They had tried to keep their expectations low for the state in which they found Ron, but it was somehow more heartbreaking than they thought. It was hard to tell if he had been kissed by a dementor or tortured to insanity; he was just sitting in an improvised cell in some near-catatonic state. Almost immediately, there were suggestions that they should euthanize him.

"Why? So we can just bury him next to the others and be done with it?" Harry asked. Some of the injured and cursed were still recovering, but unlikely to become casualties in the way that Ernie and Hannah had. Almost always, as long as you were alive, someone at Saint Mungo's could help you, if no one else. Then, of course, there were the Longbottoms.

"That was a rash suggestion," a conscious Hermione said. "Let's take him in and see if there's anything that can be done first."

As obvious of a suggestion as that was, it was not as if no one could reasonably guess the answer. They all knew about Neville's parents, after all. It was hard to say what Ron would have wanted; as many plans as they all made; they had not accounted for what they would do if reduced to a vegetative state.

"He stated that he was willing to die for the cause," Michael said after a moment. It was as if he had just decided to voice any unpopular, risky takes after forever sabotaging his reputation. In a way, it was useful. "The war might be over, but it's a bad look that his voice was on the wireless. The less evidence there is, the better. We'll never be able to prove that we weren't the ones who tortured him."

"We would never be asked to prove it by anyone who cares," Hermione said. "What's been done by his comments can never be undone. It would be better to get him treated and have his memory restored."

"In terms of what people will believe, there's no telling," Harry said. "I don't really care, either. If history ever steps in and straightens everything out, then they'll all see that we helped our friend after he said things that weren't exactly good for us. That's the message that we can choose to send. We don't get to decide how anyone else responds."

"What do you think we can do for him, then?" Michael asked.

"I don't know. If all we can do is help him live out the rest of his days, then that's fine. I don't care what it costs. He's my friend, and he's done more than enough for the cause." He looked around. "No retaliations for suggestions. It's not necessary."

That was the end of the discussion. There had been a lot of questions answered for him from the short time he had been unconscious, but not all of the answers were terribly satisfying. The kidnappers in the Isle of Mann turned out to be no one of interest; he could only be glad that they solved a problem for someone else, though it apparently had nothing to do with their own. The questions left unanswered were worse.

"I don't know how we didn't lose more people after all this, to be honest," he said later, taking Hermione back to the familiar cot. "Numerically, we got off easy."

"Our strategies worked," she said. "To some extent, we have Ron to thank for that." She sighed. "I feel the same way, though. I keep asking myself if I needed more deaths to know that I'm not dreaming. I know several of the recruits died, but I never got to know them... innocent civilians died, grunts who might have been strongarmed or misinformed ended up dying. We managed our losses well, though."

"There's so much work ahead of us it doesn't feel like we're done with anything. I realized at some point that I was really only relieved that the mission was over and we survived. It really didn't change anything."

"We have effectively no threats now."

"That's true. I know it. I just-" He shook his head. "No, you're right. I don't know why I feel like this."

"Harry, that Horcrux inside of you might not be active, but it might still be... I don't think we should underestimate it. The Order is right in saying that fixing the wider damage that Voldemort has caused is a higher priority, but we're not abandoning it at all. There is no reason why you should just remain cursed with it." She looked around. "Can you still speak to snakes?"

"I haven't tried. Serpensortia." A snake appeared out of nowhere; it was a wonder he could do it when he had forgotten his wand was in his hand, seemingly without even trying. "It looks like it's saying something to me, but I can't understand it. It's looking at me."

"Do they normally say something to you just because?"

"It's not uncommon. I..." He took a breath and tried saying something, but he could not quite get the words to come out the way he wanted. Had he wanted that, though? What would it have meant if it had worked? What did it mean, now that it had not?

"I think this is a good sign. It's more likely than ever that the Horcrux in you is no longer active." Hermione took a breath.

"I- thank you; I- you're trying to console me when this isn't your fault and-"

"You're the one who's suffering." They sat down on the cot together. "You also haven't given up trying to help me regain consciousness."

That much was true. He had been reading up about it and had even commanded some recruits who still listened to every word he said rather than dispersing to aid in the security of their own communities to look into it themselves, but so far no easy solution presented itself.

"It's like you always do everything you possibly can for everyone else before even thinking about yourself."

"Don't give me too much credit. I didn't think there was a future for me."

"Harry, I..." She trailed off. "I don't want to say something I shouldn't. It's better if we continue this tomorrow."

"That's not a problem. I had a thought. It's probably pointless, but could we try to see if we can use Legilimency to connect with Ron?"

"I... I don't know. I'm sure you're familiar with being afraid to find out. I don't know if he still has a soul, Harry. I would feel better if someone else did it... as much as I want to help, anyone would say that I have to recuse myself."

"That's not- I shouldn't have asked." He shook his head. "Make the most of your rest. You've done more than enough already, but we already know we'll need your help again."

