Chapter One

There were birds, singing songs as their almost ethereal wings carried them through the clear air. A powder blue sky welcomed their song and the sun shone with approval. As the beautiful birds disappeared into elusive clouds, the wind picked up and howled. It grazed the fields it passed and whispered in the unsuspecting ears of those who would listen. The wind whispered and whispered and shouted; it howled with unmitigated glee. Without a second glance, it passed the fields and the deserted sidewalks of the city and then over precarious cliffs only to pause and play with the salted waters of a strangely calm sea.

Perhaps the beautiful dawn was just an announcement for another day of late fall or so thought the ignorant muggles. For it was not just any dawn, it was the last dawn that the occupants of the wizarding world would wake and rush to see if their families were unharmed, sane and most importantly alive. It was the last dawn that would begin with a relieved and wary sigh. The sunrise meant hope, it meant peace and it meant that the time had come for old, festering wounds to finally start healing.

The foul smell and sorrow of these age-old wounds must have reached out to the wind for it faltered, turned back and noticed the serrated cliffs again. It beheld a sight that would make any onlooker curious and so it turned around and blew tentatively through a mass of wild black hair atop the head of a young man with intense green eyes. However, the young man who sat facing the ocean took no notice. He continued breathing heavily with a grim expression. His pale skin was streaked with dirt and layers of crusted blood. Sweat glistened on his skin, soaked his clothes and bled into the many gashes that were freely spouting blood. Then, out of nowhere, his grim features twisted into an insane grin that soften his face and smoothened the permanent frown on his forehead. He would seem almost boyish to a stranger before the stranger would realize that he was, in fact, a mere boy, eighteen, nineteen at the most.

The wind blew again, this time more persistently because the boy closed his eyes and lifted his face to welcome the salty touch of the wind. A lightening shaped scar was just visible through the strands of his unruly hair. Tears blotted his face and he looked vulnerable for the first time in many months. He was the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, he was Harry Potter and he, with the help of his companions, had defeated the most feared wizard of his time, Tom Marvolo Riddle, alias, Lord Voldemort. Harry's mind suddenly snapped back to reality at the thought of his friends and scrounged through his scant memories of the last stand. However, all he could remember were a pair of red, dilated eyes and a cold, hissing voice.

Wait, they were near me…the whole time, they were by my side. All I have to do is turn around, Harry thought to himself. Unfortunately, his vision was blurring and even thinking exhausted him. Too much…blood, need to stop…

Breathing shakily, Harry inhaled a mouthful of salted air and stood up as quickly as he could. He had turned around about halfway, he stumbled and thought, Bloody Hell, bad idea that was. Out of the corner of his eyes he was horrified to see bodies scattered here and again on the bloodied and blackened cliff. Harry only had time to think that he the bodies were a result of blood loss before he promptly feinted and remembered no more.

Harry was swimming through an eternal darkness towards a light in the distance. There was a flowery scent haunting him. The scent, he cherished it so but for some reason it was fading away and the light, was it moving away? Unbidden, drops of rain interrupted Harry's thoughts. Rain? That can't be right. The sky, I could've sworn it was clear…what's going on? Ginny? Hermione? No, Ron…he's calling me. Why can't I wake up?

"Ha- Harry? Come on Harry wake up. This isn't funny mate. You- you just have to WAKE UP!" Ron said as he leaned over Harry's unconscious body.

Harry gasped, coming to life and stared into Ronald Weasley's eyes, considering whether he should punch the daylights out of Ron or hug him to death. Ron did not give Harry a chance to think, however, because he had pounced on Harry and was sobbing into Harry's shoulder. Perplexed, Harry laughed. It wasn't like Ron to get all touchy feely or cry for that matter. A few minutes passed and after several jokes about how others would look at this situation, Ron was still sobbing.

His eyeslighting upwith understanding and fear, Harry shook Ron off of him and forced Ron to look at him. "Ron, the others. They're all right, aren't they? Ron, RON! Answer me!" Harry shouted at his best friend to no avail. Ron just hung his head and carried on with his silently weeping.

