Nineteen-year old Harry Potter sat with his head in his hands, bereft. Thrown carelessly across the room, lying in a crumpled pile was the Daily Prophet's gossip column. The headline blared, "Harry Potter recovers quickly from deaths of school friends and ex-flame." The article was accompanied by a created picture of Harry, his face obscured by that of an overly made-up blonde whom Harry had never seen in his life.
It had been three months since the final battle. Harry had defeated Voldemort, watched his best friends die, received an absentee diploma from Hogwarts, and withdrawn himself from wizarding society, mourning the deaths of Ron, Hermione, and Ginny in the muggle world. Grave thoughts filling his head, Harry fell into a fitful sleep. He dreamed of the bodies of his three lifeless friends, but when their faces appeared in his dream, he awoke with a start. Something was amiss.
The faces of his friends were ingrained completely in his mind. Why, in his countless recollections had he not noticed it before? All three of his friends had the same faint blue haze clouding their eyes. He was sure it had been there at their funerals. Each having been struck by Avada Kedavra, one after the other, their bodies remained in tact, showing no sign of harm, and they had therefore each been given proper burials. It seemed that behind the haze were signs of life. Maybe not stirrings, but emotions in the least, a departure from the expressionless faces Harry had seen so often on victims of the killing curse. Harry shook his head; it was all wishful thinking, he knew.
Again he fell into a disturbed sleep. Images of his first kiss with Ginny, him and Ron playing wizarding chess, all the while Hermione peering disapprovingly over the top of a book, filled his mind. Then, something hit him sharply on the nose, and Harry opened his eyes.
"Ronald Weasley, if you hit me one more time, I'll rip your bloody hands off!" he shouted fiercly. Then he stood up.
"Uhhhh, gah…ummm…erm…ugh" he stammered incoherently before sitting down and squeezing his eyes shut. He abruptly began shaking his head violently. He muttered to himself and cautiously opened one eye. The other one opened and he launched himself upward into the arms of Ron and Hermione, thumping Ron on the back and placing a sloppy, jubilant kiss on Hermione's lips.
"Hermione! Ron!--" he spun around, searching. "Where's…?" and suddenly, Ginny Weasley popped into his living room. Before anyone could utter a word, he had embraced her tightly about her waist and kissed her deeply. He withdrew and muttered "I love you." She grinned at Harry as he turned to face his other friends, keeping one firmly around Ginny's middle.
"Actually I love all of you." Hermione immediately burst into tears, and Ron gave her a sideways glace before saying,
"Well that's all good and well just so long as you don't kiss me like that." Harry laughed and assured him,
"No worries, mate. Those I save for your sister." Ron grimaced and jerked his head.
"What you two do behind closed doors is none of my business, although it is a great source of worry to me--"
"Ron, shush," said Hermione, speaking for the firs time. "Pleasantries aside, I think Harry deserves an explanation, not threatening words from his best friend," she said lovingly but insistently.
"Yeah, I suppose that's true," conceded Ron. "But I'm warning you. She's been through a lot. One step out of line and," he made the motion of slicing his neck.
"Right then, take a seat, Harry," said Ginny, pulling him down next to her on the couch. Hermione perched on the edgy of the coffee table and Ron sat on the arm of the couch. Hermione took a steadying breath and began.
"Dumbledore knew, from the moment he rescued from the rubble, that you'd need protection. Obviously, that's why you lived with your aunt. In any case, he also knew it would be entirely ineffective against V…Voldemort once you reached your seventeenth birthday, which is why he'd been trying to develop a new kind of protection, also derived from love, though stronger than before. Finally, in our sixth year, he succeeded, with some help, and it was put into effect. He placed the protection one you, since you're the only one who could have defeated…Voldemort. He also placed it one the three of us," she paused, indicating herself, Ginny, and Ron, "knowing that nothing, not even your noble attempts would keep us from helping you. The spell, which when cast on a group of people who love each other becomes stronger than had it only been cast on you, ensured that when one under its protection as hit with any kind of lethal curse, they would appear to die, while, in actuality, entering a long, rehabilitating slumber. This is, of course, what happened to the three of us. The spell, which I suggested be called 'Shakespeare's Sleep'," (Harry understood the reference, immersion in muggle society had him well-versed in the knowledge of Shakespeare's play and the draught Juliet drank to appear dead), "prevented our deaths." Hermione, who had until this point speaking in a calm, even voice, suddenly began to gulp in deep breaths in an effort to prevent the flow of tears. Ron placed a loving arm around her shoulders and urged her to continue.
"Sorry, Harry, it's just that, well, you see, in order for the spell to be effective, its caster had to die. And because of the dreadful possibilities if knowledge of the spell got into the hands of Death Eaters, Dumbledore wanted the method and the secrets to be kept as covert as possible." Hermione sniffled and continued. "So…the only person powerful enough and trustworthy enough to cast the spell was Dumbledore. He arranged to be 'murdered' by Snape to put the spell into effect. He died to save us all."
At that point Hermione was overcome with grief and she buried her face in her hands. Ron pulled her towards him and supported her frame, mumbling comforting words to her.
Several hours later, with the four sleeping in conjured beds in Harry's lounge, comforted, Harry fell asleep smiling for the first time in many months.