Hi Everybody,

This is not my first fan fiction but my first on this account. My writing style has changed recently and I thought it would be fitting to start fresh… not to mention that I've had my other account for 5 years now. I'm English born and bred so if anyone has any problems with anything British in their stories, please feel free to let me know and I would be happy to help. I take suggestions and love reviews but I don't want you to feel pressured. Many authors pester that they won't update if people don't review but I think that if you really love to write then you will, no matter who's reading.

AN- I may be English but I do not have the pleasure of owning Harry Potter.

"Poor old Jim's white as a ghost
He's found the answer that we lost
We're all weeping now, weeping because
There ain't nothing we can do to protect you"

-Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds, 'O Children'

Hermione smiled slightly as she walked up the steps to the Gryffindor common room, her face was blotchy from the continuous crying but there were no dimples this time. The sound of her feet echoed as she took each step in her stride, strangely and unfamiliarly the castle was silent…almost like it was sleeping, she mused. The castle had always been responsive to her; she never had to wait for a staircase and she was never denied the room of requirement, it was as if Hogwarts was an old friend- forever alive and ready to greet her on her return. It was strange to see it silent, but then again- this was Hogwarts. It could move stairs on its own accord, why shouldn't it be able to sleep? It wasn't surprising to her. The castle was created to teach young witches and wizards the magic they needed to know in order to survive in their magical world, but in the real world the children – although not ready and many underage - were needed to fight. Thirty-five students were lost from Gryffindor, fifteen from Hufflepuff, seven from Ravenclaw and all but six from Slytherin. The castle was no longer a school, but a burial site.

Hermione was snapped from her thoughts due to the tapping of a foot colliding with the wooden arms of the sofa in the common room. She looked over to see a shaggy black haired boy sprawled along it. She stepped forward towards him and his eyes shot open revealing shimmering green eyes. 'No' she corrected herself, this was no boy. The boy she had grown up with had never been faced with killing anyone and watching every family he had ever known be murdered. The shell of the boy on the sofa, Harry Potter, had killed someone, although it had been a vile evil monster, he had taken another's life.

"Does the castle feel different to you?"

She leaned back against the side of the chair that she had claimed for herself, the image of his haunted eyes lingered in her mind. She paused and glanced at the wall, waiting for the castle to react to Harry's statement, but unsurprisingly to her nothing happened. She nodded her head slowly "Yes…she seems to be sleeping, doesn't she?" Harry raised his head to look at her considering.

"I don't think she's sleeping… I think she's mourning"

Hermione frowned; looking at Harry tentatively she asked "What do we do now? Where do we go from here?"

Harry sighed; he lifted himself off the sofa and came to stand in front of her. He raised her hand from where it lay limp at her side and he took it, grasping it in his. She looked at him fearfully, her heart fluttered and although she would never admit it in fear of losing her independence she needed him to need her and so she begged silently to anyone who was listening that this man wouldn't leave her.

But that was exactly it- he was a man. She was a woman. You didn't come out of a war unscathed, mentally or physically with no changes. Tears fell freely from her eyes and she clung desperately to him but all he could do was wrap his arms around her and encase her in his warmth as she mourned.

She mourned for Ron- the friend and brother who had always been second best. This time death had taken him first, giving him something he had yearned for in the cruellest of ways. She mourned for Dumbledore, whose motives had finally been brought to light. For Molly Weasley, whose mothering had been a comfort while she was separated from her parents. For Ginny, the fiery red-head, the first female friend she had ever known. For Fred. For Lupin. For Sirius.

But perhaps most of all she mourned for her innocence, the innocence of the child who first looked at the castle with such wonder and fear that there wouldn't be a place for her in that world. Her innocence had been left behind, and that made the truths that much harder. And so she mourned for the loss of childhood, for that was something that everybody had lost. It couldn't be recaptured when there were no children left to capture it. In time the halls would filled with laughter once again, oh how she envied those children. But for now? Only the shells of the children remained in the somber silence of the great hall.