"I'm used to it."

Harry wondered if she had earlier gone through a brief convergence with the increased frequency of being asked for help and the toll it took on her where it was all very flattering and did not seem like too much of a burden. He shook his head at the thought; she had basically the same paralyzing humility, or maybe self-doubt, but lived off praise from adults as a child. There were ways in which they were alike, and ways in which they were different, but he felt like he at least understood what she had allowed him to see so far.

"Luna," he said, catching her attention upon seeing her going somewhere in the base, a stack of papers on her head. "Have you taken care of-" He stopped and tried to think of what it was. "There were some muggles who knew something, I can't quite-"

"I might have accidentally erased that event from your memory and you only remember a later discussion about it." She cocked her head. "Sorry. That must be confusing."

As weird and different as she had always been, she had never once failed to empathize with anyone. She looked silly just standing there with the paperwork balanced on her head, and he could not have guessed whether it was a spell or she was just somehow doing it naturally, but if she could learn to live with truly different people; he supposed he should have no trouble with something like that.

"I'm not upset. Did we ever handle that- while I was asleep or something?"

"Well, not completely. Your wish was to have them continue to investigate, but find nothing rather than just erase their memories. You thought it would be a more reliable way of keeping them from looking."

"Their investigation isn't done, then."

"No; they're being quite thorough." She smiled. "I don't know if I said this, but I like the way they look into things. They're so curious. Who would have thought of general relativity, or quantum mechanics?"

"I'm not entirely sure what those are, or who thought them up," Harry admitted. "Whatever you find out, though, let me know when they're done with their investigation. We still technically don't know what they're going to do when they don't find anything. Any idea how long that might be?"

"No." She smiled. "They're more resistant than we thought to being considered silly."

"Good show. Let me know what happens."

After basically assigning her to their case, he decided to head over to Hogwarts. With no serious resistance put up, the Order had been able to move back into the castle, and everyone not currently working on repairing the damage that Voldemort had done was holding classes to the same standard that they had during the war, if in a more familiar setting, with the advantages presented by the library and grounds. With only a few classes available, they were all mandatory, and multiple year levels were being taught together. It was a sign of the times, it was less than ideal, and it was not going to change any time soon, not until more staff were available. There were requests out for graduates to return and help with the most basic material, but it was a mistake to think that it was easy to teach, so he did not have much confidence that plan would succeed.

"Professor," he said, greeting the matronly teacher of Herbology. "How is everything?"

"Oh, the potions the Order asked of me I made months ago; that's how it is; never any kind of warning- I expect Professor Snape has his hands full."

That was perhaps the most surprising part of the whole thing; as much as he was contributing to the current crisis, there was no indication he would be doing anything other than returning to his duties as Potion master after his primary duties were done. According to him, there were no other Death Eaters worth mentioning. The parents, or at least those who seemed to speak for them, were actually somewhat enthused to see that there would be some continuity in the teaching staff; they had been looking for a return to normal, and apparently a central part of that was getting back someone good with potions and unnecessarily cruel to anyone of the wrong heritage, house, or end of some personal vendetta.

"What brings you here?" she asked him as soon as they reached the greenhouse. "I hope you haven't forgotten to hand something in."

"No; it's nothing like that," he said. "I just wanted to see how things were going. My friends think this is most of what I do now; just showing up and checking on things like some kind of organizer."

"It's not what I expected, I suppose. I had almost thought there would be a parade."

"Merlin; anything but that." He ran a hand over his face. "I had enough of being celebrated for a lifetime when we won the Quidditch cup back in third year."

"Diggory wasn't playing his best and you know it," Sprout said with a straight face before returning to a more pleasant expression. "It was that awful Ravenclaw saboteur- I know Flitwick put her up to it- first my best boy and then you, and look what happened; you were forbidden from the game the rest of the year."

"I suppose I never knew how much the two other houses got into the competition; I really thought the snakes were the only other ones who cared. I can't blame her for the fact that I attacked Malfoy right there on the field, though, and I can't blame her for Umbridge being the worst thing to ever happen to the school. I could deal with three more fun surprises left by the Founders before dealing with her again."

"Oh, pish posh, Helga Hufflepuff was too busy actually getting work done to bother with any of that. She built around eighty parts in ten of whole the castle and you never hear about it."

"I suppose," Harry repeated. Was it the best thing to say when finding something out for the first time? "What do we need here apart from teachers?"

"Oh, real teachers and not graduates who hardly remember their first-year lessons?" She sighed. "It would be nice if the students had something else to do, something to enrich them. The graduates might actually be able to show them what they do at their jobs, whatever they are, though I fear that the children might not see any need to really learn the academics."

"I don't know what would be a better option," he said after a moment. "I thought for a while that it was a shame people didn't really learn magic, but it's not like we can force them. They're just content to give up control of their daily reality. There were a fair few that came out of the woodwork and helped us, but no one else cared much about what the result of the war was. It doesn't matter now."

