(A/N: One of my biggest peeves with the Harry Potter stories are all of the losses Harry suffers, particularly the loss of almost every father figure he'd even known. There have been so many stories written about how the deaths of so many weighed on him, and wonderful renditions of how he dealt with that loss. Then there have been stories where he was able to avoid those losses, either by diverging from canon early enough to stop them or travelling back in time to prevent them. This is a story whose primary focus is that, with some outside help, there is still loss to be endured but maybe Harry doesn't have to suffer quite as much, and his hope and belief in magic are rewarded.)

"And quite honestly," he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower, and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, "I've had enough trouble for a lifetime." (excerpt from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling, 2007)

As Harry Potter was relaying these words to his best friends and the portrait of Albus Dumbledore in the Headmaster's Office, a lone figure staggered into the Great Hall seven floors below. He was dressed as a Muggle; his khaki cargo pants and black long sleeve t-shirt were covered in dirt and blood, not all of the latter his but enough to make him very weak. As he stumbled into the hall the last of his energy seemed to leave him, and he slammed up against the jam of the obliterated doorway into the room, grunting in pain as all of his weight was now pressed against what appeared to be a severely injured right shoulder. The sound made several people turn, and Professor Minerva McGonagall hurried toward the man.

"Poppy!" she cried, calling on the Matron of the castle. Reaching the man just as he fell to his knees, she grabbed him to keep him from falling flat on his face. "Mr. Thomson?" Getting no immediate response, she grabbed his chin and lifted it up. "AJ? What are you doing here?"

"Good morning, Professor," came a weak response from the newcomer. "Did we win?" he followed cheekily.

Despite her obvious concern for the man and the gravity of the events that had only just recently occurred, she managed a weak smile. "Yes, Mr. Thomson, though the price was high."

At that the man closed his eyes, and she saw a tear fall from one of them as Poppy Pomfrey reached her newest patient and the elder Scotswoman. She slid behind the two of them and gasped at the sight of a large section of the man's right shoulder looking as if it had been scooped away. The wound was down to his scapula which she noticed had several cracks in it, though it hadn't broken entirely. At several spots she thought she saw faint light coming from it, in some places green and in others orange. The lights would appear, flicker, and disappear like embers on coals, only to appear elsewhere a moment later. She cast a few diagnostic spells and furrowed her brow at the results. "These readings make no sense at all. What happened here, young man?"

Even as she spoke the man Minerva had identified as AJ simply shook his head. "A fascinating story for another time. I'm sorry to say, Matron, but as skilled as you are I'm not sure if magic will completely heal the wound. Magic may close it temporarily but the repairs will likely degrade very quickly. I'm hoping that, after a time, magical healing will take hold on a more permanent basis, but it may be that it has to heal naturally, or by No-Maj means if necessary." The man's term for non-magicals, in addition to his accent, clearly identified him to the others as American. "Believe me I wish that weren't the case. A Blood Replenishing Potion would be lovely, though."

"What about a Pain Relief Potion?" she asked as she dug around to see if she had any of the mentioned potions left in her bag. "And why would magical healing not work well?"

"To the former, I'm allergic to willow bark I'm afraid," he replied, stating one of the main ingredients in all of the common Pain Relief Potions. "To the latter, it's all part of said fascinating story. But please, later ma'am." He turned his head to McGonagall. "Professor . . . how many?"

McGonagall bowed her head slightly. "Fifty-four. Fifty-four brave souls on to the next great adventure."

"And how many were killed by the Killing Curse?" the man asked.

"What does that matter?"

"Professor, please. We don't have time. How many?" At that, Minerva looked up to Poppy, silently asking her to respond.

"As best as we can tell, thirteen. The rest died from various traumas," the healer responded as she handed AJ a Blood Replenishing Potion. He downed the potion, then closed his eyes again and began nodding slowly to himself as Pomfrey tried several charms on his shoulder. He was right; not only was there too much damage for spells alone to heal, but even simple incantations to slow blood loss seemed to not be as effective as they should be. The flow slowed but did not stop, and it continued to trickle down his back into his shirt, which was already sticky and saturated with what he had already lost.

