for an exclusive interview with Harry Potter!" Cried Rita Skeeter, evidently people were trying to stop her.

Professor McGonagall rose and looked questioningly to Harry.

He understood what he was being silently asked. "No way!" He said firmly. "I am not giving the press an interview, especially not with her, Professor."

"I agree, she shouldn't even be here, the press have not been allowed past the gate since yesterday. Don't worry, your answer helps, leave it with me." She winked.

The Great Hall doors flew open again as Rita rushed in, followed by some of the students who were indeed trying to stop her. She stopped and scanned the room, the smug grin of the huntress who knew she was close to her prey on her face, trying to find her quarry. The Weasley's had surrounded Harry and Ginny, hiding them from view, whilst still eating their meal. Minerva was quickly making her way towards the unwelcome visitor, her face bearing the expression every student she had ever taught dreaded.

"Miss Skeeter, as you are more than aware, you and the other reporters were asked to either wait outside the grounds, or leave about your business elsewhere. It seems your colleagues can respect that those here need time to recover, whilst you appear unable to do so. If you really cannot await any announcements from us, or the ministry outside the gate, then you may leave as swiftly as you appear to forget common decency and respect of others." The professor instructed.

"Now, now Minerva, I am only here to speak with dear Harry, it won't take long." The poisonous reporter smarmed.

Minerva gave no ground, her tone became firmer. "Mr. Potter does not wish to speak to either you, or indeed any of your colleagues at this time. You do not have permission to be in the school, your reason for breaching media restrictions is a mystery. You have no official or even unofficial business here, now once again I must ask you to please leave."

The reporter smiled slyly. "Oh Minerva, you don't expect me to believe that poor dear Harry doesn't want to see me. He and I are practically bosom buddies, he tells me he will only permit me to be the one to tell his story, he will be so pleased to see me again."

"One Bat-Bogey Hex coming right up!" Fumed Ginny, muttering darkly; "I've had it with her, she won't know what has hit her."

"Don't Ginny, at least not yet." Harry grinned, trying to calm her. "Let Professor McGonagall deal with her, I suspect she has some way to deal with the beetle in mind."

"Fine, but if that creepy Coleoptera doesn't belt up soon, I shall see if bat's and beetles mix." Ginny agreed, fire in her eyes.

Minerva did not seem flustered by the reporters attempts to placate her, she responded."I sincerely doubt he feels that way Rita, given your history, which I believe on its own may put you in danger of becoming acquainted with some flying mammals. In fact, I know as fact, that you would be refused an interview if you were the last reporter on earth. Still, it is of no consequence what you believe or do not wish to accept. Mr. Potter is, at present, under the protection of the Ministry and of this school whilst he recovers with the help of his friends, and he is helping them to do the same. He does not wish to speak with you, or any reporter at this time. You have no clue of the dangerous pot you are stirring, Miss Skeeter, so, either leave now on your own, or I will be forced, reluctantly, to have you forcibly removed, for your own protection of course. This is your final warning." The Professor's tone indicating such a removal would be anything, but reluctantly done.

"You have no right to stop me Minerva." Skeeter scowled determined to get her own way. "You have heard of the freedom of the press I take it? I am staying here until Potter gives me the exclusive interview I deserve." Rita folded her arms and smirked, daring the headmistress to act.

Professor McGonagall sighed. "Freedom of the Press? I shouldn't worry about that, I should worry about the freedom I have to expel those who threaten us within these walls. I have asked politely for you to leave us, sadly you appear to have made your choice contrary to that request, you leave me no option." Looking up she instructed. "Peeves, you know what to do. Grawp, would you help to see this individual from the grounds, please."

Peeves zoomed down from the ceiling, smiling evilly, he saluted the Professor, then turned, rubbing his hands, to face the journalist. "Our pleasure your professorship Ma'am." The poltergeist turned to the journalist. "Naughty, naughty Rita, now how best to deal with a beetle? Team work we would say eh Grawpy lad?"

Grawp nodded grinning, a deep, expectant chuckle resounded in his throat.

"Good lad, together we shall, quite easily and effectively, cure this insect infestation my large friend." Peeves grinned, coloured balloons appearing in his hand.

Grawp, meanwhile, grinned through the window his deep booming chuckle of glee complimenting the twinkle in his eye as he demonstrated his pleasure at the Headmistresses request.

Rita looked from one to the other with a worried look on her suddenly white face, her eyes widening in fear before she turned and ran out of the hall, pursued by Peeves. The Poltergeist gleefully chased her, the well aimed water bombs, ensuring she neither slowed, nor diverted from her path out of the castle. The only downside being that, from the smell that arose briefly when one burst open, the contents of the rubber bladders seemed to be a more potent liquid than simply water. Thankfully the aroma quickly dispersed, meaning it did not put the occupants of the hall off their breakfast.

Laughter rose in the hall, accompanied by applause once again, as the ill liked reporter fled from the room, chased by the poltergeist. Grawp stirred himself from his vantage point at the window and moved away, out of sight of those within, though his booming laugh could still be heard. They soon heard Rita's high-pitched yells, that were punctuating Grawps laughter, turn to a brief scream, then loud, shrill, protestations for the giant to release her could be heard, even above the giants continued laughter, and the sound of appreciation in the hall grew.

Only the Malfoys were not joining with the laughter, they appeared to be completely oblivious to the events, or at least ignoring them as cheers and applause replaced the laughter. This ovation was directed to Professor McGonagall who turned back to the Hall, blushed then indulged in a very theatrical low flourishing curtsy.

Distracted by Rita's exit, no one in the hall noticed that the flames in the fire behind the Malfoys grew taller and then turned a bright green colour, the Floo had activated, someone was about to arrive.