It's been a long hiatus from for me, and an even longer hiatus from the world of Harry Potter fanfic. But this idea came to me in a flash of inspiration the other day, and I simply had to get it down. Thanks go to ClareMansfield for a few very appreciated suggestions. I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters, etc, etc.

[Keep in mind; this story is designed to read as if Deathly Hallows never finished. It begins at the very moment The Flaw in the Plan ends.]

Constant Vigilance!

The Body

by Philip Kent

"You said it, mate," Ron laughed, wrapping his arm around Hermione's shoulder and pulling her a little closer to him as the three friends descended the steps.

"He didn't do too badly, did he, Albus?" Phineas Nigellus called to the silver-haired portrait behind the desk, its occupant dabbing his eyes with the edge of his sleeve now the three were safely out of view, before adding with good-natured relish, "Well…for a Gryffindor."

Harry, Ron and Hermione emerged back into the corridor where a small parade of victory was barrelling past, the Grey Lady floating above the children of assorted years with a rare, possibly unique smile gracing her cold features. Raucous cries of To our valiant dead! rent the air, greeted by boisterous cheers as the sounds of movement and action echoed round the ancient halls.

"How long do you reckon this is going to last?" Hermione asked, her brow knotted slightly as she watched a second year barrel-roll on a broomstick in the stairwell.

"God knows," Harry replied, surprised to find himself laughing. The deed was done; Voldemort was dead, the Elder Wand would lie undisturbed forevermore and the right to wield it would die with him. The world Harry had so long been fate-bound to protect had been saved. It was like a stone he never knew had rested upon his shoulders all his life had been removed, letting him stand up straight and breathe free for the first time in his memory. For all the times he'd deliberately stopped himself from celebrating with his friends when he knew there was still more to do, still greater perils to face, he could now readjust the balance; the time to celebrate had finally come.

"Well, you're looking better, anyway," Ron said, the banter flowing free once more. "You realise that you've now survived three Killing Curses, right?"

Harry laughed shortly but the smile soon dropped from his face. As soon as the words had left Ron's lips he was greeted by those glimpses of his friends' dead bodies, laid out on the floor of the Great Hall before him; each brought down by the curses that he had shrugged off. The time to celebrate may have come, but there was something he needed to do first. Doors he had to close.

"I think I'm gonna go," he swallowed, "go pay my respects to…Remus, and Tonks, and…and Fred," he said respectfully, noticing Ron's measured gaze as his chest swelled at the mention of his brother's name. "I didn't get a chance to…before."

Ron nodded, understanding. "Take your time," he replied softly, gripping into Hermione's shoulder as she hugged into him tightly. "We'll be in the common room, I expect." The pair of them knew there was never any choice of joining him; this was his right alone.

"Thanks," he muttered, turning on his heels and descending the winding staircase down to the first floor. Harry had seen too many dead bodies in his short life, but something about this sickened him more than anything else he could previously remember. Maybe because until now, all the dead bodies he'd seen had been those who had fallen by his side; adrenaline and fear had shielded him from the disgust and despair which surely was only natural. Now he was making the decision to view the lifeless things that had once been his friends; to spend his time with the bodies of the people he had once loved, but which he knew in his heart were no longer them. But he owed it to them; this one last goodbye.

The Great Hall was still packed with a maddening throng of witches and wizards, centaurs and house-elves, all celebrating joyously and breaking out the Butterbeer. Familiar faces came and went as Harry stood in the doorway, barely even recognised anymore as the elation became bigger than just one man. Neville and Luna were kissing wildly as they sat on the Gryffindor table - Luna quite visibly wearing that particular pair of trousers - as the entire surviving Weasley clan, minus Ron, sat beside them in a close circle, serenely calm as they remembered Fred quietly, the odd ripple of laughter bubbling from them only to be broken by a short sob from Molly. For once in his life he was glad to not be noticed by a blanched, deathly-looking Ginny.

Hagrid sat at the Hufflepuff table, telling a group of slack-jawed first-years the story of Harry and Hermione's daring rescue of Buckbeak in their third year. Shielding his face from the revellers Harry darted towards him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"…'An who should come along but Cornelius Fudge, the old Minister fer Magic! I tell yez, I was shakin' like a Bowtruckle on a…Harry!" he turned and whispered, as if talking any louder would have suddenly revealed his presence to the world. "How're ye doin', lad?"

"I'm fine, Hagrid," he said hurriedly, painfully aware of the intake of breath that went around the youngsters around him, imagining he could almost feel their lungs bursting. "Just, where did they put the…" He couldn't bring to say the word. "Put…Remus and Tonks and…all the others?"

"Oh," Hagrid replied softly, his smile dropping. "They, er…put 'em in the old Recluse Room," he told Harry, his eyes motioning towards the end of the hall. "Used to be the teachers' private dining room, till they brought the table out here in me second year. Lot o' brouhaha over the matter, actually-"

"Thanks," Harry muttered and set off at once, leaving Hagrid alone and his anecdote unfinished.

"Bu-wait!" Hagrid said as Harry sped away. "Ye don't wanna go in there; they've just put…ah, he's gone. So where was I? Ah, right! So old Fudge says to me…"

Harry made his way to the small ante-chamber behind the long table at the head of the hall, once occupied by Dumbledore, Snape, Mad-Eye, Lupin and so many others who had been lost. Aberforth slept peacefully in his brother's old throne-like seat, his arms slumped over the sides and muddy boots fouling the dais. With his silver beard and half-moon spectacles somehow still in place after the battle, he could easily have been the old Headmaster himself, Hogwart's own Once and Future King.

