A/N:

So this is an idea I've had in my head since I first finished book 7 on the day it came out in 2007. I've started this thing a half-dozen times, but never really took writing seriously, so it just kind of ran out of gas. I think I'm aptly motivated this time around, otherwise I wouldn't be publishing the first chapter.

This is a story in which Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all go back to school and just kind of... hang out and stuff. Don't expect any villain to appear for quite a long while, if I can even write one that I like (no luck after 6 years). This is a way for me to have fun with all of my "What if"s. I wasn't quite finished imagining the world Rowling has built, and I can't stand self-inserts, so I'll do this thing instead.

I'm generally a canon nazi, but I've got a few issues with that epilogue, so I'll give you the rundown now.

Pairings will be canon. Lore will be canon. Laws and rules of magic will be canon. There will be no OCs unless they are villains. Career choices might not be canon... but I don't even know if this fic will get to the end of their year.

To Mr. Harry James Potter,

Your services to the Wizarding World have been instrumental to the continued survival of our kind, and shall not be forgotten.

For your confrontation and defeat of the dark wizard Tom Marvolo Riddle, known as Lord Voldemort, you are hereby awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class.

Below were signatures and seals of authenticity from several organizations—including the Wizengamot—as well as a signature from Kingsley Shacklebolt as Minister.

Harry couldn't stop reading it. The accompanying plaque, glazed and embossed with golden gothic lettering was making its way around the crowded room with the two others that had been delivered to the Burrow that morning. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had all been given an Order of Merlin, First Class.

A handwritten letter from Kingsley had come with the litter of appraisals noting there was no need for a ceremony if Harry would rather keep it a quiet affair. Harry was grateful for this, and knew this to be one of the many luxuries of privacy he was enjoying thanks to an Order member heading the Ministry.

After a few rounds of congratulations, Mrs. Weasley decided a celebratory dinner was necessary, and set about assigning tasks. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were excused from any prep work, but they volunteered anyway, not wanting to miss out on the high spirits that had been rather elusive the past few days.

May had been given a spirited streak of sunshine, but the weather had not done much to lift the spirits of the survivors of the war. Hogwarts had closed for the year, and there were parties and celebrations sprouting up all over wizarding England. But at the Burrow, away from the hustle and bustle, and in between the quiet pleasantries of passing conversation, the fallen were prominent in everyone's thoughts.

No one particularly wanted do anything fun for fear of the guilt that struck when a person smiled or laughed in the wake of the dead. George was doing his best to raise everyone's spirits, but it was a big job to do alone, and he wasn't immune to the loss of loved ones himself.

The Burrow was hosting nearly the entirety of the Weasley brood, including Charlie, who had come home after Voldemort's defeat, and Percy, who was determined to catch up with anyone and everyone in sight. Bill and Fleur had only left the week before, returning to their cottage by the sea.

Harry had frequently wondered whether so many people crammed into a single house was truly a recipe for healing or only further grief. Every time he passed someone, there was a reminder of who was not at the Burrow, but the kindness he received from everyone was making a strong argument the former. Their only salvation was time, it seemed, as each day proved to be less stoic and quiet than the last, if only just. Now, with a feast to be prepared, talking was not so easily avoided, and the simple act of speaking to each other swept away the gloom that had been so stalwart.

After hours of cooking and cleaning and a few late arrivals in the forms of Hagrid, Bill, and Fleur, Harry found himself to be enjoying the evening, a rarity of late. The Burrow had, for the first time in two weeks, erupted into laughter and cheer, and if the smile he wore was anything like the others, then they too, had had a cold warmed out of their bones.

Dinner was a heart-warming ruckus; toasts were made in excess that night as the bottles at the table never seemed to quite empty, almost as if refilling themselves by magic. The first toasts were to their fallen friends, all of whom were remembered with smiles for the first time that long summer. Eventually they moved on to praising the living, of which Hagrid made the most coherent, surprising everyone.

"To Harry Potter," was the first, made by Hagrid. "The Boy Who Lives."

Harry raised his own glass and replied, "There are a lot of people I owe a lot of things. So… to everyone who fought or helped. however they could."

The table beamed at Harry, who had flushed slightly, and decided the fire whisky had begun talking for him at this point. Nonetheless they raised their glasses and drained them without exception. Harry could see them all lost in thought, remembering acts of bravery or kindness or defiance in the war. It was while he was watching them all that Harry was seized by a desire he had never felt before in his life.

Maybe it was because the back of his mind told him to get used to doing it, or maybe because he knew his adventure had finally finished, and there would be exceptionally little to add to it from here on out. Deciding that it was most likely the fire whisky after all, Harry stood, and acted on the little voice in his head egging him on, telling him that tonight, it was okay to act on this whim. Because people had to know. And Severus Snape deserved more thanks than Harry, Ron and Hermione could give.

