Disclaimer:I don't own Harry Potter, or much else for that matter. I don't even own the computer that I'm currently typing on.

A/N:Ok, so this is my first story that I'm actually going through with. Yes, I made one before, but that was right after HBP came out, and I only made it through one chapter. I'm currently working on a chaptered fic, and am almost done with the first chapter. Anyway, read and review! I hope this is ok. It took forever for me to finally post, because I'm kindof scared of the feedback I'm going to get... Ok, so if anyone's still reading this, here it is.

Where were you? Were you sitting at your breakfast table reading the Daily Prophet? Or did you hear about it from a friend, sitting nice and comfortable in the peace of your own home? Did you find out days later, when it seemed like you were the last to know? You could've been in any of these places, though in every scenario, you were so joyful you felt you could burst of happiness and protection.

Me?

I was far from any of these places.

I was at the hospital, crying my heart out in sadness.

My one love, the boy, no man, who'd finally defeated his nemesis from age one, was lying in a hospital bed, on the brink of death.

The healers said there was little hope, but they were doing every thing they could for the one who'd rid the world of the greatest evil it had ever seen. It seemed sad, though, that just because he was famous, he'd get preferential treatment. What about all the other poor souls who had given their lives for the greater good. Sure, they'd be thanked and remembered for their good deeds during this time of hardship. But what about who they'd truly been, besides the war hero that we'd all try to thank. And in truth, who do we remember that was lost in a tragic fight like this that we didn't know personally. Sure, the love of my life would be, no matter whether he lived or died. But what about the others?

So many had been lost in the battle. I myself had lost 2 brothers and a father. They had all died valiantly. Even though Percy had yet to reconcile with us, we loved him anyway. He had definitely redeemed himself when he'd blocked that spell aimed at Ron. Then there was George. Always cheerful and easy going. Fred was never the same afterwards. How could he be, when his one constant companion was snatched away right in front of him. He'd died in one on one combat with Lucius Malfoy. It was a well aimed Avada Kedavra. And my dad. Who could ever forget his endless fascination with all things muggle. It had entertained us all endlessly when we were kids. It crushed my mom to see him go. But his death was not in vain, for he had taken Lucius Malfoy down with him, avenging his sons death in his last moments. Like I said before, I know I'd remember these deaths, but who else outside of my circle of family and friends would?

Many had been injured also. Neville Longbottom had lost his left arm. He'd end up having to go through life with a prosthetic. This was one of those times when you were thankful just to be alive. And from that day forward, Neville indeed lived life to the fullest. He never looked back, always moving forward and accomplishing his dreams. He became Chief Herbologist for the Ministry of Magic, and his work there was groundbreaking and productive. He even found a cure for people who had been hit with the Cruciatus a few to many times. He was able to bring his parents back. He enjoyed all the time he got to spend with them before they passed on at a ripe old age. God knows all three of them deserved it.

Then there were those that weren't physically injured, but the horrors that they'd seen would change them forever. My brother Ron was one of those people. He never could quite get over what he'd seen, who'd sacrificed themselves for the greater good. So many had died fighting, and then there were those that were left to watch. Ron was a shell of what he had been. Hermione was there to help him through it though. They got married just over a year after the final battle.

Those that weren't very active in the war, well, they would never know how bad it was. People dying left and right, just because of their blood. Whether you fought or not, you always had a friend or family member that was lost. Unless, that is, you were one of the so called Purebloods that thought you ruled the world. If that was the case, you deserved what you got. Sure, my family are a bunch of purebloods, but we were blood traitors, and because of that we were just as marked. We suffered. We suffered dearly.

Sure, everyone remembered Harry Potter. But they remembered him for ridding the world of evil. Not for the kind, sensitive, sweet man that he was. And he himself paid dearly in the war himself. He had drained himself in that battle. He gave himself, his whole life. He had been fighting since he was 15 months old.

So, I ask you again.

Where were you the day Harry Potter defeated Lord Voldemort?

Me?

I was watching my husband die in a hospital bed, holding his hand for comfort.

Our daughter was devastated when she heard the news.