Hey there :) This is the translation of my second ever story "Heimsuchung". English isn't my mother language, so I apologize for any possible mistakes or spelling errors that I have either simply not seen or didn't know were classified as such.

As I said in "Seeker's Game", I have some excited stuff planned and I have decided to start now. First, I will go through what I have uploaded so far (this might take a while), rectify the mistakes that I can find and start working on this story again. This is my baby and I really want to finish it.

I will not re-write this story (yet), so the style of writing during the old chapters may not be the best. I'm sorry about that xD

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series isn't mine. Although I desperately wish it was...


The Final Battle

Everything around him was covered in dirt, and smoke was everywhere. Smoky tables, which had been thrown into the corridors, smashing the windows of the classrooms, smoky holes in the walls, where dark curses had blasted off parts of the walls. Bleeding bodies of nameless students, parents, Death Eaters, who had been slain by parts of the ceiling falling down or collapsing pillars and walls, hit by dark curses or had been the victim of sneakily used light curses or spells. Wherever you looked, you saw death and destruction.

The Hogwarts that everyone knew did not exist anymore. If one had been able to watch the sunrise with a smile on their face just a few months ago, it would become very clear that many students would never be able to experience it in the future, seeing the state of horror the castle was in just moments after the war had ended. Even the birds seemed to mourn as none of them welcomed the beginning of a new day. It was dead silent.

Harry dragged himself through a corridor that had been destroyed by a giant, climbed over debris and stumbled along the wall, panting, wincing in pain. He had to make it to the Trophy Room. Despite the incredibly sever pain, he moved forward and stumbled, barely keeping himself upright. Something lay at his feed, blocking his path. When he looked down, he felt sick. Parvati Patil. Her brown eyes stared at him motionlessly, condemning him. The war was won and yet they had lost so much – allies, friends, family. Innocent lives had been taken and he had been entangled in the centre of the fight – he had been the cause of the fight, of the whole war and he also had had to sacrifice so much.

He desperately clung to the corridor wall. He couldn't go any further. He would not make it to the Trophy Room. Panting, he pushed his with blood encrusted hand onto the gaping wound that was the right half of his abdomen. He did not know anymore whose blood was on his hands. He had lost track years ago. His parents had just been the beginning and yet it seems to him that this particular sacrifice had been the major one he had had to endure; the two people who had given him his life and had paid for it with their own.

He cursed as his legs gave way. Had he only been watchful like Mad-Eye had always tried to hammer into his thick brain again and again. Because of his little mishap, because of that one careless moment he was now trying desperately to haul himself into the Trophy Room and doing as much as humanly possible to spare himself as to not tear the gaping flesh wound covering his side any further.

He had just won the battle against Lord Voldemort and had watched as the body of the probably most powerful dark wizard had fallen as a black curse had knocked him to the ground. One of the few Death Eaters who had survived had not been able to bear the fall of his master and therefore the fall of his radical views. He had shot the curse toward the wizarding world's saviour, laughing madly and giving the hero a life-threatening injury. But no one had noticed – no one except the victim. Harry had heard cries of joy when he had suddenly felt a sharp flash of pain. As he had pushed his hand, which had been trapped between his body and the muddy, bloody ground, onto his stomach, he had noticed that the soil had been getting wetter under him. The survivors had begun to carry the dead and injured into the castle and had paid no attention whatsoever when he had hauled himself up the stairs, groaning in agony, had stumbled through the entrance hall and had crawled up the marble staircase.

Why would they give him another second of their attention? He had fulfilled his destiny, his task, which had been placed into his crib even before his birth. He had fought to protect his life and that of everyone in the wizarding world his entire life, just to die at the right moment. He had been nothing more than a pawn of the magical world – a person on whom one could put one's frustration, one that one could accuse and condemn because this person did not have anyone in their life that would provide any kind of comfort or sense of security anyway. Why should it even be like that? If a soldier had distractions in the form of feelings, which did not express the desire or need for revenge or hatred, he would lose the sight of his goal and might even dare to be a normal person. No, that could not be allowed in any way, kind or form. Not if there was another way; even if this way would cause the individual the unbearable pain of loss and loneliness.

