Author's Note: Glad to see so many people have been enjoying my first chapter. Thank you for the encouraging reviews, and the follows. I don't want to make too many of these Notes as I go through this story, but I think it's fair to say you'll expect them occasionally.

Mostly I wanted to give you fair warning: This chapter, and probably many of these early chapters, will contain a fair amount of crying. Hopefully, as the story progresses, it'll prove cathartic. My intention with this Fic is to express the emotional damage in a believable way, and work through it for the characters to form meaningful lives. As always, I do not own the Harry Potter universe or its characters, etc. etc.

They walked back to the castle in companionable silence. For Harry, it marked the end of a journey. He could not guess the others' thoughts. They had both always been inscrutable. He had trouble deciding with one was more stoic. Perhaps we should have a contest, he thought and chuckled.

"Knut for your thoughts, Mr. Potter?"

Pulled out of his reverie, Harry stopped. "Oh, er, nothing," he said lamely. He looked around a minute before following them back into the school. There was a moment, and then Harry spoke up again, "Professor?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"What did we do with Tom Riddle's body?"

The older two paused, and identical expressions of surprise briefly cross their faces.

"We removed it," Kingsley said finally, "Voldemort's body will be burnt, his ashes scattered across a large river. There will be no way to revive him, and no grave for any admirers to visit."

Harry nodded, taking in the information. "Letting Riddle fade into obscurity does seem like an appropriate form of Justice."

He looked back at the Entrance Hall, where the rest of the bodies lay. "And what about Snape?" he asked.

This time Professor McGonagall spoke, "We have made no arrangements for Severus Snape. In fact, we were waiting to ask you, Mr. Potter." Harry nodded as she seemed to pause and collect herself, before saying faintly, "Was he really still on our side?"

"He was acting on Professor Dumbledore's orders until the end, Professor," Harry said quietly. He took a quick breath before continuing. "Snape loved my mother, and had wanted to protect her. He killed Professor Dumbledore because the Professor was dying anyway, and to protect Draco Malfoy," his voice faded to a near-whisper, "And he was killed maintaining his facade, so that Riddle thought the Elder Wand was his."

Professor McGonagall looked to Kingsley, then back at Harry, and let out a surprisingly large sigh. "Well then, Mr. Potter, he should be buried with dignity."

Harry nodded gratefully, and the rest of the walk was spent in contemplative silence. At the staircase to the Headmistress' office he shook both of their hands, and they let him leave without further discussion.

He stifled a yawn as he approached the Fat Lady's portrait. It took him a minute to wake her up, and even then she only half-opened an eye and said, "Oh, it's you," before swinging open to admit him without a password. He could hear her resuming her snoring as soon as the portrait hole closed.

Harry was still feeling peaceful from his visit to Professor Dumbledore's grave, and had neither worn his cloak nor checked the Marauder's Map on his return trip. This became very apparent to him when he heard someone stirring on the nearest sofa. He spun on his heel, wand raised again, and with a hoarse whisper said "Lumos!"

The narrow beam of light from his wand illuminated some startlingly red hair, and Harry tried to get a better look at the sofa's occupant, who was squinting at him.

"Ha-Harry?"

"Ginny?"

"Will you put that light away?"

"Yeah, sorry. Nox."

"Thank you," she said sleepily. And then her eyes shot open.

"Harry!" she hissed at him, "Where have you been? I've been worried sick!"

"I, uh, what?"

"You were gone!" She left her seat on the sofa and advanced on him, still speaking in a harsh whisper. "Where were you?"

"Ginny, I just went to see Professor McGonagall," he said, backed up on his heels, "You know, about Dumbledore's wand, and... and about Snape."

Ginny seemed to deflate. "Oh..." she said in a small voice, and looked down.

There was a moment where they just stared at each other in the half-light. Then Ginny looked up, and he could see tears in her eyes.

"I... I was just worried," she said, "I've been checking on you every few hours... and all of the sudden you just disappeared from your bed."

"Well, I..." He trailed off, and then his brain caught up again, "You – you've been doing what? Why?" He said sharply.

Ginny glared at him and let out a puff of breath. He had the feeling that, had everyone not been asleep, she would have exploded on him.

"WHY?" She hissed, barely managing to keep her volume down, "Oh, I don't know, Harry! Maybe because of your tendency to go off on your own, and leave mm– us thinking you're dead!"

Harry was dumbstruck. Ginny was nearly furious, and she looked like she either wanted to strangle him or start crying again. He'd only seen her like this a handful of times, and never directed at him. Worse, he could hear the hurt in her voice, and the sense of betrayal. That tiny bit of hope he'd felt was fighting desperately to keep from being extinguished, but it felt like he was trying to keep a candle in a hurricane.

