Hello all, FactionMixer here. I have been so fed up with all the Harry Potter fanfiction that I decided to stop complaining and write my own after falling for Harry Potter yet again.

I reread the books only a week ago, so my mind is still fresh off the press.

This is only the first chapter, and I promise that this story will get past the moping around, but I love to play with themes and symbolism, so you are gonna have to put up with it for a while.

The second chapter is going through the editing/revising process and the third is well on its way so I think that I will update weekly, probably every Friday (maybe Saturday depending on how late I stay up) Yes, I know it is a Thursday, but it is only a minute until midnight eastern time so I figured that it is okay.

Well, enjoy. Please read and review. Thanks!

I, FactionMixer, would not be responsible enough to own the rights to Harry Potter. If I had written Harry Potter, I would just keep writing until people got bored. Thank the lucky fate of the universe that JK Rowling owns the rights to Harry Potter, its characters, and its plotlines.

Harry Potter was staring at his reflection in the mirror of Ron's room at the Burrow. A week had passed since the war had been won. The Dursleys had been restored to number four Privet Drive by a disgruntled Hestia Jones, former members of the Order of the Phoenix had stopped trooping in and out of the burrow, Kingsley Shacklebolt had been elected Minister of Magic, twelve death eaters and associates had been arrested and were now awaiting trial in Azkaban, and Harry had attended three funerals. The week had passed in a haze, and Harry was only doing was he was told to do: eat, drink, sleep, and talk.

Harry's current assignment was to put on his dress robes for the fourth time that week and meet everyone else outside in the yard to apparate to the war memorial service. His reflection was gaunt. There were deep shadows around his eyes, and his sickly pale face was exaggerated by the mop of jet-black hair that had not been cut since the summer previous. As he glanced at his naked form in the mirror, he saw his scars. The scar from the locket, the scar from Nagini, the scar from surviving the killing curse a second time, and the original scar that started it all. They mesmerized him, as he was astounded at their miniscule nature. The memories the scars represented were still cutting into his mind, creating fresh wounds. He felt as though he was bleeding to death, when in reality, his physical wounds had already healed. It felt like an insult.

After pulling his robes over his head and grabbing his wand, he trooped outside to the front porch, which was absent of the usual clutter once again, for the wellington boots had not been replaced since Fred's funeral.

The Weasleys, if possible, looked even worse than Harry. George, who had taken Fred's death the worst, had only come out of his room to eat for the first few days, and was even then led around by the forceful arm of Mrs. Weasley. He had finally awoken from his stupor to find Mrs. Weasley shouting at him through tears about not wanting to lose two of her sons.

Silence greeted Harry as he made his way over to the solemn-faced Weasleys. Even George, who, in the previous couple days, had taken it upon himself to crack enough jokes for two twins, was dead silent. Hermione, obviously relieved when she saw Harry, was about to call out in greeting, but her mouth closed quickly. Ginny trudged over to Harry and took his hand, giving it a small squeeze. Harry responded with a small, sad smile that barely lifted the corners of his mouth and squeezed her hand in return.

As Harry, Ron, and Ginny had not yet passed their apparition tests, they paired with the people who had in order to get to the Hogwarts gates. Ron went with Hermione, Ginny went with Percy, and Harry went with George, seeing as though Mr. Weasley was busy attempting to support his wife, who had broken out into a fresh veil of tears. Bill, Fleur, and Charlie were meeting them at Hogwarts.

Upon arriving at the gate, they followed the straggling line of people clad in black dress robes to where a small crowd of people had already gathered, not far from Dumbledore's resealed white-marble tomb.

The memorial was for all the people who had not only died during the Battle of Hogwarts, but throughout the entire war. He spotted Hagrid and Madame Maxime together. Their heads rose way above the crowd of somber, tear-streaked faces, but their expressions blended in. Without introduction, Minerva McGonagall, the new headmistress, waved her wand. At her command, a ten-foot-tall black onyx cylinder as thick as Hagrid's torso rose from the ground, engraved with the names of the fallen witches, wizards, muggles, goblins, house elves, and centaurs alike. Around the memorial, black stones rose up from the ground, laying flat, encircling the war memorial- each one engraved with a name of a person or a creature that perished during the Battle itself.

Harry suddenly became aware that Ginny's warm hand was still in his, and as he glanced over at Ron and Hermione, he saw that they too were clutching each other as though they were each other's' lifelines.

The living people moved forward, conjuring flowers and house flags as they went. Hermione conjured an armful of white lilies and was passing them out. Harry somehow found several of the white, aromatic flowers shoved into the hand not holding Ginny's and went to place them. He fingered the name "Fred Weasley" on the onyx column before placing a flower on Fred's stone. He found the names Remus and Nymphadora Lupin and felt his eyes and throat burn as he placed lilies on the graves of the couple. He continued this. The motion was rhythmic. It was comforting even, to be doing something.

The first couple of days after the Battle had been denial, and then after that came realization, accompanied only by unbearable grief. Walking around the memorial, looking at all the lives that had been lost, Harry felt numb, unknowing, unfeeling, as though all the emotion had been burned out of him by what he had experienced. He left the people crowding around the memorial and walked to the Hogwarts gates, where he illegally disapparated, leaving the mourning, crying people to comfort one another.