Disclaimer: Harry Potter is NOT mine! I don't own any of the wonderful world that JK Rowling created, except for some copies of the books and films.

It was over. It was finally over. Harry Potter sat upon a large marble piece of rubble that was once a part of the Grand Staircase. The sun was streaming through the shattered windows and holes in the castle walls but Harry did not feel any warmth from it or the congratulations that came from the survivors of the Battle.

Harry's normally vivid green eyes were bloodshot and tear tracks lined their way down his dirty cheeks. What should have been a time of great celebration and happiness, as Voldemort and his Death Eaters had been defeated, was not. The War was won but the cost had been much too high. The Death Eaters had battled on even after the fall of Voldemort, in fact it seemed that Voldemort had almost been holding back his followers' destructive abilities and tendencies. In the end, ninety percent of the invading army, Death Eaters and Snatchers, had been defeated or captured but both the Order and the DA had been devastated by the attack.

The casualties were incalculable. Just a fraction of the Order of the Phoenix remained, and the survivors all had some sort of injury. Remus Lupin, the last surviving Marauder, had been killed by Antonin Dolohov just before the Death Eater had been felled by Professor Flitwick. Tonks, who wasn't even supposed to be at the castle, had been killed by her aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange. Lestrange had been almost unstoppable after Voldemort's death, casting Killing Curses at will and without hesitation. It had taken a team effort of Hermione, Ginny, Luna and Mrs. Weasley to take the left hand of Voldemort down but not before Ginny had been hit by such a strong Cruciatus Curse that she had fallen into a coma almost instantly.

Professor McGonagall, Slughorn and Kingsley all had tried to battle Voldemort but even with their combined magical abilities and strength they had fallen at the feet of the Dark Lord. Voldemort had toyed with the trio for a few moments, casually batting aside their spells until he grew tired of them. With frightening ease, Voldemort deflected all three spells before casting a trio of Killing Curses so quickly that no one could do nothing more than watch as the curses tossed McGonagall, Slughorn and Kingsley aside like rag dolls.

Harry had somehow defeated Voldemort, namely through a lorry load of luck and the fact that somehow Harry was the Master of the Elder Wand. Even though the Dark Lord had fallen, the Death Eaters had continued to fight. Harry had nearly been killed after defeating Voldemort by a curse from the wand of Walden Macnair, it missing Harry by mere inches. Arthur Weasley had taken Macnair down with a Blasting Curse but the former Ministry dangerous beasts executioner managed to fire off one more spell before dying. It was a Dark cutting curse that sliced through Arthur's left arm like butter

And those were not the only casualties that the Weasley family had suffered in the battle. Along with Arthur's injury and Ginny's condition, Fred had been killed earlier in the battle by a collapsing hallway, and Ron had died from a bite from Nagini. Voldemort's snake had bitten him while he and Hermione had been chasing Nagini down. Neville had killed the snake with the Sword of Gryffindor but it had been too late. Harry had found Hermione huddled in a corner of the Great Hall, alternating between sobbing hysterically and laughing like a mad woman, right next to the cold corpse of Ron. As he numbly led Hermione to the Hospital Wing, he could barely make out Hermione's babbling, "He finally asked me, he finally asked me." After putting Hermione in a hospital bed and having Madam Pomfrey administer a Dreamless Sleep Potion, Harry returned to the Great Hall.

"Harry?" a familiar and weary voice asked as Harry entered the Great Hall.

"Hey there Neville," Harry answered. He noticed that Neville was still holding the Sword of Gryffindor. "A true Gryffindor, eh Neville?"

The Longbottom teen blushed as he looked down at the magnificent weapon he was holding. "I have no idea why I was able to pull it from the Hat."

"I do Neville," Harry said. "You showed the same bravery standing up to Voldemort as you did standing up to me, Hermione and…Ron in first year. You are a true Gryffindor, never forget that Neville."

Neville blushed again at Harry's praise. "Thank you Harry," he said. "And I am sorry about Ron and Ginny. If I had only been a little bit faster, then maybe I could have…"

"Don't blame yourself Neville," Harry said. "You are not at fault. Ron's death is the fault of Voldemort and his followers, no one else's. And this was war; you would have to be an absolute idiot to think that there wouldn't be casualties. Ron and Ginny were just two of them."

