A/N: Well, here's the epilogue, one day late. This turned out to be a little longer than I intended it to be, so that's why it's late; otherwise, enjoy!

Professor Dumbledore

For a few minutes, I allowed myself to mourn Harry and his friends. Brave Harry. When Severus had flooed the Order Headquarters, saying that Harry was off to try and find Sirius in the Department of Mysteries, I had been absent; I was trying to locate one of Tom's horcruxes. I had found a lead, but when Severus's patronus told me what was going on, I immediately apparated to the Ministry.

However, I was sidetracked by the interruption of Cornelius, who tried to arrest me. It held me up for a few vital moments, and because of that, Harry was dead. Poor, brave, loving Harry.

I pulled myself together. I needed to inform Cornelius of what had happened. Slowly, I stood, bearing the weight of guilt on my old and weary shoulders. Harry's wand felt heavy in my hand, and I quickly conjured a golden-lined box in which to put it into. I couldn't bear holding it in my hands any longer.

As I was about to leave the veil of death behind me, I heard a whispering. Turning around, I saw the formation of nargles I had seen earlier. Rather than Ariana's smiling face projected out to me, I saw Harry's, full of vibrant laughter. He was truly happy now, going on the next adventure, wherever that would take him.

Choking up, I turned away. I did not need the reminder of my failures. But even as I started to walk, I thought I heard Harry's voice one last time, saying, "Professor, I forgive you." Those four words stopped my heart. Whether or not they had been imagined or fabricated, I felt comfort. My burden seemed lighter. I wiped the tears that had collected on my cheeks and looked ahead. I had a job to do.

The world needed to know what nargles really were.

Molly Weasley

I was about ready to go to bed when I happened upon the family clock in the living room. My heart stopped in my mouth. While Arthur and my clock hands were pointed at 'Home', and Fred, George, Bill, Percy, and Charlie were at 'Work', Ron and Ginny's hands were pointed at 'Mortal Peril'.

"Arthur!" I called up the stairs. He was already on his way up to bed, but I had to get his attention. "Come down here, quickly!"

"Yes, dear," he hollered back down. "I'll only be a minute."

"Arthur, Ron and Ginny are in 'Mortal Peril!'" I cried. Arthur moved down the stairs so fast he might have apparated.

"What?"

I pointed to the clock, and seeing the two hands on the clock suddenly reminded me of the last war. Arthur pulled out his wand, and muttered, "Expecto Patronum!"

A brilliant white weasel burst forth from his wand, and Arthur ordered it to send a message to Dumbledore. The next few minutes were tense, and Arthur stood, stroking my shoulders. I registered the comfort, but it didn't seem to have any effect—I was still terrified with fear.

There came a knock on the door. Arthur rushed to open it, but I still stood in front of the clock, waiting, wishing, hoping that the hands would move away to 'School', or 'Traveling', or even 'Dentist'.

Arthur came back into the room, followed by a weary Remus Lupin. He looked like he had just come out of a battle, and not emerging unscathed. Rather, he had several bruises and a number of open wounds, but otherwise he seemed fine. At least, on the surface he did.

"Molly," he said politely, but in his tone was something else, a great sadness that I could not place. "There has been an incident at the Ministry."

"What happened? Where are Ron and Ginny? Are they safe? Please tell me they're safe!" I pleaded.

"A dozen Death Eaters broke into the Department of Mysteries, trying to steal the weapon." I gasped.

"What happened?"

Lupin grimaced. "Harry had a vision-" he started to say, but I interrupted him.

"Harry? Is Harry alright? Where is he?" Lupin held up his hands.

"Please, let me finish, Molly." He was almost begging. There was deep pain in his voice, a loss so great I couldn't—wouldn't, guess what it was that was on his heart. I nodded.

"Harry had a vision of Sirius being tortured, in the DoM, and ran off to the Ministry to try and rescue him. He wasn't alone."

"Who was with him?" I had a feeling I knew who, but I had to be sure.

"Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood." My heart began to sink. It couldn't be! I couldn't accept it! Never!

"They fought off the Death Eaters, killing them all, but…" Lupin trailed off.

"They killed them?" asked Arthur in horror.

