AN: I'm still trying to figure angst out so y'all be nice.

HOUSE OF CARDS

Chapter One

Ginny Weasley, her dark red hair flying, dodged hexes and curses as she fought for her life. She crouched behind what was left of the Hufflepuff tables wincing as the gash in her left thigh reopened and began to leak blood again.

She'd been on the receiving end of a particularly nasty slicing hex from one Anton Dolahov when the Death Eater was suddenly blasted the length of the Great Hall. His body had hit with a wet slapping sound as it impacted the far wall.

The red head had seen Hermione Granger step into her line of vision. The beautiful brunette looked like an avenging valkyrie as she growled, "Payback's a bitch." Before firing off another hex at some unseen foe.

The Great Hall was awash in a sea of destruction, blood and death. The sounds of chaos filled her ears as she watched another Death Eater try to get a bead on Hermione. It seemed to the young witch that her friend was drawing a lot of fire in her direction. Raising her wand, she cast a bat bogey hex at the masked attacker.

The brown eyed witch watched as the evil wizard began swatting wildly at creatures darting about his head and dive bombing his eyes. Recognizing the hex, she shot Ginny a grateful nod and then turned and dashed off into more chaos.

Movement out of the corner of the red head's eye caused her to turn to the right. Just in time to see Bellatrix Lestrange mutter something that sounded like, "There's more than one way to stop blood traitors from multiplying... Testiculus Destructis!"

Ginny's blue eyes widened as her brother Charlie was hit by a purplish bolt of plasma that caused him to scream in agony grabbing his private area and falling to the floor in convulsions.

Horrified, the young woman watched as the mad witch focussed on another red head. This time it was Ron. Ginny fired a bolt of white energy at the evil Bellatrix just as the crazed women got off a shot. Ginny's hex caused the shot to hit her brother but not a full on blast like Charlie took.

She watched as Ron staggered, gently cradling the family jewels. He fell to his knees with a wide eyed look of surprised shock and pain. That was enough for the youngest Weasley, she began rapidly firing hexes at the evil Lestrange. The latter focussed her eyes on the only female child of Arthur and Molly.

"Another opportunity I see." She cackled raising her wand.

"Not my daughter you bitch!"

A bolt of white fire hit the Death Eater square in the chest. Angered, Bellatrix turned her attention to the mother of the blood traitors. Before she could actually get a shot off, the black haired witch was engulfed in the green fire of Molly's Avada Kedavra.

Bellatrix Lestrange was no more.

Ginny didn't have time to see if Ron was alright as another skirmish presented itself in the form of a hulking Death Eater headed her way.

2 months later...

The funerals had been solemnly attended and the dead put to rest. The survivors were now tasked with the business of living.

It hadn't been an easy undertaking and some were beginning to think that perhaps it would've been much easier to have died rather than endure night after night of horrific nightmares or struggling with the inevitable physical handicaps that war, be it muggle or magical ultimately wrought.

Dinner at the Burrow had become an awkward affair these days, with empty place settings screaming silently yet loud enough for all to hear and once again be reminded.

Fred's empty spot was like an open wound. Gaping and ugly, bleeding still. So much so that more often than not George would find somewhere else to be at meal times. The remaining twin had thrown himself fully into rebuilding the joke shop.

Ginny would sit quietly next to Harry. The youngest Weasley had taken to sharing a bed with the troubled young man whenever he stayed with the Weasleys. Neither Molly nor Arthur objected as it oftentimes allowed the young woman to get much needed rest.

She never had bad dreams when Harry was with her. The same was true for the boy-who-vanquished-the-dark-lord. When he held Ginny at night, his arms wrapped tightly around her warm, welcoming body... the nightmares faded and welcome sleep ensued. It wasn't about sex for them, it was about comfort. It was about survival.

Molly and Arthur each had their own demons that never left them alone. The agony of loosing a child. A loss so severe, so profound... A pain that was never truly recoverable.

Arthur would often times retreat to his shed looking for solace in his gadgets. However, most times he would be found sitting in a corner. His eyes glazed as he relived his experiences in the battle. A look of resignation on his face.

Molly threw herself into the housekeeping of the Burrow itself. Many times she could be found scrubbing the floors muggle-style until her hands and knees would bleed. Her once twinkling blue eyes now held the shadowed cast of unconcealed sorrow. Dark circles were blatant testament to her own sleepless nights.

Bill and Fleur still resided at Shell Cottage. Clinging to each other night after night as visions of death and destruction would appear in their dreams like a sickly perverted side show of horror.