Neville frowned at Harry. The brown-haired teen studied Harry as well as he could, Neville prided himself on his ability to read people, their emotions and their actions. He had developed this ability as a way to survive while growing up under the stern thumb of his grandmother and at Hogwarts. Harry was holding himself quite rigidly, his face tight and controlled, though Neville could tell that Harry was as fragile as frozen glass and that anything could and would shatter him.

"Harry, when was the last time you slept?" Neville asked.

"I am fine Neville," Harry said. "There is still so much to do."

"Harry," Neville cut Harry off and put a hand on the shorter teen's shoulder. "You haven't slept in days, haven't you? You need to take a break and get some sleep. You have fought for so long, I think its time for you to take a break and let someone else shoulder the burden. Go to the Hospital Wing, I am sure Poppy can get you a bed."

"No Neville, I am fine," Harry argued even though Neville could feel Harry shaking. "I don't need to sleep."

"Yes you do Harry," Neville said. "You are about to collapse. Now, either you are going to get some sleep or I am going to Stun you and hand you over to Poppy. What is it going to be?"

Harry wanted to keep arguing with Neville but a wave of bone-crushing tiredness came over him and he could have collapsed if Neville hadn't been holding him up.

"That's it Harry, you are going to the Hospital Wing," Neville said, slinging one of Harry's arm over his shoulders. Slowly the pair made their way up to the overcrowded Hospital Wing. St. Mungo's had sent over a dozen Healers and support staff once the battle had been concluded, of course, to assist Madam Pomfrey.

"Poppy!" Neville cried as he essentially carried an unresponsive Harry into the Hospital Wing. The venerable matron of Hogwarts wearily turned at the shout but when she saw who had called and whom he was carrying, she gained a burst of energy and bustled over to Neville and Harry.

"What has happened to Mr. Potter now?" she asked, levitating Harry into an open bed.

"I don't think he has slept in quite some time," Neville explained. "He just seemed to collapse a few moments ago and I nearly had to carry him all the way here from the Great Hall."

Poppy tsked in exasperation as she waved her wand over Harry's prone body. "Oh my," she gasped. "You poor dear, why didn't you come here sooner? Potter men are so stubborn."

"What's wrong Poppy?" Neville asked. Several of the St. Mungo's workers looked scandalized that Neville would talk with Poppy so informally but they hadn't fought in the War, and in such close quarters for over a year.

"Mr. Potter is suffering from a multitude of things," Poppy said. "Most notably is a severe case of magical exhaustion, along with some bruised ribs and various cuts and other bruises. Mr. Potter is also suffering from a prolonged case of malnutrition. All in all, except for the magical exhaustion, nothing much to worry about."

"When will he recover?" Neville asked.

"Magical exhaustion is tricky," Poppy said. "It depends on the person, some recover quite quickly, others more slowly. With Mr. Potter's advanced case, I can't possibly give an estimate for Mr. Potter's recovery."

Neville nodded as he looked down at Harry in the bed. Harry was shifting in the bed with his forehead creased, and little moans and cries came from his mouth. "Is there anything you can do for Harry Poppy? He looks like he's in pain."

"Unfortunately I can not give Mr. Potter any Dreamless Sleep Potion as that would negatively affect his body's ability to recover from magical exhaustion. He will have to work through his nightmares until his core has recovered enough to safely administer the Potion."

Neville sighed heavily and nodded, hating himself for the feeling of helplessness that he felt for not being able to help Harry more. "Poppy, please let me know if anything changes with Harry?" he asked.

"Of course Neville," Poppy said. Neville thanked Poppy and turned toward the entrance of the Hospital Wing but in doing so noticed that in the bed next to Harry was Hermione. She was still out cold from the Dreamless Sleep Potion that Poppy had given her earlier. Neville quickly looked away from the sleeping Hermione, not wanting to look at the source of his guilt. He knew in his head that it wasn't his fault that Ron had died but his heart wouldn't let him forget it. If only he had been a little bit faster to kill the snake.

"Neville, you know that Hermione nor the Weasleys will blame you for Ron's death," a musical voice said from behind Neville. It was Luna Lovegood.

"My head knows that Luna," Neville sighed. "But it still feels like it is my fault. If I had just been…"

"Stop right there Neville Longbottom," Luna said sharply. "What ifs and could have beens have no place in your head or your heart. You cannot change what has happened in the past. Ron would not blame you if he was here, and Harry and Hermione will not either. Voldemort and his evil are to blame for all this death and destruction, do not burden yourself with blames that are not yours to bear."

