Author's Notes: I'll start off my sequel to Finding Heather by once again thanking you, the reader. I'm grateful to each and every one of you. I'm very glad to be continuing her story, and I make no predictions this time on where it will end. Please let me know what you think as you read, I always enjoy reading reviews and comments. I will say that there are certain tropes I have been asked to include or that seem to be expected, such as wizarding nobility, family rings, and the politics of the wizarding world. I choose to avoid these, as I don't think they do much to add to the story, and I doubt Heather would really care that much about them if they did.

I would like to thank my beta reader, MikkiSteel for all the edits and small errors that I missed.

As always, Harry Potter and his magical world does not belong to me but to JK Rowling.

Chapter One

She was running, and she knew that if she were to stop running, it would get her. Pain clutched in her chest as she gasped the cold air. Around her, revealing itself as though out of the mists, was an arched stone corridor with paned windows on one side opposite blank walls. In brief, hurried looks, she tried her best to see what lay beyond the darkened glass, but the only thing to be see was inky blackness. Her footfalls sounded loud in her ears, but they did not echo in the empty corridor like she expected them too. Instead the air seemed to swallow each of them up like a vacuum. Sweat dripped down her brow, stinging her eyes as she tried to remember again where she was going. She had been there before, she knew that for a fact, and it hadn't been that long ago. It had been white, and full of light, and safe.

Now darkness pursued her. She could feel its icy tendrils wafting across the back of her neck and catching around her ankles. How long it had been pursuing her, she didn't know. All that mattered was that it did not catch her. She risked a hurried glance over her shoulder, past the wild mess of black hair streaming in the wind, and saw it. A black shadow, deeper than the darkest night, swallowing up the corridor as it came ever onwards. As though it could see her staring, a voice called to her from its depths. It was low and chilling. It felt like each syllable dropped the temperature of the corridor several degrees. Even over the pounding of her feet and the gasping breaths, she heard it clearly. "Come back, come back and face death, Harry" it urged. Who this Harry was she had no idea, and right now it didn't rank very high on her list of things to worry about.

Fighting the fear that was filling her chest, she turned her eyes forward again and put on a renewed burst of speed. She needed to find safety, to get away. She had to find the light. There, appearing ahead of her as though she had summoned it was a turn in the corridor, from which she could see the barest hint of pale, golden light. Making a split-second decision, she threw herself around the corner, careening off the wall but managing to stay upright. "Come back, come back" whispered the voice again, now with malicious glee. Some twenty feet ahead of her was a door, wide open and emitting that same golden light. It was warm and comforting, and she knew that if she could only reach it, she would be safe.

She was feet from the opening, her arms outstretched as though she could physically grab hold of the beams of light and pull herself into them. Suddenly there was a yank around her ankle, and she went flying, her eyes gluing themselves shut as the floor rushed up to meet her. A tendril of darkness, as cold and hard as steel in winter had wrapped itself around her leg and was trying to pull her backwards. Before it could, her momentum carried her across the entryway, and the light took hold. At its touch, the tendril withdrew like it had been burned and she thought she heard a scream of pain. She landed hard on the now warm stone and heard the door slam behind her.

She was warm, that was the first thought her brain could muster. Soft, was the second. Yes, wherever this place was, it was warm and soft. Fog, like what had obscured the corridor she had just been sprinting down, filled her head. preventing any further thought for what seemed a long while. It was wonderful to lay here in the warmth. With time, her senses expanded, and she realized that she had arms, and then eventually fingers. They were laying on soft fabric. She made two of her fingers rub a fold of the fabric between them, marveling at the sensation.

"Heather?" called a soft voice, as though from miles away. It wasn't the same voice she had heard coming from the darkness, this one was kind and full of concern. "Heather," it repeated, "Are you awake?" Who was Heather? Wasn't her name Harry? No, that didn't sound right either. A hand touched her shoulder, and her eyes, which until that moment she wasn't aware that she had, opened with a snap. Light flooded them, blinding her. She screwed them tightly against the pain lancing across her forehead. It took several moments before she risked cracking her left eye open the tiniest amount. All she could see was brilliant, white light. "I've been here before" she thought she heard a voice say. "Yes, this is where I saw Dumbledore." She didn't know why, but this made her feel sad.

Opening her eyes a bit further, blobs of color began to coalesce within the light. A pale oval surrounded by a mass of dark brown was hovering a few feet above her. Once her eyes had accustomed themselves to the brightness, she blinked them in an effort to bring the world into a shaper focus.