Poppy was about to question him again when AJ seemed to marshall his strength as he brought himself up on one knee and then raised himself to his full height. His right arm hung uselessly, cradled against his chest and held in place by his left hand. He turned to McGonagall. "Professor, I need you to place Stasis Charms on all of those people, and please gather them and any family or loved ones that might be with them now and take them to the Ritual Chamber. Anyone that has no loved ones or relatives here, we need to get them here now."

Minerva was unused to having one as young as the wizard in front of her giving her orders. She sublimated that particular thought in favor of the curiosity that had overtaken her. "Why?"

"No time, Minerva!" he said sternly, and she could tell his urgency by his use of her first name. In the time she had known this young man, and she had known him for several years, he had never used her given name. He also seemed to have realized his faux pas. "Apologies, Professor, for my rudeness. Just please do as I ask; I will explain when we have everyone gathered. Where is the Potions Master?"

Minerva, deciding to follow along with the man unless given reason not to, pointed and called out. "Horace! Come quickly please." A rotund man in his pajamas and a dressing robe made his way over toward the group. "AJ Thomson, may I introduce Professor Horace Slughorn" she said quickly. "I will go about doing as you asked," she added, as she hurried off deeper into the Hall.

"Good morning, Professor. I would shake your hand, but," he shrugged sheepishly, grimacing in pain and earning a 'tsk' from the Matron, who was trying to bandage his shoulder as best she could. "Professor, I'm sorry I don't have time for more pleasantries at the moment, but I need you to gather every bit of dragon's blood and Valerian you may have available and take it to the Ritual Chamber. I just hope that it is enough."

"What might this be about, my boy?" Slughorn responded.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but there isn't time to explain right now. Please take whomever you need to assist you and meet me in the Chamber." Though the man was indeed young, probably no older than his early 20's, he spoke with a voice that would allow no argument. Sensing that, Horace nodded his agreement and, grabbing Seamus Finnegan to help him, quickly made his way down into the dungeons.

"Young man, you really need to lay down and rest. This wound is very bad, and you exerting yourself will not make it better," Madam Pomfrey said to her patient.

"I wish I could, Matron, but time is of the essence if we're to right several more wrongs today."

"What are you talking about?"

He looked at her and, despite the obvious pain she could see suppressed in his features, he was wearing a mischievous grin that would have made the Weasley twins proud. "I'm taking back as much of that prick's pound of flesh as I can." Without further explanation, he turned and walked back into the Entrance Hall. Once there, he called out "Calyxis!" At the call there was a loud crack and an elf appeared. He was dressed very oddly (for an elf) in blue jeans and a plaid shirt, and he had on American cowboy boots and a cowboy hat, with holes in the brim for his prodigious ears.

"I'm going to guess this is pretty important," said the elf in a very un-elf like voice. Looking at AJ, he scowled. "Sweet Jesus, what did you do to yourself this time?"

"Later, Cal. I need you to do two things for me. Please go to the Library and grab the Black Book and bring it to me down in the Ritual Chamber. But first I need you to talk to the Hogwarts elves. I need them to find Harry Potter."

{-}

As Harry, Hermione, and Ron exited the bottom of the stairs next to the broken gargoyle, Kreacher popped into being right in front of them. "Master Harry is requested downstairs as soon as possible."

Sighing, Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can it wait, Kreacher? I'm knackered, and I was really looking forward to sleeping for a week or two."

"Kreacher is sorry, Master, but the foreign one said that it was very important. If Master desires, Kreacher will tell him Master is too tired to be disturbed."

Harry looked at his two best friends, unsure of what Kreacher meant by 'foreign one.' Shrugging, Hermione responded. "It probably can't hurt to see what's going on, though at this point I really don't relish the thought of travelling up and down the entire castle again."

