A/N – I think the ending is cheesy. And I stole the title from one of Spike's lines in the Buffy episode "Once More, With Feeling."

I dropped tiredly onto my bed in my childhood home. My parents had gone out again. Apparently Australia had rekindled their romance and I was so happy for them – not to mention absolutely relieved that they didn't hate me. They weren't happy about it, of course; how could anyone be happy that someone they trusted had betrayed their minds? But they had forgiven me nonetheless and hadn't been happier in years.

I, however, was feeling uncertain – a feeling I wasn't terribly well-acquainted with. The war was over; the celebrations had lasted for weeks… but so had the funerals. So many wonderful people had died, and the grief was only starting to lessen. Harry, Ron, and I, so long bound together not only in friendship, but also by our mission to defeat Voldemort, were now bonded by something even stronger. The trials of the war had brought us closer – to the point that a romance between any of us (though widely speculated upon by the Prophet) had become laughable. So many days we had spent together; a solid front against our collective grief – sometimes in silence, sometimes in quiet conversation, and sometimes in camaraderie that was indiscernible from our Hogwarts days to anyone outside our trio. We were healing now; the days growing less heavy upon us.

It had been Harry's idea to begin to fix up Grimmauld place. Not just to clean it, but to change its entire disposition. The once dreary and forbidding building was slowly becoming brighter – more habitable, which was, of course, the end goal. The work helped, too. After living our lives for the achievement of a single task, the completion of that purpose had left us at a terrible loss, which only added to our anguish. The days had been blurring together, and our frustrations both with life and with ourselves had been steadily mounting when finally Harry – perhaps the most strongly affected – had proposed we salvage Sirius' old house. In spite of the hard and disgusting work it entailed, Ron and were both eager to agree.

It had been an arduous undertaking, but finally the place was liveable and we would be moving in the next morning. We weren't finished by any means, but we were more than ready to retreat to the calm stability it had become.

Which brings us back to my uncertainty. As we reached this mid-way point in the next task, I began to realise that something must follow. Some other meaningful task must come after this one, and so on and so forth. So tied to the war, we all gave very little thought to life. Sure, Harry and Ron had dreams of becoming Aurors, but they were vague day dreams at best, and they certainly weren't acting upon them now. Hogwarts had extended invitations to the students of our year to return for proper NEWT training, but the three of us had unanimously declined.

We were lost. Lost somewhere in between the past and the present – a place where the world felt so terribly surreal. If only I could find a way to step back onto solid ground perhaps I could rediscover my path, but how to do it I couldn't begin to guess.

I desperately needed advice. I needed someone wiser to help me find my way, but who could I possibly turn to? My parents could never understand; not the pain of the Cruciatus curse, or the desperation of the Horcrux search; they couldn't possibly know the terror that flooded our veins when Voldemort appeared on the grounds, nor the heart-wrenching sight of a battlefield strewn with cherished allies and friends. Dear, steadfast Remus was gone; Tonks' voice long-dimmed; Hagrid – perhaps not the best for advice but one of the most wonderful confidantes, Dumbledore – Harry's most trusted advisor, Sirius – radical but honest… All gone. The Weasleys were always there of course, but to turn to them when their own grief was so great… I couldn't bear the thought.

And that's when it occurred to me – Professor McGonagall – and I apparated there immediately.

We talked a long while, she and I, both of us sharing our thoughts and feelings, and I came out of her office with two important realizations. First, that friends can be found in the strangest of places – something I certainly should've been aware of after the incident with the troll. Second, that life isn't about tasks or plans, but simply about living.

I went for a walk by the lake afterwards, a long, contemplative walk, and I let my mind wander slowly through the many aspects of my life. After some time I came to realise something startling; this was living… And it was good. I wasn't always happy; I wasn't even always okay, but I was living. Surrounded by people I loved, slowly healing and finding myself, doing things that gave me a sense of fulfillment... This was it; this was what life was about. The idea left me buoyant – empowered – and it helped me through the following months.

And here I am today. I feel stronger now, more sure of myself, happier. Grimmauld place is beautiful, and Harry, Ron, and I are still just as close. They're working on their Auror training after all. After some careful consideration (and a bit of a push in the right direction) I began apprenticing for Minerva who insists that she needs someone to take over Transfiguration so she can properly focus on her duties as Headmistress.

So there it is. Life is great – amazing even – and in spite of its ups and downs I feel fulfilled and happy. It seems almost ironic that sometimes all life takes is a little living.