"Madam Pomfrey!" the blob shouted, sending more lightening bolts through the girl's head, "She's awake!" The shape turned back to the girl and gently placed a pair of glasses on her face. The weary, concerned face of Hermione Granger resolved itself immediately peering intently into the girl's face. "Heather?" Hermione asked again.

"Who is Heather?" was what the girl opened her mouth to ask. Instead, all that came out was a dry wheezing.

Any further questions from Hermione were cut off by the bustling entrance of another witch. This one the girl couldn't instantly place, but she knew that whoever this woman was, she made her feel comfortable. It was only now that she noticed the curtains that ringed her bed, cutting off the rest of the high-ceilinged room from view. She knew this place too, now that she was paying attention; she'd been here before many times. In that instant, it all rushed back to her. Hogwarts. Hospital Wing. Danger! Can't be here! He'll catch me! Snape! Voldemort! Horcruxes! Have to hide! Have to run! These thoughts tore through Heather Potter's head with the speed of a Firebolt. Trying to put these feelings into action, she made to push herself upright and race from the bed, but she hadn't moved an inch before the older witch stopped her with a firm hand.

"Relax, Potter!" Madam Pomfrey squawked in alarm. "You mustn't hurt yourself further! Drink this." Without warning a goblet was pressed to Heather's lips and tilted so its contents forced themselves into her mouth. It was cool and brought instant relief to the dry chasm that was Heather's mouth. The goblet wasn't removed until all its contents had been emptied, which took longer than it might because Madam Pomfrey was determined to not drown the girl once she had started to drink.

When the last drops had been swallowed, Heather tried once again to push herself up. She had to get out of here before he found her again. The hand on her shoulder did not yield to her attempts. Madam Pomfrey may not have been the youngest of witches, but she was more than capable of enforcing her will on the weakened girl laying in front of her.

"Heather, you've got to relax!" said Hermione fervently.

"But," spluttered Heather, finally able to make her mouth form something resembling speech, "HIM!"

"Heather, he's gone. You beat him, remember?" Hermione said, concern again creasing her brow.

"I-"

"She's right, my dear. He-who-shall-not-be named is dead." Madam Pomfrey said kindly, her grip on Heather's shoulder loosening slightly.

"Dead…" Heather muttered slowly, her gaze falling away and becoming lost in the folds of the curtains. Her head might be working again, but somehow that idea seemed beyond what was possible.

"Yes, dear," said the Madam Pomfrey, "dead." There was a tremor of finality in her voice which left Heather with no doubt that it was the truth. Madam Pomfrey, satisfied that Heather wasn't going to try and run again, removed her hand. Heather's head swam with the implications, and before she could stop herself, she rolled over to the opposite side of the bed and vomited. The only thing in her stomach was the potion she had just drunk, but even once that was completely up her stomach continued to heave.

"Sorry" she muttered once she pulled herself back onto the bed. She dragged the sleeve of her robe over her mouth, wiping away any lingering remains.

"Completely natural, my dear" said the Matron, vanishing the puddle with a wave of her wand.

"What's the last thing you remember?" asked Hermione.

Heather's first thought was to say Shell Cottage, but that didn't seem right. Disjointed memories of a dark vault filled with glittering treasure, riding a dragon, screams and flashes of light as people she knew died around her, for her, a dark circle of trees, then…nothing. "The forest" she heard herself saying.

"That's right," said Hermione quietly, tears forming at the corner of her eyes. "You went into the forest to find Voldemort. You…you had to let him kill you."

"But…I'm alive?" Heather asked. As she asked this, Madam Pomfrey reached down to take her pulse.

"You most certainly are, Miss Potter. Very much so" she declared firmly.

"How?" asked Heather. Her head was beginning to pound now, and she could feel her breath getting heavier as she tried to remain calm.

Madam Pomfrey must have noticed this because she cut off Hermione's next sentence. "I think that's quite enough of that for right now. What matters right now is that you are alive, and more importantly, you are safe. Tomorrow is quite soon enough to worry about anything else." From a pocket in her apron she drew out a small bottle of purple potion. "I'm sure you remember this well enough. What you need right now is a good night's rest. Miss Granger, I will allow you to remain until Miss Potter here falls asleep, so long as you do not discuss anymore of last night's events. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied Hermione, lowering herself into a chair next to the bed.

