Post-War fic, will mostly update when I feel like it. All chapters might be according to timeline, or might not be. Can have prompt-based chapters if they fit into the plot - yes, there is one - or cannot. PM me for prompts. Also, going be a rather vast expanse of pairings, and might not be canon. Follows book upto before the Epilogue.

Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1

Gravel and dust, pieces of broken furniture and parts of the stone walls and ceiling were crunching under his feet as he walked towards his unknown destination. Ron and Hermione were doing it again; he could practically hear them exchange those glances behind his back.

He stopped abruptly, Hermione bumping into him and almost slipping on a stray piece of wood; Ron caught her by the arm and held her in place. An uncomfortable look passed between them and Ron hastily removed his hand. Well, there went that short flame he had witnessed. Harry pretended he hadn't noticed that small exchange and strained his ears for the voice which had originally made him stop.

A very quiet and distant moan sounded from somewhere ahead of them. The corridor they were standing in was clear but the noise seemed to have come from a classroom up ahead.

They exchanged a glance and moved towards the room quietly, wands held tightly and at the ready. The classroom was in a state of utter destruction – a part of the wall was blown up and most of the ceiling was in pieces on what remained of the floor.

It had to be the west side of the castle, for no sunlight streamed through the large gap, even though the Black Lake was visible from an angle. Another moan erupted from somewhere under the rubble, louder this time; the person seemed to have sensed their presence. Harry looked at the two of them in indecision – what if the person underneath turned out to be a death eater? He couldn't think of anything he would do, or not do, if it was one of them. Hermione took a deep breath and decided it for them, by walking forward at the edge of the rubble and starting to lift the larger pieces away.

The bright, fierce light feeling of victory was slowly fading away, giving in to something much darker than Harry could have imagined feeling. Every time he looked at Ron and Hermione though, the light hope and happiness flickered in his chest again.

It was easier to follow Hermione and not think, just do work. Underneath the largest broken piece of wood, a foot came into view. Within the next few minutes, they had the now unconscious form of Theodore Nott unearthed. Harry recognized the boy from the few times he had seen him at the Slytherin table, but his mind still felt blank. He felt no emotion for the boy. He didn't care it was a Slytherin. To him, it was someone who'd been hurt because of the War. Another side-effect of the Battle.

Ron looked uncertainly towards him but Harry had already made up his mind. He bent down to check Nott's pulse once, which was very weak, and then with Hermione's help, hoisted him in the air.

Nott was deposited in the Hospital Wing, which was made up in the room off the entrance hall in for the time being. Ron had stoically followed them, and Harry could sense that he did not approve. Harry was fussed over again by everyone, some congratulated him, clapped him on the back, while some kept their distance. Madam Pomfrey suddenly swooped in on him as he was watching Ron glaring at Nott's still form – she looked ready to curse him if he resisted, as she inspected him closely.

She hurriedly appointed Hannah as in charge, caught hold of Ron and Hermione and ushered the three of them to her office. The part of the Wing opposite to the office of the matron had been demolished too, but they didn't linger there much. "Now, tell me all about these injuries quickly, so that I can assign you potions and then get back to the hall. Come on." She bid them, hurriedly opening cupboards and taking out numerous bottles and vials. Harry felt Hermione and Ron look at him, unmoving, but he couldn't bring himself to look at them directly. Instead, he stared at the Matron's cluttered desktop, and slowly started removing his clothes.

They followed him, and soon they had shed almost all their clothing and exposed their burns, cuts and bruises. Madam Pomfrey stopped her movements suddenly, and gave a horrified gasp on seeing them. "What did you do? Walk through a fire?" she whispered in shock, and he distinctly felt Hermione look towards him. He remained silent. They followed his lead again.

After a few seconds of staring, Pomfrey snapped out of it, and started muttering furiously, and Harry spotted her wiping a few tears while getting out more vials. She poked and prodded them for about an hour, making a list of potions and liquids they needed, then found all she could provide them. Hermione quietly took initiative for helping her list the supplies she had, and promised that she would look for the rest and meet her later.

Madam Pomfrey left after assigning them five bottles each to drink now and giving some more instructions to Hermione. Harry gulped all five quickly, without taking many breaths in between, and felt Ron and Hermione exchange a panicked glance. Great, now he could even sense their expressions. But he didn't care, he liked the way the potions burned down his throat, almost like firewhiskey, but for the bitter taste. It made him feel something, instead of empty and hollow.

"So, Grimmauld Place?" Ron said tentatively, and Harry nodded silently, not looking up.

"I think we should get back up, just in case." Hermione said as they walked towards the Great Hall. He had already told them all about Snape's memories, so they knew it was a rare chance that anyone would be there, but he also remembered accidently apparating Yaxley on the doorstep.