The Weasleys plus Hermione and Hagrid turned to look at Harry, still quiet from their reverie. "All of you," Harry began, "Have treated me as family, and all this time, I've kept my share of secrets from you, which I never liked. So I was wondering, if you would like to hear about… about what the three of us have been up to this year? I can't tell you all of it," he added quickly. "I think some of Voldemort's secrets are better off gone with him. But I'd like to… to… talk."

The last word came out awkwardly, as Harry wasn't quite sure what he'd have liked to do at that particular moment, but he took it as a good sign that about half the party had tears in their eyes. He looked back and forth between Ron, who was giving him a grin and a thumbs-up, and Hermione, who gave him that look of approval she saved for special occasions, tears already threatening to fall.

"I think… I'll start with the prophecy," Harry said with a soft smile. The room quieted even further. "It started when Professor Trelawney was doing an interview with Dumbledore."

And Harry told them. He told them about the prophecy that could have been Neville's, and that the only thing that gave it any credence was Voldemort choosing to believe it.

He told them how, because of his mother, he had survived the killing curse, and it was wonderful. He felt free, weightless, proud of his parents, of Dumbledore. Coming out on the other side of the war had made everything worth it, Harry realized. Everything to ever give him reason to doubt had become the things that were necessary for him to succeed. To live on.

Harry told them of Snape's change of allegiance, and of Dumbledore's brilliance in figuring out the mystery that was Tom Riddle. He told them, with help from Hermione and Ron, that Voldemort had, in a manner of speaking, put 'safeguards' around himself that needed to be destroyed first. He decided against telling the others what they were, or even that Voldemort's 'safeguards' were even physical objects.

"In your duel," Mr. Weasley interjected cautiously. "You said, "there are no more Horcruxes," did you not? Do not worry yourself Harry, I have never heard such a word, nor have I any intention to be enlightened. But these were what you were hunting down this last year? And however long before that?"

"Yes…." Harry said slowly. He had forgotten having said the word aloud. But then he thought of how much every single person had done for him, and proven again and again they were trustworthy. "Dumbledore had spent years trying to figure them out, and he worked out a plan for the three of us," he pointed to Hermione, and Ron, "to destroy them, and... put Voldemort on equal footing with any other witch or wizard."

"Oh Albus…." It was the first time Mrs. Weasley had spoken since Harry had stood what felt like hours ago. "I don't know what to say."

"He was brilliant," Harry said with a broad grin. "Had it all figured out, like I said in the Great Hall. His portrait was having Snape help us the whole time. Remember when Scrimgeour came to see us last summer? He was giving us what Dumbledore had left us in his will. Things he left us to finish off Voldemort."

"You'd think he was a Seer, that Dumbledore," Ron added, grinning. Harry grinned as well, remembering Ron's "ball of light" story. Hermione giggled opposite ron.

"If you'll grant me another question, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked. Harry wondered if the next was another secret accidentally spilled.

"You'd make a good Auror, Mr. Weasley," Harry said. "It's okay, I don't mind. But I get the feeling I've had far more to drink than you."

"Dad's got the tolerance of a troll," George said with very evident pride.

Mr. Weasley smiled and waved George's words aside. "You had Voldemort convinced you were dead, Harry. He claimed he killed you."

"That's not particularly a question, Mr. Weasley," Harry countered with a small smirk. He, at the very least, would not make it so easy for Mr. Weasley.

"You said that you'd meant to die, heaven forbid. Am I right in guessing you've survived another killing curse?"

Harry nodded, trying to hide the color rising in his face. Was he embarrassed about his own survival? "I'd tell you, but I don't want to give Mrs. Weasley another scare."

Mrs. Weasley gave him a very rosy smile, "You are sweet," she said. "But I have to admit, you tell a very good story, Harry. I'm... curious."

"You might not like it," Harry warned, leaning forward, onto the table. This proved to be a mistake, as shifting his weight had sent him off balance, and he had to make a very hard-earned recovery.

"We're not going to get another chance, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, an out-of-place perception in her voice. "I think we all know that."

"Go on, 'Rry," said Bill, who had not fared so well with the fire whisky. "We'll b'alright."

"I'd like t'know," Hagrid said louder than he probably meant. "I saw it happ'n, d—didn' I?"

Harry looked to Ron and Hermione, who both nodded, to his surprise. He looked at Ginny, who had long since succumbed to tears, and yet still managed to be so very pretty.

"I was one of Voldemort's safeguards. A Horcrux made by accident when he tried to kill me, and Dumbledore knew from the start. Voldemort had made me one of his own safeguards without knowing it. So when I learned this, I knew… I had to die. It was part of the plan. Dumbledore taught me a long time ago that there's a world of difference between being forced to walk a path, and acknowledging the path and walking down it yourself."