"Excellent, and you, Potter, I expect that potion drunk. I shall be checking in again soon to make that it has been." With that, she turned and pushed her way back through the curtain. They must have been charmed because the moment they closed the sound of her footsteps was gone.

Under Hermione's gaze, Heather downed the potion in three long gulps, followed by several more of water from a pitcher on the bedside table. She looked around the ward, what little of it she could see. Outside the window the sky was a deep red, fading slowly to black at the edges. "Where's Ron?" she asked after setting herself back into a comfortable position.

"Sleeping. We took turns watching over you today." Hermione answered, reaching out to take Heather's hand where it lay on the blanket. They lapsed into silence while Heather tried to mull over what Voldemort being dead actually meant. Before she was aware of it, darkness overtook her, and she fell fast asleep. When Madam Pomfrey checked in fifteen minutes later, she saw Heather's chest slowly rising a falling, while Hermione gently stroked her best friend's hand.

The next thing Heather was aware of was that light was once more enveloping her, forcing its way through her closed eyelids. When she came too, she found that thinking came easier than it had yesterday, or was that last week? Something was tickling her nose as she breathed, and she opened her eyes to see strands of black hair cascading over her face. With each exhale, a few wispy pieces would flutter into the air and then come back to land on her nose. There was something enjoyable about watching it flutter.

In her sleep she had cast off the blankets, revealing a pale body wrapped in a white robe, secured at the waist by a sash. She pushed herself upwards, and felt a tight constriction around her chest. Peeling back the robe, she saw her torso encircled by thick white bandages, starting just under her armpits and stopping just above her navel. It wasn't painful, though they did squeeze her breasts uncomfortably. From underneath the cloths she felt a dull pain radiating through her.

As she massaged the area, a voice broke in on her thoughts. "Yes, dear. That's where he hit you." Madam Pomfrey had stuck her head through the curtains, either summoned by Heather's awakening or simply making her rounds at just that moment. "It's going to be sore for a little while." She pushed through the curtains and placed the back of her hand on Heather's forehead. "You seem to be better today. You gave us quite a fright yesterday."

"How long was I out?" Heather asked. As if in answer to this, her stomach let out a protracted, very audible growl. Madam Pomfrey chuckled. "You've been here since yesterday morning. The Minister and the Headmistress brought you up from the grounds sometime after the battle ended. According to Miss Granger and Mister Weasley, you passed out from sheer exhaustion. Do you remember anything about that?"

Yes, Heather did remember now sitting on a piece of rubble after the battle with Ron and Hermione, reveling in the morning sunshine and just enjoying being alive. She had been telling them what had happened in the forest, speaking to her parents and Dumbledore. Then, she had been in the corridor, being chased. No, that must have been a dream. It still wasn't very clear. She thought about asking Madam Pomfrey about the darkness but decided against it.

"Where are Hermione and Ron?" she asked, skirting the question for the time being. Madam Pomfrey, apparently satisfied with Heather's temperature, continued with her examination.

"Waiting outside in the corridor, rather impatiently I might add," she said with a bemused expression. They were both here at the crack of dawn to see you. If you're up to it I will allow them to visit with you while you eat, but afterwards I will need to complete a more thorough examination."

After she had exited, less than five seconds passed before Ron Weasley tore through the curtains, followed by Hermione. Hermione was looking rested today, though she still looked concerned. Ron reached Heather's bedside and stopped short, apparently unsure if he was comfortable hugging his best friend. "Blimey" he said, "you gave us a hell of a scare, mate." He looked horrible, though Heather kept this thought to herself. His hair was extremely tousled, sticking every which way. He was doing his best to keep a grin on his face, but it didn't reach his bloodshot and deadened eyes.

"Ron" Hermione breathed admonishgly as she yanked the curtains back into place and pulled a second chair next to Heather's bed. Before anyone could speak, a house elf that Heather did not recognize appeared carrying a tray. He set it on Heather's lap, bowed with an excited squeak, and vanished again.

Heather let Ron do most of the talking while she tried to wolf down the spartan meal the Matron had ordered for her. It consisted of dry toast, eggs, a single sausage, and orange juice. As hungry as she had been only moments before, the dark bags and empty look of Ron's eyes had robbed her of that. He spoke in a deadpan at first, which seemed at odds with the, mostly, good news. Hermione interjected occasionally, and from the sound of it quite a bit had happened while Heather had been asleep. She remembered Kingsley Shacklebolt being named Minister for Magic after the battle, and from the sound of it he had dived into his new job head first.