Neville swallowed. "It's hard though Luna," he said thickly, his eyes burning. "I just keep replaying that moment in my head, wondering what I could have done differently."

"That is because you are a good person Neville," Luna said. "One of the best in fact."

Neville smiled at the small blonde. "Thank you Luna," he said. "I just wish there was more I could do for them, Harry and Hermione, they have given so much and you know that the Ministry and the rest of the world are going to want those two front and center, and on every front page, propping them up as the saviors of the wizarding world. They won't get a moment's peace."

Luna nodded sagely as she looked at the two beds where Harry and Hermione lay. Even though both were unconscious and unresponsive, Luna saw several of the Healers from St. Mungo's casting glances at Hermione and Harry, their expressions full of awe and longing. Luna frowned as she turned away from the Hospital Wing and followed Neville back into the castle to assist others in recovery and cleanup effort.

It was dark when Harry's eyes flew open. He could tell that he was in the Hospital Wing due to the familiar feeling of a Hospital Wing bed and the ceiling that could always recognize even without his glasses. Slowly Harry reached to his side and found his glasses sitting on the side table. Putting them on, the Hospital Wing came into focus and Harry slowly sat up. Harry realized that it was probably past midnight as there were no Healers or Madam Pomfrey walking around the Wing, checking in on the patients. Harry also saw a nearly full moon peaking out from behind the sparse clouds that littered the inky black sky.

Harry froze when he heard a sniffling coming from the bed next to his. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and slid silently out of bed. Harry hissed at the touch of cold stone on his bare feet. Pushing aside the curtain, Harry froze when he saw that it was Hermione in the bed. She was sitting up in bed, with her arms wrapped around her knees and head was bowed between them. Her shoulders were shaking and Harry could hear her crying. Hermione was obviously trying to keep quiet but with how quiet the Wing was, Harry heard each sob. And each sob broke off a piece of Harry's heart.

"Hermione?" Harry whispered as he stepped up to the bedside.

Hermione's head shot up at Harry's call. "Harry, is that you?" she whispered. Harry flinched at the hoarseness in Hermione's voice.

"Yes it's me Hermione," Harry answered. "How are you…" Harry trailed off as he realized that asking how Hermione felt was probably the worst thing to ask right now.

The clouds shifted and gave Harry a clearer picture of Hermione's face. Her normally shining brown eyes were bloodshot and there were dark bags under them, along with little fingernail marks on her cheeks. Her clothes seemed to hang off her thin frame, her hair lank and thin rather than its normal bushy and wild look.

"He's gone Harry, he's dead," Hermione whispered, her face crumpling in pain. Harry wasn't sure whom Hermione meant between Ron and Voldemort but it didn't matter.

"Oh Hermione," Harry said. Not knowing what to do, Harry climbed into the bed next to Hermione and put an arm around her shoulders.

"He finally asked me Harry! Ron finally asked me and now he's dead!" Hermione wailed as she burrowed her face in Harry's chest and resumed sobbing. Harry cringed as Hermione's wails pierced the silent Hospital Wing. Grasping his wand, Harry quickly cast a Silencing Charm around the pair just as Madam Pomfrey and two other Healers came racing down the ward from Pomfrey's office. He waved them away, knowing that Hermione would only become extremely embarrassed at her reaction. Madam Pomfrey nodded and led the two other Healers away from the bed, though the Healers looked like they wanted to argue with the Hogwarts' Matron.

Harry was grateful for Madam Pomfrey's intervention and turned his attention back to his best friend. She was still weeping into his chest, he could feel two large wet spots in his nightshirt but Harry just gently held Hermione and rubbed her back, echoing the comfort that she had given him over the years they had been friends.

"Why did he have to die Harry?" Hermione sobbed. "He didn't have too, it's all my fault! It's my fault that Ron is dead."

"No Hermione, no," Harry said sharply. "You are not to blame. Ron would never blame you for what happened."

"How would you know?" Hermione snapped, pushing away from Harry. "You weren't there! You didn't see what happened! Nagini was about to bite me; I had tripped over a piece of rubble and Nagini struck. But Ron dove on top of me, and was bitten. He died protecting me, and you think he would not…"

"Hermione, Ron cared about you so very much," Harry said. "He choose to protect you, rather than himself. He would not want to blame yourself."

