Disclaimer: I do not own any of this, really. These are the copyrighted property of another; may all props go to JK Rowling, who has blessed the literate world with a body of fiction so rich and so beautiful so as to defy belief. Let this humble work serve as an homage to her brilliance. I certainly will not make any profit off of this tale. It exists in part to aid me in learning to write, and largely only for my own amusement.
Dark Days: Harry Potter
November 7, 1997. Harry Potter sat on the precipice, staring into the gaping hole that had once been a school. His feet dangled over the edge, his eyes and nostrils filled with the unmistakable sense of destruction. Far below, he knew were the remains of the place he had once called home; the library, the Great Hall, and Gryffindor Tower, the site of the deadliest battle. He hated that he had not been there for his friends in their greatest need; hated himself for it. Ron Weasley lay in a cold, dirt bed and he had not lifted a finger to prevent it.
Ginny would tell him that he was just being silly, that he was doing everything he could to win this war, and could not be held responsible for everyone. She felt that he was wrong to feel so guilty. On the other hand, Ginny did not know that he had killed Percy, nor could he ever tell her.
Everyday, the guilt cut through Harry like a blade. He saw the faces of Ron and the other students of Hogwarts in his dreams; spent his waking hours thinking only of them. He sometimes thought that he saw Ron's face in the distant, only to find out that it was one of the Twins, or Arthur, or (far worse) someone who did not resemble Ron at all.
He understood intellectually that the pain would not always be this bad, that time would work its own breed of magic, and heal all his wounds. For the time being, he went there, to Hogwarts, in penitence. It was not exactly communing with the dead, but it was as close a chance to say good-bye as he would ever get. He came here more often than he cared to admit.
He waved his wand back and forth, muttering the word "Translocutus". It was a complicated spell; a far more powerful version of "Accio". The primitive summoning charm required the caster to know the location of the desired object; but not so with this new spell. The original had been difficult for him to master in his fourth year; this one was out of reach for many full-grown wizards.
"Translocutus Sorting Hat." Harry suddenly found a beat-up old hat in his free hand. He examined it with some interest. It was indeed the same hat he had donned six years before, then just a newcomer to a strange world. With a feeling of curiosity, he thrust the old hat on top of his head. He noticed that the brim did not fall down nearly as far as it had so many years before.
"Ah, Harry Potter. I wondered if it would not be you who dragged me out of that hole," said a voice in his ear.
Me? You expected me?
"Don't act surprised," the voice continued. "How long will you continue to delude yourself, Harry Potter? I can see it plain as day; the incredible power you have inside of you. You have the potential to be the greatest wizard of your day, and you know it."
I know nothing of the sort.
"No? Then how do you explain the things you've done? Every time you go into battle you come out victorious. What about the sealing charms you made, that only Dumbledore could undo? And now, you've mastered the Translocutus Charm on the first try."
So what? What about HIM?
"Ah, Riddle. Yes, that's a quandary for you, no doubt about it. Will you only believe in yourself after you have faced him again?"
Seems logical to me.
"Hmmph. So what do you need me for?"
Come again?
"No one puts me on unless they want to know something, Harry. Usually it's first years, trying to figure out which House they belong in. I can't exactly sort you again; there are no Houses left. You put me on in your second year to decide whether you were the Heir of Slytherin. So what do you want to know today?"
Can you tell me what is in the heart of Lucius Malfoy?
"I can tell you what was in his heart when he put me on in his first year, but I doubt that helps you. Nor is it what you were really looking for."
Where did all this power come from?
"It's been there all along. It just needed the proper impetus to come out. In my humble opinion, it started at the Burrow this summer. You could have stayed there in Ron's room, and kept out of the battle. Instead, you chose to enter the fight and protect the lives of the ones you loved. But quit beating around the bush."
Harry paused, then sighed in resignation. Can I stop him?
"I think I've already answered that; you have enormous potential."
Harry pulled the hat off in frustration. He stayed there for the better part of an hour, staring into the abyss and summoning various objects. Finally, he gave in and returned to headquarters.
