Fleur got up and rubbed her dirty hands on her jeans before looking around for her next task. Looking to her left there was a large pile of what used to be a statue that was in need of repair, but just beyond the fallen column there was an Auror nursing a wound to the side of his head. She looked around to see where Bill was. He was carrying a body with Arthur. Ron was helping Percy who was pairing recently apparated family members with their children. Hermione and Ginny were on first aid duty, helping Hannah Abbot, Padma, and Parvati Patel out with the shaky queue of warriors.

The Battle of Hogwarts was over. And now came the clean up.

Sliding back her wayward silver hair with the back of her hand she pushed it back into its mane and walked towards the wounded auror, wand in hand.

"You there! Miss. Delacour!"

Turning around she saw someone who was neither dirty, nor covered in blood. In fact they looked completely out of place amongst the survivors of the battle in their clean clothes and rather rich looking fabrics.

"Mrs. Weasley." she corrected in a confused manner.

"Yes-yes-yes." said the man in the trilby waving his hand impatiently as the man behind him revealed a large camera. "Miss. Delacour, we would love to take your picture. Right now."

"For what end?" she asked, confused.

"Well, we want a poster girl for the battle of Hogwarts…" began the moustached man, casting his hand across. "The brave Miss. Delacour, Triwizard champion duels the dark lord in fight for the wizarding world. If you could give us an account of the battle that would be amazing. Of course, there will be payment; we're talking a serious amount of galleons-"

Fleur held up her hand, blinking in disbelief.

"Wait, are you asking me to give you an interview. Here and now?"

"Well, if we could find a side chamber, you could of course take a small break from your clean up operation."

Fleur couldn't believe her ears.

These vultures had just apparated into a war zone and hoped for a scoop? It was sickening.

"'Ow about you pick up your wands and try cleaning zis place up first? People 'ave died." she scowled.

"Miss. Delacour…"

"Mrs. Weasley!" Fleur snapped turning away.

"You would be the poster child, an inspiration for every witch out there. You could be on the cover of witch weekly by next week! You would be a comfort of every young girl, every mother and daughter will think of you when they think of the battle. You will be inspiring a whole new generation of women to be strong and capable of taking up the wand and-"

Fleur turned so swiftly her long silver pony tail whipped the air.

"Do you theenk any of us wanted zis battle? Do you theenk any of us wanted to reesk our brozzers, and seesters? Our Sons and our Daughters? Zis battle was fought for necessity. Nozhink more! We fought zis battle to ensure it never 'appens again!"

"The people need a real woman, a real warrior to see the strength behind the gentleness!"

Fleur had had enough and was looking around for Bill to help her make this guy understand when she saw Molly holding George again. He had been crying silently most of the morning, even when he was smiling through Harry's triumph.

Looking at Molly holding her son, her own pain on ice while she understood his. Her face worn and tired, her own triumphs forgotten as she comforted her boy in his tragedy that was also hers.

Fleur looked back at this persistent tweed reporter.

"You want me because I am beautiful. You want ze beautiful face zat saw tragedy and 'orror 'ere at 'Ogwarts. You want to take my peecture to see ze true battle on my face?"

The reporter nodded quickly; glad to see she got the picture.

She gestured with her wand to Molly.

"She is ze true 'eroine. She 'as fought valiantly tonight. She 'as lost her son 'ere tonight. 'Er friends. 'Er world was torn apart tonight, and she is still 'ere. Still alive. Still working. She will work a way of holding it all togezzer. She may not be 'beau', and she may not be stunning, or young, or new. But she is a real woman…and she is my muzzer in law. She is your front page, Monsieur."

With a swift turn, she walled towards the man with the wound leaving the reporter and the photographer perplexed amidst the rubble and injured brave.