Looking over at Ron, he also shrugged. "I was going to head down anyway to see to Mum and Dad and . . . Fred," Ron said, his voice cracking a bit at the name of his deceased older brother, "so I guess a small detour can't hurt."

That decided, Harry turned back to the house elf. "Alright, Kreacher, lead the way." Starting to walk toward the Grand Staircase, all three were very surprised when Kreacher grabbed Harry and Ron's hands and, since Hermione was holding both of their hands as well, all four of them were caught in the elf's Apparition, instantly appearing in the antechamber to the Ritual Room. Hermione was the only one of the three even vaguely familiar with the room, having seen it once during an Ancient Runes class very late in their sixth year. No other class utilized the room, so this was Harry and Ron's first experience with the location. Looking around, they could see a plethora of activity. Numerous people were bustling about and, to their horror, they saw a row of sheet-covered bodies placed against a far wall. Spotting Professor McGonagall, the three of them headed over to her. She saw them approaching and beamed at them. Though she had seen them earlier at the end of the battle, their presence elicited a reaction that no one expected of the stern Transfiguration professor.

"Thank Merlin," she said, unceremoniously wrapping all of them in a strong hug.

Unsure of what to do, they all returned the embrace from the normally reserved teacher. It was Hermione who managed to extricate herself and speak first. "Professor, what is going on? Why are there," she gulped, "why are there bodies here?"

McGonagall raised herself back and fixed her glasses on her nose. "I'm not exactly sure what is going on, to be honest. They are the thirteen victims who appear to have been killed by the Killing Curse. Mr. Thomson asked that we bring them here, but was not very detailed in his reasoning."

"Because in addition to my being a stubborn bastard who doesn't like to lose, every worthy life saved is a boon to the world, Professor," replied the American, walking slowly out of the Ritual Room and into the antechamber. All three teens took a look at the imposing figure that was steadily walking toward them. He didn't look to be much older than them, perhaps 20 or 21 if he was that. He was tall, taller than Ron's 6 feet, but where Ron was lanky this wizard's broad shoulders and back, not to mention fairly large arms, showed that he had to be at least 15 or 16 stone. His dirty blond hair was short, though with the dirt and dried blood it was hard to tell in what style it was normally kept, and even in disheveled cargo pants and a t-shirt he cut a noticeable figure. As he looked to each of them in turn, Hermione's eyes met his for a split second. It was those eyes, more than any of his other physical attributes, that temporarily fascinated the young witch. They were green; not bright emeralds like Harry's but more like spheres of jade, and when he looked at her she couldn't suppress a shiver that ran down her spine and had nothing to do with being cold. Like Harry's, there was a power hidden behind them; a fire, determination and, yes, even an element of danger that went beyond the norm. She had long grown accustomed to the feeling when looking at Harry, but had not seen it in another until that moment. The sensation that flowed through her as their gazes locked was far from unpleasant, however.

More than his eyes or the odd feeling though, the man was exuding power. Not just the raw masculine power expected of someone with his build, though there was plenty of that, but she swore she could see his magic swirling around him; in her mind's eye there was a rainbow of colors surrounding him the ebbed and flowed outward from him. For some reason, despite the turbulence the sight and associated sensations made her feel . . . safe. She wasn't sure why or how but she knew with absolute surety that she could trust this man, more than she trusted Ron and possibly even as much as she trusted Harry. What the hell? she thought to herself. Why would I think something like that; trusting Harry more than I trust Ron?

Because it's true a voice answered in her mind. Harry has never deserted you. Never betrayed you. Never failed you. Never made you feel less or diminished. Even when he's been mad at you -and he has- or you've been mad at him -and you have- you've always been there for each other. He has proven, over and over, that he is your best friend and more, and that he is worthy of being that 'more.' Your brother. Your lover. Your family. Whatever it is the two of you wish yourselves to be. The stunning thoughts rocked her on her heels mentally and emotionally, and very nearly did so physically; she wasn't sure what to make of them, and wasn't sure what to do about them. Now's not the time she said in her mind, and filed the thoughts, feelings, and impressions of the man in front of and the men beside her away for further contemplation as the newcomer reached the group and began to speak in a pleasant baritenor register that carried the same power as his physical presence did.

