I've been working on this in the last couple months, I'm so excited to share this story with you. I cant promise regular updates, but the story is completely finished, it has 37 chapters and an epilogue. It's all written so you have nothing to worry about :)

There will be some Harry/Ginny in the beginning, and I'm sorry for that, some of it is even a bit detailed (boy was it hard to write those parts) but I promise to make up for it once the snarry really starts ;) but that will take a while, this is a slow burn story.

Sheankelor was nice enough to beta this for me (us) so you'll have to endure less of my awful mistakes. Isnt she great? She is great. Thank you dear *hugs*

Anyway, I hope you guys will have as much fun reading this, as I had writing it!

Part One: Feathers

"Some birds are not meant to be caged, that's all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild."

– Stephen King

o.O.o

I. White Lights

Chaos was everywhere. Confused people walked the Grounds from body to body, names were being shouted into the dark like cries of foxes. Most of the time no answer came. People cried. There were no sides anymore. Death Eaters, Muggleborns, Purebloods, members of Dumbledore's Army or the Order of Phoenix were all the same in the eyes of the Healers and Death too. It was only natural that no matter what side they had fought on: a mother cried for her child, a brother for his sibling, children for their parents - Death made them all equal in the end.

Harry Potter looked around, tired eyes searching for his friends. He noticed a group not far away, a couple ginger haired people mixed with others were standing around in a circle in the midst of all the dust and dirt. Behind them the burning castle painted a horrible picture. At least the screams had died away.

He walked there, joining the group between Hermione and Ginny. The two girls gave him place and now he was one more of them who stood around aimlessly. Harry, Ron and Hermione occasionally shared a glance, but otherwise they were quiet. There was a lot to digest, many things had happened in just the last couple hours.

The war was over, however instead of joy they felt nothing. There was a spark in Harry, he wanted to see the bright side, he wanted to look around and think, finally, 'we defeated Lord Voldemort', but as he looked at his home and the dark piles on the ground that might be friends or people that were enemies once, all he felt was dread. He was afraid to see the faces of the dead, afraid to read the list that was getting longer and longer, because he knew there were just too many familiar names there.

He was thankful, though, that no one on the list bore the last name Weasley, Granger, or Longbottom. There was no McGonagall either, though she was injured. A mediwitch said her limp would go away soon.

Professor Flitwick rushed through the Grounds, running with his short legs towards the Main Gates, but for why Harry didn't know. Hermione flinched next to him as if wanting to go after him but changing her mind the last moment.

Suddenly, loud voices cut thought the quiet night. They came from the castle and soon Harry could even see who they belonged to. A group of teachers lead by the headmaster marched out from the building. There was at least eleven of them, and all had their wand at the ready. Snape was leading them to the middle of the Grounds, his steps firm, his face expressionless.

They stopped several feet from Harry's group and then Snape lifted his wand. His halt was so sudden, his cloak wrapped around his body.

"On three!" He gave the order, then started counting. "One – two – three!"

As he uttered the last number, ten wands were lifted towards the sky and white strings of magic emanated from the tip of them. Hermione gasped when the deep, serene chanting hit her ear, and Harry could understand why. The melodic sound like Fawkes' song brought joy to his mind, it warmed him from the bottom of his heart.

The professors started moving, all of them had their eyes closed yet they didn't bump into each other. It was as if the white light lead them to where they needed to be. Snape was the only motionless member of the group, but he, unlike the others, wasn't even casting anything yet. Harry wondered what he was waiting for, then he started to see the pattern. The teachers organized around Snape so that he would be in the very middle of their circle.

Hermione pulled out her wand and whispers, "Come on, let's help them," and she was already gone from Harry's side. He followed her, and so did Ron and shortly all of Harry's group was standing among the professors not quite knowing yet what to do.

Hermione was the first who pointed her wand at the sky, and Harry wondered how she knew what spell to chant, when he didn't even understand yet what was happening. However, instead of opening her mouth, Hermione closed her eyes and touched Slughorn's shoulder. A moment later the white string of magic burst out of her wand as well.

When Ginny touched Hermione's elbow and mimicked everything else she did, her wand came alive as well, and soon the rest of the Weasley boys joined the circle as well, as did Neville and Dean, too. And in the end, once the white beam shot up from their wands, they – consciously or subconsciously – but moved around so that they would face Snape.

Suddenly, Professor Flitwick joined the circle as well, and now Harry understood why he had left. Professor Sprout was at his heels, running as fast as she could. She stepped in the circle, wand lifting already, eyes closing, mouth opening to cast the same string of spells as the others. However, all of a sudden, the spell changed somehow, and Harry found that there was a low undercurrent to it, another spell, murmured only, not as strong as McGonagall or Hooch's voice, but it was there.