Both young people had lost a great deal of weight. So much so that Fleur had been put on nutritional potions to augment her nearly non-existent diet. Bill had realized that the only time his wife would eat was when they went to his parents house. Their appearance at Molly's table was more of an attempt to keep Fleur alive rather than any sense of family.

He was currently looking into some form of therapy for both of them.

Percy had been joining his family at dinner too. His own guilt causing a physiological change in his body. He'd begun carrying a white, chalky tasting potion on his person for when the burn in his stomach arose.

His mother had taken to preparing a meal for him that was soft and slightly bland. It was the only thing that would stay on his stomach.

He'd also lost a good deal of weight as well, simply because he'd stopped eating. In his mind, that was the only way to avoid the unfortunate session he would endure in the loo after eating. It was the only way to avoid the broken blood vessels in his eyes, the sweating, the cramps and of course the blood that he would retch along with whatever else remained in his stomach.

Psychological torment was sometimes more intense than the physical.

Charlie spent most of his time back in Romania, at the dragon sanctuary. He would manage a weekend or two at the Burrow out of each month though.

The carefree Dragon Handler had become more introspective, erratic and moody. On his visits, he could be often found sitting in his mother's herb garden plucking the leaves off of various plants.

With a maniacal gleam in his dark blue eyes, he would then shred the plant material into tiny pieces that he would use to entice the gnomes out of their hiding places. If he managed to catch one, he would then methodically and with surgical precision slowly dismember the poor creature using his bare hands.

The tiny squeals of agony from the garden would bring Molly to the kitchen door to watch with horror filled eyes as her once kind and gentle son slowly morphed into a sadistic sociopath.

She understood some of his behaviour. Especially after he had confessed to what that strange spell Bellatrix Lestrange had hit him with had done to his body.

His testicles had been incinerated from the inside out.

There was no treatment. No cure.

Charlie Weasley would never father a child.

Molly had spoken to several healers at St. Mungo's regarding her son's slowly deteriorating sanity. The healers were at a loss and suggested that Charlie be kept under close observation.

They hadn't wanted to admit him to their psychiatric ward because there was no room. Every bed was filled with the survivors of Voldemort's quest for power. There was no room for Charlie. Their lack of knowledge or help had led Molly to seek out Hermione Granger.

The young woman was muggle-born. Sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse.

This time, it was a blessing for after informing the young dark eyed woman of her concerns regarding her son, the brilliant mind that was Granger began researching P.T.S.D., or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Hermione knew that extensive study had gone into the malady following the muggle wars in Vietnam, Iran, Iraq and Afghanistan.

Thanks to the internet, Hermione had found a plethora of information. Her studies had led her to the conclusion that sooner or later Charlie Weasley was going to snap. Her sense of failure grew to enormous proportions after informing Molly of her conclusion and seeing the defeated look bubbling in the older woman's once sparkling eyes. There was nothing she could do to help Charlie.

Just one more failure in a long line of them.

At least in Hermione's mind anyway.

The brilliant young witch who had fought so valiantly in the battle now thought of herself as less than nothing. The young woman would toss and turn in the night. Silently reliving every perceived failure in her life.

Her childhood issues with the neighbourhood children. Little hellions that would constantly torment her and call her names. Her parents quiet fear and disappointment that their daughter had been born... different, and the later anguish that tormented her soul after she had oblivated them.

Her nightmarish memories of episodes at Hogwarts. Of trolls, of botched potions, of Snape's hurtful comments, of Draco Malfoy's incessant taunts about her so called dirty blood, of three-headed dogs and devil's snare. Of battles in the ministry and the searing pain of Dolahov's curse. Of seeing her best friend's helpless horror at watching his Godfather die. Of seeing Katie Bell's body thrown this way and that, and finally of their time on the run.

Her hopeless fear that had literally engulfed her every time it was her turn to wear the horcrux cursed necklace, her anger at Ron for leaving them, her anger at Harry for dragging them blindly into it. Her crippling pain and guilt at not figuring things out faster.

Finally... her torture at Malfoy Manor.

Being enveloped in the blood boiling, soul melting agony of multiple Cruciatus curses.

Being beaten and ultimately scarred for life with that hideous word carved into her skin. A mark that would never fully heal. A wound that ached and itched so badly that the young woman's forearm was more often than not covered in bandages because she had scratched the wound to a bloody, meaty mess.

The most hurtful of Hermione's torments though was the disgusted look in Ronald's eyes when she had finally shown him what lay beneath the bandages. He had reacted in typical fashion by impulsively blurting, "Maybe you can just keep it covered up so no one can see your shame."