"I apologize for not explaining earlier, Professor, but I needed to get started immediately and I didn't want to explain myself more than once. I'm also sorry that introductions and pleasantries will need to take a backseat." They saw him wince slightly and Hermione noticed his right shoulder spasm. He quickly composed himself and continued. "I know some of this is going to go against things you've learned or read, but believe me when I say that this has a very real chance of working for some, if not all, of those poor souls over there." AJ pointed at the bodies against the wall with his working left arm, his right arm held tight to his torso by a sling. "There are many things regarding the Killing Curse, and indeed the magic of the soul in general, that have been all but lost to time. I'll try not to bore you with too many details, especially given our need for haste.

"The Killing Curse works by effectively severing the link between the physical and the metaphysical, making the body an inhospitable vessel for the soul, and forcibly ejecting it from the body. The magical mechanisms are not fully understood, but what is universally agreed upon is that functionality of the curse is predicated on the natural tendency of all life to flee anger, hatred and evil. You need to have more than just the magical power to cast the curse; you also have to truly want to destroy someone, to willingly sacrifice a portion of your humanity in order to deliberately end the life of another. A Killing Curse cast without these negative emotions, or not enough of them, does not cause the full effect, though it can still be physically damaging. This is evidenced by the damage the Killing Curse does to inanimate objects when it hits them, though on people the weakened form acts more like a combined Bludgeoner and Stunner."

"But I saw Snape use the Killing Curse on Dumbledore last year, and he died even though they had planned it and there were none of those negative emotions between them," Harry argued.

Here AJ closed his eyes for a second and Hermione saw something beyond the wince of earlier, some deeper pain, but she didn't know what it was. He opened his eyes and continued. "Yes, but what happened to Albus when he was struck with the curse?" AJ responded, almost as if he were teaching a lesson. The teens were slightly shocked to hear someone close to their their own age call Dumbledore by his given name; it almost seemed taboo to speak of the old wizard such.

"Well, he . . ." Harry stopped mid-sentence, the pain of the moment still troubling to him. Luckily, the big American was prepared to carry on for him.

"He plummeted off the Astronomy Tower. It was not the curse that killed him, Mr. Potter. The fall killed him." Here AJ stopped for a moment and lowered his head. "Albus had many faults, gods know. He was secretive and untrusting. He tried to do so much himself, either too old, too proud, or too stuck in his ways to ask for help. He fought for just causes but forgot what it was to fight for individual people. And he had a terrible tendency to look at the forest and forget the trees. Especially with you," he said, looking up at Harry. "But the man died as he had lived, doing something incredibly foolish for incredibly noble reasons, and unfortunately leaving the rest of us in the dark about it. The last living act of our friend Albus Dumbledore was to endure an exceedingly painful and brutal death in order to save not only the soul of an innocent but that of a friend." They all stood together in silence for a few moments, remembering their friend and mentor. AJ then continued with his explanation.

"Getting back on topic: since these people's souls were not rent from their bodies by physical damage, and because they have not been dead for very long it's possible, in fact likely, that their souls have not yet moved on; Death is a busy bastard and doesn't get to everyone right away." The tall wizard seemed to grind the last part of his statement out through clenched teeth, but his features softened again and he continued. "Since their bodies are also still intact and have not yet begun to decay we may be able to use a ritual to purify the damage done by the curse, making the bodies viable vessels once again, and return their souls back into their bodies. But in order to do that I need your help, Mr. Potter."

Harry balked at that. "Me? What can I possibly do?"