As they entered the Hall, Harry spotted the Weasleys standing near a table, and a shiver went up his spine at the thought of facing them. His throat constricted suddenly and his heart felt like it was going to pound right out of his ears - his vision was blurring. He backed out of the Hall quickly, and steadied himself by a wall, breathing deeply, a hand on his chest. Something was wrong. Something was wrong with him. He was trembling like a leaf.

He faintly heard Ron and Hermione calling him, and then it was just Hermione - she had a hand on his shoulder, but he was still shaking. A glass of water was pushed into his hands, and he drank it sloppily, wetting his shirt, and taking deep, shuddering breaths. Hermione hand was still on his shoulder, and Ron was back, flagged by Neville and Luna on each side.

He couldn't see their expressions – he wasn't sure he wanted to, but pushed himself off the wall. He made to shrug off Hermione's hand, but she stared at him when he moved his shoulder, and pointedly gripped tighter, moving it almost to his neck.

He gulped, his heart was still hammering away in his head, and he could feel a headache coming. God, that one was overdue.

The place was still guarded by two cloaked Death Eaters, and they were quickly taken down. Neville and Luna volunteered to deposit the bodies at Hogwarts itself, where the main operations were being held from, what with the Ministry not being back on speed yet.

They had quietly entered the place, him hoping the neighbors hadn't seen the little show, to find it same as it had been when they had left. A few things in the drawing room had been upturned and the kitchen was also messed through, but nothing was missing or much out of place.

"One hour. Kitchen." Hermione had said quietly, and then retired to her and Ginny's room. That was two hours ago.

He had been in the bathroom, hands against tiles, staring at the draining water. At first it was murky red, then it had faded it to faint brown and now it was clear. He was feeling a little better after washing himself properly, feeling like he had washed away years of sweat, grime and memories in the process. He felt cleaner, and his head was a little clearer, even though his neck was now aching because of standing in the same position for the last half hour.

He would have to admit to himself that bathrooms often held life-changing experiences for him. He had entered today feeling empty, then he had mechanically washed himself after an hour of crying his eyes dry in the shower. While washing himself, his mind had slowly cleared, he was letting the Hermione section of his brain take over. He had compartmentalized- there were things he had to do, things he had not dared to think about all his life – for whenever he had thought about his future, he had seen nothing but the blank dark stretch of ending Voldemort. And now that he was gone, it was time to step into actual reality, time to leave this chapter of his life behind.

He felt guilty when he thought about it. It was guilt that threatened to rip him apart from the inside out if he let it, but he couldn't let that happen. A faint burning hope ignited in his chest again as he made his decision – they needed him now, more than anything. He would throw himself in the clean-up effort, personally visit people, donate, work, talk, give speeches,do things and keep himself busy. He wouldn't have a breakdown, or shut down. No. He would work. And do something worthwhile with his life that so many people had died to protect. That he himself had died for.

"Harry?"

There was a knock on the door as Hermione's voice trembled slightly as she called him, knocking again when he didn't answer, hurriedly drying himself and pulling on clothes. He opened the door after a few silent seconds, to find Hermione's hand raised in the air again.

"Oh, sorry. Harry, we need to talk." She said, and her voice had the urgency he hadn't expected – his thoughts immediately turned to horrible things like something happening to Ron, or Ginny, or Voldemort being back.

"Harry, there are a few things we need to sort out between ourselves without telling the others." She began, and the panic subsided in Harry's chest – this he could handle, "I think you need to keep the Hocruxes safe, so that no one accidentally finds them, there are going to be speculations and rumors about what happened today and the Prophet's going to have a field day, not to mention the rest of the Wizarding World." She continued as she took a seat on Ron's bed, pulling out the beaded bag from the sock.

"Well, they're destroyed, aren't they? They can't do any harm now." He said, but Hermione shook her head, closing her eyes.

"No no, I mean yes, they're destroyed but they were filled with dark magic so they're going to leave traces. If someone discovers them, well…"

Harry didn't need Hermione to explain to him what would happen. Any witch or wizard might not understand but they could still be dangerous in the hands of the wrong person.

"The ring is in the Forest, and it needs to remain there. I have the locket right here-" Harry fumbled behind him on the bed for Hagrid's moleskin pouch, pulling out the ornate locket, and feeling it's weight in his hand. Even though no metal heart beat beneath it, he still felt an inexplicable urge to hurl the thing away from him, but dropped it back inside.

"The cup is with Ron, and the diadem?" Hermione asked, eyeing the chain in his hand, frowning.

"I don't know… can't remember, I think it's still on the seventh floor in the rubble somewhere. Death Eaters had just broken in when it shattered in my hands – I don't remember picking it up." He said, wracking his brains to remember the moment right before Fred had – when Fred had…

"Okay, and the diary?" Hermione interrupted, voice trembling slightly, he suspected she too must have remembered.

