Disclaimer: The Harry Potter World and the characters therein remain the sole intellectual property of J.K Rowling. Therefore all stories written by myself on the basis of Harry Potter remain hers.

Now, I've chosen a poor time to begin writing my first fanfic (uni exams), and so I cannot guarantee timeliness. As it is my first however, I would love criticism (don't be nasty), especially on matters of character realism.

I don't want to waste too much time so I won't. ENJOY!

Harry was alive. But his existence was far from the thoughts that plagued his mind as the trio stumbled through to the Great Hall. Swimming in his eyes, alive in his thoughts, not blurred by the tears that grew in them, were images of the battle past. Accompanied with pain from the wounds that struggled to gain his attention, he remembered. He remembered the lives lost, Fred, Colin Creevey, Remus, Tonks, and the image of horror as Greyback fed on Lavender. Hell, even the vision of Snape bleeding profusely haunted him.

He took in his surroundings but they seemed to mirror his thoughts as those who were lost in the battle lay side by side. In the mass of the grieving was a blob of red. It was then that Harry realised Ron had left him to drown in his own sorrow at the sight of Fred's body. Hermione, it seemed, had ran with him, at the moment she was his sole comfort. Not wanting to add to the sadness, Harry stayed away from the Weasleys, and walked solemnly to where Madam Pomfrey had wounded to attend to.

"Excuse me?" he prodded tentatively, "is there anything I can do? Anything at all?" Harry's eyes begged, wringing his hands, needing to calm them with work.

"Oh Harry dear, you're hurt yourself. No, get some rest first, you've been at it for too long." Madam Pomfrey herself pleaded with eyes set stern in seeking her goal.

"Please. I can't do nothing," he returned, not wanting to give the full reason for his eagerness to work until fatigued. He felt responsible for the wounded, and like he caused the deaths. Maybe the healer saw this in him, because she softened and beckoned him to attend to those with minor wounds, able to be healed with dittany.

He set to work. It wasn't nice, looking at the people whom he'd caused so much pain. He daren't look them in the eyes but hoped that he was on the path to forgiveness with each drop of the haling potion. Some were shallow, but broad injuries, others reminded him painfully when Ron was splinched.

Whispers were heard behind him, they were from Hermione, he guessed. He didn't turn to look her, instead he stopped his thoughts and concentrated on the wounded.

"Harry?" her voice was a mere breath of wind as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I-" he started but couldn't continue.

"I've talked to Madam Pomfrey, she can do without you for now. Come. We need you."

Slowly he stoppered the dittany and placed it down but still could not find the courage to look at her as he surveyed the wounded, maybe for the 50th time that afternoon. It was only the afternoon, slowly turning into night.

Hands gripped under his arms and put pressure to lift him from his kneeling position, he let them and began to stand up. They turned him around. The owner of the hands just looked at him with a mixture of worry and sorrow. Somewhere in them however, somehow, was happiness.

Harry took Hermione into his arms now and each let tears fall. Harry saw the Weasleys for the first time since he walked into the Great Hall two hours ago. They were different now. They weren't an ugly grieving mess, separated by the death of their son and brother. Now they were huddled together away from Fred, whispering what looked like secrets of familial love. Not looking at the rest of the hall, only the Weasley's, Harry found himself capable of forming a slight smile. Hermione must have noticed.

"Don't leave us Harry," she begged. Harry couldn't help but notice the new significance of the word 'us'. "We're in that family now," she continued, "We're a part of that sorrow. We're a part of that love. That love that you can see, it's shared with us now too."

"Can I go over? I want to see them, I need to see Fr-" he choked.

Hermione didn't answer but instead took his hand and pulled him over to where the bodies lay. Most of them were now covered with white sheets in respect, including Fred. He kneeled down beside the body he knew to be of the prankster, but didn't uncover the face. He felt like he didn't have permission. Who was he to uncover the sorrow of the Weasley family after they had finally slowed to release soft tears instead of the heavy sobs he'd seen them in earlier? Hermione must have felt the same because she simply stood, steadying herself with Harry's shoulders.

Molly Weasley stepped silently from her family to stand behind him next to Hermione. Harry was not ready for what he saw when he looked up to her. A mixture of tears, sweat, blood and dirt was smeared onto the aging skin of the Weasley matriarch. She didn't deserve this. She should at home, warm in her husband's arms, annoyed with her children. All seven of them.

She nodded towards Fred's body covered by the sheet, and then at Harry. He understood the meaning, but could not ignore the immediate response of her body when drew back the sheet to reveal Fred's face. Her body shook as a wave of fresh sobs washed over her. She wasn't the only one. Harry, Hermione, and those of the Weasley clan who noticed the disturbance of their departed's body all wept freely again.

He was still smiling. His face left uninjured. Harry didn't want to see his body. His orange hair was ruffled a bit, like he was tossing and turning in his sleep. Maybe from a good dream. Harry rummaged in his pocket and found what he sought, one of the extendable ears he'd brought with him on the nine month journey. He found Fred's hands clasped together on his chest and placed the joke item within them. Afraid of running out of tears if he continued to look at the body, he covered Fred once more and grabbed Molly into a fierce hug as she'd dropped to her knees.

He needed to show he was sorry, and attempted to use the warmth of his body as an apology. She accepted it and hugged him tight in return.

Harry managed to break away long enough to sound a muffled "I'm sorry."

Again, this was accepted with strong hug, but eventually it was Molly's turn to push away to say "It's time to rest."