"All twelve of them," Lupin confirmed. "But-" His voice choked up. He put a hand over his face, and relaxed. But his expression was still troubled.

"But what?" I demanded.

"They're all—dammit, I can't!" Lupin broke down sobbing. "I can't." He leaned against the wall, and saw the clock. He seemed unsurprised that Ron and Ginny's hands were pointing at 'Mortal Peril'.

"Tell me," I ordered him desperately. "Please, tell me."

"Molly," Lupin started, taking a deep breath, "they didn't make it."

"What do you mean they didn't make it?" I asked.

"They're….they're dead," Lupin said finally. His eyes met mine, and I could see nothing but the honest, brutal truth staring back at me.

"No," I whispered. "No. You don't mean that. You don't!" I was denying it. I knew in my head that he was telling the truth, but my heart couldn't accept it.

"Molly," Lupin said, "I wish more than anything in the world that what I'm telling you wasn't true." His voice cracked. "More than anything."

I leaned into Arthur, and he held me tight. "Where are they now?"

"They being analyzed by Unspeakables right now, to determine the cause of death. However, Harry…." Lupin broke down again.

"What happened to him?" Arthur asked.

"There isn't a body. He went through the veil." Lupin was letting the tears flow freely now, but he still managed to talk.

"What about the Death Eaters? Who was there?"

"Lucius Malfoy, the Lestranges, all of them, Dolohov, and a few others."

"Malfoy, the Lestranges, and Dolohov? And they managed to beat them?" Arthur asked incredulously.

"Apparently. The Unspeakables also discovered a bit of temporal radiation around the Department. I know for a fact that Harry used at least two Time Turners."

"How do you know for sure?"

"Because I saw two Harrys fighting against a group of Death Eaters, and after that, Voldemort himself."

"You-Know-Who was there?" I asked in fear.

"Yes, and he beat me, Tonks, Moody, and Sirius in a straight fight. He got Sirius, too. But Harry beat him."

"Beat him?" breathed Arthur.

"Pushed him right through the veil. I don't remember anything after that—I fell unconscious."

A phoenix patronus illuminated the room. "Molly, Arthur, please come to the Ministry," was all Dumbledore said, but I could hear the weariness in his voice.

"Let's go," said Arthur. He apparated us to the worker's entrance. I barely remembered what happened next, it was all a blur. But what I remembered next I will remember for the rest of my life.

Ron and Ginny lay side by side on white stretchers, and I ran up to them as fast as my legs could carry me. Ron was closer, so I went to him first. There appeared to be nothing wrong—his freckles caught in the light, and his nose had a spot of dirt on it that never seemed to wear off. But as I ruffled his hair, I knew. He was gone. His eyes didn't open, his chest wasn't rising and falling, his usual snores silent. An Unspeakable was standing beside them.

"How did he-" I started to ask, before the tears could come.

"Killing Curse. Struck him in the abdomen." I nodded, reminded of Gideon. Gideon had been felled by a killing curse in the same place.

I turned my attention from Ron to Ginny. Her fiery red hair fell about her head, but her usual bright smile was absent, the fire in her eyes extinguished. But all over her body I could see lacerations and deep cuts into her skin. The Unspeakable heard the unspoken question, an answered it for me.

"She bled to death, but after being tortured under the Cruciatus Curse multiple times." Again, I was reminded of my older brothers, but this time of Fabian—tortured to death for information, but he never broke, never told them anything. In fact, he reportedly never even screamed.

"How long?"

"Several minutes, but...that wasn't the extent of it. Her torturer used the Cruciatus Maximus curse on her, and held her under it for at least twenty seconds."

"Twenty seconds?" The Cruciatus Maximus Curse—the ultimate pain inducing device, was a spell rarely used, mainly because of what it did to its target. Usually, after even a five second exposure, the victim went insane. Frank Longbottom was the primary example—after fifteen seconds under the curse, he retreated into his own mind, never to return again.

"I was part of the investigation crew. We used some Time Turners to see what happened, and I have to admire your daughter's courage. She never even made a sound, even under the Maximus. She was still conscious after the Maximus, now that I recall. You son came to her side, as she was dying. I think she tried to tell him something, but I couldn't make it out."