* * * *
September 1, 1997. Harry Potter faced her in the darkness; watching her lips move, observing the delicate bounce of her red hair, listening to the hushed sound of her lovely voice. God, how I've missed her. "What did she say, Ginny?" he asked her.
"Dark Days have come upon us all," she said slowly, her voice trembling slightly. As she went on, her voice picked up strength and volume. "Muggle and Wizard alike. Calamities will abound as the shadow of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named passes over the land. This darkness will be thicker, more complete than ever before. The blood of Heroes will flow, and hallowed institutions of old will burn to the ground in the wake of this fierce storm. Death has visited the House of Weasley once already, but will be back again in force. The Boy-Who-Lived will turn his wand to no avail against his mortal enemy. The Dark Lord may only fall to the Only One He Ever Feared."
It can't be.
"Harry, I'm scared because you're going to try to stop him one of these days, and you're going to be killed," she said to him, her sweet voice broken by injurious sobs.
"Just let me worry about that, okay?" he told her, concentrating on sounding more brave than he felt.
They talked for a little while longer there, in the Chamber of Secrets, and the world waited a few moments for the two burgeoning lovers. "Don't worry Ginny. Whatever happens, I will never let them hurt you," he swore to her. Whatever storms may come I will hold you above it. Whatever danger crosses your path I will defeat it. Whatever threatens you, I will destroy it, or die trying.
He went on inside his own head in this manner. If left alone long enough, he would have promised her the sun and the moon and the heavens above. Ginny cut off his mental tirade with a tender kiss. She leaned her face next to his, close her eyes, and pressed her lips against his. His heart jumped into overdrive, and his scalp tingled. He felt lightheaded and giddy. Nothing else mattered for one glorious moment.
He pulled away, and looked at her in silent astonishment. Her eyes are so beautiful. It took him a few long moments to catch his breath. "What… was that?" he asked at last.
"That was… wonderful," she said, seeming as lost as he was.
"Well, yes…" He could scarcely argue.
"Harry, you know how I feel about you. How I've always felt, from the first time I ever laid eyes on you," she gushed. "I was just a little girl then, that day at King's Cross. You were alone in a strange world, far away from anyone or anything you knew. But you carried yourself with bravery, with strength. I adored you right away. When I found out that you were the one who had defeated the Dark Lord, it didn't surprise me much. I could see your strength from the very first moment. It was the strength that drew me to you in the first place. Other girls would fall you for being famous, or for your looks, or what you did on the Quidditch Pitch. For me, it was always that first moment. I knew that if I waited long enough, you would find me. Here I am, Harry."
"I'm so glad that you are," he breathed. "I love you, Ginny."
"I've always loved you, Harry," she responded quietly.
Harry put his fingers softly underneath her chin, and raised her head to level with his own, and kissed her passionately.
* * * *
December 24, 1997. It may have been sunny outside, but precious little light penetrated the abandoned house. The electricity had long since given out, and the dank scent of rot pervaded everything. Harry had spent a few days cleaning up and magically rebuilding the old house, but it was still far from cozy. It had not seen any guests since Voldemort had attacked over sixteen years before.
"Why didn't Harry see this coming?" the question rang out in the darkness. "He said he would protect me!"
Voldemort himself was back in the house. In one hand he held his wand; in the other, the wedding ring of Lily Potter. His snakelike face was contorted with anger and confusion.
"Why didn't he see this coming?" repeated the voice of Ginny Weasley, the intended bride of Harry Potter. A jerk of her wrist lit various torches about the place, bathing everything in a golden light. "But… what if he did?"
"What… are you talking about, girl?" Voldemort hissed, his earlier confidence wavering.
"If you've tried to Apparate away, as I'm sure you have, then you've found it quite impossible," her voice laughed, taunting the Dark Lord. "I'll ask again, what if… Harry expected you to come and kill his bride to be? In fact, what if he was counting on it? What if he used his lover as bait in a trap for one particular evil wizard?"
