A/N: This is gonna be sorta long, but it's kinda an important one, so perhaps you come back after reading the chapter and read my author's note. First, and most importantly, amend my previous statement, there's always angst and drama where Draco Malfoy is concerned :P Also, I sorta forgot for a second that harry potter was harry potter and he seems to have perpetual mood swings and that also a weasley sibling is dead so there was definitely going to be some depression around. Yeah, So, THERE WILL BE ANGST AND DRAMA, just to clear that up, not a lot, but there will be some. Next, thank you! for the new reviews, follows, and favorites! Next, we did not reach my 25 review goal last chapter :( but it's all good! because here's a new one for you to review and hopefully we'll get there! I mean, I have like 20 followers, so obviously if a third of you review, plus new readers, we'll make it there! The memorial drawing is officially linked on my profile, so you now actually get to look at it! please do, I love it. Umm...what else...oh! Two chapters ago, I said that this chapter would be about everyone going back to their routine, harry's visit to gringotts...etc. um. no. sorry, but I have determined that they could all use a week off before things get back in gear, so this chapter is about that week, and that's why it's a little short. Last...enjoy! Read and review!

Disclaimer: Still wish it was mine. It's still not. I'm just a fan. AND I don't own that picture. property of ...google? warner bros? either way, it's not mine.

Beta: juliana677. thanks!

Week One

Draco Lucius Malfoy was pissed. In fact, it was pretty safe to say that Draco was inconceivably furious. Presently, he was feeling a mixture of two emotions: rage, at his pathetic excuse for a father, and that goddamned Lord Voldemort; and regret, at the choice he had made to let his father run his life. His only feeling that didn't want to make him Avada himself and his father on the spot was the gratefulness he had toward his mother, who had had enough sense to get his family the bloody hell out of there.

Draco, and his mother and father had been on the run for a week now. Narcissa had taken her husband and son and set off at a run away from Hogwarts, then apparated to the picturesque Austrian mountainside, a beautiful place she remembered from childhood family holidays. She wanted isolation, safety, and peace; and here, surrounded by mountains and rolling hills and blue skies, her family could have all these things. Privately, Draco agreed. Mountains, especially ones such as the Alps, were a perfect place to hide, and the blue skies were a nice escape from the grey ones that had tormented his own home in Wiltshire. But frankly, Draco was far too pissed off at his parents and their beliefs at the moment to admit any of these things, especially since immediately after their apparition, he had begun a battle of words and insults against his father, and in return was given a blow across the face with the snakehead of his father's staff. He had not spoken to either of his parents in seven days, and chose to let the resentment in his eyes speak for him.

So here Draco was: an angsty, broody teenager, with a mother that had yet to let go of his hand for more than five minutes despite his consistent attempts to pull away, and a father that hated him. Well, good, he thought, because the feeling's mutual. They were walking aimlessly, setting up camp by night with his mother's crafty conjuring, and then walking aimlessly some more. At least, he was pretty sure it was aimless, but his mother could have a plan, he just didn't know.

But really, Draco thought it was not only aimless, but useless, because it was only a matter of time before they were captured.

As much as he would like to believe that they were in the clear, Draco knew his family was one of the most wanted, if not the most, and the Ministry would not stop until they were found. Would they evade imprisonment? He really had no bleeding idea.

Percy Weasley hasn't spoken to anyone since Fred's funeral. He hasn't been to his office at the Ministry, hasn't gone to see a Healer about his slowly worsening psychological health (which he is positive is worse due to the aforementioned not speaking to anybody or leaving the house), and he hasn't gone home. His real home, not his dingy London flat. And, now that he's thinking about it, he hasn't eaten anything, unless the bottles of firewhiskey he was downing per night counted as eating.

Now, assessing his reflection, he has finally come to the conclusion that all of these things have taken a toll on him. Percy had come to stand in front of the mirror, and was so startled by seeing how much his own face had changed that he nearly jumped a meter into the air. He was pale, not his usual light skin, but a sickly, translucent white that allowed the blue veins under his skin to practically pop out. In contrast to the milky white were the wide, disgustingly dark circles under his eyes, making him look very much like a raccoon. The eyes themselves were red and puffy, and his blue irises had lost their light. He was thinner, too; the skin in his arms and legs were more closely molded to his bones, and when he lifted up his shirt, he saw the bottom of his ribcage stick out from his slightly sunken stomach. And, Percy noticed, he was dirty. There was grime under his fingernails, dandruff in his oily hair, and a layer of sweat mixed with the halogens in the air coating his skin. This was perhaps what frightened him the most; because really, what kind of life had Percy always lead, if not a clean and diligent one?