Harry swore and shoved Ron aside none too gently. He used his hand to shield his eyes from the glaring sun and heaved a sigh of relief when he saw pockets of people struggling to get up and help each other. His eyes scanned the members of the Order of the Phoenix and soon they lit on Mrs. Weasley crouching next to Ginny and a harried Mr. Weasley running towards his wife and daughter. Harry blushed and averted his eyes when the couple shared a prolonged and passionate kiss. A part of him wondered whether Ginny was truly all right but at the moment she was alive and there were others who might not be.

Immediately, he started searching for Hermione. However, it seemed that everyone had gathered around something of interest and Harry could not spot Hermione from afar. Annoyed, he rose carefully and took a few uncertain steps. Once he was sure he wouldn't fall over again, Harry quickened his pace and continued searching faces. There were Tonks and Remus on the outskirts of the circle, leaning on each other. Moody was sitting beside Bill, perhaps trying to stop the steady flow of blood coming out of a gash in Bill's left arm. Harry grimaced and having faith in Moody's abilities, he carried on looking at each face and making mental checkmarks.

Hagrid was impossible to miss and Harry smiled inwardly at the half-giant who had been Harry's friend for so long. Next to Hagrid, Kingsley was helping an apparently shaken Professor McGonagall. She'll be fine, Harry thought, remembering the time she had been hit with the full force of numerous spells outside Hagrid's hut.

Harry was now about twenty feet away from the members of the Order and he still hadn't spotted Hermione or for that matter, Charlie Weasley, Podmore, Diggle, Doge or that black haired witch that was a part of his advance guard about four years ago. Shaking his head, he muttered, "They must be in the middle of the group. Damn Hermione, I wish you'd show your face."

Just then, Harry caught a glimpse of bushy brown hair through a space and started sprinting. A smile spread across his face and his heart warmed. She's all right! She's all right. Oh Herm, don't do that to me again…I thought for a moment…

Remus must have heard Harry's feet pounding on the cliff, spraying rocks everywhere because he turned around. There was something in Remus' eyes, something Harry couldn't quite place. Irritated, he sped up and pushed through everyone. When he finally got past some members that he didn't know, Harry caught his foot and tripped. Expecting to land on the hard surface of the cliff, Harry was winded and surprised to land onrough butpaddedtissue.

Harry turned his head to see that he had landed on Hermione and moaned an apology. Hermione did not respond, though; she just lay there, cold and rather stiff. Getting to his knees, Harry was horrified to see a slash cutting diagonally from Hermione's left shoulder to the bottom of her stomach. It was old and the blood had dried after seeping through Hermione's robes. There were mutilated organs protruding out of the deep cut and cracked pieces of her blood encrusted ribs jutted out in several places. Acidy vomit burned Harry's throat but his stunned eyes drifted to his friend's wand hand and took in her elegant fingers still clutching the wand. Hermione's fingertips were singed and he reached out a shaking hand to touch them, wildly wanting the warmth of his hand to wake his friend up. His hand never quite made it to Hermione's, though. In fact, it froze in midair the instant that Harry's eyes travelled to Hermione's face. On her face, he saw a look of shock; he noticed her hazel eyes were void of light but it was the hint of a smile on her blue lips that made Harry's heart wrench.

Choking on vomit and tears, he clenched his mouth and stood up. Harry started walking away from Hermione's body, feeling numb. He was determined to get as far away from her and from himself as possible but his whole body was numb and he stumbled. Harry tripped, once, twice and the third time, he fell to ground and threw up as tears streamed down his face. On his knees, Harry put his head in his hands and sobbed uncontrollably. He felt sinewy arms come around his shoulders and hands cradle his head but all Harry noticed was the vile smell of blood on the hands, on him, around him.

"Why…Hermione, you promised. WHY?" Harry said to no one in particular as he heard a woman crying out somewhere behind him and sensed people moving closer to each other. Resting his head on the shoulder of whoever was holding him, Harry though, We've done it. Defeated that bastard Voldemort, paid a price. We've made sure that no other innocent people fall victim to the cruelty of blind men like Voldemort. There will be no tears for future generations but what about us? Eh, Dumbledore...this pain, will it ever leave? What will we do now? Now that he's dead...and we're alive with the weight of our friends' deaths on our shoulders. In the end, it's all my fault, innit? For letting them come, for loving.