Voldemort said nothing, but merely watched the youngest Weasley with wide eyes.
"Do you see where I'm going with this, Tom?"
"Do not call me that!" the dark wizard hissed. "I am Lord Voldemort, heir apparent to Salazar Slytherin, and the most powerful wizard who has ever lived!"
"You, Tom? You're only a mere half-blood." The voice came through gritted teeth now. "Just like me."
Voldemort started, his eyes and ears in a state of direct conflict.
"Do you get it yet, Tom Marvolo Riddle? Or do I need to explain? Do we need to wait for the potion to wear off? Do you need to see the scar you gave me in this very house appear on my forehead?"
Voldemort's eyes widened, and he cast them nervously about the old building. "H-Harry Potter?"
"Yep. Did you miss me? It's been a long time since we've talked, Tom," Harry said, laughing. "And I went to quite a bit of trouble to set up this little tête-à-tête."
Far away, he knew that The Order of the Phoenix was preparing for the final battle at Malfoy Manor. As soon as Voldemort had showed up at the Burrow, he had sent Fawkes to Remus, instructing him to start the attack. That battle would be fierce he knew; the outcome would likely be decided when the victor of this face-off arrived to join the fray.
His mind floated back to Ginny's words that day so long ago in the Chamber of Secrets. "I saw you briefly at Hogwarts a few months ago," Harry continued. "The day you killed Dumbledore. It only took you and a few dozen Deatheaters to bring him down. I bet he would have beaten you soundly in a fair fight. But instead you survived, and have continued your unholy war on all that is good and true in the world. During your first reign of terror, sixteen years ago, people said that he was the only one you ever feared. They said that Hogwarts was the only place you never dared to attack. But that isn't true is it? You were never afraid of him. You just hadn't gotten around to him yet."
"Quite astute, filthy mudblood-lover," Voldemort snarled. "Now, if your done with your little soliloquy, I'd like to get this started."
"LIAR!" Harry boomed. "You liar, you don't want to get this started at all. If you did, you would have already done so. The fact is, you know that the longer I talk, the longer you live. Dumbledore was not the one you always feared. It was me all along."
"Preposterous!" Voldemort stuttered.
"Oh no, it's true. I can see it in your eyes; you're terrified of me," Harry said slowly. "That's why you weren't at the attack on the Ministry, nor at the revolt at Hogwarts. That's why you ran away as soon as I turned up, the day you slew Dumbledore. That's why I've never crossed wands with you this whole war. That's why I had to assume the form of my beloved just to meet you face-to-face. You always did go for the women and children first."
"And what do I have to fear from you, foolish boy?"
"You know that I alone could kill you. You know that I will kill you."
Voldemort said nothing, but did not attack either. They stared at each other in complete silence, wands poised, eyes blazing. One movement on either side would send spells flying.
"Ready, Tom?" Harry asked.
Voldemort's face contorted into a wicked smile.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Harry shouted, sending a green energy burst at his adversary.
Voldemort dodged out of the way, and launched a small, round fireball back at him. Harry rolled to the ground, muttering "Quiverian!". This sent a stream of arrows out of the end of his wand, one of which lodged in Voldemort's thigh.
Grimacing in pain, the Dark Lord returned a haphazard volley of fireballs in Harry's direction. As he was lying on the ground still, they all flew over his head. Several small fires were soon blossoming about the living room. "Stupefy!" Harry shouted, jumping to his feet, and the bolt of red energy slammed directly into Voldemort, who had been trying to dislodge the arrow.
The leader of the Deatheaters looked mildly surprised, but shook his head and came out of it. He pulled the arrow loose and snarled.
That isn't good.
Voldemort shook his wand with an exaggerated arm motion, and a twenty-foot cobra, thick as a tree trunk, came out of the end of it. It raced across the open floor until Harry brought it down with another killing curse.
"Snakes? And fireballs?" Harry shouted. He waved his wand and put out the many small fires. "What's the matter, Tom? What do you think would happen if you used the old killing curse on me? Would it end me, or just give me another scar and vanquish you again?"
