Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, any characters or places named in these stories.

There is a plaque in the great hall. Decorated in silver and white, its cold, grey stone stands out in an understated kind of way. Embossed in gold, in tiny, spidery writing, are endless lines of names. The last reminder of the day when the future ended for so many, and the wizarding word fell silent.

Three years have passed since the great battle, that final day. Harry Potter looks up into the silent room and blinks slowly. Not through surprise, but sad frustration. There are eighteen people in the room. He knows them well, their families and friends, and how their lives have been torn apart. All because of one day, which should have been the greatest day of their lives.

After Voldemort fell, order was restored to the wizarding world. Not quickly, but it was regained. The ministry was replaced, Azkaban was restored to use as a prison, though without the dementors, who had fled with the giants and death eaters as their leader fell. There was partying and singing, a celebration of the end of Voldemort, where Harry Potter was held over all as the saviour of the wizarding world once again.

Until the muggles came.

It took over a year, but eventually the battle took its toll in ways the wizarding community could never have imagined. Families had been devastated, communities torn apart, and the foundations of trust shaken to pieces.

The first shock had been wizards turning their back on magic. Those who had lost the most at the hands of Voldemort and the death eaters simply could not cope with using their wands and magic, when the same had caused them so much grief and heartache. Some simply left, taking bags with them, never to be seen again. Most of them ended up in muggle communities. Those best able to fit in are happier now; they have homes and jobs and have blocked memories from their heads. Those with little muggle knowledge are in hospitals or care homes, barely able to cope for themselves without the magic they turned away from, driven insane by their pasts.

The muggle community are not as unobservant as many wizards believe. The first wave of wizards were seen as odd, the second as suspicious, and the third as proof.

They came in waves.

Flooding into the villages, diagon alley and hogsmeade, they overwhelmed the wizarding population. Wizards found out the hard way that muggles can get into their spelled areas if they know about them. And for muggles, proof is knowing. But muggles are jealous of magic; small children want it, adults are scared of it. So the wizards are a problem. And history tells us what to do about problems. But the wizards don't want another war.

"And so we fled."

To the hills, to forest, to abandoned barns. In twos and threes for safety.

To Hogwarts, where the abandoned ruins now house the largest group of wizards in the country.

Harry is searching now.

Searching for those he lost.

Again.

Because Ginny has to be out there.

She has to be.