Disclaimer: Most characters and settings owned by the loverly J.K. Rowling.

Chapter One

Voldemort was dead. That single thought ran rampant around the minds of each witch and wizard present for the great tyrant 's fall. They wouldn't have believed it had they not seen it with their very own eyes. The silence was absolute for a long moment before everyone ran all at once to embrace their hero. Screams, cries, yells, and cheers all dominated the air for the longest time in Hogwart's history.

"He's dead!"

"It's over! Oh, God, it's finally over."

The young hero's attention was passed from one desperate person to another until everyone had drunk in his calming presence. He made his way as quietly as possible to his dormitory for some well deserved quiet after consulting quickly with the group of crying redheads gathered around the late Fred Weasley. They all hugged him and thanked him for—well everything. A few, stinging tears ran down his face at the fallen jokester on the flagstones as well as for the bodies of his other two friends, Tonks and Remus. He swallowed hard a couple of times before escaping to Gryffindor tower.

A few moments later a group of Mediwizards arrived amidst the chaos, fully prepared to treat both the sick and the dead. They made their way through the Great Hall healing broken bones, cuts, bruises, and concussions, sending those with bad curse and hex after affects to St. Mungo's for more urgent treatments. The unmoving they checked for signs of life. If they were truly dead they were placed reverently in the middle of the hall. If they were found alive they were sent to St. Mungo's urgent care immediately.

One particular Mediwitch approached the group of Weasleys and one brown-haired girl with trepidation. She really hated this part of her occupation, the confrontation of the patient's family. Grief-struck individuals were as unpredictable and prone to lash out as cornered animals, but she had a duty to perform and she'd do it gladly. These were the heroes that would be spoken of for generations with veneration and awe.

"Excuse me," she interrupted the group quietly, her hands smoothing her lime green robes nervously. Most of them looked up at her through tear-blurred, bloodshot eyes. The middle aged witch was too distraught to do more than quiet her grief, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but…I…I have to check…It's my job to see…"

"It's alright, dear. Go ahead." A balding redheaded man holding the sobbing witch spoke gruffly, but his blue eyes were kind. The Mediwitch fought off the sudden tightening in her throat as she knelt by the first person. His eyes were closed and he looked peaceful, the lines on his face betraying his age, his clothes betraying the wear of a long stay in a short life. He had sandy hair and dark shadows beneath his closed eyes. She performed a few spells, checking then double-checking that this man was truly dead. He had been killed by the worst Unforgivable Curse. She moved to the young woman next to him. Her bubblegum pink hair was matted with sweat and blood, but she looked no less peaceful than the sandy-haired corpse lying next to her. There was a nasty gash on her temple, probably the cause of her death. The Mediwitch performed her spell, determining that her theory was correct and the blow to her temple had caused her to die instantly. She also determined that the poor woman had just had a baby. She let out a sniffle before moving on to the second man, the man that was unmistakably related to the group now surrounding him. She performed one of the first spells taught to Healers-in-training, the one that told her if a person had a heart beat, without much hope of finding a pulse. She started to move on to a second spell when she felt a faint rhythm working its way through her wand and up her arm. His heart beat at a soft, almost unnoticeable pace.

"He's alive," she gasped, smiling crookedly. She fumbled for a tongue depressor in the pockets of her robes and turned it into a portkey, "I need someone to go with him to St. Mungo's to provide personal information."

The redheads stared blankly at her, not comprehending her words, until the brown haired girl spoke, "Fred's alive. Did you hear? Who will go with him to the hospital? George?" Her words broke through the shock and George looked up, startling the Mediwitch. The person kneeling at the head of the unconscious man was, in fact, the unconscious man. She blinked, sure she'd finally cracked under the pressure. A second later she could have slapped herself—he must be the man's twin.

"I'll go. Take us," he whispered, moving forward to clutch her hands in his. His eyes were both hopeful and desperate.

"Right," she breathed back. Grasping the unconscious man's wrist with one hand, and his twin's clammy hand with the other, she told him to grab the tongue depressor portkey. George grasped it quickly and they felt a jolt behind their navels before they disappeared, leaving the rest of the family in a state of horrified relief.