I stroked Ginny's hair. Somehow, even though the pain of my loss was starting to creep into my heart, I felt comforted. "Thank you," I said to the Unspeakable.

"For what?" the Unspeakable asked uncomfortably.

"Nothing." But it meant everything to me.

Augusta Longbottom

The owl came in through the window at exactly 12:49 a.m. I can remember, because the envelope wasn't the usually color, nor was the ink. The red ink contrasted the black envelope with a deathly finality. My hands shaking, I took the letter from the owl. I had only received one other letter like this—a letter telling me my husband had died.

I broke the seal and pulled out the letter before I could stop myself. The letter was short and to the point—my kind of letter. But its contents were not to my liking.

Dear Madam Longbottom, it read, we are sorry to inform you that at approximately 10:22 p.m. this evening, on the 18th of June, within the Department of Mysteries, your grandson, Neville Longbottom, died after being struck with the Blasting Hex. The body is currently located in the Department of Mysteries.

Best regards,

The Ministry of Magic

I lay the letter on my desk and stood up. I had to visit my grandson.

Twenty minutes later, I was doing just that. Having heard from the Unspeakables what had happened on the way to my grandson's deathbed, I was both remarkably sadden and incredibly proud. It is a strange combination, to feel both of those emotions at the same time, especially since I had very little to be proud of in my grandson.

But that didn't matter. My grandson did. He had a large wound in his lungs that had killed him, but he was wearing the goofiest smile I had seen on him, ever. Perhaps being dead made it all the sillier, but at the same time, I knew that my grandson had died doing what he thought was right—proving his loyalty to his friends. It reminded me of Frank—how he was so set in his beliefs about what he needed to do, and then did it.

Neville's smile portrayed all that seriousness, but had the same joviousness that Frank had throughout his life. For the first time in my life, I truly was proud of Neville. He finally became the wizard that I knew he could be. If only he could hear me tell him that.

Dan Granger

I rose at 6 o'clock sharp. I always had. Always will. After a short shower, I sat down to my usual breakfast of two fried eggs, three pieces of bacon, and two slices of toast and picked up the morning paper. My wife would be up in about fifteen minutes, so now was the best time to be alone.

The news was fairly boring, although my team was doing well, but the worst day of my life began when I heard the knock at the door. Shoving the last of my final piece of toast into my mouth, I dusted off my hands and stood up to get the door. When I opened it, I saw someone who I had never met, but had been described to me on numerous occasions by Hermione.

A long flowing robe, half moon spectacles, and a white beard that was tucked into his waist. That was how Hermione had described him, and it was accurate. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore stood right in front of me, a sad expression on his face. I recognized the expression instantly—I had to use a couple of times myself when I was in the army—he was bringing bad news.

"Mr. Granger," said the old man, "my name is Albus Dumbledore, and I think we need to have a talk."

"Alright." I held the door open, and he came in. He didn't take any particular notice to anything except for the bowl of lemon drops that Emma always kept, even though I was constantly telling her that eating them was bad for her teeth.

We sat down at the kitchen table. I looked up at the clock. 6:24, it read. Six minutes until Emma would normally wake up. "Would you mind if I woke my wife? I have a feeling she'll want to hear this, too."

"I don't mind at all," said Headmaster Dumbledore. "Would you mind if I had a lemon drop? I can't seem to drop the addiction."

"Help yourself. Maybe if you eat them all, Emma will finally stop eating them herself." Headmaster Dumbledore chuckled, and I went back up the stairs to wake up Emma.

I roused her with a shake. "What's up?" she asked, sitting up on one arm.

"Headmaster Dumbledore is here," I explained. "He says he needs to have a talk with us."

"This early in the morning?" She yawned.

"I think he was trying to catch us before we went to work, honey."

"I'll be down in two minutes."

"And by then, perhaps the Headmaster will have finished off your lemon drops. I gave him permission to eat as many as he likes." Emma's eyes flashed, and she was out of bed in an instant. I left the room, and fifteen seconds later, she emerged, wearing a T-shirt and jeans that didn't match. I didn't comment on her apparel as we walked down the stairs.

Emma sat down beside me, and grabbed a lemon drop from the now depleted bowl. Three wrappers now decorated the kitchen table, but Dumbledore swallowed once, and cleared his throat.