"I gave it to Lucius Malfoy right after we got back from the Chamber. He'd come to visit Dumbledore with Dobby." He said, throat constricting at the mention of the loving house-elf, and his eyes burning slightly.

"Where's Kreacher?" he asked Hermione, who hadn't spoken but seemed to be taking deep breaths to calm herself. She looked like she was about to cry too.

"He's…" she began, then cleared her throat, blinking rapidly, "He's prepared some food – Ron, Neville and Luna just finished eating."

"And you?" Harry asked, noticing she'd omitted herself deliberately, and as he watched, she began to shake slightly.

"I've had to take care of something else." She said quietly, voice trembling, looking at him with a scared look. Harry found himself panicking again – something else had happened, hadn't it? Someone else was…

He stared at Hermione in silence as her breathing quickened again and her eyes filled with tears. Neither spoke a word for a minute, but Harry was waiting for the news – he didn't think he could handle anyone else –

"It's the dagger. Her dagger. I don't know what to do with it." Hermione blurted out, looking like she'd done so with great difficulty, breaking into sobs as soon as she finished. Harry blinked at her, surprised, but moved to her side quickly as she collapsed into him, mumbling noisily.

"She killed Dobby with it – I – I don't want to keep it but I can't get r-rid of it either." She sobbed hysterically into his shoulder for a minute, while Harry tried to rub her back soothingly. He was still bewildered about what was happening, but he couldn't make sense of what Hermione was saying right then.

"What are you saying, Hermione? You can't get rid of it, why?" he asked, and she sat up again, wiping at her eyes frantically, trying to stifle the sobs.

"I hate it, it's a vile object. But… I don't know how to explain it, Harry. I feel safe when it's with me. When I know where it is all the time." She said in scared whisper, and understanding struck – Hermione didn't want to get rid of it, but it's presence scared her.

"So that's why you can't rid of it?" he asked, and she nodded silently, her sobs subsiding.

"I hate it though." She said again angrily, pulling the blade out from her beaded bag and throwing it between them on the bed. They stared at it for a minute in silence and Harry noted with a stab of revulsion that Dobby's blood was still on it.

"What do I do, Harry? What should I do?" She said, voice desperate, and Harry shook himself out of his thoughts. It was the first time, if he remembered correctly, that Hermione had asked him for help; she had been the answer to most of their questions from as long as he could remember. It disconcerted him to see her so out of sorts, especially asking him for help.

"What if I keep it?" He said after a while, and Hermione looked at him surprised. He saw her consider the idea and nod slowly, "That's a good idea. I'll know it's in safe hands and can't cause anymore trouble. And I won't have to keep it with me either." She thought out loud, nodding slowly.

"Yes, yes Harry. That sounds good." She said finally and Harry smiled at her reassuringly, patting her hand. She seemed much more collected now as she wrapped the silver blade in a cloth and handed it to him.

"So what about the hocruxes? We don't know where the Malfoys are, do we?" She said, wringing her hands thoughtfully, and Harry sighed deeply, feeling the stabs of hunger in his belly sharpen.

"Listen Hermione, is this so important to do right now-?" he began, but Hermione cut him off, looking panicked.

"Of course Harry! We have to make sure that we collect them, I can't sit idle after all this – after everything that's happened. I can't – I need a project or I won't – " she began, before her voice constricted, and she looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. He understood the problem – she needed to keep herself occupied, just like him, except she had to do it in a typical Hermione fashion, with a huge project to take care of.

"I don't see how I have to participate too. How about this – I take care of the dagger and you collect the Hocruxes. I won't feel comfortable having them near me for the same reasons you feel that with the dagger. So you can hide them." He said, and Hermione brightened.

"Oh, that's a really good idea Harry! It's fair, and – oh, you really need to eat, don't you? I have to warn you though, Madam Pomfrey's going to be here soon."

"What? Why?" He said, turning around to face her – he had just been about to go down to the kitchen. Hermione had a guilty expression on her face as she answered him – "I sort of let slip that you'd actually died. So she said that you're to eat and she'll visit you here to give a thorough check-up."

"Why would you do that, Hermione? Why, why, why?" He whined childishly, feeling annoyed at his brilliant bushy haired friend. All he needed was a good rest – he would be right as rain in no time.

"Would you rather be in St. Mungo's? They'll cut you open to get an answer to how you survived the killing curse – how many times is it now?" She said, walking towards him to the door, giving him an exasperated look.

"Thrice now? I think…" He said glumly, conceding her point as they walked down the stairs together, glaring her half-singed hair in front of him. Sometimes, he hated when she was right.

Review please?