Harry could only guess where the others were at the moment, but to be completely honest, he didn't care. The only thing that mattered now was to get to the Trophy Room. He knew that he did not have much longer to live anymore and he just wanted to see a picture of his parents one last time before he was ready to see them again in heaven or wherever they were. His parents had been Head Students and therefore there was a photograph of them in school uniform with their badges pinned to the front of their robes in the Trophy Room, just like any other Head, who had worn the badge before and after them, as well as photographs of the Quidditch teams. He wanted to see his true family one last time; the people who had loved him more than anything. But he could not do it.

He fell to the ground and let out a blood-curling scream as a broken clinker pressed into his wound.

*~*HP*~*

Some floors below in the Great Hall the injured were being cared for and the last dead bodies were being carried inside. The Weasleys had gathered around one of their sons. Fred had died in battle, the laughter still on his face. Ironic, Hermione thought. He died at the same moment in which a family member had returned. She wiped the tears from her eyes, only to find others following and running down her cheeks.

It was over. They had made it – Harry had made it. At that thought, she sat up. Harry. She had not seen him since the final battle. All the things she had felt at that moment had completely distracted her from the happenings around her. Mourning the dead, joy for Harry's victory, but mostly gratefulness that Harry had survived. When Voldemort had emerged from the forest, being followed and surrounded by his Death Eaters, she had seen Harry's motionless body in Hagrid's arms… She stifled a sob. He's alive, she thought and took a deep, calming breath. He's alive and safe. But as much as she held onto that thought, something told her that his absence could mean nothing good.

Calm down, Hermione. All is well. What could possibly have happened? All Death Eaters are either dead or on the run and Voldemort is guaranteed to not rise again.

And why exactly are you that restless then?

I'm not restless!

Oh, yes. You are! And you have every reason to be. After all, you have no idea where Harry is at the moment.

I'm sure he just wanted to have some time for himself. I mean, after all, he has just survived the Killing Curse. He has every right to be a little upset and therefore he's allowed to retreat to a calmer place.

And why did you not see him as he left? And why has nobody congratulated him? And most importantly, why haven't you been the first one who was with him after he had defeated Voldemort?

Well, we couldn't congratulate him, because he no longer –

Wrong! You were much too busy falling around Ron's neck and rejoice the fact that he's still alive. From the beginning, he has had a better chance of survival than you and Harry put together!

Why shouldn't I be happy that Ron –

I didn't say that you aren't allowed to be happy about that, but being you, I would maybe start thinking about what happened to Harry rather than just standing here, mourning someone you barely knew.

Fred is Ron's brother! Why should I not… Oh God, now I'm having a fight with myself.

Well, it has already come to that, hasn't it?

Shut up!

"Ron?" she turned to the Weasleys, who grieved for their son and brother. "Do you know where Harry is? Have you seen him after Voldemort's fall?"

Ron turned around and glared at her, eyes swollen and red. "No, I have not seen your precious Harry, Hermione!"

Confused, she blinked at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what that's supposed to mean," he hissed and stood up. Mrs Weasley shot him an angry look. "My brother has just died, Hermione! Right now I have other problems to deal with than worrying about Harry!"

"But Ron, Harry is our best friend! He doesn't have anybody else with whom he could possibly share his grief. He only has us!"

"Then go! Go find the oh so sad Harry and offer him my condolences, will you? And while you're at it, tell him he has no right to act like this because he has no freakin' idea how it feels, okay? You have no idea what I am going through right now, Hermione!"

"He does know how it feels, Ronald! He has lost every single one who meant something to him. And now you attack him from behind!"

"I attack him from behind? What has he ever done for me, huh? He hasn't even told you to leave with me back in the forest! He hasn't even tried to talk us out of hiding with him, of going on a suicide mission from what we've known at that point!"

"Of course he hasn't tried to dissuade us! He needed us!"

