I would like to thank Vana E for giving me the inspiration to continue this story. It was a one-shot, but then she gave me the idea to continue it. So this will now be a multi-chapter work. Each chapter will be from/revolve around one character's view. It may start here, at the end of the first chapter, or it may be weeks, months, or years in the future.

I hope you enjoy this, and thanks again to my reviewers, without you I'd never have known this was in me.

Thanks.

--This is just before the end of the first chap--

Harry stopped in the middle of the Hall, hands clenched at his sides, hair hiding his face. Snape had a good view of all of this, calm face appraising the situation, hands clenching beneath the worn wood of the table. His wand in his sleeve at the ready should Potter prove dangerous. He watched as the boy stood, waited a breath as he could feel the magic in the air stir.

He could see Potter tremble with barely restrained -- rage? -- pain?

In a heartbeat this could go very wrong, very bad.

Potter could rise to the bait and go mental, tearing them all apart in his rage.

He may simply let this slide, just as he had over the last week or so.

Oh, Snape had noticed, had seen him withdraw. But he blamed it on Dumbledore. Blamed it on Potter's own idiocy. His guilt complex.

When Potter had come to him for retraining in Occlumency he had sneered, had turned him away.

"Okay"

He barely heard the soft reply, but he heard the determination in it. He stood, trying to look calm as he tried to reach the boy before all hell broke loose.

It was the same voice, it had the same sound as when Snape himself had broken. Had been forced to the breaking point; had done terrible things. And everytime, every single time he had felt that there was no other way.

Suicide missions... Times when you do things that are, before that point, completely idiotic. They still are, but at the time...

He could feel the blood drain from his already pale face as the boy pulled the knife, slit his wrists.

-pulse-

His arm throbbed, bringing him to his knees.

-pulse-

He did this... He had killed this boy.

Just like his parents... And just like the Dark Lord had killed all the youth in Snape himself.

He had hated this boy for his father's faults. Was he too hasty?

Snape looked at the dull jade of Harry's dead eyes. When did he become Harry? Oh yes, when he had given his life to save someone -- everyone who hated him.

He heard the distant screams roar back to life, watched the blood stop flowing, congealing and darkening.

Uncurling from his prone position, he -looked- all around him. Really looked at the people that surrounded him in the Great Hall.

He saw students in shock, scared and screaming. Not for Harry, but for their own horrified selves. Most of them had never seen anyone die, had never seen the way a body lies so cold and alone. Never seent he shapes the blood makes in your mind as you try to put it past you, try to tamp down the screams inside yourself... You had to get past it to get through it... That was the way he had gotten through his life. Putting the horrible things of the world behind him, so that he could walk through this world with his head held high and his sanity (mostly) intact.

Minerva was kneeling on the floor, dark robes soaking in the dark blood as she cradled the dead boy's head, whispering words to him, trying to coax his soul back to his body. Her eyes seemed to looke through him, past Harry to another she had lost in her lofe, going back to another experience, another death, another time.

Albus stood near the head table, having stayed back. A great wizard though he was, he was still old, and could not always be there as quickly as the younger wizards. His eyes seemed lost. For the first time Severus saw just how -old- he was. He tended to forget how long Albus had been alive when the man continued to keep himself cheerful and moving. Albus had been old and grey when Severus himself was just a first year at Hogwarts all those years ago...

The other teachers were trying to console the children, while he saw Hagrid moving stiffly to the fireplace. Green flames told of his departure, Severus could only assume it was to tell everyone about Harry's death, and the subsequent death of Voldemort.

Severus stared at his bare arm, seeing the faint lines of the Dark Mark burning, fading. He was truely free...

He stood up, wincing and limping over to his charges. He saw that many of the initiated had passed out from the pain of the Dark Mark's removal.

Draco Malfoy was sitting against the table on the floor, staring at the body of his classmate. The person he had spent six years antagonizing, baiting and fighting. How would he take it? Take the loss...?

"Draco... Draco how are you?"

The boy looked at him with blank eyes, something deep inside trembling and dangerously close to breaking.

"He...he..."

"Yes Draco. He's dead."

Draco looked from Snape back to Harry, his eyes fragile, yet so strong.

"Bloody hell... I was the one who kept telling him to go off and die... And he chooses -now- to bloody do it? Wanker."

The bark of laughter was an unexpected sound in the hall, where the sounds of crying and sobs were all that could be heard. The screams had died down, those who had been screaming had turned to frightened whimpers, startled gurgles. The laughter of the two Slytherins was not wholly unexpected, yet still was not right.

"Severus! How could you!" admonished McGonagal. Albus just smiled wanly, nodding to the two laughing.

"Minerva, we all grieve diferently. They have a great deal to be relieved about, as well as their own grief over Harry."

Dumbledore stood tall, his hat a bit askew, and his face tight with his grief and his guilt.