They stood there again, tense and staring, and it finally clicked that she was waiting for him to respond. Unfortunately he was still having trouble organizing his thoughts, and he was staring at her feet. They were bare, and he noticed for the first time that she was in her dressing gown.

"Look, Gin... I didn't... I'm so– er..." His thoughts were too jumbled, and he took a deep breath before trying again. "I just– what I mean was you shouldn't be checking on me – not that I mind you checking but... but you should be resting. We should both be resting, okay?"

There was silence, and then–

"Yeah."

Harry let out a sigh, and unconsciously moved to hug her, but then paused, catching himself. I'm still not sure how she feels. He swore, for a second, she had moved to return his embrace, but in the half-light he couldn't be sure. She could have just as easily been pulling away. He slumped his shoulders and moved toward the dormitories.

He had just started up the stairs when he heard her at the bottom. "Harry?" She sounded small, and scared.

"Yeah, Gin?"

"I... I was resting, but I couldn... I just woke up, okay? I wasn't gonna–"

"It's okay, Ginny. I know."

"Okay," She hesitated, "G-Good night..."

I love you. "Good night, Ginny."

He turned to climb the stairs, and heard her do the same across the landing. He thought he heard her start to sniffle again, and tried to move his tired legs faster. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from rushing back to her if he heard her crying again.

He'd removed his glasses and sat down on his bed, and before he knew it it was asleep.

This time there were dreams. Dark, jumbled, unpleasant dreams. Dreams full of victorious high laughter and flashes of green light. Dreams of Ginny. Ginny crying, Ginny running, Ginny screaming. The two of them, backed into a corner. Ginny looking at him before the inevitable curse, her eyes full of tears. "Budge up," she said.

Harry awoke to the sounds of muffled sobbing.

It took him a moment to orient himself. There was early morning light streaming through a small crack in his four-poster's curtains. Everything was blurry, but that was normal, and he could tell he'd slept in his clothes from how they stuck to his skin. There was also an unusual, if not uncomfortable, weight on his right side. He took a deep breath through his nose, and he was assaulted by a familiar fragrance. Oh, it's just Ginny, he thought groggily.

GINNY?

He lifted his head as far as he could, trying not to disturb the mound of red hair falling all across his shoulder. When he had confirmed that this was indeed Ginny, he started replaying their meeting last night in his memories. There was her scolding him, and her crying, but he was almost sure he went to bed alone.

"Gin?" he whispered. He nudged her.

"Mmmwazza–Harry?" The mound lifted, but it mostly covered her face. In another situation it would have been almost funny.

"Why are you here?"

She stared at him and blinked slowly. "Couldn't sleep," she said, and plopped her head back down on his pillow like the subject needed no further explanation. Her breathing leveled off shortly and it was clear she was back asleep. He stared at her in disbelief.

Harry was yanked back down to Earth when the sobbing grew louder. He knew it certainly wasn't coming from his bed, so he tried to pinpoint which one of his dorm-mates was so distraught. His thoughts were still fuzzy, but with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach he was able to take a pretty good guess.

Ron.

The noise was so unfamiliar, which made it all the more heartbreaking. Harry's first instinct was to help, and he started to get up, but hesitated. He wasn't particularly good at this sort of thing. Unless you're asked for, do me a favor and ignore it. That'd been dorm code for the past seven years, ever since Neville got over his homesickness in the first term. If it'd been Ginny or Hermione he'd know what to do, but even they weren't very weepy girls, for which he was grateful. He continued to try to get up without waking anyone.

He'd just finished extracting himself from Ginny when he saw a hand, definitely not Ron's, emerge from the closed curtains and grope around for its corresponding wand. It retreated as suddenly as it came, and the noise was very abruptly cut off in the trademark manner of a silencing spell. He let out a sigh, more than a little relieved, for which he immediately felt guilty. Hermione seemed to be helping a lot more than he felt he would have. But then, none of this is her fault, either.

Harry grabbed his wand and started to pocket it, but encountered a strange resistance. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a mess of bread, corned beef, and mustard. He winced, and dropped the unappetizing mess in the bin. He didn't spy any new clothes, and it seemed he had no choice but to simply clean out his pocket as best he could.

At this point he realized he was just standing in the middle of his old dormitory, and took a moment to look around. Dean, Seamus and Neville were all gone, or at least their beds were now empty. He was glad, as he didn't feel like speaking with anyone. Feeling rather like a coward, he nervously crept down to the common room.

It was empty, and which prompted another sigh of relief. He plopped down on his favorite sofa in front of the fireplace and tried to think.

What was the problem? Well, I can think of more than 50 problems right now. And they're lying in the Entrance Hall.

True, but he beat Voldemort. They won. Really? Fred, Colin, Tonks, Lupin. This doesn't feel like winning.

