Harry stumbled back through the Great Hall, cloak over his head. He had put the elder wand inside his mokeskin pouch for safekeeping until he could return it to Dumbledore's grave, and felt an odd sort of peace as he shuffled along, his best friends ahead of him, surreptitiously clearing the path for him.
''You need a bit of a good kip, mate.'' Ron whispered, as Hermione nodded her head vigorously.
Harry simply grunted. He could only hold out for as long as it took him to reach the damn dorms.
Once in front of the fat lady, Harry took his cloak off, and stared at his friends.
''Bugger. What's the password?''
Ron shrugged helplessly as Hermione wrung her hands in despair.
''Harry! Dear boy – oh, who cares - go on in, come on – '' The fat lady shrieked out, fanning herself as she showered the trio with praises , long after they had clambered through the hole and into the common room. In fact, she was getting so loud that Hermione determinedly walked up to the portrait and shook her wand and told the fat lady to keep it down and not tell others that Harry was here, lest he be plagued by admirers and 'well-wishers' .
It took them less than three minutes to reach the old dorms- Harry noticed his bed was made and the bedside table decorated with scribbles of parchments that said various things ranging from '' keep on fighting mate'' to ''rub it in his nose – hah, he doesn't have one!'' – No doubt Seamus or Neville wrote those.
Harry sluggishly took off his glasses and shoes and collapsed upon the bed, vaguely aware Ron and Hermione whispering whether they should call Madam Pomfrey or not as sleep pulled him under.
Ron himself needed a lie- in, but Harry worried him.
''Look at that git- are we supposed to just let him sleep? Shouldn't he at least get checked?''
Hermione shuddered as she thought back to the scene a few hours ago – Harry's unmoving body in Hagrid's arms as the massive man wept, and Voldemort proudly declared his death.
''I am sure You-Know-Who shot the Killing Curse at him- reckon we should call Madam Pomfrey here to get a good look?''
Ron hissed as soon as the curse was mentioned.
The door burst open as the two of them, startled, whirled around and pointed their wands at the intruder.
''It's me- where's Harry?'' Ginny said in a rush, breathless from running up the stairs, as she looked around the room. Her eyes landed on Harry's still body, lying on the mattress, and her breath hitched.
''No – he's just having a bit of a kip- '' Ron looked over at Harry, and prodded him to check – Harry groaned a bit and promptly went back to sleep.
''Ginny, have you been to the Hospital wing?'' Hermione asked gently, approaching the younger girl.
Ginny gulped, looking at Hermione. Her face was littered with cuts and scratches, and her breathing was labored- Hermione was pretty sure her ribs hurt.
''I'll stay here with him.'' She said stubbornly.
''Ginny, come on. Let's visit Madam Pomfrey then we can come back here- he's not going anywhere – and Ron will stay with him- won't you?'' she added, looking back at Ron.
Ron nodded firmly, rolling up his sleeves in an attempt to look braver and accidently ripped the fraying cuffs. Ginny snorted, despite herself, but didn't resist as Hermione slowly led her away from Harry's four-poster bed.
Ron valiantly tried to stay awake, but succumbed to sleep almost as soon as the girls' footsteps faded on the stone stairs.
Neville walked into the room, head wrapped in sterile gauze and salves applied all over his numerous cuts. His ears were still ringing – as if he could still hear Voldemort's snake hissing in his ear as he loped off its enormous head. He shuddered- there was something macabre about that snake all right. When Harry had warned him that he must kill the snake at all costs, he was a bit confused, but agreed whole-heartedly – Harry rarely made unreasonable demands. If he said so, it must be done so.
Seamus entered just as Neville was taking off his socks- equally exhausted and battered. The boys nodded at each other and collapsed on their respective beds, and soon after Dean Thomas ambled in, nursing his broken right arm. As all five boys fell asleep on their respective beds, Neville noted with no small amount of satisfaction that things were just as they should be – all of them, back in their dorms, snoring away.
Chaos reigned in the Hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was extremely busy – rushing from one bed to another, performing diagnostic charms and healing spells with a speed that defied her age. A few volunteer workers from St Mungo were present as well, but they seemed so lost and confused that Madam Pomfrey felt like she needed to manage them by herself.
''Right, Healer Weatherby – arrange for the transport of critical patients to St Mungo's immediately – with the exception of Lavender Brown and Colin Creevey – they are too unstable- a side along might just finish the off. Healer Bluebell, please administer blood replenishing potions to all those I've labeled BN and Healer Yvette – please tend to all those with broken bones.''
She pursed her lips as she spotted Lucius Malfoy huddled in the corner, nursing his right arm and looking very unsure.
''You.'' She narrowed her eyes at him as he cringed.
''You will wait. I will tend to others first.''
''Please-'' he gasped, and Madam Pomfrey looked back with contempt.