Shame?

Hermione was not ashamed of being muggle-born but apparently Ron was.

He'd come back to her later and tried to apologize but the damage was done.

A seed of doubt had been planted.

As for Ronald, he had mostly kept to himself. When Hermione was not around, he would lock himself in his bedroom, lay on his bed and masturbate.

Or at least try.

He found that he could get an erection and work himself to orgasm, but when he finally came, it would burn.

He realized that he too, had been hit with the same spell that Charlie had experienced and it terrified him. His dreams were filled with visions of would COULD be. That one day, out of nowhere, he would snap. He would destroy those people that he cared about the most. Those people that he loved.

Especially Hermione...

He admitted to himself that she was the one he wanted. She was the one he thought of when he wanked off. She was destined to share his life. To be his wife and the mother of his children.

Then he would realize that if he was indeed headed in the same direction as his brother, then there would be no children.

That thought bothered him slightly but not as much as the thought of loosing Hermione. He would keep her in his life. By his side.

Always...

He didn't seem to care whether or not she wanted children. In fact, he was fairly certain that she would want to continue with her schooling and that was fine with him for the time being.

She would focus on that. He did decide that she could continue to learn and still be his wife. They would be happy.

Little did he realize that the madness had already begun.

Meanwhile...

The Weasley family and the golden trio were not the only people in the wizarding world that had been feeling the delayed effects of the life changing horror that was Voldemort's Second Rising.

Rolanda Hooch paused in her task to wipe dusty sweat from her brow. She, Pomona Sprout and Filius Flitwick were working to shore up the foundation on the main entrance side of the badly damaged Hogwarts Castle.

Most of the debris had been levitated out of doors and separated into neat piles. Foundation stones in one pile, wall pieces in another, floor stones, cobblestones, tiles and stair treads in their own piles. This had been accomplished by Minerva McGonagall and Argus Filch.

As angry as the squib seemed to be most of the time, there wasn't a person alive who knew the structure of the castle as well as its dedicated caretaker.

The Flying Instructor pinched the bridge of her nose as she felt another headache coming on. Her action wasn't lost on her companions.

"Are you feeling alright?" Filius asked as he too wiped perspiration away from his eyes.

Hooch took a deep breath and replied, "We need a break."

It was true.

Immediately after the formalities of funerals, Minerva McGonagall had set her determined, unyielding will into seeing Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry rise from the ashes.

She had pushed herself and the remaining staff night and day like a demented task master.

Exhaustion was not an option.

Hooch shook her head and focussed her magic on another weak area of the foundation.

Filius had developed a spell that when cast would show all weak areas in varying colours. Pink, purple and red being the primary colours used. Pink being a weakness than can wait awhile, purple being a colour that needed attention soon and red being a colour that screamed danger.

The spike haired witch shot blue energy in the form of the repairing spell that the diminutive charms professor had also created at a dangerously red area near what remained of the main entrance.

Pomona Sprout shot a concerned look in the direction of Hooch. She looked down at Filius, her small dark eyes clearly showing her worry.

Both professors had witnessed the horrific air battle that Hooch had been involved in over the burning Quidditch pitch. The former star player had led six death eaters in a spectacular aerial duel that displayed to the world just how skilled Rolanda Hooch was on a broom.

And just how brave as well.

While performing incredible aerial acrobatics, the Quidditch coach had taken out three of her pursuers before taking the fight directly over the castle. After taking out two more, the last death eater had gotten off a lucky shot that set fire to the bristles of her Nimbus.

Even as flames began eating away at her robes, Rolanda continued to battle with fierce determination.

The end came when a well aimed shot from the ground, sliced her broom in two. The burning witch fell from the sky and through the badly damaged roof of the Transfiguration wing.

It was serendipity that Flitwick happened to fighting in that area and had witnessed the fireball that was Rolanda Hooch fall from the sky. He couldn't stop the impact of her breaking through the roof, but he did manage to stop her impact with the stone floor.

The severe head injury that she had suffered was now responsible for the almost debilitating headaches and reduced vision in her left eye. The burns on her back were slowly healing but itched like hell!

"Perhaps we could take a short break?" Pomona whispered eyeing Rolanda with concern. Her own injuries while distracting, had not been as severe as the Flying Instructor's had been...

Sprout had set bobby traps throughout the castle and its grounds for unsuspecting death eaters.