"But, but," Hermione stammered.

"No buts Hermione," Harry said. "We both know Ron, he wouldn't want us to blame the other, or ourselves about what happened. There has been too much death and destruction for us to lay blame at the feet of those who do not deserve it."

"It hurts Harry," Hermione whimpered. "It hurts so much. He had finally kissed me and asked me to be his girlfriend when…"

"I know Hermione," Harry said. "I can only say that the pain will never truly leave you but hang onto the good memories that you have of Ron."

Hermione nodded against Harry's chest as more tears fell from her eyes. Harry laid back, gently bringing Hermione with him so that they lay side by side, much as they had during the cold winter nights spent in the tent, huddled together to keep warm. Harry kept stroking Hermione's back as she cried herself back to sleep before he followed her.

"Master Harry, Master Harry, you must wake up," a deep, almost bullfrog-ish voice pierced Harry's travels through his dreams.

Groaning, Harry tried to sit up but found out that he was being held down by a warm weight on his chest. Looking down, Harry saw the wild brown hair of Hermione obscuring his gaze past his chest. Turning his head, Harry saw the familiar figure of Kreacher, the House-Elf that he had inherited from Sirius. Dimly, Harry recalled that during the Battle, Kreacher had led the Hogwarts' House-Elves into the fray, blasting several Death Eaters into the walls of the Great Hall.

"Kreacher!" Harry said softly, as not to disturb Hermione. "How are you?"

"Kreacher is well Master," Kreacher said with a low bow. Harry winced at Kreacher's address of him and the bandages that were wrapped around his thin torso. "But Kreacher has woken Master because there are people coming to talk with Master."

"Who is coming Kreacher?" Harry asked.

"Kreacher does not know Master," Kreacher said. "But Kreacher did hear them say they were from the Ministry."

Harry groaned as he fell back against his pillow. He should have known that the Ministry would want to talk with him, about the Battle and how he had defeated Voldemort. "Thank you Kreacher," he said carefully extracting himself from Hermione's grip, which was very difficult, as he did not want to wake her. This was arguably the first night either of them had slept in nearly a year where they were completely safe, at least from forces outside of the demons of their own minds.

Harry slid off the bed, stood up and stretched, wincing as he heard several pops coming from his back and shoulders. Looking down at his dirtied and tattered clothing, Harry grimaced. "Kreacher, are you able to find me some robes?" he asked the elderly House-Elf.

"Yes Master, Kreacher shall return promptly," the House-Elf said before vanishing with a sharp pop.

Harry looked at Hermione, who had stirred slightly at Kreacher's departure but she stayed asleep. Walking around the curtain, Harry found a vanity with a mirror and a bowl of water to clean a Healer's hands. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, Harry inwardly remarked that he looked very much like Sirius did after he escaped from Azkaban. Harry's black hair was lying limp and lank on top of his head, nearly reaching his shoulders. It hid his scar from view, which Harry was happy about. Harry's face was a gaunt and thin as Sirius' had looked in the Shrieking Shack, cheeks sunken and eyes seemingly bulging from their sockets. Harry dipped his hands into the water bowl and splashed his face in an attempt to both wake himself up and clean at least some of the dirt, grime and dried blood that covered his face.

Harry dried his hands and face with a nearby towel and looked at his reflection in the mirror again and saw that not much had changed, his face was still gaunt and thin with large dark bags under his eyes and his hair hanging over his eyes and hiding his scar.

"Master, Kreacher has returned," Kreacher said after reappearing and carrying a set of black robes.

"Thank you Kreacher," Harry said. He picked up the robes and pulled them on over his tattered and dirty sweater and jeans. They were warm and soft, and fit exceptionally well. He then noticed the two crests that were above the Gryffindor crest. "Kreacher, what are these crests?" he asked.

"Those are the Potter and Black House crests Master," Kreacher said. "You, Master, are the Head and Lord of both House of Potter and House of Black, and so you may wear those crests."

Harry shrugged as he heard someone push open the doors to the Hospital Wing. Turning, Harry saw three people quickly making their way up the ward toward him. He recognized none of the group, two wizards and a witch, walking toward him.