"Let's find out!" Voldemort screamed in a high pitch voice.
Harry dove behind a nearby couch as a series of green spells blasted around the living room. Very well. He peeked his head around the corner and returned the favor.
Voldemort did not see it coming in time to move. It hit the Dark Lord directly between his eyes, knocked him over backwards.
Harry got his feet, his heart racing. He pointed his wand at the huddled mass of the Dark Lord, and watched in horror as his fabled opponent got back on his feet, laughing.
"You cannot kill me!" Voldemort cackled. "I am more powerful than any magic you can muster!"
Harry's heart filled with dread. The Boy Who Lived will find his wand useless against his mortal enemy.
Voldemort smiled again. "Morsdmorde!" he shouted, sending the Dark Mark flying at the hero across the room.
Harry was suddenly encased in blinding green light. He could see nothing else, could not breathe: could scarcely move. He heard the low, venomous voice of his opponent. "Accio wand!"
Harry felt his wand whisk out of his hand, and all his hope followed it. The Dark Mark passed him, and continued expanding as it reached the front door.
"And now, useless prat, a lesson before I send you on your way. For the only one I ever feared," Voldemort's voice was laughing shrilly. "Crucio!"
Harry's body twisted in agony. His whole body felt like fire. He clawed at his chest, writhed about on the floor, anything to get free from the pain. His voice came out in tortured half-yelps.
"Begging for your life, are you?" The Dark Lord laughed. "Perhaps my comeuppance is not at hand just yet. Crucio!"
A fresh, even more intense wave of pain washed over Harry. He curled into a little ball, biting hard into his forearm.
"When I'm done with you, I'll put the final touches on your precious Order," Voldemort continued. "I may not have found your lover yet, but I will. And she will suffer more than you can imagine before I let her die. Crucio!"
Harry thought he would pass out from the feeling in his skull, cutting through him like a rusty saw. In the fog of pain, he could see a picture of the Dark Lord towering over him; as if he were very far away. The image was floating about wildly in a field of black, and Harry felt his consciousness slipping. Where am I? What's happening? Why does it hurt so bad? No… No! I can't give up! He reached out with his hand, and found the edge of the armrest. As his sight failed him completely, he pulled himself to his feet with a Herculean effort.
"What the- Crucio!" Voldemort screamed, his voice edged with terror.
Harry bent over double at this. He put both of his hands together into a combined fist, and he threw his whole weight behind them. The blow landed in the midsection of the skeletal frame of the Dark Lord.
The Cruciatus spell was broken, and Harry's vision returned. The Dark Lord was toppling over the armchair behind him, caught completely off guard by the counter-attack. The armchair! Harry reached behind it, and his shaking fingers closed around cold steel.
Harry pulled the sword of Godric Gryffindor out from behind the armchair, and swung it mightily at Voldemort, who had scrambled to his feet. The blade hit the Heir of Slytherin just above his right shoulder, glanced off the collarbone, and sunk into the man's neck. Voldemort's head split off from his body and landed with a wet thud on the carpeted floor. The trunk of his body fell down thereafter.
The building began to quake. Thick red smoke streamed out of the corpse, flowing outward in all directions at a tremendous rate. There was a brilliant flash of green light, and when Harry's vision slowly cleared, the trunk of Voldemort's body was gone, leaving only the wide-eyed head.
Gasping for breath, Harry collapsed into the armchair, dropping the sword to his side. He wiped the sweat and blood off of his forehead with a shaky hand. He sat there just for just a minute, and then leapt to his feet. My friends are in need.
He found the harness for the sword behind the chair, and strapped the weapon to his back. He quickly located and then pocketed both wands. He found his Mother's ring and slipped it onto his finger. He was just about to Apparate out when his eyes fell on Voldemort's severed head once more. A grim smile overtook Harry's features.