He was met with silence, paralyzed expressions, and wide eyes, and wondered whether they were regretting their decision. Harry continued. "So I chose to fight the only way I knew how anymore. I walked to the Forbidden Forest under my cloak, thinking about Dumbledore, who had... raised me to die. Raised me to die, and trusted me not to run away. And I didn't. My choice to die did what my mother had done for me almost seventeen years ago. Voldemort destroyed his own Horcrux instead of me, and a protection was put around all of the people who wanted to fight at Hogwarts. There were other complicated bits, but I think that's about the gist of it."

After a long silence, Mrs. Weasley said, "I think that's quite enough for now, Arthur."

"I quite agree," replied Mr. Weasley. He rose with a purpose Harry had never seen in Mr. Weasley before, standing opposite the long table to look him fiercely in the eyes. "To Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lives."

Harry bowed his head before he raised his glass once more, "To Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard I'll ever know. And to Severus Snape, the greatest wizard I never met."

The table drank for the umpteenth time, and they all rather clumsily got up to head to bed. Everyone gave Harry an individual and sincere "thank you," before leaving for their rooms. With the house less full than before, Harry had his own room to retire to.

Harry collapsed like a ruin onto his bed with a lighter heart than he'd ever known. This was his family. They were the people who accepted all of it and loved him for everything he'd done. Harry wasn't sure if it was possible to fall asleep smiling, but he was quite sure he would find out in a few minutes, as he could already feel sleep tugging at the corners of his thoughts.

While Harry debated back and forth in his head whether or not it would be worth the effort to get off his bed and take off his clothes, he heard a knock at his door. He very grudgingly rose from his bed and walked back across the room to answer. He had done no more than turn the knob before the door flung open to reveal Ginny, who crashed into Harry, locking her arms around him in a vice to rival one of Hagrid's embraces.

She said nothing, and Harry closed the door behind her before returning the embrace. They were locked together for some time, communicating only through tightening their grips, or rubbing a hand on the other's back. The room remained dark.

After a very long and wonderful time, Harry kissed the top of Ginny's head. She sniffled in response, refusing to let go. "Are you still crying?"

"Oh, shut up," she whispered, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "I'm allowed. Besides, no one could have... done all that and not need a hug afterwards."

Harry laughed and said, "Thank you." This was definitely the girl he was mad about. On a whim, he began rocking them back and forth on the spot, left and right, swaying side to side while they simply held on. After another spell, Ginny broke the silence.

"We've had a lot to drink," she whispered into his chest.

"We have."

"So I don't want to say something that… wouldn't have been brought out otherwise."

"Likewise," Harry said, playing with Ginny's hair between his fingers. "But I think that ship's already sailed for me."

Ginny giggled, a hoarse sound after all her tears. "Well mine starts with an 'L,'" she said, not much louder than a whisper. "And I'm thinking it very hard, Harry James Potter."

It did not take long for Harry to come to the same conclusion about her.

She had waited. Waited for the boy practically destined for death. And after all he had told, she had come straight to him, not lecturing or praising or questioning or demanding anything. She wanted to be what he needed her to be: there. It was a gesture he wanted reciprocate. "Right. Back. At you." Harry whispered.

Ginny looked up from his chest, and they kissed. A bliss that Harry had long ago prepared never again to experience—to lose himself in—washed over him instantly. Everything disappeared except for the searing heat wherever their skin touched, and the pull Harry felt drawing him, if possible, even closer to Ginny.

And then all of a sudden it stopped.

Harry glared down at Ginny trying to display his confusion as to why she had broken the kiss. She looked highly amused at his frown, but held a finger to her lips. She turned her head back to the door, and Harry noticed they had somehow moved, and now stood just beside his bed. He could almost hear it calling their names.

Ginny was immune to the siren that was his mattress, however, as she silently crept back to the door. She ruffled her hands violently through her hair, tussling it up far more than Harry had. She winked at Harry across the dark room and threw open the door.

In tumbled Ron, George, Charlie, and Bill, one after another onto the floor, forming a pile of swears and red hair. Ginny gave a satisfied "Hmph," and stepped over her brothers, giving them all a clear image of her ruffled hair as she returned to her room. Harry stood awkwardly by his bed, silent as the four brothers excused themselves with varying shades of red in their cheeks.

So there's the first chapter. It went somewhere I wasn't expecting it to, with opening Harry up like that. I hadn't really intended to write it, but after just finishing book 7 again, I think he would have indeed wanted people to know about Snape.

anyways, hope you liked it.

please:

Let me know if I've got any plot holes staring you all in the face, especially if Harry's little speech about walking to his death wasn't cannon or was just flat out wrong. I'd hate to mess that up.

I'd love to get a review! especially if you didn't like it. I'm not used to writing cheesy stuff, after all, and I promise most of the rest of this fic won't be just a giant fluffball. well... no promises.

Thanks!

~Sam