Harry Potter," the youngest newcomer said. He looked to be a few years older than Mr. Weasley. "I am Octavian Weatherspoon, and my companions are Maximilian Albrecht and Calogera Durante. We are representatives of the ICW, the International Confederation of Wizards."

"Hello," Harry said. "Um, I don't mean to be rude but why are you here?"

"Ah yes, well simply put, we have been sent by the ICW to assist in the restructuring of the British Ministry of Magic," Octavian said with a winning smile.

Harry didn't return the man's smile instead he frowned. "Why?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I don't understand you questions Mr. Potter," Octavian said. "I am sure that I made myself perfectly clear."

"No, I am asking why are you all showing up now?" Harry asked. "We have been fighting this war for two years, and you are the first ICW members that I have ever seen aside from Professor Dumbledore."

The three ICW members all deflated before Harry's eyes. The two older members, Maximilian and Calogera, dropped into nearby chairs while Octavian took a handkerchief from his pocket and moped his sweaty brow.

"Ah yes," Octavian said. "Mr. Potter, there is something you should know about the ICW, and the wizarding world itself. We are a very isolated group, and while the ICW is made up of witches and wizards from each country, it has very little power and no power to send foreign troops or Aurors into another sovereign country without the consent of that country's government, as it could be considered an act of war."

Harry blinked and his mouth fell open. "You mean you couldn't send help?" he asked.

"Yes," Octavian admitted. "And while some countries were willing to assist, most of Europe saw this Dark Lord as Britain's problem, and were willing to stay out of the fight in fear of starting another Great War, like the one against Grindelwald."

Harry sat down heavily in a chair as he tried to absorb this new information. He had never thought that much about the ICW, Binns had rambled on and on about the goblin wars and the Statue of Secrecy, and Hermione never volunteered much information about it other than that the ICW was a bit like the Muggle's United Nations.

"Ok, so you all couldn't help us against Voldemort but why are you three coming to me instead of a Ministry official or the Headmistress?" Harry asked.

"Mr. Potter, we have been informed that the vast majority of Ministry officials, that were not supporters of the Dark Lord, have either been killed or are seriously injured and still recovering. As for the staff of Hogwarts, only Professors Flitwick and Sprout survived from the senior staff, and both are unconscious at the moment. And the Order of the Phoenix, we have spoken to several members and they all have pointed us in your direction as the leader of the Order."

Harry's mouth dropped. 'Me, the leader of the Order?' Harry thought. 'That can't be right!' "What about Professor McGonagall, or Kingsley Shacklebolt? They are more qualified than I am."

"I am sorry to say Mr. Potter, but Minerva McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt both perished in the battle, reportedly at the hands of the Dark Lord himself," Maximilian said in a thick German accent. "According to the surviving members of the Ministry, Order and this Dumbledore's Army, you are the leader now."

Harry swallowed thickly as he sat back in his chair. "Ok, what do you want of me then?" he asked, still not believing.

Octavian smiled warmly at Harry. "Mr. Potter, I am sure this has come as quite a shock to you, especially after what has happened," he said. "And I must say, you are taking this predicament quite well. But as for your question, we don't need much assistance, just your knowledge of trustworthy people who can help us rebuild the Ministry."

Harry nodded. "I can do that, though I don't know a lot of people who worked at the Ministry," Harry said. "And honestly, I haven't had the best relationship with the Ministry. I would speak with Arthur Weasley, he is the only honest Ministry worker that I know personally."

Octavian nodded. "Thank you Mr. Potter, you have given us a good starting point," he said. "Perhaps we can talk again at a later time."

Harry nodded and rose to shake the three representatives' hands. They did so and silently left the Hospital Wing, chatting amongst themselves.

"I know you are awake Hermione," Harry said. He pushed aside the curtain surrounding Hermione's bed, revealing Hermione sitting up in bed. "How much did you hear?"

"Most of it," Hermione answered. "I can't believe Professor McGonagall and Kingsley are dead, how many others died last night Harry?"

"I am not sure Hermione but I probably should go and find out," Harry said. "Stay here Hermione, I will be back in a bit. I am sure Madam Pomfrey can get you something to eat."

"Master, Kreacher can get the Mistress some breakfast from the kitchens," Kreacher said, speaking for the first time since the elf had retrieved Harry's robes.