Did he really think that victory would come without a price? The price was too high, he thought stubbornly, but he didn't really think there was a right answer.

He just sat for a moment. What other problems did he have?

Ginny.

Did he love her? Of course I love her. But what am I supposed to say? "Hey Ginny, I know I left you and now your brother is dead, but I almost died and could really use a good snogging." He chuckled grimly, despite himself.

But why did she come to him last night? Why was she waiting for him to return to Gryffindor Tower? His insides squirmed as he remembered her anger, and how he hadn't actually apologized to her. Just another reason to beg for her forgiveness, he thought. But would she actually forgive him? Could she?

He felt his heart racing and knew he needed to calm down. It wouldn't help anything if he worried himself sick. He thought about everyone likely down in the Great Hall, and how they would react. He briefly pictured himself being pushed into the Hospital Room, and fretted over for no good reason. Yesterday it had felt like he couldn't move two steps without being watched. They hadn't given him any time for himself until Luna helped him sneak away. She'd understood without being asked. Just like Ron and Hermione had. Just like Ginny had.

All of the sudden the guilt was back. How could he be so selfish? These people had suffered huge losses, and they had fought, for him. So why did he so badly want them to leave him alone, let him figure out what's next? Then it hit him.

I never actually thought about what would come next.

He'd spent this entire year on the run, his whole life as a marked man. Knowingly or unknowingly, he'd pushed his hopes and dreams to the side as he shouldered his burden. How could he have built up hope for a future that might never come, just to have it come crashing down? Looking back, he'd had a shadow hanging over him at every moment, even the happy ones. Those weeks with Ginny last year had been some of the happiest in his life, but he'd known he was living on borrowed time. Could he ever believe he wasn't just stealing someone else's happiness? It didn't seem possible he could simply live for himself.

He was still staring blankly at the empty fireplace when he registered someone was coming down the stairs from the boy's dormitory.

"Harry?" Hermione said softly.

He didn't say anything, and she took a breath and approached his sofa. "Ron is sleeping again, and I heard you leaving. Are..." She trailed off. He still didn't reply. He wasn't sure what to say.

"Can I join you?" He nodded tiredly, but didn't respond otherwise. She quickly sat down next to him, leaning over to put her head on his shoulder.

They sat in silence for a while, and Harry once again tried to find the right words. He wanted to explain how relieved he was that his two best friends survived, that they didn't have to pay an even higher price than what they had already so willingly given. Every time he tried to say something, however, he could only think I'm glad it wasn't you, and the shame would come rushing back.

After finally settling on something that he figured didn't sound awful, Harry decided to give a try. "Hermione?"

"Mm?" She seemed to have been equally deep in thought.

Before he could continue, Ron started yelling.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?"

Harry and Hermione both leapt to their feet, eyes wide. Ron was nowhere in sight. They looked at each other, confused.

"I SAID WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?" There was an indistinct response.

Understanding passed between the two simultaneously. They ran to the stairs, Hermione just barely in the lead. As Harry passed through the doorway, he tried to take in the scene quickly.

Ron was standing, half-dressed, red-faced and eyes swollen. He was screaming down at Ginny, who had just managed to gain her footing and respond in earnest. After hours of near-silence, a full-on Weasley shouting match was hurting Harry's ears.

"AND I SAID I COULDN'T SLEEP, YOU BERK!" Ginny's eyes were shining, and her voice sounded hoarse, though it was clear she'd only just matched her brother for volume. Ron hesitated a moment.

"Tha–That's not– WHY WERE YOU IN HARRY'S BED?" He didn't seem to be sure why he was angry, but he clearly didn't want to lose any steam. Unfortunately for him, Hermione had other ideas.

"RONALD THAT'S ENOUGH!" Hermione exploded, and everyone flinched. The color drained from both Weasley's faces, and there was a brief, deafening silence.

Ginny broke it. "I was having n-nightmares," she breathed, and Ron tore his face from Hermione's fury.

Surprisingly, it was Ron that broke down first. "Bloody hell Gin, I'm sorry..." There were tears pouring down his face, and his knees started to give way. Ginny quickly grabbed him in a hug. Tall, lanky Ron crying on Ginny's comparatively tiny shoulder should have been funny, but Harry thought it was probably one of the saddest things he'd ever seen.

Hermione joined them, wrapping her arms around the two redheads, but Harry didn't move. She gave him a wide-eyed look and jerked her head as if to say, "Get over here!" But before Harry could act they heard Molly's voice from downstairs.

"Ron? Ginny? Hermione? H-Harry?" To Harry, it was impossible not to notice her hesitation, and he inwardly flinched.