Devil's Snare had entrapped giants and trolls, Venomous Tentacula had taken unwary werewolves and death eaters by surprise. Its suction cups latching on and pumping lethal venom into its prey. Other plants such as magical ivy had caught foes in strangle holds. Entangling the enemy into a writhing mass of tendrils. Those that continued to struggle were slowly suffocated.

The plump witch had moved with surprising agility in and around her burning greenhouses fighting with a ferocity that belied her Hufflepuff origins. She had been struck with a glancing blow that had nearly severed her left arm below the elbow.

A healing brace and some quick spellwork by a bleeding Poppy Pomfrey had allowed Sprout to keep her arm. The knowledge that she would have to wear the brace for the rest of her life barely bothering the witch.

Filius glanced up a Pomona for a moment, then back to Hooch. His dark eyes projected tired concern as well.

The Charms Professor's eyes also reflected a glazed haunted expression. Dark circles and a gauntness about the small man attested to sleepless nights fraught with nightmares resulting in lack of appetite.

The tiny wizard had seen an enormous amount of action which surprisingly involved a good deal of hand to hand combat. The one particular engagement that haunted his dreams was when he'd found himself up against a single death eater in a corridor near where Hooch had come to a crashing finale...

He'd turned a corner and found a masked wizard joyfully using a slicing hex to torture one of his Ravenclaws. The small man had roared his outrage, distracting the evil wizard and allowing the student, Justin Finch-Fletchley to escape clutching his severed right hand to his chest.

The death eater then turned his attention to Flitwick. He had managed to grasp the tiny man in a powerful bear hug and was in the process of squeezing him to death when Filius reacted.

Instinctively using his goblin heritage, he'd reached up and had fastened his razor sharp teeth on the man's throat at his jugular. Biting down, Flitwick's teeth sank through the flesh and severed the vein causing a gush of blood to spill from the now screaming death eater.

The man had flung off his mask and to Filius' horror had revealed himself to be Herman Oxley. Ravenclaw Head Boy from ten years ago. The man, who had been one of Flitwick's favorites, fell to his knees and bled out on the floor at the tiny man's feet.

The small man nodded at Pomona and said, "I think a break would do us all some good."

In another part of the castle...

Sybil Trelawney watched from her tower as Minerva McGonagall set ablaze yet another decaying giant's body. The stench of burning flesh brought tears to eyes that had seen so much death and destruction.

She'd been watching McGonagall with growing trepidation...

The Deputy Headmistress had been stalking the grounds all morning; cleaning up bodies left over from the battle. Bodies that no one had claimed. Mostly magical creatures, but occasionally she would discover a human.

The rate of decay had made identifying these people nearly impossible. In some cases, she could tell by the clothing that remained whether the person had been on the side of the light or a member of Voldemort's forces. If it turned out to be the latter, a vindictive gleam would appear in angry green eyes and soon the body would be incinerated.

The grounds of the castle were liberally dotted in blackened scorch marks from McGonagall's activities.

Sybil blinked away tears that had formed as she watched as the once proud and noble Gryffindor had been reduced to the angry, brittle harpy that roamed the grounds with such vengeful glee.

Even in animagus form, the once sleek silver tabby had transformed into a hissing, spitting creature that padded about the castle with fur standing on end and a switching tail bristled like a bottle brush.

Minerva had worked her weary staff with a forcefulness that frightened the Divination teacher. Pushing them to near collapse in her quest to ready the school to reopen as quickly as possible.

Something had to be done...

Minerva had to be made to see what she was doing to those around her and what she was doing to herself.

The tall witch had lost so much weight that she now looked like a walking skeleton. Her once elegant cheekbones had become so pronounced that the rest of her face appeared sunken in, giving her an almost skull-like appearance. Gleaming, intelligent green eyes had been transformed into piercing chips of malachite set into darkened hallows. Her brow was constantly knit into a forbidding frown.

Anger radiated off of the Scottish witch in waves that caused the others to figuratively and sometimes actually tip-toe around her.

Wiping away a tear, Sybil glanced back into her office. On her desk was a dusty bottle of sherry. Untouched since before the battle. She had not taken a single drink. Shaking her head grimly, she gazed at the rest of the room.

The structure was mostly untouched. The battle never really made it to her area. The only exception being in one corner where Harry Potter and Voldemort had crashed through whilst locked in a deadly embrace.

The Divination Professor watched as a ray of sunlight shined down through the hole Potter and the dark lord had made. A small smile lifted her thin lips as she walked over to stand in that warm spot. Raising her eyes to the sky, she whispered, "Please help us."

-to be continued.

AN: I'm not good at writing more than one story at a time. However, I have been... challenged to try. So that's the plan. Be nice y'all.