This is a one-shot fic written for idiotparade for Lasair's Harry Potter Flashficathon. Yes, that means a challenge fic. Prepare to shudder in fear.

The challenge was a Luna/Harry, post-war, which means it's probably a sort of wonky hurt/comfort thing.

Yes, yes, blame the beta (kelmedren)

Harry Potter and its related characters do not belong to me.

Bitter Victories

Things don't end the way they should.

When Harry was younger (naïve), he had imagined a victorious Light battle where there were cheers of joy and banners flying in the wind, like all war novels. Real life wasn't like that. War wasn't honorable or deserved; it was bitter triumph born from spilled blood. Blood. You wouldn't think there would be much of it, considering how often the Killing Curse was used.

They were wrong to call it the Darkest curse. It may be Unblockable and draining to the caster, but was it any worse then a curse that filled the recipients veins with fire, burning them slowly from the inside out? Harry thought not. The silent swoop of death would have been preferable to Ron Weasley's screaming, bloody end. (A fitting end for a man who lived his life by fire.)

Hermione Granger died an unsurprisingly honorable death at the hands of Walden Macnair, after being captured trying to gather allies for the Light side in France. As Potter's 'pet Mudblood,' she was a hot commodity for any Death Eater to bring in. Given the choice between saving herself or saving the other prisoners caught with her, Hermione chose death. She was only eighteen. Macnair couldn't be identified after the next skirmish when Harry met up with him.

One by one, they all fell, only a precious few surviving the bloodbath that was Voldemort's second rise. Not all went by a Death Eater's wand; depression and suicide ran rampant among the wizarding population. Grief was a powerful thing… it kept people going when they'd otherwise have given up, and it destroyed the strong by going straight for the heart (the weak point).

Harry sighed and turned back from the giant windows of the Hogwarts' entrance. Rain had been pounding down for hours, the quiet sound enveloping Harry in a world of memories. Rain cleansed the bloody battlefield outside, which the weary fighters had left in bitter victory. The castle was quiet, as if mourning the deaths it had witnessed.

"Hello, Harry," a familiar voice said.

"Luna." Harry looked at her with a small smile, trying to banish his sadness, at least for the moment. She had always come at odd times to talk to him. After his fifth year, they had 'bonded', so to speak, over the Veil and mutual understanding of death. It was no surprise that she had come now. Harry couldn't even muster the energy to be angry with her, as if it were her fault. After all, he was no longer fifteen.

"Are you ever going to move on?" Luna asked quietly, meeting Harry's eyes squarely.

Harry blinked, taken off-guard. This was not what he had expected after the battle. "What do you mean? I'm not going to just forget, you know." Why was she doing this? Why did she have to come and... she knew what this was like! Luna had changed and been hurt just as much as he had.

"Death is a beginning and an ending, Harry. Dumbledore told you that. Would they want you to immerse yourself in grief?" Here, here was the wisdom and intelligence that had placed her in Ravenclaw. Despite the disconnected appearance she gave to the world, she was observant - when she wanted to be. And Luna had always had a keen interest in Harry.

Luna took a few steps closer to him, until she stood next to him and placed her hand on the cold window-glass. "Remember them with love and pride, not their deaths. It is - not quite right, to think of them as merely…" She seemed to be trying to say something that she couldn't quite verbalize. Luna glanced back at Harry quickly, and there was something infinitely vulnerable in her eyes, something that called to Harry and his 'saving-people-thing'. He took a quick step towards her and opened his mouth to say something, anything.

"Luna…" he licked his lips and took a shallow breath. What was going on? She had never been this… strange (well, for her) before.

"Yes, Harry?" Luna said dreamily. She looked up at him with her great silvery eyes and he realized what she had been hinting at earlier. Death opened many doors. Great things could be born out of the ashes, if you realized it. Luna always believed in the surreal, but if thestrals were real as well…. She was still looking at him, with this odd expression on her face as if she wasn't sure if he was real or not, but so unbearably hopeful that it shattered Harry's heart, already fragmented by grief, and he wasn't sure, but maybe Luna could heal it if she tried and if he was right…

Harry moved closer to her and slowly touched her cheek. Her eyes widened and she relaxed into his hand, as if she thought he would never hurt her. He hoped he wouldn't let her down. Harry slowly leaned down and softly pressed their lips together. Luna's eyes widened then slid closed in pleasure. They stood like that for what seemed forever, arms loosely entwined and bodies pressed together. Harry released her lips with a sigh and gently kissed his way to her earlobe, where he asked quietly, "Is this what you meant by beginnings?" 

"I… don't know. I didn't expect this, if that's what you're asking," Luna said as she took hold of Harry's face. "But I do know," Kiss. "That I care," Kiss. "And that I could try." Kiss. Luna looked at Harry in the eyes and said firmly, "I will try."

Harry smiled in relief and spoke with another kiss.

Kisses and whispered words were showered upon each other's faces, while time slipped by and-

"Look- the sun!" Luna commented, pointing out of the Entrance Hall windows. The rain had ended during their shared reverie, and the sun had finally peeked out from behind the clouds in time to create a magnificent sunset that sent amber rays of light in every direction.