"Oh, there's no interest in making them suffer for failing to help?"

"No, not really. We're only interested in making sure those truly responsible can't do this sort of thing again and then keeping a clear record of everything. We'll always have a mountain of evidence if anyone ever wants to check on it."

"I suppose you did mature. You understand that there's plenty of work to do without making more for yourself."

"You can speak to Terry about how much work I've been making for myself," he said, agreeing. He had taken to sponsoring a school club of students who had come to appreciate everything that the DA, or whatever it was, had said of the Phoenix and the natural law that governed all. The turmoil at the Ministry had left many with no place to turn for a sense of stability, and many realized that the organization had rarely been telling the truth or administering justice since long before, and found they needed a starting point for what exactly truth and justice were. There were and would be, of course, lacking motives among everyone who was signing up for what was starting to look a lot like a religion, but they had already clarified their position on how they would not be wielding dogma like a weapon to punish their enemies. They had not, after all, used their temporary popularity in the same way.

The critics had come out of the woodwork as often as often as any of them made appearances. As a matter of principle, they were not sticking to a script when answering questions; the fact that they tolerated critics was the surest guarantee that they were, in fact, right about everything. It was only a fool that would listen to the critic and not the fact that the critic was allowed to speak. There was no guarantee that the country would be free and a nice place to live in the future; that it was free at the moment was only because there were several factors that no one was allowed to control. Hermione and some of the others familiar with nonmagical works had in meetings drawn a comparison to Orwell's rifle on the wall, but it was his current understanding that they missed the point; that wands were so much more than weapons and could accomplish so much more than the removal of a corrupt government. Any corrupt institution could first be circumvented, making the populace less reliant on it, and the most power-hungry people within would be the ones down to violent means of expanding influence first.

Harry found himself walking to Hogsmeade, where the town was recovering after an almost forgotten Death Eater attack; one he personally did not remember or could not place. It seemed like no one in the magical world had heard of insurance because things were so simple to fix, though in subtle ways the scars of the assault remained. The shop keepers were coming out to look at the skies; they were not being obvious about it, but making the trip outside just to adjust the hanging sign was probably the best example. Had they flown in on broomsticks? Had they apparated to the rooftops so that they would be able to attack from an unseen position? He shook his head; sure he could ask someone, but deciding to leave it to the contemporary historians.

"I can't believe it."

He turned around and saw Aberforth Dumbledore, the barman at the Hog's Head, who was an associate with the Order, but not helping them with anything at the moment.

"Can't believe I lived?"

"I can't believe you'd come back. I thought you had something more important to do," he said, inviting Harry in for a drink. It had been a while since they had seen each other; apparently he hit it off with Ron outside of meetings at the base. Everyone else thought it was odd that two wizards so far apart in age would be friends, but they did not seem to care what anyone else thought.

"I never run out of important things to do. That's the excuse, see; you can just keep saying something else is important and ends up getting put off." He took a sip of the firewhiskey and it was just as watered down as he expected; almost everywhere in the magical world you could get top-quality food, drinks, and service compared to the muggle world, and somehow the Hog's Head managed to be charmingly awful every time.

"Well, any time you want some place where no one with anything better to do will ever find you-"

"Oh, it's all self-inflicted. People will be tired of me in a week. They'll be complaining about how I'm always checking up and sticking my nose in things. Eventually I'll just be in here because it's less likely to draw criticism."

"Can't believe we've got our own washed up celebrity and he's only a seventh year."

"It's rough out here for child stars. Apparently just a few years ago a fourteen year old emancipated himself from his parents while in a film about how the real treasure is family or something." He paused. "A film is-"

"I know. Seen a few, actually. It's nice to get out there where no one expects anything. I was out west pre-code; it still isn't back to that."

"Well, if I ever need someone cynical, I'll know where to find you. Maybe that's why people come to the Hog's Head."

"People come here?"

They did not exactly crack up, but it reached a point where they seemed to think continuing the banter any further would be a waste. Harry had plenty of work to do, and he would return to it, and he had plenty of friends with problems, and he would get back to them, but before all that, he was having a drink with someone he could trust not to care about any of that. If there was one thing he learned in all the time he had spent fighting it was that there was not much point to it all, at least for most of the troops that he had to motivate, if that was all there was to the rest of his life. Greater heroes than himself, if the historical record was to be believed, had all been living, breathing people, and they all believed they had the next day for the next day's troubles.

The troubles of the day were more than enough.

This is the chronological end to the story. Thanks for reading; this was actually just an idea that kept developing and I kept liking where it was going. I wanted to produce something more focused and consistent than my last series and maybe one person on the planet could provide insight on whether or not I succeeded. I have a new idea, but I don't know when that will turn into a new story what with my other projects. As always, I appreciate reviews, even if it's been years since the story was published.