* * * *
December 24, 1997. Harry reappeared in wide open space. The ground was dark and muddy; a few clumps of thin grass and a couple of sickly looking trees constituted all the plant life in the area. A layer of thin, ominous fog blanketed the landscape. They seemed to be on top of a mesa; the field was flat but rocky. In the distance, jagged rocks and cliffs dotted the horizon. Directly ahead of lay Malfoy Manor. It was only one story tall, but according to the diagrams they had, there were seven underground layers. The outside was built like a fort, with a high, thick wall surrounding it. Each corner of the wide building held a small watchtower, and stone gargoyles and snakes lined the spaces between.
When he had left the Burrow, the sun had been shining brilliantly; there had literally not been a cloud in the sky. At the Malfoy Manor, it was hard to believe it was even daytime. All the fury of winter had returned as well. He quickly discerned the cause.
The Order of the Phoenix had divided into two attacking forces on opposites sides of the foreboding castle. Harry stood between them, but still removed from the scene by a hundred yards or so. The Deatheaters were apparently still inside, hiding behind various corners and ramparts. The field of battle held an immense throng of Dementors. There must have three hundred of them; they seemed to suck the very rays of sunlight and heat out of the sky.
The Order seemed to be pulled under by the spell of the Dementors; many had lost their legs and lay on the ground. The rest moped about in a state of semi-consciousness. All around them were littered a series of thick plastic shields, which Harry had himself raided from the Muggle Police. The foul, cloaked beasts were closing in on the Order, and no one seemed up to resisting them.
Harry felt a familiar wave of nausea, as if cold daggers had been plunged into his heart. He felt weak in the knees, and his eyes began blinking heavily. He pushed these thoughts from his mind and concentrated. An image floated into his mind of life after the war; the end of all of his fears, the love of Ginny Weasley, a child of his own.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he shouted. A stream of white smoke came out of the tip of his wand, and quickly assumed the shape of an immense stag, nearly twenty feet in height. It charged off through the throng of Dementors, sending them flying with each shake of its head. It charged all about the group, breaking off their advance on the Order. Within seconds, the giant stag was chasing them all off to the East, far away from the battle.
Harry's comrades seemed to be returning to their senses. On the left flank, Remus Lupin glanced at Harry, then at the Patronus in pursuit of the Dementors, and then back to Harry. "I taught him that!" Lupin exclaimed, nearly jumping in his excitement. "I taught him that!"
A flash of green light came from the castle and hit the ground in front of Harry. The Order of the Phoenix snapped back to life; they picked up their shields and began returning fire to their enemies above. Fawkes, come to me. He waved his wand in a small clockwise circle; a complicated conjuring spell. A thick golden shield, as long as his body, appeared in front of him just as the Phoenix arrived beside him. With some dissatisfaction, he noticed that his familiar had flown over from one of the halves of the Order, rather than appearing on the spot from a far away locale.
Up, Fawkes. The Phoenix grabbed a hold on Harry's shoulders and lifted him up in to the air. Harry guided the bird directly at the castle. He had Fawkes deposit him in front of the Malfoy Manor.
"Deatheaters!" he shouted. "Hear me!"
The hail of green spells ceased. A few curious heads poked out from various corners in the Manor.
"You know who I am!" he proclaimed. "And you know what my presence here means: Lord Voldemort is dead!"
"Liar!" a voice hissed. "Our master will return to us, and make you suffer for speaking his name!"
Harry laughed. "Then, by all means, explain this!" He pulled out from behind the tall shield a pike with Voldemort's head on it. He jabbed violently downward, driving the stake into the ground.
Muffled screams came from within the castle. Harry knew that it was time to begin the final push. "Summa," Harry growled, rotating his wand again, conjuring a mass of red energy. "STUPEFY!" A sphere of red light, nearly ten feet in diameter, flew from Harry into the giant front doors of Malfoy Manor, tearing them free of their hinges in a brilliant explosion. Individual stunning spells split off the giant orb, spraying the inside of the castle. A group of Deatheaters, who had apparently been reinforcing the doors, fell over unconscious.
No one else dies this day, if I can help it.