"W-We're h-here Mum!" Ron responded wetly. They gave him a moment to wipe his face, and they headed back downstairs. Harry wanted to stay put, but he settled for trying to hide in the back and stare at his feet.

"There you all are," Molly said as they shuffled into the room. She sounded so relieved that Harry looked up at her, despite his fears. The result was shocking. He'd never seen Molly Weasley look so, well, disheveled. Her motherly presence was dimmed by the bags under her eyes and her unkempt hair. She looked ready to break down crying at any moment. Understandably, she looked like she'd had the worst night of her life, and he felt nauseous just trying to look her in the face.

Arthur, Bill, Charlie and Percy were similarly bedraggled, and a couple of the men seemed to be nursing minor injuries. Even Fleur looked rumpled, which was a unique sight in itself. And George...

Harry found George was the worst. He was entirely in disarray, and wore the same shell-shocked face they'd seen on victims in St. Mungo's Spell Damage Ward. He looked so lost that you could mistake him for having been obliviated, except you couldn't possibly think his expression held anything close to forgetfulness. There was only pain. Harry quickly looked away, the bile rising in his throat.

Molly looked at the four of them, though he was sure she avoided looking him in the eye. "We've just been downstairs," she said shakily, "and they're... they're moving..." She burst into tears.

Arthur pulled her into his arms. "They're moving Fred's... Fred, after breakfast," he was also having trouble saying the word 'body.' "We're planning on going home when they do." He finished quietly, and it seemed to have taken him a lot of effort. The Ron and Ginny were nodding.

"Can I come with you?" rushed Hermione. Everyone looked at her. "It's just– Until I get my parents back from Australia... and I assume the funerals will be happening soon..." She took a breath, "It can't hurt to leave them a few more days."

"Of course you can, Hermione," Arthur said, trying to give her a smile. Molly was nodding.

Harry's eyes were on the ground, but he was speaking before he could stop himself. "I guess... I guess I'll stay and help clean up... or maybe go to Grimmauld Place." He finished lamely. There was silence.

He looked up again, and found they were all staring at him, dumbfounded.

Ron found his voice first. "What do you mean, mate? Why wouldn't you come to the Burrow?"

"W-Would you even want me?" They were even more in shock, so Harry forced himself to continue. "I mean, with Fred... And Ginny yelled... And the yelling this morning..." His throat was constricting, and he was having trouble getting the words out. No one spoke, and he was certain he'd been right.

"Of course we want you, you prat."

Harry looked up, startled. George was on his feet, and it was the first thing he'd said during the whole conversation. From the looks on everyone's faces it was the first thing he'd said all day.

"It's not your fault, alright? Blimey, I knew you'd take it like this! It's not your fault he died!" George was shouting now, tears pouring down his face, " You idiot! You absolute, bloody idiot!" His voice cracked, and Charlie and Percy pulled him back down onto the sofa, where he buried himself in Percy's shoulder, his stream of swearing quickly becoming a steady weeping.

"Harry," Hermione said carefully, touching his arm. Harry, who like everyone else had been watching George, jumped. "I think... I think we forget, sometimes. And it's because you're so, well, you," she took a deep breath. "You're so much more whole than you've a right to be, and you've done so much..." She looked down, but continued on quietly, "And you didn't grow up with people who yelled because they cared, and we forget that. And I think you forget how much we care about you."

Harry didn't know what to say. Before he could respond Molly had pulled him into a tight hug, and Ginny and Hermione had joined them. He looked uncertainly into Arthur's eyes, who said, "None of us blame you, son."

The room went blurry, and then he was crying. Crying for Fred, and for the Weasleys, and for the horrible losses they had all suffered in the past two days. He cried for his parents, and for Sirius, and Dobby, and Hedwig. He cried for them all.

He also cried for himself, for the months and years of anguish, for the life he could have had. With every gasping breath he could smell the women holding him. With every shiver he could feel their arms wrapping around him tighter. With every tear he shed, he could feel the weight on his shoulders lifting.

Author's Note: So yeah, sorry about all that. Truth be told I did a bit of my own crying as I wrote it. I had to take a few breaks. Be sure to get yourself some chocolate if you need it.

I did a lot of thinking about this chapter, and I feel the need to explain one major point: I firmly believe the tension Harry would feel toward the Weasleys (his fear they blame him for Fred's death) would build and be addressed very soon after the end of the battle. A lot of fics I've read drag this out, and while I will allow that Harry will probably continue to blame himself (I mean, he's Harry Potter), it was important to me that he hear their forgiveness early on. It would be inexcusable for his adoptive family to ignore the possibility that he feels he is to blame: He's done it with nearly every major death and misfortune for the past seven years.

Anyway, I don't wish to rant, and there'll still be plenty of angst ahead. Thanks again for reading.