"Pff, as if," Ron rolled his eyes and knelt beside his dead brother again to hold his now cold hand.

"You know what? I'm going to look for Harry because no one here seems to be the slightest bit interested in how he's doing and where he is!"

With that, she spun around and stormed out of the Great Hall. She ignored Ron's angry shouts and rushed through the large double doors of the castle, turned right and ran to the Black Lake. In previous years, Harry had often sought refuge at the lake whenever he had wanted to be alone and think. She had never disturbed him, but had sometimes watched to see where he had been going. Especially after Cedric's death, he had often come to the lake, sat on a flat stone at the shore and had spend hours staring at the clear, black water surface. Whenever she had been looking for him, she had been able to find him here.

Hermione went around the last tree and stopped abruptly. The stone was empty. The only thing that was different here and pointed to the events of the last few hours was a pool of blood on the floor next to the stone. A few meters away lay a dead centaur. Hermione groaned as she saw the motionless body. She closed her eyes for a short moment and took a deep breath. Just stay calm, Hermione. Take a deep breath. Ignore the dead body in front of you. Concentrate on Harry. Sighing, she looked up and stared at the blood-red sunrise, which was reflected on the clear, flat surface of the lake. Where could Harry be?

Okay. Let's just think logically for a moment. Places he likes to go to, where he feels safe… Hermione frowned. Well, it isn't the lake. Maybe he is on the Quidditch Pitch? But even that proved to be false. Hermione desperately ran back to the castle. Where did Harry like to be? The Room of Requirement? No, not that I know of. Hm… She jogged up the marble staircase in the entrance hall and turned right. Perhaps the Common Room. After all, Hogwarts is Harry's first real home.

With quick steps, she hurried toward a portrait of an old man counting his Gobstones, which immediately swung open to reveal a secret passageway. She hurried up the stairs and whirled around the corner. The corridor which she had just reached led to some classrooms, the Trophy Room and the Grand Staircase, and was totally destroyed. Parts of the walls and the ceiling were scattered all over the bloody floor, old tables, chairs and shelves were peeking through holes, behind which there had once been functioning classrooms. Even the walls had bloody fingerprints and splashes of blood on them that trickled toward the floor. Horrified, Hermione looked around. The corridor looked like a battlefield. As if the final battle had taken place here and not on the grounds outside of the castle.

Slowly and carefully, Hermione crept forward. She stepped over large pieces of stone, tattered chairs and bodies of dead students, Death Eaters and probably parents as well. Some of the faces were covered in blood, others were almost completely clean. Her eyes widened as she stared into those of Parvati Patil.

"Parvati," Hermione whispered and dropped to her knees beside her. "Oh my God, no!"

A sob wrecked through her and she slapped her hand over her mouth. No! Stand up! You have to find Harry! She said to herself and picked herself up off the ground, trembling slightly. She was so incredibly tired. To hide for months on end, without eating proper food or sleeping more than three hours a night, with the constant fear of being caught – it all took its toll on her. Now that all the adrenaline was out of her system, she could barely stand straight.

She turned away from Parvati, but not before having closed her eyes. Bodies were lying everywhere. Some were missing limbs, others were looking as if they were asleep. She continued to move down the corridor, her eyes never leaving the ground in front of her as to not run into someone or something or slipping on one of the countless puddles of blood - and that's when she saw him. A couple of meters ahead of her someone lay crumbled on the floor, clothes bloodstained and hair suspiciously jet-black and unruly.

"HARRY!"

She rushed over to him, not bothering whether she had a dead body under her feed or whether she fell over a piece of ceiling. "HARRY!"

She threw herself down next to the boy with jet-black hair and turned him onto his back. His face was relatively clean, but extremely pale. He had some wounds on his forehead and scratches on his cheek, a little bit of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. But she could say without any trouble whatsoever, who she was holding in her arms at this moment, sobbing and desperately trying to wake him up.

"Harry! Please, please stay with me!"


CLIFFHANGER! *evil laugh*

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See ya!