"Oh ok Kreacher," Harry said. "Thank you." The elf bowed to Harry before vanishing in a sharp pop. Harry turned to Hermione, waiting for the sharp reprimand that he was sure to come from Hermione about using House Elves as servants. But it never came; Harry saw that Hermione sitting up in bed, much like the previous night, her arms around her legs and her chin was resting on her knees. Harry was quite scared to see that Hermione's normally expressive eyes had gone quite blank.

"Master, here is Mistress' breakfast," Kreacher said, arriving with a pop and carrying a tray. The tray had a glass of pumpkin juice, several eggs, two pieces of toast and three sausages, a typical Hogwarts breakfast.

"Thank you Kreacher," Harry said. Kreacher set the tray down at Hermione's bedside, bowed to Harry and vanished with a pop.

"Please eat something Hermione," Harry said. "When I get back, I want to see that tray clear of food."

Hermione just nodded, without looking at Harry. Harry sighed and turned away from Hermione to leave the Hospital Wing when he heard the sound of the tray being picked up and cutlery being used. With the first smile he wore in what felt like a year, Harry made his way out of the Hospital Wing.

"Harry!"

Harry looked up at the sound of his name and saw Neville and Luna walking toward him, coming out of the Great Hall.

"Neville, Luna," Harry greeted the pair. "How…how bad is it in there?" he asked.

"They've removed all the bodies, ours and theirs," Neville said. "Moved them to separate rooms, off the Great Hall."

Harry nodded. "How many?"

"Too many," Luna said, her musical voice low and sad. "They haven't completed the count but it is rumored to be over 100."

Harry nearly fell to the floor at the thought of over one hundred dead, one hundred people dead because a madman wanted him dead.

"Harry Potter, do not believe you are to blame for those dead," Luna said sharply. "They choose to fight against a mad man and his twisted and evil ideas. You are not the reason those people died last night."

Harry swallowed and he wiped his eyes clear of tears. "I know Luna, I know that in my head but in my heart it hurts, it hurts a lot."

Luna nodded and walked up to Harry and gave him a hug. "It is ok to hurt Harry, it proves that you are human and a good person at that. But do not forget to live the life that these people gave theirs for. Live a life your parents, Sirius and those who have died would be proud off."

Harry nodded, and took a deep breath while straightening up. "Thank you Luna," he said. "I needed that. I also need to see who did die, show me."

Neville glanced at Luna who nodded. "Follow me Harry," he said. The trio entered the Great Hall without a word and Neville and Luna led Harry back into the same backroom that the Triwizard Champions were first briefed four years ago. Harry mentally scoffed at the location, both times he would enter this room, and it would be the place he least wanted to go. Neville pushed open the door and Harrys' breath caught at the sight of so many shrouded bodies.

Blanket covered bodies stretched from wall to wall, front to back. Harry staggered but caught himself against the wall.

"It's not pretty Harry," Neville said. "But I will say for each one of ours, the Death Eaters lost one or more of theirs."

Harry nodded silently, barely hearing Neville's words. Walking gingerly through the rows of bodies, Harry made his way to the back of the room where several bodies were laying on a table.

"Harry, I don't know if you should…" Neville was cut off by Luna laying a hand on the teen's shoulder.

"I need too Neville," Harry said. "They were my friends, classmates and teachers. I owe it to them, to see them."

Harry knelt down at the head of the nearest body and with a trembling hand, pulled the shroud partially off. It was Minerva McGonagall. Harry swallowed a sob as his eyes burned with unshed tears. The aged Transfiguration Professor and Gryffindor Head of House looked like she was only sleeping. Her lined face was smooth and unburdened.

"Voldemort killed her," Neville said. "She, Kingsley and Slughorn were fighting him, and then he just tossed them aside like rag dolls."

Harry hastily wiped his stinging eyes and recovered McGonagall's face with the sheet. "I saw," he said thickly. "I am sorry Professor, I am so sorry. I should have been faster, stronger, better."

"Harry," Neville said.

"I know Neville but it's just hard," Harry said. "McGonagall, I never imagined her to die like this. She was just always there, even in my darkest thoughts I could picture her leading first years into the Great Hall for their Sorting or making sure the Quidditch Cup was prominently displayed in her office."

Neville nodded as he wiped his own eyes and nose. "I know, I thought the same thing," he said. "McGonagall was a lot like Gran, just a survivor, too tough to die."

