Harry James Potter was finally completely and unmistakably victorious, and yet he didn't feel as if he was. Shouldn't he be cheering and celebrating that the last of Voldemort's followers were defeated, like the others? He limped over the bodies of multiple unmoving Death Eaters as he reached the peak of the small hill. A flick of his wand conjured a chair, and Harry studied it, taking in the slightly misshapen legs before shrugging and surveying the battlefield as he sat down. It would hold; conjuration wasn't his strong suit anyways. Early rays of dawn revealed a few squads of Aurors and Hit-Wizards navigating around the numerous fires and craters, vanishing the remains of organic animation, and checking that every single Death Eater was dead. It was the aftermath of a battle, a battle where the Ministry had suffered minimal losses, but Harry couldn't shake the thick, leaden feeling that despite everything, it just wasn't over.

He internally scoffed. He didn't even know what 'it' was; he was probably just turning paranoid. Although, Harry mused, paranoia had probably saved Mad-Eye's life a couple of times. That thought sobered him. Just how many lives had been lost fighting this war?

A sigh escaped him as he stopped counting. "Too many," he mumbled. "Too many." And all over what? How much 'pure' blood someone had in them?

Swishes against the grass caused him to snap up- two pairs of footsteps, and approaching him. He flicked out his wand and raised it, only to put it down as the tired, but smiling visages of Ron and Hermione came into view.

"Too many what, mate?" Ron questioned.

Harry shook his head. "Nothing." Nothing that could be joked about, anyways.

Hermione must've seen through his lie, because she frowned. Harry sent her a pointed look telling her drop it, and surprisingly, she relented...in the form of rolling her eyes. "So. We came up here to discuss what we should do next. In life."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Don't ask me, I thought us 'boys couldn't make good life decisions for squat'." He emphasized his words with air quotes and a wry smile.

"I think I remember those words as well, Hermione." Ron nudged her in the side.

The girl huffed and slapped him away. "Whatever. Are you two staying in the DMLE?"

Without a doubt, Harry thought. "Of course! The ministry needs help weeding out the corrupt politicians!"

"Yeah, what he said," Ron agreed.

Hermione's lips quirked. "Neither of you are even officially Aurors," she pointed out.

"Well, what are you doing then," Harry shot back.

Hermione grinned. "Well, I heard that Hogwarts was offering an extra year for those that dropped out fighting Voldemort, so I'm probably doing that."

Ron hummed. "As much as I hate school, the NEWTS do help in our careers should we retire from the Corps."

There were two mock gasps. "What?" Ron glared at them.

Harry grinned at Hermione, and she grinned back. "Who are you and what have you done to Ron?" They asked in unison.

"Hey, it's not like I'm Hermione, who-" he snapped his mouth shut at the frosty look from the girl and raised his hands in surrender.

"Whipped!" Harry chortled. As they both turned to look at him, he cleared his throat. "Uh, gotta go!" He dashed out of the chair and then immediately face-planted in the dewy grass, right at his friends' feet. He had forgotten his leg injury! He groaned, spitting out a few blades of grass.

"Ah," came Ron's voice. "What was that Harry?"

There were a few nudges on his head, and Harry assumed it was Hermione telling him to get up. He turned his head, and sure enough, Hermione was there smirking, with a hand reaching down to help him up.

He took it.

Only to see a darkly robed figure limp closer behind his friends' backs, wand raised and a blindingly white spell already flying towards them. And Ron and Hermione were unaware of it.

Harry surged to his feet, ignoring the pain in his left leg, and pushed them aside, before feeling the spell hurl him into the air with the force of a hundred battering rams. As his eyes closed and he lost consciousness, he could faintly see the figure crumple under the onslaught his friends had created.

Guess that was the 'it' I felt, Harry thought.