"Is there anything wrong with Hermione or her schoolwork?" asked Emma.

"Yes and no," replied Dumbledore. "Do you mind if I give you a little background information before I tell you why I'm here?"

I looked at Emma, and then up at the clock. It read 6:26. We had some time before we needed to be at the office at 8. "Go ahead," said Emma. "I'm always game for learning new stuff."

"Very well. About twenty years ago, a man who called himself Lord Voldemort started a terrorist group that tried to take over the Wizarding World. It was a very dark time, and he and his followers killed many people, both wizards and muggles alike. That is, until he was defeated by an infant named Harry Potter. You probably have met the boy." We nodded. At the end of Hermione's second year, she had introduced her friends Ron and Harry.

"Anyway, Voldemort was presumably killed, and his followers were either killed or imprisoned. However, at the end of the last school year, he used a dark ritual to fashion himself a new body. He broke out his followers from prison, and had been readying he and his followers for another war.

"Last night, Voldemort sent a vision to Harry, showing him his godfather being tortured deep within the Ministry itself. Harry, caring for his godfather a great deal, gathered his friends, including Hermione, and went to London to try and rescue him."

From how Dumbledore was talking, I knew where he was going. I think Emma did too, but neither of us interrupted him. As much as I wanted not to hear this, I had to as well. I needed to know if Hermione was safe, or if she….wasn't.

"It was a trap; Voldemort was luring Harry there to retrieve a weapon that neither he nor his Death Eaters, nor anyone but Harry, could retrieve. Twelve of Voldemort's most powerful Death Eaters were lying in wait until Harry appeared and removed the weapon. Harry, Hermione, and their friends managed to defeat all of the Death Eaters, but…."

"But what?" asked Emma.

"Everyone—Harry, Hermione, and their four friends, died in the process." Dumbledore looked sorrowfully at us. "I am truly sorry for your loss."

"You're lying," said Emma.

"How I wish I was."

"You're lying!" shouted Emma. "Hermione isn't dead." She was whispering now. "She's not. She's just fine."

Dumbledore lowered his head. "Honey," I said, but she cut me off.

"Don't you go believing him."

"I was going to say to Headmaster Dumbledore that he should prove it. Let us see Hermione."

Emma didn't protest. Dumbledore rose slowly. "If you would take my arm," he said to Emma. "I shall be back momentarily."

With a soft crack, both he and Emma disappeared. I blinked. I hadn't seem a real display of magic since Professor McGonagall had shown that Hermione was a witch, mainly because of the law against underage magic. I had wanted to see what she could do for so long, but now? Now I might not be able to. Ever.

Even if Emma was in denial, I knew that Dumbledore was telling the truth. He had no reason to lie. I didn't want to accept his words as truth. But the finality with which he spoke, his depressed demeanor, that all pointed toward the truth. The truth that my baby girl—my Hermione—was dead. I could have cried. But I didn't. My wife needed me to be strong, for her, and for myself.

Dumbledore reappeared in my kitchen, and I took the proffered arm. The next thing I knew, I felt like I was being squeezed through a small tube while being twisted around. Then, I was somewhere else altogether. The first thing I saw was Emma kneeling beside a white bed. On the bed lay Hermione. She might have been asleep, had it not been for the way she lay there without moving an inch, her chest lying still, rather than moving up and down, like it should.

I knelt beside my wife and put an arm around her shoulders. She put her head on my shoulder, and began to cry. I gave her shoulders a light squeeze, and stroked Hermione's hair with my other hand. Her bushy, brown hair that had frizzled so often when it was damp outside or she got really really worried about something. Her eyes were closed, and it spared me the pain of looking into their emptiness, where there used to be excitement and curiosity. Her lips were curved upward in a slight smile, one that conveyed the environment of where she died. She hadn't died instantly. No. She had died surrounded by friends who loved her, no matter the quirks, who respected her for who she was, and supported her as she supported them.

Looking down at my daughter, my beautiful, wonderful baby girl, I felt the tears start to well up in my eyes. I wiped them away, and held Emma tighter. Hermione had been happy, while she was here. Now she was gone; I was still here. Maybe I am still needed for something.