Harry circled around the group until he discovered the source. He didn't have to go far away. He found the headmaster only a couple feet from his left, eyes closed, chanting almost in trance. The spell he was saying was completely different from the other charm, deeper, and somewhat less rhythmic, and not as soft either. If the others were the rain, Snape's voice was the thunder and yet, together, the two spells created harmony and unity.

The ring around Snape (and now around Harry as well) changed once again. There was movement ahead and on both sides of them, and looking behind himself, Harry realizes that McGonagall had just limped a few steps to the side so that she would be right behind Snape.

She held out her free hand and touched a shoulder. It was Ron's who in response, held out a hand as well and touched Angelina's arm. She, too, reacted to same way and soon Harry found himself in the centre of a closed group. Everyone was linked with someone except Snape, who just stood in the middle chanting his own spell, ever so different, but perfectly aligning with the rest.

In front of them, the colour of the spell coming from Flitwick's wand changed and turned into ocean blue. On Harry's right, Sprout's jet of white light now gleamed golden yellow, and Harry turned to Slughorn, too, on his left, knowing what to expect. His green light joined in the sky with McGonagall's crimson, and with the other two as well and then finally, Snape's wand came alive, too.

The spell that came out from his wand was a mix of all the colours, entwined and entangled, twisting and twirling around each other, and finally Harry realized what they were doing. He, too, lifted his wand and pointed it at the dark sky. He closed his eyes and he let the magic take control.

He sensed his arm moving, it lifted on its own and he grasped Snape's arm blindly. The man didn't react, but instantly, magic burst through Harry's wand, the same colourful as the headmaster's. Harry could feel the wild, raw power go through him, it was a shock to every cell in his body. If the people around them were the rain, and Snape's deep voice the thunder, this was the lightning and it shook him to his core. Yet he knew this was right, he needed to be here, to do this.

It was an uplifting moment. Reality seemed to be non-existent, while it was right there at the same time and Harry could feel every nanosecond of it happening. There was something magical in a unity like this, but somewhere deep he did not fully understand what he had just become a part of.

Their magic – Snape' and his – changed colour and turned into bright, blinding white. He could see it through his closed eyes, and yet he could see everything, all participants who performed the ancient magic, all faces turned to the sky, all wands spitting magic. He was outside of the circle and inside as well. He was alone and joined with twenty other people. He could feel his magic alone, the immense power of it as it shot up into the sky and at the same time, he could feel Snape's magic too – how he knew it was the professor's he didn't understand, but it was his, so unique, electric, dark, untamed, almost frightening, just like the man himself.

They went quiet at the same time and Snape staggered against him. There was a gigantic dome over their heads, that still vibrated for a couple seconds before it disappeared, though Harry was certain it was just invisible and not faded.

"Hogwarts' magic has been restored." Snape announced, voice rough. He cleared his throat and straightened himself, turning towards the teachers and children that gathered around him. "The flames will die down in a couple of minutes and the castle will start to heal. However, there is still a lot to do."

Teachers nodded, then solemnly walked away as if they had previously agreed what else they need to do. McGonagall patted Snape's shoulder before she left, too and disappeared among the others.

Snape went on as if nothing had happened. "Granger, Lovegood," he called, and Hermione straightened herself. Luna stepped forward as well. "You will be in charge of Potions," stated Snape. "Take everyone who was even remotely good at brewing. Start working on everything from Calming Draught, to Healing Salves – anything you think might come handy. Use the Potions classroom, ingredients should be there already, cauldrons are out. Professor Slughorn has left his private storage room open for you, but mine is at your service as well. It is right next to the classroom; the door is open. Should there be anything else you require, Professor Slughorn will be of assistance."

Hermione and Luna nodded, then rushed away already talking about who to take. Other student, lingering around aimless, were catching up to them in hopes that they could help.

"Weasley, Weasley, Chang," Snape continued in the meanwhile, and said people stepped forward. Ginny and Ron both had a serious expression on their smudged faces, but Cho seems scared. "I want you to gather a group of twenty or more and help with carrying the injured to the school. If it helps, use the brooms and work in teams. Madame Hooch should be here with them soon. The Professors and the Order members are out there already checking the wounded and colour coding their state. Green is minor wounds, bring those to the Great Hall, orange is serious, but not deadly, they should be transported to the unused classrooms next to the Hall. Red is prominent death unless immediate help, they go straight to the Infirmary. Leave the ones with the white light."

Harry looked over behind Snape and saw that the man did not lie. All over the Grounds more and more little lights showed up glimmering in the night. Their colours were hard to tell from this distance, but Harry seemed to discover many white ones. He wondered what those meant.