"Dad and Percy went with him to the Ministry after uh…." said Ron, his voice dropping even lower.

Seeing this, Hermione added, "They took Fred to the Burrow yesterday first."

"Yeah." Ron said then shook his head as though warding off bad thoughts. "Then they helped retake the Ministry."

"Retake it?" asked Heather around a mouthful of toast.

"Yeah! There were still holdouts of You-know-who's lot there, trying to hold onto power. According to Dad it got pretty ugly."

"I thought Voldemort brought all his death eaters here," said Heather.

"So did we. 'Course, plenty got away in the scuffle." Ron said.

"But, I thought you couldn't apparate from the grounds?" said Heather. She did her best not to look at Hermione as she said this

"The wards were damaged in the battle" Hermione stated, "and the death eaters that ran met up with the forces that Voldemort left to watch over the Ministry."

"And put up a hell of a fight, according to Dad" added Ron.

"Is it over?" Heather asked, swallowing hard and doing her best not to vomit again.

"Well, yes and no." Hermione said cautiously. "Yes, the Ministry is now under Kingsley's control, as well as Azkaban and several other important locations, but there are still areas, mostly private residences and such, where Death Eater's are holed up."

"Why aren't the Aurors going after them?" asked Heather.

"Cause, mate, there aren't enough of them. Between the ones who fought against us with You-Know-Who and the ones who just caved in and toed the line of the old regime, Kingsley's had to gut the entire department. The ones who are left are busy protecting the Ministry and Hogwarts." Ron answered.

Heather's head fell back onto her pillow and she stared up at the ceiling. It wasn't over. She had defeated Voldemort, an act that should have ended the war in a single stroke. Instead it continued on, who knew for how long. Ron was still talking, but Heather wasn't paying attention. She tried to wrap her head around this new world she had woken up too. So much had happened, it hardly seemed possible that only two days ago she, Hermione, and Ron had set off to break into Gringotts.

It wasn't all bad however. With Azkaban back in Ministry hands, everyone who had been imprisoned there had been released and was getting medical care. The dementors had been driven off, but it would be days or weeks before the prison could be secured enough to relocate the captured death eaters there. The prisoners who had survived the battle were being kept under guard in the dungeons. Fittingly enough, the Carrows had built several cells there for locking up troublesome students. Now, it was they who were locked in them, along with the rest of their fellows.

At a nudge from Hermione, Ron noticed that Heather wasn't really paying attention and changed the subject. "It was a madhouse in the Entrance Hall after you collapsed. With you being taken upstairs, it just left us to answer everyone's questions."

"In the end Kingsley had to invoke the power of the Ministry to get some of them to leave," added Hermione. "It was horrible. Once the battle was over and word got out about what happened, thousands of people showed up, hoping for a glimpse of you."

"Yeah" interjected Ron bitterly, "couldn't be bothered to come fight, but as soon as the danger passed everyone wants to join in. They all ran off quick when Kingsley started asking for volunteers to help with clean up, though. That was when Mum and Dad decided to leave too."

"I'm so sorry-" Heather began, thinking of Fred, but Ron looked up abruptly and cut her off.

"Don't you start that. None of this is your fault, you understand me?" The earnestness in his gaze, verging on irritation brushed aside any protestations Heather could made. Closing her mouth, she mutely nodded, trying her best to accept his words.

After a few moments of tense silence, Ron's gaze softened and he sat back in his chair. Hermione hesitantly said into the quiet, "Heather, did you mean what you said this morning? About Harry Potter being dead?"

"Yes." Heather answered matter-of-factly. She wasn't going back. A small smile crossed her lips as she recalled making a promise to that effect to Luna Lovegood.

Hermione nodded. "Then you should know, even over the details of you defeating Voldemort, that's the only other thing on everyone's mind. Everyone who was in the Great Hall heard your declaration of not being Harry Potter anymore, and it didn't take long for the name Heather to start spreading from all the members of Dumbledore's Army who heard Luna call you that in the Room of Requirement."

"It's not like it's really a secret anymore" replied Heather, shrugging.

"True, but since only a few of us know the real truth about you becoming Heather, rumors and speculation are running wild. It's not going to be long before questions are going to be asked. I think you'll have to say something, and soon."

Another weight settled onto Heather's chest. How would the wizarding world react to the news? Would her newly restored credibility as the witch who had defeated Voldemort, not to mention fought and escaped him time and time again through her life, shield her at all? Probably not, she thought honestly. If she had realized anything since learning she was famous, it was that gossip and chatter only got worse.