I need to do something, he thought, I can't waste away like this. And as he was moving towards the shower to finally be clean, he suddenly stopped, because those terrible thoughts invaded his mind again, the ones that had kept him from eating and being clean and speaking for the past seven days: If Fred can't, then why should I? I'm the reason he's dead, I'm the one who should be in his place!

With that, he gave his reflection a grim smile, one that he was positive for a moment his reflection returned with a frown, took another swig of firewhiskey, and went back to bed for another night of insomnia.

If anyone though that Fleur Weasley was going back to work at Gringotts Wizarding Bank, they were absolutely plein de merde. Let alone allowing her husband back to his much more difficult occupation at the same establishment.

Goblins were mean, grumpy creatures who enjoyed holding a grudge and being angry, if Fleur did say so herself! Now, her own family had gone and robbed the place, breaking through a previously thought unbreakable system and flying away with their dragon in the process! There was no way she was allowing some broody, angry creatures half her height to use Harry's victory against her! Or against Bill, for that very matter!

There was only one small problem: the fact that Bill was getting antsy and impatient and bothering her nonstop about it.

She knew that Bill was not a homebody; he had moved to Egypt, after all. And she also knew that he loved nothing more in this world, beside Fleur, and his family, than his work.

It was where he had put all of his effort, an outlet for him that he enjoyed because it was challenging, mentally and physically, and it allowed him to discover new things every day, past his Hogwarts education. He needed to be on the move, and as much as he liked the opportunity to spend quality time with his family and staying home with Fleur (Yes, he very well better! Fleur thought), she knew he couldn't make him stay home forever. Already, he was begging her to go back, and complaining about his boredom, when they weren't spending -ahem- quality time together.

It was only a matter of time, really.

Hermione's nightmares were ones that she'd been having all year.

She didn't know why. But here, back at the Burrow, they were just so much worse. So vivid, so real, and absolutely terrifying.

She could guess why, though. She was no longer distracted at night, trying to think of ways to survive another day, or where the next horcrux may be. Now that her mind had slowed down to work at a normal rate, it was drifting to the nightmares that had taunted her all year.

They were always different, but always the same. The very first one came to her on her first night on the run, and she dreamt of going to Australia to retrieve her parents. To reverse the spell.

But they didn't remember her. Not even a little bit.

And that was the single most terrifying thing Hermione could think of, now that they were all out of harm's way.

They were all different, of course: Hermione when she was a child, when she tried to call them, when she came home from Hogwarts, when she went to Australia. But they all ended the same way. They never remembered her.

So that first night back at the Burrow, when her father asked her, "Who are you?" she awoke with a start and started sobbing right there. Knowing full well she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, she padded silently down the stairs, controlling her crying as to not wake others up and wandering into the Burrow's kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. She sat with her hands around the hot mug and let the tea fumes relax her until she felt better and went to go back to sleep.

The rest of the week followed much the same way. Until last night, that is.

Her nightmare the previous night was so much worse than the other ones, it was hard to describe. She was only a baby, and she was crying and her father had ignored it, calling on her mother to investigate the "noise," and her mother... her own mother! ...She hadn't even recognized her baby. And then she thought, What if I'm not their baby anymore? And she definitely couldn't handle that. Sobbing, she had made her way downstairs to make herself yet another nightly tea.

She had been staring down into her mug, the dried tear tracks streaking her face, letting the hot tendrils of steam calm her, when someone broke her thoughts.

"Her-" Ron yawned, bleary-eyed, "Hermione? What-" he rubbed his eyes, "why are you up?" He stopped in the doorway, observing her, waiting for her to make a sound. When she was still practically still as a statue, he moved toward her, worried, and took a seat beside her, facing her, but she never looked up at him.

They sat for a few moments in silence, when he finally reached across and grasped her hand, laying it atop hers on her tea cup, the contact sending shivers through her skin. "Hermione, what's wrong?" he asked, firm now.

When she spoke, it was barely a whisper, "They won't remember me."

