A/N: This is the first chapter, the chapter that's kinda boring, but can't help it cause someone's gotta explain what happened to our dear Voldemort. Well, this chappie isn't completely useless, more things about the Dark will surface later...clues are hidden...and of course, Harry and Severus will have their own show very soon...grins mischievously

Enjoy!

Chapter One

"I am not gone as you think."

These were the last words out of Lord Voldemort's thin-raw lips before his mortal body crumpled into nothing but a pile of sand. These were also the words that no one except Harry Potter the anew hero of the magical world heard, for every ally around the battle field was either laughing through shaking wounds or screaming shrieks of ode to honor the dead.

It was one year after the incident in the Ministry of Magic, the incident which affirmed to the whole world the Dark Lord's rebirth. Since then, Voldemort had found it hard to act, and one single mistake – a spy among his "faithful supporters" – led to his downfall in June. Harry Potter was packing up his Hogwarts school things and feeling unnervingly relieved that the year was peaceful after all – when an owl from Severus Snape informed Ron Weasley that both of his parents were dead due to an underground battle in the Ministry occurring at the moment. Leaving the unconscious Ron to the aiding hands of Poppy Pomfrey, Harry had fled to the Ministry instantly to find himself facing the nightmare of every human being's – Lord Voldemort.

The battle continued on, excluding two of the biggest reasons why they were there – Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort. They had vanished into the shrieking night without anyone's sighting; hence while the Death Eaters and various Dark creatures washed themselves with their enemies' blood, the Boy who lived advanced out of nowhere again, holding nothing in his hands but a bag of sand. "Hail, for the Lord of Dark has been thwarted forever!" he had shouted, unaware of his own words and being. Every solider on the battlefield had stopped and looked; while the Dark was winning, once they saw the remaining of their master, each was shocked physically and emotionally, allowing the Light enough time to upend the battle in a change of victory.

At last, Harry Potter, the Boy who lived, had won. While everyone celebrated among deaths and lives, no one remembered to ask for the cause. No one, including the wisest wizard of all – Albus Dumbledore – knew what happened to Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter when the pair had vanished into the night, only leaving Harry to return later and gain victory.

But still, as long as they were safe again, as long as the nightmares were fading, as long as the reality of promised tomorrows remained – no one cared anyway.

"Bloody hell."

Severus Snape was not a man who swore often. In fact, he was a man who seldom voiced his thoughts, no matter good or bad. On certain occasions, however, one could never resist the use of strong words to release one's frustration.

It was one month after the Dark Lord's death. Wounds were recovering, losses accepting, freedom adapting – the wise old Albus Dumbledore had came up with the idea of a cruising vacation for the relaxation of those who fought in the Battle of Light and Dark.

They were all on a full-month holiday – if you could call enduring crowds and excitement daily a "holiday" that is, thought Severus bitterly – living on Dumbledore's large muggle cruise which was sailing somewhere in the middle of Atlantic Ocean. The muggles, Dumbledore had said, with those twinkles in his eyes that Severus loved and hated, do this for immense relaxation and entertainment. We all need some good days to ease our bad ones, he told Severus.

But I am not a muggle, Severus had sighed inwardly. What he wished more than anything was to retire into his secret cottage by the suburban strips of London, and merely be there alone for the whole summer. That was what one would call a holiday, he thought. Who needed endless looks from the members of the Order because he had, at the end, demolished their foolish doubts about him serving the Light? Who needed pointless comments from those students whom either hated him already for his usual self, or loathed him even more because he had proved them wrong after all? And of course, no one needed exhausting parties and endless socializing nights when all Severus could think of saying during the whole evening was, "Ten points from Gryffindor", and receiving a stupid smug look from Ronald Weasley an his companions, "This isn't school, Severus." – Albus Dumbledore had told everyone to name everyone by first name, which incensed and annoyed Severus even further – "Why don't you dance a bit? You look great in your feminine robes." Which left Severus boiling helplessly, not knowing whether to hex Weasley or strangle Albus.

But, as usual, Albus Dumbledore was unlikely to be strangled out of his firm orders when he had made up his mind. Hence all Severus could do was stay in his room on the cruise as much as possible, and try to avoid crowds, especially when three certain Gryffindors were nosing about.

Tonight, however, was the Grand Ball to Honor the Souls of Innocence. Severus had suppressed a snort when he first heard of the event, but was finding it hard to shrug off with a snort when the ball was drawing closer and closer, smacking him right in his "pale-but-a-bit-rosier-since-Voldemort's death-as-Albus-had-said-and-nearly-got-hexed" face.

