Author's Note:Bit of a shorter chapter this time, but it felt like the right place to cut it off, so I hope you can forgive me for that. Thanks to all of those who are still reading and double thanks to those who have reviewed! I know I might not always manage to reply, but I've read all of them and each of them has helped me get this far in the story. I hope you all enjoy this chapter :D

32. New Beginnings.

Harry stepped heavily through the front door of Grimmauld Place, his head feeling like it could fall off at any second, his feet dragging on the floor. He could feel Ron and Hermione hovering near him like worried mother hens, but he didn't have the energy to tell them that he was fine or ask to be left alone. He needed time to gather his thoughts and collect himself after the Battle, that was true, but at the same time being alone was the exact last thing he wanted. Never had he felt so alone in his life. The one man he had thought he could trust…

He flopped onto the sofa. Before his eyes, people fell and died, sinking into the forest floor, never to move again. Ron and Hermione sat gingerly next to him, and the sofa groaned under their weight.

Grimmauld Place was a bustle of activity – people were running up and down the stairs holding various vials of potions, bandages or, in some cases, what Harry assumed was the wizarding version of handcuffs. Dirty and bloodied people milled in the kitchen, collecting themselves before hurrying off to do things that needed to be done. Mrs Black's portrait was going hoarse from the shouting as people slammed in and out of the house, but no one paid her any attention.

Harry numbly let all of this wash over him, knowing what it meant and yet at the same time not really finding that it registered. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he realised that this meant that Wizarding society would have to be rebuilt. The corruption, the deaths, the destruction… And it probably wasn't all over, either. There were probably Death Eaters and dark creatures still to catch. And what of the Dementors? His mind's voice asked. Weren't they Voldemort's supporters?

Harry shut down that thought immediately, though unaware that he had ever made a conscious decision to do so. His mind was just in too much shock – too much had happened, too many had –

Somewhere through a haze of spells, he saw Lupin collapse to the floor, Tonks' hand in his, and he couldn't help but scream.

"Harry?"

He looked up to find Hermione staring at him. He blinked at her blankly, dimly registering that this produced a worried frown.

"Here," she said, shoving a potion into his hands. "It's from Madame Pomfrey – it'll help your headache."

Harry took it absently.

The screaming, the terror, the ripping pain in his forehead as he collapsed to the ground, not realising that his screams were now mixing with those of the people dying around him. The world was slowly yanked away from beneath him and he felt his body fall, jerking, into darkness. He could hear something else keening, scratching, trying to break free – like a wild animal caught in a trap. Something was yanked through his scar, and Harry had the sudden, absurd image of mummification in his mind – had someone just yanked his brain through his scar?

"Harry!"

Harry blinked, and found that he had slumped over sideways, shaking, face pressed into the sofa, almost in a very frightened-looking Ron's lap. Hermione was crouching by his side on the floor, her hand running soothing motions up and down his back, and Harry realised he was sobbing. He buried his face further into the cushions, feeling himself flush red with shame.

Ron awkwardly started patting Harry's head, and the two friends exchanged a look.

"I knew Dumbledore should have done it," Ron muttered viciously.

Hermione just bit her lip.

It took a good half hour, but eventually they managed to calm Harry down enough that he was sitting up again, half-heartedly sipping at the potion that Hermione had given him, his face as white as snow. Hermione tried to keep a close eye on him without him knowing that she was doing it, but he kept catching her at it, and eventually sighed, putting down the potion.

"You need to drink it," Hermione said softly.

Harry's jaw tightened. "I've finished it."

Hermione took it from him – he had indeed finished it – and laid it on a side table. Ron's eyes kept darting nervously around the room, his hands clenching and unclenching, as though he didn't know what to do, and Hermione knew that he, too, was more shaken than he let on. But they both had to be brave, for their friend's sake. Now was not the time for falling apart.

"Has it helped?" She asked.

Harry nodded once, jaw still clenched.

They sat in awkward silence for a minute or two until, surprisingly, Harry spoke.

"Your parents," he said, voice hoarse.

Hermione didn't need any more information than that. Her throat clogged and her eyes threatened to overflow, but somehow she kept her voice relatively steady. "I'll find them," she said. "I don't think it reached them."

"They won't remember you," Harry said dully, then winced. "Sorry, I-"

"No," she said, and this time the tears did spill.

Ron reached over and grabbed her hand in his, trying awkwardly to give her a reassuring smile, but that darkness – the darkness that so many years of fighting Voldemort had put in his eyes – was back. She squeezed his hand desperately, blinking furiously, not making a sound.

"You'll find a way to make them remember, 'Mione," he told her, his voice almost lost in the chaos surrounding them. "You're brilliant."

Hermione sniffed.

Harry looked between them, and then at their clasped hands. "Professor Lupin is dead," he said, still staring at their hands. "And Tonks."

Hermione, remembering how they had looked when they had found them on the Battle field, freed her hand from Ron's grip, feeling guilty. Guilty to be alive. And guilty that Ron had also survived and was holding hands with her.

"I know, mate," Ron said, his voice cracking.

Hermione bowed her head, thinking of Teddy Lupin, wondering who would take care of him now…

"It's what godfathers do," Harry announced suddenly.

Ron looked at him in confusion, still looking dazed.

"Teddy has a godfather," Harry muttered.

Hermione swallowed. "Harry…"

"He has no one else!" Harry suddenly bellowed. A few people stopped and looked in their direction, but Harry didn't seem to notice. "I know what that's like," he said, quieter.

"We can help," Ron said.

"Ron's right, Harry, you can't do this yourself," Hermione said, hating herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but knowing that they were true. "You might be his godfather, but he'll need constant care."

"I can give it to him," Harry said stubbornly. "My parents left me with money-"

"You need to finish school," Hermione countered. When Harry opened his mouth to argue, she ploughed on. "If you don't, how will you get enough qualifications to get a job? Your parents' money won't last forever, and then how will you look after him?"

Harry snapped his mouth shut angrily, staring at his shoes.

"I'm sure Mum will be glad to help," Ron said. "She loves kids."

Harry winced. "She's done enough for me."

"And she'd do it all again," Ron countered.

Harry shifted awkwardly in his seat, and Hermione could immediately see what he was thinking as though it was written across his face. He thought he was a burden, a charity case. She got back up off the floor, her knees popping from having been crouched there for so long, and joined them again on the sofa.

"She did a lot for me too," Hermione murmured.

Harry looked at her, eyes wide, searching her face, and then dropped his gaze back to his shoes, his lips curling up into what, under other circumstances, would have been a smile. Hermione resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief.

The three friends sat on the sofa in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, each riddled with a tension and grief that would take years to even start to disappear, but each of them immeasurably glad of one thing.

They still had each other.