They walked back to the castle together, Ron and Hermione next to Harry, holding hands. Harry had his wand out and was levitating Voldemort's body in front of them. They paused in front of the open front doors of the school. Harry could see the light streaming from the open door. "Hello?" he called out. "Anybody there? Voldemort's dead, so . . . yeah. That happened. Time to party?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Smooth, Harry."

"What?" he protested. "What else was I supposed to say?"

There was a sudden noise from the open doors. Harry squinted again and saw the open doorway filling with people, as the survivors of the battle came out onto the front steps to face their saviors and see the truth of Voldemort's death for themselves. McGonagall stepped forward. "Harry?" she asked uncertainly. "Prove that you're really Harry."

He hesitated. "Dumbledore asked him. Because of the curse in his hand." She relaxed. "It's really him," she said to the others around her. The crowd breathed a sigh of relief. "And the death eaters?" someone shouted out.

"Either dead or incapacitated," Harry responded.

"But I wanted to kill Bellatrix," someone muttered from the middle of the crowd. Harry blinked in surprise. "Was that . . . Neville," he asked Hermione quietly. She shrugged.

"It sure sounded like him," she responded. There was a moment of silence, one shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended, and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars if the watchers rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered toward him, and Hermione hurriedly wove a protective spell around the shell of Voldemort's body before the mob reached them, and Harry could sense the Malfoys drawing away from them, moving almost silently through the crowd. Then Ginny, Neville, and Luna were there, and then the Weasleys, and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout, and Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, nor tell whose hands were seizing him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him, hundreds of them pressing in, all of them determined to touch the Boy-Who-Lived.

They moved Voldemort's body and laid it in a chamber off the Hall, away from the bodies of Fred, Tonks, Remus, Colin, and fifty others who had died fighting him. McGonagall had replaced the house tables, but nobody was sitting according to house anymore. All were jumbled together, teachers and pupils, ghosts and parents. After a while, exhausted and drained, Harry found himself sitting on a bench beside Luna.

"I'd want some peace and quiet, if it were me," she said.

"I'd love some," he replied.

"I'll distract them all," she said. "Use your cloak."

And before he could say a word she had cried, "Oooh, look, a blibbering humdinger!" and pointed out of the window. Everyone who heard turned and looked around, and Harry took the chance she had given him and slid the cloak up over himself, and got to his feet.

Now he could move through the hall without interference, He spotted Ginny two tables away; she was sitting with her head on her mother's shoulder. There would be time to talk later, hours and days and maybe years in which to talk, but right now he wanted to talk to the two sitting next to them, along with the rest of the Weasleys.

He pulled the cloak off and sat down next to Hermione. "Hey."

She reached out and pulled him into a hug. "There you are, Harry. Where have you been?"

He shrugged. "Around."

"Harry?" she asked suddenly. "Where did the Malfoys go?"

He looked up. "I don't know. They were with is when we came back to the castle, but I don't remember seeing them after that. You don't think that they're going to try and raise Voldemort again, do you?" he asked, concerned.

Bill spoke up. "They're gone."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"I mean they've left England. I heard them talking about it."

Harry nodded slowly. "That's probably for the best."

He glanced over at Ginny and smiled wanly. She waved him over, so he slid around the table to sit next to her.

"Uh . . . Hey," he said awkwardly.

Ginny just rolled her eyes and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him in for a long hug. "Hey to you too," she muttered. Harry let himself relax into her warmth. It felt safe.

. . . . .

"Harry," Kingsley said. "Can I talk to you?"

He nodded. "Sure, Kingsley. What's the problem?"

"We've taken all the death eaters that we could find into custody, but we haven't been able able to locate Snape. Do you know anything about that?"

Harry nodded slowly. "I do, yes. He left."

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. "He left? And you let him?"

Harry nodded again. "He was on our side. So we let him."

"On our side?" he repeated, his brow furrowed. "He killed Dumbledore!"

"Not really. I mean, he did kill him, but he didn't really mean it."

"He didn't mean it."

"Why do you keep repeating what I'm saying? No, he didn't mean it. Dumbledore was dying from the curse in his hand, so they planned it out so Snape could keep his place in Voldemort's inner circle."

"Are you sure about this, Potter?"

"Yes, I'm sure. And McGonagall was there, she can back me up."

Kingsley nodded slowly. "I'll take your word about this for right now, but eventually you will have to testify in court about this," he warned.

"Yeah, I know."

"Good," Kingsley nodded, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Good work, Potter. You ever thought about being an auror?"

Harry shrugged. "I used to, but right now, I don't know. I've spent my entire life running into dangerous situations, I don't know if I want to make a career out of it."

"Just keep it in mind."

"I will," Harry nodded.


A week or two later, Harry stood in the great hall of the castle. He looked around, taking in the repairs that had already started. He heard someone else come in and turned to face them.

"Harry!" McGonagall beamed. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," he said, smiling weakly. "Is- I wanted to- can I speak with Dumbledore? Please?"

Her gaze softened. "I think that we can manage that. The password is victory. I'm sure you remember the way."

He swallowed. "Right. Thank you."

. . . . .

Since he had last seen it, the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster's study had been knocked aside. Someone had lifted it back upright, but it still stood lopsided, looking a little punch-drunk, and Harry wondered whether it would be able to distinguish passwords anymore.

"Victory?" he said hesitantly.