"Longbottom, Flannigan, Weasley – get a couple more students and head right to the Green Houses. We need Devil's Claw, Bark of White willow, leaves of Aquamin, any plant that could help with pain relief. Longbottom will know, you can all ask him. Take what you find to the Infirmary and ask Granger what she needs."

Fred nodded, then looked around for his twin. "I'll go get George. We know a good spot for some mushrooms. Amazing when it comes to pain relief."

"Perfect," Snape said, "Firenze and the centaurs are waiting at the edge of the Forest to assist you. Hagrid is already in there."

Fred turned around and disappeared too, taking the last of the people with him. Before Harry could join them, Snape continued without even looking at him, "Potter, you will come with me."

He set off, long legs striding through the Grounds and Harry had trouble keeping up with him. "What are we doing, sir?"

Snape stopped and Harry all but bumped into him. When he looked up, Snape was staring down at him, something strange glinting in his black eyes.

"The white lights, Mr. Potter," He said then slowly, his tone dropping to a whisper as he indicated with a wave of his arm the myriad of the little fairy lights scattered around the grounds of the school, "are the dead. We will assist collecting their bodies, regardless of their alliance and transport them near Dumbledore's grave. Professor McGonagall and a couple of Ministry Officials are awaiting us."

He set off, but Harry's legs froze into the ground. Snape could not ask this from him. Anything, but not this. How could he help with a task such as this? To carry the dead? To see the faces of all those who were lost because he failed? Was Snape doing this to humiliate Harry? To show him without words how badly he had done, how much it had cost them to win the war? To demonstrate that Harry's victory over Voldemort was nothing more than a flash in the heated fire of the battle?

"Come now," drifted Snape's soft voice from several steps ahead and as if in trance Harry finally moved. He pinned his gaze to the dark horizon and caught up. There was something burning low in his belly: shame, fear, anger, a mix of all that. It was not just Snape he was angry with, but himself, as well. Yet, it was Snape he wanted to stop and tell him he did not want to do this. Like his eleven-year-old self when it came to homework, he just wanted to brush this all away, enjoy the day and forget about it all, but he could not – not this, not right now.

Deep down, he understood his task was one of the most important, yet his hands were shaking. Cold sweat sat on his forehead regardless that the air was comfortably warm.

Snape did not give him a chance to turn around. He dictated a fast pace that did not let Harry deter and he followed the man obediently. The black cloak that fluttered with every step the Headmaster took, transfixed Harry. Its rhythmic waving brought serenity until the moment Snape finally stopped and the black silk wrapped around his body like a thin blanket.

There was someone lying motionless on the ground. Above their heads the white light slowly faded away. Harry recognized the body. She was a Ravenclaw, Gobstone champion, a year below him. Only seventeen years old.

He felt that uncomfortable burning sensation change into a fiery pit of eternal hell that digested his body from the inside. He looked at Snape's back, pleading silently for the man to let him go, to send him away, yet dreading that Snape would notice his weakness and laugh at him. Breathing came harder and harder until Harry could only take small shallow breathes that made him dizzy.

Snape turned halfway around, and Harry did not even care that he would be noticed and certainly ridiculed.

However, Gods be good, Snape stopped halfway in his turn and just said, "Concentrate, Potter," then he stepped over to another body, face covered by shadows.

Harry still just stared at the Ravenclaw girl, Clarice her name was he believed, not sure what to do. He couldn't run away, but staying did not feel like an option either. He felt as if someone had spelled him not to be able to move anymore. His limbs felt like rocks attached to his body.

He looked up and his gaze met with Snape's dark eyes. It was unreadable and conveyed no pity or hatred or even contempt. Snape just waited for him in calm expectancy to come to terms with the cruel task he had given Harry.

The young man took a deep breath and steeled himself. Looking the headmaster defiantly in the eyes he cast the spell, "Locomotor."

The first had been the hardest, but the more times they stepped under the white light the easier it got – though, easy was still not a word Harry would prefer to use. It was unbearable, but it had to be done.

They transported each and every body next to Dumbledore' grave where Ministry officials identified them and sent owls to the relatives. Then the dead were covered and, once again, transported to St. Mungo's morgue.

It was dawning by the time they finished. Though Snape had never moved more than a couple feet away from him, Harry never felt this isolated before. It was all because of Snape and the burning passion of hatred kept him going from body to body. Even at times when at least five living people were around him, he felt just as alone.

He was uncertain where this detachment came from, but he found something interesting in it. The more time he spent with the dead, the less the living bothered him. Even Snape's presence that used to fill him with unease was as niggling now as a butterfly.