"He's…alive?" Ron uttered, dumbstruck.

"He's alive," Charlie confirmed, letting out a choked laugh and rubbing his eyes.

"Bloody hell," squeaked Percy, shocking everyone into a shaky laugh.

Molly Weasley's sobs quieted and finally stopped. She patted her husband's chest affectionately, wincing at the amount of water she had left on his robes, "Well, dears," her voice was raspy after so much crying, "Let's go make sure Fred's settled before we go home and rest." She gave her large family a watery smile and they all nodded back at her, tired beyond all reason. "You're welcome to join us, Hermione dear," she added, really noticing her presence for the first time.

Hermione thanked her, but said that she should probably keep Harry company. Mrs. Weasley nodded and told her to inform Harry that he would be fed within an inch of his life when he was ready to come home. She gave a chuckle and a promise that she would convey the message verbatim. She stepped forward to hug her wizarding family, giving Ron a kiss on the cheek before she headed to Gryffindor Tower.

"Let's go," said Mr. Weasley, leading his family past the rubble and destruction and off the grounds, where all members promptly disapperated.

Hermione quickly made her way up the stairs despite the bone-deep weariness that seemed to seep from her in waves. Ron had told her that he would be back as soon as he knew Fred would be okay. She allowed herself a quick smile before thinking on more serious matters. What now? They had skipped out on their last year at Hogwarts. Would the school reopen soon? Would the fugitives of Gryffindor be allowed to come back for one final year of education? What happens if they weren't allowed to come back or if Hogwarts took longer than expected to reopen?

From one worry to another, she thought to herself, amused at her own constant negative train of thought. She approached the Fat Lady, now worried that she was no longer privy to the password.

"I doubt protocol is necessary at this point and at this ungodly hour of the morning," the Fat Lady said wryly, swinging open for the relieved Gryffindor.

"Thank you." Hermione entered the common room and made her way deliberately to the boys' dormitory. She knocked lightly on the door to Harry and Ron's room before opening it softly and entering.

Harry was sprawled on his bed, hands behind his shaggy, dark head, and was staring avidly at the top of his four-poster, "I'm so tired I can't sleep. Where's Ron?" She laughed lightly and poked him in the side. He scooted over leaving her enough space to lie next to him.

"A Mediwitch arrived to check the bodies for vital signs right after you left the Great Hall. Fred's alive, Harry." He whipped his head around to look at her. "They took him to St. Mungo's immediately and the whole family followed."

"Alive?" He pressed the dirt-stained heels of his hands onto his eyelids, rubbing them gently, "God…thank God. I never would have been able to forgive myself if he had…if they had lost…" he broke off, suppressing a sob.

Hermione turned on her side, looking at him affectionately, "It still wouldn't have been your fault, Harry. It was an explosion, an accident caused by a wayward spell. And, it wasn't you who cast it. Although, if it had been you who cast it, I wouldn't have been able to forgive you either." He gave her a shocked look and she grinned. "As the best friend of the brightest witch of our age, I would have expected your spell work to be superb." Harry laughed so hard he almost fell off the bed. Hermione smiled to herself, glad that Harry was at last able to really enjoy mirth again. After he had calmed down to a significant degree, he turned onto his left side to face her and told her everything that had happened from the moment he left her sight. He had to stop in the middle to allow her to compose herself. She had begun to cry when he began talking of his self-sacrifice to Voldemort and had grasped his hand tightly in hers as if she wanted corporeal proof that he was really there with her.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered when he was done, "You realize you're free now—

for the most part?"

He looked at her, his eyes marking all small cuts and streaks of grime for later inspection, and smiled with the most tired and relieved eyes she'd ever seen, "For the most part." They spent a few moments in blessed silence, their eyelids growing heavier by each passing second.

"Ms. Weasley said that you would be fed to within an inch of your life when you get home," Hermione yawned, closing her eyes.

Harry chuckled softly, "Good."

They fell asleep holding hands.

A/N: Reviews are love.