The siege appeared to progressing successfully, but the Deatheaters had more surprises in waiting. A blast of green and red sparks sprayed down from the top of the Manor. Moments later, the ground was disturbed directly in front of the castle as a large hatch opened under the thin topsoil. Out of the gaping hole appeared a swarm of very large, and very angry Giants. They poured out of the whole and began charging toward the nearest members of the Order.
From the left flank, Hermione's troops began to strafe the attackers with stunning spells. Through their unified effort, they managed to bring down two or three of the behemoths, but the charging Giants were too powerful to be stopped. Harry's pace quickened; he cast another Summa Stunner, knocking flat a pair of the oversized menaces. He then raised his wand high into the air, sending out a spray of gold sparks.
Nearby, over the nearest ridge, Jimson and Gloria would be waiting for this signal. Harry only hoped they would arrive in time to handle the Giants. He pointed his wand back at the Giants, shouting "SUMMA QUIVERIAN!". In response, several hundred arrows laced through the throng of Giants. The tiny bolts inflicted so serious damage to his adversaries, but it did get their attention. As one, the two-dozen charging Giants turned and began racing toward Harry.
Fawkes lifted him up just in time to dodge their onslaught. As soon as he had reached a suitable height, Gloria arrived and sprayed the attacking Giants with thick red flames.
Assuming that this part of the attack was handled satisfactorily, Harry guided the phoenix in a path around the perimeter of the Manor. As they flew, Harry tossed out a handful of small glass vials, which smashed against the exterior walls. Once the Deatheaters figured out what was happening, they could put a stop to it; but likely not before the Stoneburners opened some gaping holes in the building. Within a minute, Harry had dispersed a half-dozen of the insidious potions, and had returned to the front of the Manor. He guided Fawkes right through the opening he had blasted through the front doors, and into the heart of the Deatheater base.
He did not know for certain that his friends would follow inside, but he hoped they would not. He preferred to handle this himself.
* * * *
December 24, 1997. "I told you to stay out of this," Harry said, his voice stern, his gaze hard.
"I know you did, Harry," she replied softly, not meeting his eyes. "But maybe I'm not any better at staying out of things than you are."
The Order of the Phoenix stood outside of the remainder of the Malfoy Manor, an odd quiet seizing them. Once the Giants had been neutralized by Gloria, Harry and Lupin's team had encountered only token resistance inside. In truth, most of the remaining Deatheaters had sensed their inevitable defeat and had fled the scene quickly. The force that had decided to stay and fight had not even been enough to halt the Stoneburners which were now rapidly consuming the antiquated building. Seven Deatheaters, stunned but not seriously injured, lay on the ground outside the Manor. Tight cords bound their hands and feet, and their wands had all been taken.
"Harry… What happened to your arm?" Ginny gasped, looking with wide eyes at his forearm.
Harry glanced down at his left arm. There, a few inches above his wrist, a wound was still bleeding. He examined himself then, remembering for the first time that he was still wearing Ginny's wedding dress. It was covered in mud and blood. "I've ruined your dress," he said simply, shocked.
"Don't worry about that!" she exclaimed. "What happened to your arm?"
"Well, it looks like bite marks to me," Harry said, hoping to avoid the inevitable next question. "Look, I'm really sorry about your dress, Gin."
"Who bit you?"
"Uh, I did. But I'll tell you about that later, okay. Just listen to me for a moment."
"Harry!"
"It's just that…" Harry began again, his voice more gentle. "I've lost so much in this war, so many people I've cared about. I know you have, too. Sometimes it seems like more than I can take. If I lost you, too, it would just kill me. I don't want to lose you, Gin."
Ginny Weasley looked up at Harry now, her eyes brimming with tears. "I don't want to lose you either, Harry."
"I know, I know. But let me finish," Harry said, shaking slightly. "You and I concocted fake wedding plans in order to trap Voldemort, to lure him into the confrontation he was avoiding. So now, here we are. Voldemort is dead. His Dementors have been chased off, his Giants captured, and his feared Deatheaters scattered to the far corners of the world, likely. The War is… well, over really. So what I want to know is: would you agree to marry me in truth?"