In fact, the ball was so close that even the resentful Potions Master was to be sighted fussing over his wardrobe.

"Bloody Merlin's hell!" he swore again, throwing the slightly velvet-black robes that Weasley and his idiotic friends had snickered about. He rummaged through his near-empty closet, with black, black, black again and nothing but black hitting him in the face. He had vowed not to wear black everyday since Lord Voldemort's downfall – it reminded him too much of those days. Those damned days.

Finally, after a few more moments of awkward pauses just to discover more black, Severus' fingers folded around a wrinkled garment. He pulled it out and examined it with wonder.

It was a pair of plain robes, as plain as anyone could find on the street. But to Severus, it was a surprise for it was emerald green. A single serpent was embroidered on the hems of the robes, and he reached out with his index finger to touch it instinctively. Sighing a bit gentler than usual, Severus took a little walk down the memory lane...something he had never allowed himself to do before.

He did not think anyone could ever understand the feeling he had right then.

"Open up, mate!"

"Coming!"

Harry side stepped a grumpy Hedwig – who had just been caught in the muggle ship's vending system, which caused her quite a fright and caused Harry an amusing look as the owl was trying desperately to fit in the muggle world – and lunged at the door before the pet could peck him on the ankle again. Flinging it open, he found himself facing the tall, lanky and thin seventeen year old Ronald Weasley.

"C'mon, the thing's beginning any moment, mate."

Harry looked both sides out of his room and down the matted corridor. "How come you're not with Hermione?" he asked.

Ron turned a bit red – red-headed people could never blush too hard, as Harry found out during his years befriending the Weasley family – and made some kind of gesture with his right hand. "Oh – she's, er, she's not ready yet. You know girls."

Harry grinned at his friend. Ron and Hermione, the best friends he had in the world, had begun their dating long before May but Ron was still a bit shy about it, though Harry knew his two best friends were meant for each other. They took things slowly, too, which gave Harry time to adjust to the idea that his friends were a bit more to each other now.

Ron gave him a sly grin, and then invited himself into Harry's room. Harry watched as his friend paced around the small bed, the tiny cabinet beside, a two feet tall wardrobe and a squeezing size bathroom at the end of the room.

"Muggle stuff isn't much, are they." Ron yawned, dropping on the bed. Hedwig gave him a reproachful look as he nearly stepped on her wings. "Oops, sorry, Hedwig."

Harry threw Hedwig an owl treat in vain to cheer her up a bit, then went into the bathroom to change into his new formal balack robes. Meanwhile, he heard Ron flipping through his things in the cabinet. He did not mind anyway.

Harry looked into the mirror and adjusted his robes. It had been a long time since he had the chance to wear them not to a funeral, but to a socializing event. He was gratefully glad.

Staring back at him, on the reflecting surface of the mirror, was a tall, thin, tanned teenager. The reason he was tanned was not because of sun radiation or anything – it was the mark of battles he wished he could have abandoned. He still had his scar, of course, but somehow the lightening shape was beginning to fade every time Harry looked at it. And his eyes, shielded by the specs he had been using since the age of eleven, were still emerald green in the way everyone claimed that they were Lily Potter's.

Thinking of his long gone mother, Harry sighed. His only godfather was dead a year ago, but that did not make him stronger when facing the pain of loss. Until the battle with Lord Voldemort. The battle, which no one had bothered to ask about while they celebrated, which Ron and Hermione had inquired afterwards and received no answer, which even the wisest wizard – as so they say – Albus Dumbledore, could not get a satisfying explanation about. Why he could not tell anyone about the fight, Harry himself did not know – he just wanted to move on.

That was all; he only wanted to move on. But no one seemed to understand, not even Ron and Hermione. Though they had given up asking about the battle with Voldemort, Harry knew that deep down, they approached him with an anxious edge.

Sighing over the thought, he wondered what had made him change. And change, he had. Perhaps it was the battle with the darkest wizard of all that made him realize something – something that even him, could not put his finger on. But whatever it was, it made Harry muster something he never thought he had – acceptance. Acceptance of everything he had experienced, and everything he needed to experience. As calm as lake, he had nursed himself to health when the wounds of the loss of Sirius and his own life were still bleeding. He, Harry Potter, had recovered.

In a way no one understood.

Harry shook his head, as if to shake his thoughts away, and then emerged out of the bathroom, a cheery smile pasted on his tanned face. "C'mon, waltz torture time!"

He shrugged off the thought that no one would ever understand the feelings he had right then.

A/N: Please review, your comments and suggestions means my life to me!!!! ;)