Snape's cheeks were flushed from climbing up and down on the many hills around Hogwarts. Sweat made his face glimmer in the rising sun. He had been quiet all night, spoke only when spoken to. He did not bark orders, nor did he taunt Harry how he used to. Maybe this was how he paid his respect to the fallen, or perhaps, he was soundlessly listening to the dead telling the story of their demise.

In the end, just when Harry would think the world should fall silent as well and mourn all the people who had died in the previous night, quite the opposite happened. More and more people showed up. Not just the survivors of the battle were at Hogwarts now, but people who fought elsewhere and came to join their family and friends. Mediwitches and wizards, the Prophet, civilians, Madam Rosmerta and all the others from Hogsmeade had come.

As the sun rose, so did the lingering tragic mood of the people – the sadness, like the early morning mist, vanished from their hearts and they seemed to chatter like the waking birds. All of them seemed happier as if the new day had brought the realization that the war was truly over.

All – except one. He stood next to Dumbledore's grave, tall and hawkish with his long beak nose. His fingers rested gently on the cold stone and he stared at the grave as if expecting the man inside to rise now that the danger was dealt with. A sixth sense must have told Snape that he was observed, because he suddenly looked up right at Harry and the strange, sad expression from his face vanishes.

The first instinct told Harry to turn away but then he decided he would not. Instead he walked to Snape and asked in a quiet voice, "Why did you pick me to help with this?"

His tone was reproachful, and he did not even have the strength to hide it. The night had been incredibly demanding, not just physically, but emotionally as well. He felt tired as if he had not slept for a year, but Snape looked the same.

Tired did not even come close, actually. The man looked almost half dead himself. The past year had taken a toll on him and now that they stood closer by the light of the rising sun, Harry could see that clearly.

Snape did not get offended by the question which alone should have told Harry how tired the man was. He did not even answer but turned away and Harry thought for a moment that would be it, however then Snape stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

"Because a task like this would break anyone – except, perhaps… you."

That left Harry baffled, standing there on top of the hill next to Dumbledore's grave. After all the conflicting emotions of the day, from the happiness and relief of victory to the sadness and anger over the loss, this was what tipped up the jar and he felt tears burning his eyes. It was not the almost compliment from Snape, but everything else that made him tear up.

He couldn't tell if Snape noticed what was happening behind him, but Harry did not even care. He earned his right to cry, he told himself, and not be ashamed for being seen. Warm tears streamed down his face, but he did not take off his eyes from Snape's back as if daring him to turn back and see him, to give the headmaster more opportunity to taunt him.

Yet, when Snape faced him, the man did not jeer at Harry. He did not laugh. His face barely conveyed any emotion at all. He just sighed and walked up to Harry, placing a hand gently on top of his head. He ruffled Harry's messy hair awkwardly, clearly not having any clue how to calm an eighteen-year-old who had just defeated the darkest wizard of the century.

Taking deep breathes, Harry calmed himself, trying to focus on the good. He wiped away the tears, but his voice was still groggy as he said. "What happens next?"

It was not Snape, who answered but a woman from behind them.

"Next…" she said as Snape and Harry both turned towards her, "…you die."

It happened all too fast for Harry even to comprehend it. Instinctively, he cast a shield, and the first spell even bounced off but the next three that followed were too strong. Snape stepped forward, pushing him to the ground, his wand spitting crimson red spells at their attacker.

Harry landed on the hard ground and watched from there in almost slow motions as three spells knocked into Snape's chest.

Pain crossed the professor's face for a moment, then it switched to anger. Quick like a poisonous snake, his hand moved again, and another spell was about to fly from his wand, but then the woman's curse took him by surprise.

There was laughter from not far away, shrilly and evil as Snape's spell seemed to backfire. He froze, from pain, surprise or something even worse, Harry couldn't say.

He pushed himself up from the ground, screaming spell after spell, trying to drag Snape into cover. Eyes wide, Snape couldn't move, there was something strange about him as he stooped over, wand falling from his fingers. He clutched at his robes and Harry noticed terrified that his hands came away red with blood that had soaked through the dark clothes.

"He cannot save you," the unknown woman laughed hysterically, but the smile froze to her face.

Everything happened so fast. Snape's hazy eyes closed as he was about to lose consciousness but just as he fell to the ground a pure white wave of magic burst out of him. Its force smacked Harry against Dumbledore's tomb, his head knocked against hard stone.

The woman, however, shrieked loudly and painfully, and dropped to the ground, Harry suspected, dead.

There was ringing in his ears, and his vision became blurry as he crawled to Snape's still body.

"Hold on, sir," he said, voice rough from the collision. He could hear footsteps and people and birds. He could hear a lot of things, but the most important sound, he couldn't hear; Snape was not breathing anymore.