''My son- he seems to have inhaled some fiendfyre smoke- what if it damages something?'' He pleaded, his voice hoarse.
''A bit of smoke is rarely life threatening, Mr. Malfoy. I'll give him a pneumonic soothing potion once I've tended to others.''
Malfoy nodded, cringing slightly as Apoorva Patel glared at him. He remembered the Patels – purebloods, of course – then she'd be the mother of Parvati and Padma Patel. He backed out of the Hospital wing and inched his way to the Great Hall, sighing in relief as he saw Narcissa's blonde hair obscuring her face as she knelt down and whispered something to Draco, who nodded earnestly. Lucius approached them and sat down beside his son, grunting in pain.
''And remember, Draco – we are still here- no need to worry.'' Narcissa continued, nodding at Lucius briefly.
''Lucius- the Dark Lord forced us, do you understand? No, listen – this is not the world that we used to live in – this is the world we never thought we'd have to live in. Look around – do you see any of our allies? We are surrounded by those we shunned, those we mistreated during the course of the war, Lucius –the only way out is pleading.''
''It won't work.'' Lucius croaked, his voice breaking.
''I pleaded innocence after the first war- it won't work again. Besides, Potter knows too much – he has known for years that I gave the Dark Lords diary to the youngest Weasley, he saw me in that gathering during the Dark Lord's resurrection, in the Department of Mysteries, in the Manor – there is too much evidence! And it is abundantly clear I wasn't imperiused – '' Lucius choked up, coughing violently.
Narcissa shook her head. '' The Dark Lord resided in our manor, Lucius. We could hardly say no to him while he stayed there – we'll try to talk it off with a hefty fine, or probably prison for a few years- but Draco isn't going to prison!''
''Of course not!'' Lucius exclaimed. '' I'll take the blame, obviously.''
Draco had a splitting headache. As his parents whispered on anxiously, all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep, and possibly, never wake up. A flash of red caught his eye, and he glanced over.
The Weasleys were gathered around their fallen member. He thought it was Fred Weasley, but he wasn't sure. Mrs. Weasley was sobbing her heart out, hugging the other twin, who simply sat there, beside his brother, looking very lost, as if he wasn't quite sure how to respond.
Draco felt a little sick. Humiliating the bloodtraitor Weasels was something he could get behind- but he guessed he hadn't ever considered the consequences of the war before. Not that a Weasel dying had devastated him- he just felt a little sick, thinking about his contributions in the war. Try as he might, memories swarmed his exhausted mind, no matter how hard he tried to shut it out.
His aunt, Bellatrix's voice, so close to his ear, whispering well done as he held his old Headmaster at wand point.
His professor, whispering Avada Kedavra without flinching, and Draco staring, wide eyed – as his Headmaster tumbled down from the astronomy tower, as if in slow motion.
The snake, Nagini, devouring Charity Burbage as she begged for help, floating over their dinner table.
The Carrows shrill laugh as they cruciated students, encouraging the Slytherins to continue.
Flashes of the war- Lavender Brown falling from the crumbling staircase, Colin Creevey getting hit by a purple hex and not getting up again, Goyle swallowed by the fiendfyre as they struggled for their lives, Mandy Brocklehurst hit by sectumsempra and bleeding profusely, the light dimming in her eyes until it was there no more.
Draco gave a dry sob. Narcissa stopped conversing with Lucius and glanced over, concerned.
''What is it Draco? Are you perhaps hurt, somewhere?''
Draco shook his head. But the sobs wouldn't stop.
''Draco, compose yourself – this is not how a Malfoy should behave.'' Lucius hissed in his ear, patting his back quite forcefully.
''No, no – let it out.'' Narcissa muttered, glancing about the room. Although most people were busy with their own families, a few people were starting to nudge and point towards her sobbing son.
''It's better if people see us as vulnerable- don't you see, Lucius? This helps us survive!'' Narcissa whispered back cutting off her husband, who seemed to want to argue.
Draco felt strangely numb. Father doesn't care about me, only that as the Malfoy heir I shouldn't come undone in front of people.
But he knew that, didn't he? Somehow, Mother's words hurt deeper.
This will help us survive.
She wasn't worried about him crying. She felt it was prudent for him to cry, so others pity them.
Draco had no clue why he was being so emotional. Perhaps it was the fact that Mrs. Weasley stood right there, a few feet away, clutching her own children and whispering how much she loved them and how glad she was they were safe now, or perhaps it was Xenophilus Lovegood, fussing over his daughter's numerous cuts, or the stupid Gryffindor Quidditch team, clutching each other and reassuring themselves they were okay – where did Oliver Wood come from?- everywhere he looked, friends and families gathered round each other, exhausted but content, simply supporting each other and reveling in their victory.
And here they sat, the Malfoy family, preparing strategies to survive the oncoming storm.