Harry moved over to the next body and removed the shroud. This time it was Kingsley Shacklebolt. The tall black man's bald head was smooth and clean, even though Harry saw a great cut marring Kingsley's face, from his right ear all the way across his cheeks to his lips. His golden hoop earring was missing as well.

"Kingsley was another person I never thought would die," Harry said. "I mean, he was one of the best Aurors ever, he had fought in the last war and fought Voldemort last August too. You know, I kind of thought that Kingsley would end up becoming Minister when this was all over. He knew right from wrong, and was willing to fight for it."

Harry moved onto the third body after recovering Kingsley's face. It was Slughorn. "Slughorn, I thought would somehow survive just because that's what he was, a survivor," Harry said. "That he would just slink back into the shadows like before."

Throwing the blanket back over the corpulent form of Horace Slughorn, Harry stood up and turned. "No," a broken whisper fell from Harry's lips when he saw the shrouded form that was easily identifiable due to its size.

"It was Voldemort and Bellatrix," Neville said in a thick voice. "He was their last victim though. He dove in front of a couple of third years, protecting them and took a couple spells in the back. Voldemort and Bellatrix finished them off."

"Hagrid," Harry's voice was as quiet as Death as he took in the shrouded form of Rubeus Hagrid, his first friend. Harry stumbled over to Hagrid's body and fell to his knees next to it. "No Hagrid, not you too," he whispered, bowing his head at the friendly half-giant's head.

"He died a hero Harry," Neville said. "And he will be remembered as one."

"And he knew that you were alive Harry," Luna said. "When you revealed yourself at the end, Hagrid knew that you would win and he was happy."

Neville stepped over to Harry and put a hand on Harry's shaking shoulders. "What was that Harry?" Neville asked.

"Where are their bodies?" Harry asked. Neville and Luna shivered at the frigid tone in Harry's voice.

"Whose bodies?" Luna asked, though she already knew whom Harry was asking about.

"Voldemort and Bellatrix," Harry growled. He raised his head and Luna swallowed thickly at the murderous look in Harry's dark green eyes. She could feel the magic pouring off Harry in his anger.

"They are this way Harry," Neville said. "But why do you need to see them Harry. They are both dead, they can't hurt anyone any more."

"This isn't about them hurting anyone Neville," Harry said. "This is about ending things, permanently and ensuring that these two will never return. Now show me."

"Ok Harry, follow me," Neville said. Harry got to his feet and followed Neville and Luna through another door to the adjourning room where all the dead Death Eaters were kept. And just like the other room, there was a table at the front of the room where three bodies were laying: Voldemort, Bellatrix and Dolohov.

"Leave me," Harry said, his voice thick and heavy. "Leave the room and do not look back, no matter what."

Luna wanted to argue but Neville shook his head and steered her toward the door. He had an inkling of what Harry was going to do, and was not going to deny Harry this, even though he wanted Bellatrix's body for himself.

Harry had his eyes closed until he heard the door close. He opened them and stared down at the three bodies in front of him. Memories of green lightening, his mother's screams and please for mercy, Sirius falling back through the Veil, and then Hermione being struck by a streak of purple flame.

"You three have haunted me and my friends for far too long," Harry said withdrawing his wand from his pocket. "No more. No longer will any of you haunt me or anyone else ever again. You will not receive a funeral or any type of memorial, you and your ilk will fade from memory like the ashes from a fine." Harry raised his wand and Transfigured the table into a wide metal bowl, in which the three bodies slid to the bottom. "Flagrante!" Harry said. A stream of bright white flames flew from his wand and quickly engulfed the three corpses.

The heat from the flames was so high that Harry was sure that he had lost some of his scruff and even his eyebrows were probably singed, but his gaze never wavered as the flames quickly consumed the three corpses. Within three minutes, the bodies were nothing but ashes; everything was gone, bones, robes and even their wands, were now nothing but ash.

"Evanesco," Harry muttered, slashing his wand through the air and Vanishing the ashes and the metal bowl. "It's over."

Author's Note: There you have it, the first chapter of "A Chance? A Hope?" my newest story, my newest attempt to write a compelling, full-length fanfic that goes into a topic that is as convoluted as Harry Potter itself is, time travel. While time travel opens up a whole new dimension of topics to write, characters and ideas to delve into. I am about to start a new job, so updating might be a little haphazard but I'll do my best and hopefully you all like this

Til next time,

SlyNinjaKnight