Author's Note: I own nothing. All belongs to JK Rowling.

Chapter One

Harry had never felt as conflicted in his life. Sure, he had seen death. He'd had his outbursts of anger after Sirius' death, and he'd mourned for Dumbledore. He'd grieved over Dobby for days at Shell Cottage, and he'd spent countless nights wondering about his parents. Death was nothing new.

But this feeling—this feeling of pure, unbridled elation—was different. He couldn't find it in himself to grieve for those who had fallen. That moment in the forest had changed death for Harry. The Resurrection Stone made death seem different. Seeing those who had gone made him realize that they didn't blame him, and being in the state of limbo with Dumbledore made him confident that death didn't lead to a scary, dark place. As his mentor had told him, he should not pity the dead.

Of course he would mourn the loss of Lupin, Tonks, Colin, Fred, and all the others who had died. His feeling of sadness would pale in comparison to the despair George felt at the loss of his twin, and Andromeda Tonks felt at the loss of virtually her entire family. But at that particular moment, as Harry lay in his four poster bed in his familiar Gryffindor Dormitory, his grief was overshadowed by…. something like happiness.

For the first time in his life, Harry felt like he had potential for something more than death. He could relax and do something more with his life than fight or die. He could have a career. He could have Ginny…it was surreal.

It was strange to be alone in Gryffindor Tower. He assumed that Ron, Neville, Seamus, Dean and the others were in the Great Hall with their families. Kreacher had left him a sandwich, some onion soup, and treacle tart, the remains of which were positioned on a tray at the foot of the bed. Harry stretched and sat up, cracking his neck. He wondered how long he'd been lying in bed. Unable to sleep, he had aimlessly picked at the food until it became cold and then simply sat in the dark contemplating the events of the past 24 hours.

Harry briefly had a vision of muggles after car crashes. He knew that they had panic attacks and, even if they were physically fine, they still had emotionally trauma that took time to process. Was he going through that? He wasn't even sure. After leaving Dumbledore's office, he'd gone straight to his dorm and hadn't spoken to anyone since. He glanced at his hands—they weren't shaking, which was a good sign. He'd managed to eat most of the food that Kreacher dropped off, and surely that meant he was fine…right?

As Harry stood, he observed himself in the mirror and noticed for the first time the state he was in. His hair was matted with sweat and blood and stuck awkwardly to his head. His face was covered in small cuts and bruises, and he had a thick 5 o'clock shadow. His clothes were torn, stained, and, well, smelled horrid. He desperately needed a shower, but wondered what he'd do about his clothes, as all of his things were in Hermione's bag.

As this thought occurred to him, there was a gentle tap on the door. Harry hadn't even bothered to turn the lights on, so he just grabbed his wand and muttered lumos before stumbling over to open the door. As if she'd known exactly his predicament, Hermione stood on the other side.

"Hi." She said softly, looking at him nervously. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I didn't sleep at all actually, and I was about to come find you. What's going on?" Harry glanced behind her, wondering where Ron was.

"Everyone else is downstairs—well, everyone who hasn't gone home, that is. Luna left a few hours ago to calm her father down. Neville and his grandmother are still there, but I'm sure they'll need to leave soon. Ron is—well—I kind of felt like I was intruding, so I've been up here for about an hour…" Hermione looked as if she wanted to cry, but no tears came. Perhaps she didn't have any left.

"Ah..okay. Hey, do you have your bag with you? I need to shower, but I don't have any clean clothes…"

"Oh, of course!" Hermione slid the strap off her shoulder as if she'd completely forgotten it was still there. Harry was surprised it had survived the battle. She rummaged through it and withdrew a clean pair of jeans and a soft tshirt. "Will this do?"

"Yeah, thanks. I'll be out in a few minutes, will you still be here?"

"Yes, I actually should shower as well." She pushed a lock of unruly hair out of her eyes and sighed before turning and trudging down the boys dormitory stairs.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was sitting in front of the Gryffindor fireplace as Hermione came trudging down the stairs, squeezing her wet hair with a towel. "It's weird, isn't it?" she asked, "that from up here you can't even tell. The tower looks the same as always—like the battle never even happened, and like we'd never been away."

She perched on the edge of the chair opposite Harry, who nodded. He was still sleep-deprived, but felt somewhat better after the shower. "Harry?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"Yes?"

"What was in the snitch?"

He looked at her. The thought briefly crossed his mind that he shouldn't tell her. Dumbledore had meant for only him to know, but chances were she had already figured it out. Hermione had been on this journey as long as he had—she'd stuck with him even when Ron left, and she'd been tortured worse than anyone at Malfoy Manor. Harry sighed. "I'm sure you have a pretty good guess, Hermione."

She looked awestruck, which was an unusual sight for Hermione. "I mean, the thought crossed my mind…but I didn't allow myself to believe that it could—that they could actually be real. Harry, does that mean you're the master of death?"

"You heard what I said to Dumbledore. I don't want it—any of it—except the cloak. The stone is gone, and I'm not going to go looking for it. Only you, me, and Ron will know for sure that it ever even existed. I'll put the wand back where it belongs and that will be that. I'll live a long and happy life and die whenever I'm supposed to."

Hermione was quiet. Harry studied her; she looked more tired than he'd ever seen her, but not exactly sad. Although her eyes were puffy and red from crying, he knew that she was going through an emotional rollercoaster similar to his. For the first time in months, she didn't look like she was calculating or planning. After a moment of silence, she met his gaze.

"What do you want to do now, Harry?"

He didn't respond at first. Honestly, he didn't really feel like doing anything. But he knew sleep would not come either, and there was a tugging feeling pulling him towards wherever Ginny was. He hadn't properly talked to her in nearly a year, and there was so much to say.

"Well…I want to see Ginny. And Ron, and everyone else. But I don't want to interrupt...I also need to speak with Andromeda Tonks. What do you want to do?"

"I have no idea, at this moment. But I'm sure they'd all love to see you down there. We can go whenever you're ready."

"Alright." Harry stood and extended his hand. For the first time in a while, he saw Hermione grin. She placed her hand in his as he helped her up, and the two friends walked hand in hand towards the Great Hall.