Fudge the Incompetent!

By Papyra Inkler and Xenophilius Lovegood

Last night, the Ministry's defenses were breached for the first time ever—not once—but twice! The first time by twelve Death Eaters, trying to steal an as of yet indeterminate object from the Department of Mysteries. But the second time was by six school children! School children!

Not only was Fudge the reason for this lack of security, he didn't even realize that there was a threat at all until Dumbledore himself showed back up at the Ministry. Fudge reportedly tried to arrest Dumbledore on the spot, but Dumbledore wouldn't have any of that. After informing Fudge that there were intruders in the Ministry, Dumbledore headed off to put down the insurgents, only to find that all of the intruders, both Death Eater and School Child alike, had offed each other.

But that isn't the biggest of the shockers! Lucius Malfoy was found among the dead Death Eaters, and everyone knows he's had the Minister's ears for years now. Just think of all the Death Eater-friendly laws he could have and has passed through! Fudge gave out favors in return for money so many times you could fill up a Gringotts vault a knut per bribe.

Fudge's incompetence doesn't stop there. Our readers may recall the Hogwarts High Inquisitor and current Headmistress, Madam Dolores Umbridge. Our inside sources from Hogwarts say that she has started up a totalitaristic regime, punishing students for voicing their opinion, banning our publication, bringing in students for questionings not entirely legal, and even torturing student with the use of a blood quill! She's carried Fudge's stamp of approval since the very beginning, and we can only imagine what else she has done or may do in the future!

The final nail in Fudge's coffin is Harry Potter himself. Ostracized by the Minister as of late, Fudge completely refused any proof that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned, so far as to not only ignore the tragic death of Cedric Diggory at You-Know-Who's hands, but to also silence the man who had helped orchestrate the entire scheme and infiltrate into Hogwarts! Harry Potter ended up taking matters into his own hands last night, when, did he not only stop the Death Eaters from stealing the weapon they had been after, but finished off You-Know-Who for good, even at the cost of his own life!

All of this evidence of Fudge's corruption, blatant favoritism, and utter incompetence shows what kind of a man we have put into the Ministerial position. We at the Quibbler ask that you review his actions of late, and decide for yourselves whether or not he is the man you want leading your country.

More about the mistakes of Fudge's administration on page 4, and Albus Dumbledore confirms the existence of nargles, page 17

Remus Lupin

Harry's funeral did not take place for another few days, as it was to be a public event, and in the meantime I attended the funerals of Luna Lovegood and Hermione Granger. I did not know Luna well at all, as I only had one class with her, and while attentive, seemed to focus on other things than what was actually in the lesson; not that she did badly—she was in Ravenclaw for a reason.

However, attending Hermione's funeral was a much more trying affair, as it was a muggle funeral, and I had to watch over five Weasleys to prevent them from inadvertently revealing the Wizarding World. I especially had to watch over the twins. Lord knows how many incidents I had caught them in at Hogwarts.

We had a reasonable cover story for the other muggles in Hermione's family—that a terrorist group had attacked the place where she had been while on a field trip, and had gotten killed. I was playing the role of the concerned Professor attending the funeral of one of his favorite students, and the Weasleys had wanted to come along as well.

Ron and Ginny were not to be buried until after Harry was. Neville's was scheduled for the day after that. I had a hard time picturing that bumbling, accident-prone boy taking down Bellatrix Lestrange in one on one combat. His smile was far too kind, his nature too gentle. The one thing that had struck me most about Neville was his love of plants. I had heard on many occasions a discussion between him and some other Herbology student while on staff.

But the day was finally here when Harry was to be buried. I hadn't fully prepared myself for the event when I arrived—plenty early, because when else would I come? While I was underprepared for the event itself, that paled in comparison to the amount of people attending his funeral. Practically the entire Ministry showed up, families in tow, and there were a fair amount of foreigners there as well. I recognized both of the other Triwizard Tournament champions in the sea of people, both talking animatedly to other people. I noticed that the Veela had acquired Bill Weasley as a companion, but Victor seemed alone and friendless, even as a Quidditch superstar.

Harry's funeral was long and drawn out, as there were about fifteen speakers and several were quite long-winded. I had declined to speak; I wasn't interested in telling all of these people what Harry meant to me. What he meant to me didn't apply to anyone else—just me.