"I'm sure that cow Skeeter has already published something saying I'm a nutter?" she asked.

"Surprisingly no." replied Hermione. "It would seem that she is towing the official line for the time being."

"It's only a matter of time" said Heather darkly.

"Probably doesn't want to get murdered for calling 'The Chosen One,' or whatever lunatic name they come up with next." Ron added.

"Just what I need, another nickname" spat Heather. Ron chuckled at this, which led Hermione to join in, followed by Heather. It was a full five minutes before they stopped laughing. It wasn't that what Heather had said was all that funny, but just being able to worry about something so small and inconsequential felt freeing.

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled in again. "Alright, out you two. You've had an hour to talk. I need to give this young lady a thorough examination." Ron's ears went slightly pink at this, and he beat a hasty retreat, shouting over his shoulder as he disappeared around the curtain "We'll wait for you."

Once the curtains were back in place, Madam Pomfrey helped Heather gently onto her feet. She pulled back the robe, revealing the bandages and a good portion of Heather's upper body to the cool air. As the matron's fingers probed, Heather realized for the first time that other than the robe, she was completely naked. She shuddered, and her cheeks flushed a bright pink.

"Relax, young lady. It's nothing I haven't seen a hundred times before, though perhaps not in quite your configuration. Your bag is at the foot of your bed. Once I'm done here you can dress." Twenty minutes later, Madam Pomfrey pronounced her in mostly good health, and well on her way to recovery. "Other than some cuts and bruises, the only real damage you seem to have taken is to your chest, which is healing nicely. Ordinarily I would be able to mend your bruised ribs in a heartbeat, but wounds caused by dark magic take longer to heal. I am also pleased to say that you seem to be suffering no ill effects from missing several doses of your potion in the last year. Miss Granger has already told me that you carried some on your journeys, but not enough to taken them as needed."

Heather nodded. "Yeah, Hermione really had everything packed."

"So it would seem. I am currently working on a fresh batch for you that will be ready by tomorrow. That is, if it is your intention to continue taking them."

"Why wouldn't I?" asked Heather.

"I assumed that would be your answer. I will ensure it is delivered tomorrow. Now, I should warn you before you leave, you need to prepare yourself."

"For what?" asked Heather.

"Potter," Madam Pomfrey exhaled, sounding exasperated, "The entire wizarding world wants to know everything that has happened to you during the past year. If Professor McGonagall and the Minister hadn't forbade it, the castle would be swarming with well wishers and reporters all trying to get five seconds with you. Even the other patients here are asking questions. You're going to have to say something soon, especially about all of this" she explained, gesturing at Heather's body."

It was Heather's turn to sigh loudly. "Oh, that. Yeah, I know. Hermione's already warned me. So much for a quiet life after the war was over."

The Matron looked at her with an amused smile, "Miss Potter, I have watched you through your entire career here at Hogwarts. You are hardly someone who was ever going to have a quiet life. Merlin knows you got that from your father. Now," she said, rising and moving towards the curtains, "I will let you dress. The Headmistress has asked to see you as soon as I was done looking at you."

Left alone, Heather scooped up her rucksack and began pulling out pieces of clothing at random. Fleur had made sure that all of their laundry had been clean before leaving Shell Cottage, so she had several outfits to choose from, all of which were well worn with use. As her hands rummaged blindly through the folds of cloth, her fingers took hold of a thin stick of wood. The Elder Wand. Someone must have put it in here after she had collapsed. Mentally reminding herself to put it back in Dumbledore's tomb at the first opportunity, she shoved it further into the recesses of the bag and out of her mind.

She debated pulling on a bra, but decided the bandages did a good enough job restraining her small breasts already and the added pressure would probably make her chest hurt worse. It was strange to leave that off, and she couldn't shake the feeling she was missing something. She pulled a t-shirt on, followed by jeans, trainers, and a jacket. From the bedside table she picked up her holly wand and conjured a floating mirror. Much as it had been for as long as she could remember, her hair was sticking up every which way. Opting for speed as opposed to looks, Heather drew it back into a ponytail, tying it off with a ribbon conjured from her wand. Her face gazed back at her, tired but determined. "I could look a lot worse" she thought as she tied her rucksack shut and banished the mirror. Bracing herself, Heather pulled aside the curtains, trying her best to be ready to face the rest of the wizarding world.