"Yeah, yeah, go on in," groaned the statue.

Harry moved onto the spiral stone staircase that moved slowly upward like an escalator. He pushed open the door at the top.

He had one, brief glimpse if the bare desk and the chair beyond it, and then an earsplitting noise made him cry out, thinking of curses and returning death eaters and the rebirth of Voldemort-

But it was applause. All around the walls, the headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts were giving him a standing ovation; they waved their hats and in some cases their wigs, they reached through their frames to grip each other's hands, they danced up and down on the chairs in which they had been painted. Dilys Derwent sobbed unashamedly. Dexter Fortescue was waving his ear-trumped, and Phineas Nigellus called, in his high reedy voice, "And let it be noted that Slytherin house played its part! Let our contribution not be forgotten!"

But Harry had eyes only for the man who stood in the largest portrait directly behind the headmaster's chair. Tears were sliding down from behind the half-moon spectacles and into the long silver beard, and the pride and gratitude emanating from him filled Harry with the same balm as phoenix song.

At last, Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, and the portraits fell respectfully silent, beaming and mopping their eyes and waiting eagerly for him to speak. He directed his words at Dumbledore, however, and chose them with enormous care.

"The thing that was hidden in the snitch," he began, "I dropped it in the forest. I don't know exactly where, but I'm not going to go looking for it again."

"A wise and courageous decision, but no less than I expected of you. Does anyone else know where it fell?" Dumbledore asked, while his fellow pictures looked confused and curious.

"No one," said Harry, and Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction.

"I'm going to keep Ignotus's present, though," said Harry, and Dumbledore beamed.

"But of course, Harry it is yours forever, until you pass it on!"

"And the wand," Harry paused uncertainly. "It's broken."

"What!"

He nodded. "I stepped on it. Snapped it completely in half. In the Forbidden Forest, after Voldemort was killed."

"That should have been impossible," Dumbledore breathed. "How?"

Harry just shrugged. "Magic. And it's probably a good thing, anyway. That wand's more trouble than it's worth. And quite honestly, I've had enough trouble for a lifetime."

"And Severus?" Dumbledore asked, concerned. "I know that he was the one to remove the horcrux from your scar; I heard some of the portraits talking, but other than that . . ."

"Yeah, about that," Harry said, starting to grow a bit angry. "What was the deal with that?"

Dumbledore looked at him over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "I'm afraid that I do not know what you mean, my boy."

"Did you mean for me to die? Was that all I ever was to you, just a pawn to be sacrificed for the greater good?"

"Oh, Harry, no," Dumbledore said, his eyes tender. "I tried. Ever since I realized what your connection was, I tried. I spent hours researching and trying to figure something out." he chuckled. "I even asked the unspeakables. I'm not sure what they thought I was doing. But I looked everywhere that I could, but I couldn't find anything to remove the soul fragment without also destroying its vessel."

"But- Snape found a spell-" Harry said haltingly.

Dumbledore nodded. "He did. He found it in Voldemort's personal library."

"Oh," Harry said. "So you didn't- you weren't raising me to die."

"Of course not! Where did you get that idea?"

Harry shuffled his feet uncertainly in front of the portrait. "I thought that maybe that was why you sent me to live with the Dursleys."

Dumbledore froze. "What do you mean?"

"Well, they didn't really treat me that well. Always told me that I was worthless. And so I thought that maybe you sent me to live with them so that I'd be more willing to die. It was something Malfoy said in my sixth year that made me think of it," he mumbled the rest.

"Harry, I placed you with your aunt because that was the safest place for you. Did you know that, a few months after Voldemort disappeared, death eaters attacked the homes of some of the most prominent pureblood families? They were looking for you."

"What! How do you know they were looking for me? Was anyone hurt?"

"They were questioned as to your whereabouts. And no one was killed."

"But was anyone hurt?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "That doesn't matter anymore, Harry. The point is, no one would have guessed that you were raised by your muggle relatives. It really was the safest place for you. I know it was not easy for you there, but it was the best situation we could come up with. I readily admit that I can sometimes be more manipulative than I should be, but I would never do something like that to you. I am truly sorry if I have caused you excess heartache."

Harry waved a hand at him dismissively. "Eh, it's fine. It could have been a lot worse."

"And Severus? Where is he? Is he-" Dumbledore broke off.

Harry made a face. "He said that he was going on vacation."

"Vacation?" Dumbledore raised a brow.

Harry nodded.

"And did he say when he was coming back? Or even if he was?"

"He said that he didn't intend on being back anytime soon."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "That's good. He deserves a break." His face grew sad. "I fear that the world has never been kind to poor Severus. Such a lost soul . . ." he trailed off.

"Right," Harry said awkwardly. "Whatever you say." He stood. "Well, it was nice talking to you," he said. "I guess I'll, uh, see you later?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course, my boy. I will always be here if you need to talk to me."

"Right," Harry said again. "I'll be sure to remember that." He turned and left.


Meanwhile, somewhere along the coast of Brazil, a tall, thin man wearing dark swim trunks sat reclining in a soft chair on his hotel balcony, looking out over the lush beach. He had pale, sickly looking skin that had been slathered with his own homemade sunscreen, and his lank hair had been pulled back into a tail. He reached out a hand and grabbed the cool drink sitting on the table next to him, taking a deep sip. He set the drink back down again and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He felt like taking a nap.


Portions of this are quoted from The Deathly Hallows.