"Hey, Harry," came a rich, familiar tone as he approached the door to the ante-chamber. His former Quidditch captain Oliver Wood stood guard over the room. "You realise I'm not supposed to let anyone in."

Harry's mouth hung agape for a number of seconds, any amount of vitriolic outbursts screaming all at once in his head - But it's me! Harry Potter! They died for me! They were my friends! - but at last he closed his mouth, his lips forming a tight line as he nodded and made to walk away. He was too tired and had fought too hard to lose his temper.

Oliver smiled charmingly as Harry seemed to draw back. "But then, you're not anyone, are you?" He stepped backwards and stood with his hands behind his back, clearing the door for Harry to enter.

Harry stood confounded for a second, his tiredness beginning to punish him. "Oh…t-thank you," he managed to get out after a while, walking to the door and slipping inside quietly.

The ante-chamber was surprisingly large and cold. Stretching a good few dozen yards into the distance, it was narrow and high-ceilinged, more like a cathedral than a dining-room. It seemed quite fitting that so many should lie in rest here. A few sparse torches lit the windowless room, and under the architraves of the many columns that lined the way they lay; tens of bodies, some large, some small, some wearing the familiar uniform with a full variety of green, red, blue and yellow. With a few exceptions it was almost as if they could have been sleeping; line by line, side by side they slept peacefully, eyes and mouths closed.

Harry's legs finally allowed him to start walking, scanning the double-row of bodies that lay on each side of him. Half-remembered faces seemed to jump out at him; the third-year who had tried out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team last year, the pretty Slytherin girl who had alone refused to wear a "Potter Stinks" badge in Defense Against the Dark Arts. And there they lay, halfway down the room, in a line; Fred Weasley, Remus and Tonks.

Swallowing hard Harry stepped towards them and knelt at their feet, shivering as the air seemed to spontaneously freeze around him. Fred's face, though cold and sunken, still showed the faintest traces of the smile with which he had greeted his death; Harry told himself that somewhere, Fred was looking at his own body and splitting his sides at the inappropriateness of it all. Shifting his eyes to Remus and Tonks, Harry first noticed that their closest arms had been hooked together, their stiff, cold fingers brushing each other's gently. Luna's work, he guessed unerringly.

For all the macabre atmosphere the room held a certain peace to it, a calm restfulness that Harry found a lot less disturbing than he'd feared. Sitting cross-legged before them he began to speak. "I'm sorry you had to meet your ends here, like this," he mumbled, his lips feeling thick and numb. "I'm sorry you had to die for me."

We died for the Order, Harry, he could hear Remus' voice responding in his head, smiling sadly and closing his eyes tightly. Just be a good Godfather to Ted, he heard Tonks reply. Let him know our lives meant something.

Don't forget me, you speccy little git, Fred piped up. Harry chuckled softly. "A very wise man once told me that the dead never leave us, not really. Looks like you're already proving him right." His old friends were silent once more, still and calm. "Thank you for everything," Harry told them quietly as his voice broke and a tear dropped to the dusty ground, reaching forward to grip Fred's hand and Remus and Tonks' joined hands in his, his flesh crawling a little at their unexpected coldness. "Goodbye."

Harry stood a little shakily, gripping the pillar to help him as he exhaled loudly, wiping a couple of errant tears from his cheeks. But it was done; he braved the sight of his friends' bodies and said his goodbyes. He gave one last glance towards the end of the row of corpses and made his way-

Everything stopped. His body refused to move, his eyes refused to turn away. There at the end of the hall, far away from the main body of dead, were two just-visible feet, unlike any other in the room; or indeed, any other in the world. Bone-white and skeletal, with long, repulsive yellow nails; Harry's mind seemed slow to realise exactly who it was, even though every fibre of his body had known instantly. It made sense, after all; they couldn't have just left him in the Great Hall to get trodden on and torn apart.

Harry's eyes remained fixed on the feet. It was like being back in King's Cross with Dumbledore; it could have been hours or seconds. Finally able to tear his eyes from them he turned his head towards the door, behind which he knew Oliver to be patiently standing guard, allowing him all the time he liked. He made his decision.

As if tearing himself from the spot Harry trod forward heavily, eating up the yards between himself and the body at the end of the hall. The pair of feet loomed larger and more grotesque as he drew closer, and out of habit Harry found himself reaching into his pocket to retrieve his wand. Standing stock-still, he closed his eyes and had to convince himself quite strongly: He's dead. Finally dead. No way back now. Sighing loudly he pocketed his wand and made up the last few feet slowly, allowing the body to gradually reveal itself.

Alone of all the others in the room, he didn't look a bit at peace. His body was limp and flat but his face; that inhuman, serpentine face still bore all the anger and hatred he had for seventy years or more turned himself into a vessel for, flecked by that final note of shock and surprise as the Killing Curse rebounded yet again, to kill him outright. Those red eyes stared endlessly, endlessly into the dark, a crimson veneer concealing nothing.

"Hello," Harry said hollowly, successfully concealing all he really felt. Silent again, he crossed to Voldemort's side and, his eyes instinctively flicking towards his hand to make sure he really was dead, he sat cross-legged beside his head. "We need to talk."