Ginny did not hesitate. "You know I will." She took a step closer so that their faces were inches apart.
"I love you, Ginny."
"I've always loved you, Harry."
Harry put his hand behind Ginny's head, and pulled her into a deep, sweet kiss. They locked lips in a fierce passion, forgetting the crumbling Manor, the members of the Order of the Phoenix, and all the Dark Days behind them.
"Oh my god! My home!"
Lucius Malfoy's voice shattered the serenity of that moment. Harry broke the kiss and turned to regard the newly awakened Deatheater with understandable contempt. The pale-faced man was standing, though still bound tightly, and staring in dismay at the vanishing building.
Harry took long, angry strides in his direction.
When Lucius saw him coming, he turned to the Man-Who-Lived and said indignantly: "You've destroyed my home! I was promised amnesty!"
Without any words to preface his action, Harry slammed his fist heavily into the face of the elder Malfoy, who tumbled to the ground with a pained cry.
"Remus Lupin promised to spare your life in exchange for your assistance," Harry breathed. "But I did not. I have not forgotten that you willingly served Voldemort for years, and did many horrible things in his name. So… don't push your luck."
Lucius Malfoy's eyes widened in terror, not sure whether to believe the young wizard or not. He must have decided to play it safe; he lowered his head and spoke no further.
"Harry?" a timid voice spoke up from behind them. Harry and Ginny turned around to find Hermione eyeing them nervously.
"Yes?" Harry asked, observing the minor shaking of his old friend's shoulders. "What is, Herm?"
"Voldemort is dead."
Harry sighed. He had a feeling that the magical world was going to be a time in accepting this fact. "Yes, he is."
"And the Deatheaters… have been defeated?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"Yes, Hermione: It's over now."
With these words, Hermione quickly took the three strides toward Harry and Ginny, and pulled them both into a tight embrace. Harry had little idea what was happening as more and more bodies slammed into them, forming a tight knot of arms and crying faces. Within minutes, the entire younger generation had joined in, laughing and weeping and expressing their joy.
* * * *
January 1, 1998. Every thing was in place; everything was ready. They had spent weeks preparing for a fake wedding; when the real wedding was announced, there was little left to do.
Harry stood out in the garden beside the Burrow, glancing around nervously at the various friends and family gathered there. It was true that there were many people conspicuously missing from the affair; starting with five Weasleys. The audience was sparse to say the least; mostly the members of the Order were there, with a few leftovers from the Ministry. But Harry felt himself suddenly surprised by how many people that were there. He had been in the magical world for over six years, but sometimes, at odd moments, he was still surprised that he had any friends at all.
Neville Longbottom stood next to Harry in spectacular dress robes, serving in the role of Best Man. They both knew that the place should have belonged to another, the youngest brother of the bride, but they spoke little about it. Next to Neville were the other two groomsmen, Seamus Finnigan and Remus Lupin, who was also the one responsible for conducting the wedding. As the official leader of Order, Remus had been thrust into the role of Interim Minister of Magic, at least until a new government was established.
Harry was pulled from his morbid thoughts when the Creevey brothers began playing the Wedding Anthem. They had only two guitars between the group of them, but Harry's mind was not on the poverty of the ceremony, only on the loveliness of his bride as she advanced down the aisle. Arthur Weasley, looking humble but happy, guided her confidently on his arm. Behind them processed Hermione, the Maid of Honor, in deep purple robes. She was followed by Luna and Tonks, the best remaining candidates for Bridesmaids.
Harry's mind wandered freely as Remus conducted the ceremony. Weary I am from tragedies indeed, but today I count myself among the luckiest of men. Harry took her in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, through Darkness and through Joy. And then, he kissed his magically wedded bride, in front of dozens of crying eyes.
"I love you Gin," he breathed softly on her face, thinking that he had never said truer words.
"I've always loved you, Harry."