Opus Horologium

Disclaimer: All elements of Harry Potter (characters, mythical creatures, spells, scenes, etc.) are properties of J.K. Rowling. As much as I wish I could claim it, it belongs to my queen, THE QUEEN.

Author's note: If it isn't obvious enough, italicized means the character's own thinking. Also, this is the first time I ever decided to write a fan fiction so please spare me.

Chapter one: The Aftermath

There was a flash of green, a spark in the dark. There was laughter and then there was silence – empty, riveting silence. Harry felt his muscles tense, heat coursing down his spine. Darkness surrounded him.

He grappled the air around him, stumbling over his own feet. Every bone in his body called for rest, but he resisted the urge. Sweat trickled down his back; his throat felt dried. It felt like he'd been stuck in the bottom of a well for days.

What happened, he thought. The last thing he remembered was a wand aimed at his heart. The last words he heard were Avada kedavra. Is this what death's supposed to be, an oblique, desolate place?

Was that what I am now? A prisoner of death, left to wander endlessly in the dark?

His mind tried to process the series of events that led to that moment, one photo after another flashing behind his eyelids. His gritted his teeth at the memory of each death he witnessed, each tear he refused to shed.

There is only so much grief can a heart hold until it bursts.

"But it doesn't always have to be that way," a voice echoed inside his head. "Not if you're willing to let someone else in to fill in for the loss."

Harry couldn't help but wince at the thought. Hermione. How long has it been since he last saw her? How long has he been stuck here? Is she still alive?

Had she heard about my death? Had she seen my mangled corpse, my bruised body? Did she try to hold my hand, feel for the pulse that was no longer there? Did she cry too? Did she wrap her arms around my lifeless body and wailed like they did in muggle movies?

His stomach churned at the thought of her, standing over his grave, tears brimming her eyes.

"Hermione!" he called out to the darkness. "Hermione, where are you? Hermione, can you hear me?" He pounded the solid ground that he stood on, punched the empty air around him. He kicked and screamed, calling out her name. He fought with an invisible enemy he could never defeat- loneliness.

He didn't know how long he laid there, his body more bruised than ever. He didn't have any intention of getting up. Maybe I could just sleep in, wait for the dawn to come. Maybe I could just close my eyes and open them after my time here has passed. Maybe I could just let myself fade, let the darkness swallow me whole. And maybe this time I will succeed. Maybe this time I would forget.

"We couldn't find him," Ron's voice sounded tired. He panted heavily, his limbs hung loosely on his sides. "Not one trace. No body. No blood. Nothing. It's like he just disappeared."

He stood in front of the Hogwarts population, along with the other members of the Order. His face looked grave. Dark circles formed under his eyes and his skin was cut in various places. His face was grimy and his hair looks like it hasn't been washed for days. He was wearing his Gryffindor shirt and a black jacket, all covered in mud. He looked exactly as he had been a few days ago.

He looked like a boy who had just lost his best friend.

"And Voldemort," McGonagall asked. She looked terribly old in her tattered emerald green robes, and her voice shook at the mention of his name. No one ever thought the Head of the Gryffindor House could ever sound so fragile.

Ron shook his head. "Like Harry. There was no trace of him either. We captured the rest of the death eaters on the outskirts of the forest but none of them would speak up. Either that or they have no clue on his whereabouts, said he disappeared in a flash."

Collected gasps sprung from the crowd, hushed discussions passing from one house to another. "So what happens now," asked a little boy in his Ravenclaw uniform. He looked barely twelve and his eyes shone with curiosity. "Is the war over?"

Silence fell across the Great Hall.

"Even if what we feared has happened, and Harry lost, Voldemort would not be able to succeed. The imprisonment of his followers would inhibit him from collecting an army large and powerful enough to defeat the entirety of the Wizarding world," McGonagall said, trying to reassure the first year students who shivered in fear. "And I believe yes, the war is over."

Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded in confirmation. "And we, as members of the Order, have vowed to protect the students of Hogwarts from all forms of threat within the wizarding community. We assure you that as long as we live, we would continue to fight for the lives of our citizens," he declared.

Relief coursed the faces of the students. Everyone was changed by the war. The strong had grown weaker, and the weak had been forced to stay strong. The honest had been led to deceive in order to live. But in the end, all they want was for it to be over.

"I'm sorry, Hermione." Ron's eyes were dull. He patted her on the shoulder, fruitlessly trying to console his only remaining best friend. "I know you miss him. We all do."

Hermione had been silent during the entire commotion. She stood in the corner, waiting for the news to come. She prayed and hoped and begged for his survival only to be answered by another riddle: Where IS Harry Potter? She stared across the room, to the place just beyond Ron's face, where she and Harry used to sit after school hours.

"But you don't understand; I loved him. I was in love with him. I still am." The words ebbed from her mouth, devoid of direction and purpose. Tears spilled from her almond shaped eyes.

"Hermione, we all understood. We all knew." He looked away. "Well, maybe except Harry. He never knew. He was too busy battling his demons. He was too busy falling in love with you."

Hermione looked up. They all knew?

She looked around her. Everyone jittered with excitement at the thought of the break from school. Some looked relieved that the war is now over. Others stared in the distance, their faces surely identified as one of those who had just lost someone.

Hermione stood up. Grabbing her beaded handbag, she began to cross the room with a determined look on her face.

"Hermione, where are you going," Ron called after her.

"I am not going to sit here and mourn," she said, not bothering to look back. "He's not dead. Not to me."

"And just what do you think you're going to do? We looked for him. A dozen man at the least. He wasn't there. And no one knew where he is…or was."

"If you don't want to go, then don't. You can't just leave your family like this, Ronald. They need you."

"And how do you think you'll find him?"

Hermione spun around to face him. "I don't know." She sounded so defeated. Ron realized that Hermione wasn't just facing the unknown. She was facing her two greatest fears: failure and Harry's death.

"Give me time. I'll follow."

"I'm not going to wait for you. You can search on your own, but I can't waste any of my time. I have no family to go back to; you have yours to grieve with. Every minute that passes by, Harry might be dying. I know you want to do this, but I understand where your priorities lie right now."

"Hermione…"

"Give my condolences to your family." He nodded and felt a lump on his throat. This is the first time he felt like they were all truly separated. Even then, during the war, when they fought separately for their lives, they had been together. But now they take severed paths. He goes to his family. Hermione goes to find Harry. And Harry? Who knows where he's gone to this time.

"Good luck, Hermione." But she was already gone.