"Several things, the first simply being a powerful wizard, which I know you are." AJ then lowered his voice so that only the five of them would hear as he continued. "Of what remains one is that, unless I'm very mistaken, you are the current owner of the objects known as the Deathly Hallows. Is that right?" The knowledge that someone else knew that information surprised all three of the teenagers, and Harry could only nod stiffly. McGonagall seemed shocked at the revelation but allowed the conversation to continue uninterrupted. "Good, then we need your status as the so-called 'Master of Death,' and we will also need the use of the Resurrection Stone."

"I'm sorry, but I dropped it in the Forbidden Forest."

At this, AJ became exasperated. "A priceless artifact from an age long past and you just dropped it in the fucking forest!?" he hissed quietly but strongly. Harry put his head down and blushed sheepishly at the rebuke, but before Hermione could respond to the American for berating Harry AJ took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for my curtness. I can't take a Pain Relief Potion and my shoulder is killing me; it's making me pretty cranky," the American said by way of apology. "Well, go get it then."

"I don't know where it is," Harry responded meekly. AJ rolled his eyes.

"Jesus Christ, man, are you a wizard or aren't you!?"

Shocked for a second, sudden realization hit Harry, and it showed on his face. AJ smiled. "There you go. Now please go take care of that and meet us back here and we'll begin. I should have the circle completed by then. Excuse me." With that, the American wizard turned and headed back into the Ritual Room. All three of them winced when they noticed the large wound in the man's back, blood seeping through the bandage Madam Pomfrey had managed to apply to it. If any of them had it in their mind to admonish the larger man for his treatment of Harry it had dissolved in understanding upon seeing just how wounded he really was.

"Harry, what the bloody hell was he on about?" Ron asked once AJ had left the antechamber. Harry, however, wasn't listening to his friend; his sudden glazed expression indicated his mind was whirring about something.

"Professor, are Remus and Tonks . . . over there?" he asked McGonagall tentatively, indicating the covered bodies. She nodded in response.

Hearing this information seemed to energize Harry with a sudden burst of adrenaline. He turned and bolted out of the antechamber toward the doors. Ron and Hermione looked at each other for a moment before sprinting off after him. They didn't manage to catch him before he was out of the castle and to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They watched as he raised his holly wand and then stopped himself, instead taking the Elder Wand in hand. "Accio Resurrection Stone!" they heard him say as they reached him, panting, Hermione with a wicked stitch in her side. Several moments passed in silent anticipation, all three of them trying to catch their breath as they waited.

Harry heard it first; the sound of something smashing through leaves and brush as it traveled through the forest. His smile was wide as he saw the small black stone shoot out of the forest and arrive firmly in his hand. He wrapped his fist around the Hallow and turned back toward the castle.

"Harry!" Ron called before they could start running again. "Harry, this is mental! Nothing can bring the dead back, you know that. What are we doing?"

Harry turned on his friend, his emerald eyes blazing. "As a matter of fact, I don't know that Ron. I've only been told that. I've been told a lot of things in my life that turned out to be complete codswallop, from my parents dying in a car crash to Sirius being a murdering psycopath. I don't know this American chap from Adam, but he seemed pretty confident in what he was saying, and he has no reason to lead us on." Harry stopped, taking a second to calm himself before he continued. "There are a lot of people in that room, Ron, but right now I'm thinking about one that isn't. I'm thinking about Teddy Lupin." Ron looked shocked, but Hermione gasped as if she had just cottoned on to Harry's line of thinking. It was confirmed when he continued. "If there's a chance, even a chance, that he gets to grow up with his parents at his side, a chance that he doesn't have to grow up as an orphan like I did, then I will do whatever I can to help. I'd be a piss poor godfather to him and an even worse friend to Remus and Tonks if I didn't at least try. Now are you going to help or not?"

Properly mollified, Ron just nodded his head, which was good enough for Harry. Patting his friend on the shoulder good-naturedly, he said "good man!" before turning and running back toward the castle, back toward the Ritual Room, and back toward the hope of saving at least one family from a little of the tragedy that had been Tom Marvolo Riddle.