As the smoke cleared and the glow of the last curses faded away, the survivors slowly came together. It had been a hard road and a long one, years upon years of preparation and training but finally, finally, it was done. Voldemort was dead. Vanquished. And, one hoped, never to rise again.
Ginny Weasley's bright red hair was streaked and singed, not quite that vibrant red it had been when she walked into the fury, wand held steadily in front of her. She had some nasty wounds on her body, and a particularly vicious one where a death eater had caught her unawares. But that was the last curse he ever cast, felled by Harry as he passed by on his way towards his battle. Harry. Ginny's breath caught in her throat as she looked towards her left. "Sweet Merlin, let him have come through alive," she thought. "We're going to need each other now, all the dead, all the tears. But it's done. Finally."
As his sister began her painstaking journey towards Harry, Ron Weasley came to wondering why his bed felt so hard. And why did he seem unable to move his left arm. And why, when he opened his eyes, the vibrant orange of the Chudley Cannons didn't greet him. Then he remembered what had transpired. To him, the Final Battle had been a blinding mass of curses, hexes, and spells, thrown from every which way and every direction. Stupefy, Protego, Crucio, Avada Kedarva! Too much of that green light for everyone to have gotten through alive. But just maybe some had. He had after all. Slowly, the last of the fog drifted from Ron's mind. He remembered the last moments before he fell, a vaguely familiar death eater (Crabb? Goyle? It was one of those two) directing a weak crucio at him. But it hadn't hit him fully ("so that's why my arm seems useless at this point"). With weariness evident in every movement, Ron rose to his feat, looking for the other members of the precious trio.
Hermione lay still on the ground, contemplating the events of the past hours and the days, months, years, that had led up to this moment. But her chief worry was for her friends, and the fact that it seemed that not a single place on her body didn't scream at her in pain. The battle had been dreadful- worst than anyone had anticipated, even the ever-pessimistic Moody. Hermione had fought hard, firing off and deflecting as many curses as every single other Auror, Order member, teacher, student, and volunteer that stood on that field. In the end, Hermione had gone down just as Harry met Voldemort, but not without a fight. She was pretty sure that Bellatrix hadn't gotten up either, for Hermione had seen that nasty spell she threw at Ginny, and, to say the least, wasn't appreciative. Slowly, ever so slowly, Hermione made an attempt at propelling herself forward, towards the smoking hold into which Harry and Voldemort had disappeared.
Three lone figures approached that gaping hole. Each simultaneously harboring fear and hope in their breast, praying to every force they knew that Harry was there. That he hadn't died with Voldemort. As they descended into the hole, they met over Harry's still form, and looked at each other with eyes full of sadness.
Harry woke up with three heads bent anxiously over his. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were there- it would all be alright. As the three did their best to bring him to his feet without injuring him or themselves further, Harry smiled for the first time in a year. It was over. They were together. Whatever happened, they would be there. The casualty lists and tears would come later. But right now, they were all alive. And for this one precious moment, that was what mattered most.