Puzzled, Ron raised his eyebrows. Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, finally looking up, and speaking loudly with anger laced in her words, "They're not going to remember me, Ron. I went through so much, getting that spell right," he could hear her frustration growing, "and it's all for nothing! They won't...they're not going to know who I am! And...and..." her hard expression melted, and her bottom lip quivered, "and I'll never have my family back. They won't know me, Ron."

Ron understood now, why she was so worried; but he also knew that Hermione could never mess up a spell, and he didn't think it was anything to worry about, "Be reasonable, Hermione. C'mon, you know you'd never mess up something like that, something that meant so much to you. Brightest witch of our age, right? Right, now, they're going to remember you. I promise," he added, holding her hand tight. Unfortunately, his words seemed to have no effect.

"You don't get it, Ron. You just... don't understand. I had this... this horrid nightmare," Ron could hear the fear in her voice, "I...I was just a baby, and I was crying, crying for help, and...And my mother, my own mother, Ron, she...she didn't even recognize me," and that was it. The tears surfaced, the dam broke, and Ron held her while she cried miserably into his chest, the tea long forgotten.

Ginny spent the days following her brother's funeral flying.

For Ginny, there was nothing more satisfying than zooming across the sky in circles at top speed, the wind blowing her hair and the sun warming her face. It was almost like the wind blew all of her emotions, feelings, and thoughts away, leaving nothing but her heart, bursting with life.

Harry had gone flying himself that very first night, and when Ginny couldn't sleep, she had seen him outside and snuck out quietly to fly with him. They were most connected in the air- that much was obvious- and she loved nothing more than flying with Harry. They had gone flying together a few more times the past couple of days, but he had been constantly on the move this past week: visiting his parents' grave (Ginny just couldn't handle a graveyard yet), playing with little Teddy, and back and forth from the Ministry to help Kingsley and her father.

But when she was up in the air, she could forget about all of that: her mother's unhealthy state (she hadn't even left her room), her father's trouble at the Ministry, Hermione's worry over her parents, the fact that she didn't know anything about Percy, and, most of all, the fact that George didn't leave his room during the day, and stumbled into the house early in the morning, drunk and bumbling.

Ginny never felt more at home than she did in the wide open sky.

A week, Kingsley Shacklebolt thought, a week of long awaited safety. Finally, after twenty years of torture and torment, there was no longer paranoia in the air, fear in the hearts of witches and wizards everywhere. There wasn't exactly peace, because the Ministry was in shambles, they were no nearer to order then they were when Riddle was in power, there were still Death Eaters running rampant, and families were mourning across the United Kingdom, but the fear was gone. Order would come in time, but the Wizarding World was safe once again.

A/N 2: If you didn't read the first one, umm...please go read it. now. okay...done with that? on to this one. First, a bit about updating. As you may notice, I do not have a regular schedule. I write when something hits me, and then I put the chapter up. I'm sorry, but that's what I do. I WILL NOT GO LONGER THAN A SIX MONTH GAP, THAT I VOW FROM NOW UNTIL FOREVER. IF EVER I GO OVER FOUR MONTHS, YOU CAN ALL LEAVE THIS STORY. And, you may get alerts when I go back and edit previous chapters, and I'm sorry if that really pisses you off, but I edit them super frequently, and I don't KNOW if you get alerts, but just in case, I apologize in advance. For example, I added in a part with Dennis Creevey in chapter 2, when Harry goes up with Ginny to see the bodies. Kay, done with that. Second, QUESTION: DO YOU WANT ME TO CHUCK LUCIUS IN AZKABAN? I heard that JK said the malfoys evaded imprisonment because they defected, but I really want him in jail, so whatever you guys want. Also, it has occurred to me that in exchange for 25 reviews total for this story after publishing this chapter, I must offer some sort of REWARD :D Yay! So, if 14 of you hit that little review button there and make my day better, I will upload the next chapter within 5 days of hitting that goal! promise. cross my heart and hope to die. In fact, I take a shadowhunter's oath! Past this, it's all rambling book nonsense so you can leave now if you so please (and review!). Any potterheads who've never read mortal instruments should definitely do so, as it has moved to number three on my best book series of all time list, following the immortal secrets of nicholas flamel (go read that too!) and DUH! harry potter. I've been itching to ogle over mortal instruments with someone. I read all the books in like three weeks, and I cannot wait till march. maybe I shall preorder it on amazon, the first time I would ever pre order a book because I started in the HP fandom seeing the movies and read all of them after all the books came out and then saw the last movie at midnight in one continuous cycle of awesome. lol...rambling done.