"Students. We cannot let this tragedy blind us to our new freedom. With his death, Harry has freed us from a monster, one that has plagued us for so long. Many of you have lost family, have lost friends and loved ones. And now through one final act, even though we have lost a great boy, one who was a brother to some and a friend to all, he has brought about the happiest day of our time. Voldemort id now dead, and with him goes the pain and fear of so many years. Yet, we cannot simply lie back and expect everything to be well once more. Such is the manner of all great sacrifices, it will be misunderstood by some, and twisted darkly by others. All is not finished! We must gather ourselves and stand strong against any opposition. Harry was a good boy, and a brave young man. He sacrificed his all, his schooling, his friends and family... His very life for us. We must repay our debt to him by making his sacrifice worthwhile."

Severus glanced at the Gryffindor table, silent with shock, faces stained red with sobs and tears. Hufflepuffs with heads hung low, weeping into open palms, remembering for certain the way they treated Harry after the death of Cedric. Ravenclaws silently weeping for a lost student, a young man taken in the prime of his life. Slytherin table was quiet, with small sniffles and tears of pain. They had lost almost everything today. Many of them probably lost their families, their riches and standings.

Many would not find it in their hearts to remember a fallen hero, only to remember a dark day, filled with hate from now on.

Hermione Granger sat stiffly at Gryffindor table, eyes open and staring blankly at Harry's corpse. She did not cry, did not weep. She simply stared at him, total disbelief apparent on her face.

Next to her, Ron Weasly sat with red cheeks, puffy with crying. His hands were rubbing circles on Hermione's back as he wept silently.

The youngest Weasly, Ginny, sat with no tears, no red face. She simply had a vague smile, one of sisterly understanding. She would not weep for such an act. She remembered well what Harry had done for her, what it was like to be tethered to a Madman. She knew his release was nothing more than just that. He had never intended to save anyone. They had made sure of that. He was simply under too much stress, in too much pain. She smiled and turned to her younger classmates, helping them to calm down. Snape himself felt the same way, having served The Dark Lord for so long, he knew that the weight of his freedom was lightening his heart, even as the death of a student threatened to pull it back down.

"We will go out, and we will remember Him. We will tell the entire Wizarding World about what he did. He gave his life so that we could live in freedom and peace."

Dumbledore kept going on about how they needed to remain standing, to not let this tragedy overwhelm them.

Load of bollocks. Thought Snape. Propoganda to keep them quiet. He wants no bad press for his Golden Boy, even - especially - in death. What about my children? What about those here who have lost their entire lives in the span of seconds? What will he do for them?

Snape reclined next to Draco, watching the Headmaster try to bolster spirits, garner confidence.

"Load of tripe." Draco's mouth hardly moved, but his hissing whisper was enough to make Snape's mouth twitch into a small parody of a smile.

"What will you do?"

A sigh.

"I have no clue. Father will be most unhappy about all this... If..." Draco couldn't finish. A tight sound stopping up his throat.

"They are fine." whispered Snape, trying to comfort him to the best of his abilites in the given situation.

A hiss, a nod.

---later that night---

The Slytherin dorms were sombre as many waited for news from families and friends. A soft cry each time an owl was spotted, and a soft murmmur as notes were read. None would cry aloud, but there were many crying silently in their beds. Severus Snape had sat by the fire, consoling his charges, trying to keep them from slipping under the pressure of sudden news, and overwhelming pain.

So far he had used his entire stock of Dreamless sleep potion, as well as several minor Calming Draughts.

His arms were in constant motion, a soothing pat here, a microscopic hug there. Unlike other houses, Slytherins never resorted to open displays of affection or condolence. There were exceptions, of course, the younger years who had lost siblings or parents were held by others. Comfort was brought to all, no matter how insignificant it may seem.

A trembling lip, a watery eye, those were the signs of weakness. And we so thoroughly stamp that out in here, now don't we? Maybe now they can relax a bit more, not have to be on their guard all the time. Ease up, be the children we never got to be. Damn him. Damn Voldemort for taking my life from me, for taking the lives of these children from them.

Damn him for taking the lives of everyone, shaping them to fit his needs, not letting us live, grow. Damn Dumbledore too, he's just as manipulative, just less violent. Is this what you wanted old man? To make him die so horribly? To prove to us... to me, that we will never redeem ourselves for this atrocity. We killed an innocent boy, one who really never -was- a boy.

"Damn him...Damn him."

"What did you say Professor?"

He looked down at the second-year sitting next to him on the couch by the fire. Sow the glimmer of hope, the shine of pain. Saw the innocence that now had the chance to bloom, to show and be nurtured. This one wasn't corrupted yet. This was the chance they all needed. For the youngest ones to grow up stong and happy.

Then they would be even.

"Nothing Sasha. Nothing."

Thank you Potter.

------------

"So, so you think you can tell, Heaven from Hell; Blue skies from pain..."

So... Yeah. I think I'll do Hermione or Ron. Possibly McGonagall. Need to balance it... Tell me what you think?