After Harry's funeral, I went to the cemetery along with the Weasleys, Dumbledore, several of the staff members, and some other members of the Order. The Dursleys didn't even show up. He was laid to rest, alongside his parents, with the same inscription as his parents, The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. Harry had definitely defeated Death; that I was sure of.

I was about to leave Godric's Hollow when Tonks stopped me. She had a strange expression on her face, one I couldn't quite place. "Going somewhere?" she asked.

"Somewhere," I replied. I had no idea where I was heading off to. I didn't have any place to go.

"Do you mind if I come with?"

"No, I don't." She hooked her arm in mine, and I started walking. I wasn't sure where I was going. But I had someone to go with, and that made all the difference.

Harry

It was weird watching yourself get buried, even if there wasn't a body. I lost count of how many people were there about ten minutes after people started filing in for the funeral. It was especially strange considered how I had villainized throughout the past year. There were only two speakers I recognized—Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley. Dumbledore had talked a lot about my adventures, and what I had done, while Mr. Weasley talked about what I had meant to him. I was his seventh son, in his eyes.

I had tears in my eyes when Mr. Weasley finished. His speech wasn't anything elegant, and he hadn't prepared much for it, but it was my favorite out of them all. I spotted several people who I never expected to be there, including Victor Krum, Fleur Delacour, the Malfoys (what was left of them, anyway), and Snape. I didn't expect Snape to show up at all. In fact, I would have thought that he would be celebrating my death, but he appeared to be genuinely sad. It was something I couldn't figure out.

I spotted Lupin leaving the group, most likely to mope about, but he was stopped by Tonks. They left together, apparating so someplace I didn't care to look for at the moment.

Then, I felt a hand place itself on my shoulder. I looked up, and saw two people I had never expected to see, ever. My parents. Mum enveloped me in a hug, and I hugged her back. Dad joined in the family hug a moment later. We stood there for I don't know how long, rejoining our spirits. I could feel Mum's love rolling off her in waves, and Dad's strong arms held me tight, but not too tight.

"Mum, Dad," I said after a minute or so of silence.

"Harry," said Mum, smiling brilliantly, "I've never been more proud of you."

"Though I might have been hoping for a few grandchildren first," joked Dad. Mum hit Dad on the arm, but I just laughed. It figured that Dad would have to make some sort of joke.

"So, what do you think of my funeral?" I asked, not knowing what else to say. What do you do with parents who you haven't seen in fourteen years? How do you act around them?

"Well, I could do without the -eral, but otherwise it's okay," said Dad. It took me a second to get the joke, but when I did, I laughed again. Mum just rolled her eyes.

"Have you been practicing your jokes for Sirius?" I asked, winking. "You know he's going to test you on them."

Dad's face grew so horrified that even Mum started to laugh. But he held that expression so long I wondered what was wrong.

"Oh no," whimpered Dad. "What'll Sirius say? I haven't been practicing my jokes at all! What have I been doing all this time?"

"You've been growing into a more responsible person," said Mum. "You're beyond such jokes now."

"No," I said, "he's just degenerated into a cranky old geezer." Dad took a good natured swing at me for that, but I dodged it easily. Then he took a more serious tone.

"I really am proud of you, son. I've never met anyone else as brave as you."

"I didn't do that much," I protested.

"Oh, really?" asked Mum. "What about when you rescued the Philosopher's Stone, or when you killed the basilisk, or when you drove off those dementors, or when you retrieved the golden egg from the dragon, or when you fought Voldemort to a draw, twice, and purposefully went through the veil? What about all of those times?"

I blushed. "I had lots of help."

"The best kind," agreed Mum. "But in the end, it was you who did them."

"I suppose." It was kind of embarrassing hearing my mother praise me like this. Mum hugged me again.

"Now, try not to into any more danger than you already have, okay?"

"I will," I promised.

"Good," said Mum. "Now let's show you home."

Finis

A/N: Well, that's that. I've finished this one up, and it's time to move onto some other projects. Also, this epilogue (including the A/Ns) is exactly half the length of the real story. What a coincidence. Thanks for reading (and reviewing hint hint)!