Harry Potter and the Rise of the Phoenix

A light, falling mist was all that remained from the thunderstorm that had hit around midnight, slowly drenching the last remaining fighters of the Battle of the Lost Cathedral. The sun was just beginning to inch above the horizon in the east, which was clear of clouds. By the time the sun was fully above the horizon, even the mist would be gone from the area. Birds sang in the trees, animals rooted among the leaf litter looking for food, and insects began to buzz. Nature was returning to normal.

Michael the Blacksmith, chief of the Cathedral's ghosts, floated around the area unobserved by the mortals cleaning up from the battle that had occurred the day before. The living still remained, repairing the damage to the forest from the explosion in the Mercenary Barracks, destroying Dark tomes from behind the altar, and neutralizing poisons that were brewing in the crypts.

Michael the Blacksmith was thankful that the Evil and his demons would be gone from his home. Though he liked their newest member, Alec the Auror, none of the ghosts had appreciated hiding. Unlike the Muggles they'd driven off centuries ago, this Dark Wizard could not be cowed by the likes of them. They, Michael the Blacksmith and his contemporaries, hadn't even been able to drive off the Dark wizards who had killed them so long ago.

Why would it be any different now when they were dead?

So, they waited. The ability to become invisible at will and float through walls came in handy at times like this. Alec the Auror had said the mortals knew of the place's location, they just didn't have the manpower to attack such a strong location as this... yet. When the Purifier had arrived with his Guard of Honor, Michael the Blacksmith knew their wait was over.

Soon, maybe even by noon, the mortals would leave, and this place would be theirs once more.

First, Michael the Blacksmith wanted to make sure someone found Alec the Auror's remains and those others who had lived and suffered and died below in the crypts at the hand of the demons. So he floated, invisible, among the workers, trying to locate one who would allow him to lead the way to the hidden cells and properly care for those there.

A giant of a man lifted a young tree ripped from the ground and set it aright, stomping the dirt back down and hacking off a few branches so that it wouldn't suffer greatly from its loss of roots. Spying a single whole egg on the ground from where the crown of the tree had been, the man gently picked it up and searched the branches for the nest it belonged to.

Michael the Blacksmith found it first and solidified his hand to point it out. The man blinked, but said nothing of it. He placed the egg tenderly in the nest.

"Hopefully yer Momma survived, lil'un," he mumbled to it. "Wha' can I do fer you, ghost?"

Michael the Blacksmith smiled; this mortal would do wonderfully. He beckoned with his fingers, and started to float back to the Cathedral. The man followed, his booted feet stepping carefully through the undergrowth. He stopped when someone hailed him from across the way. A young man with red hair and a spattering of freckles ran up to them.

"'Ey, Bill," the giant said as the man approached.

"Where you going, Hagrid?" the new man asked.

The first man, Hagrid, pointed to the faint outline of Michael the Blacksmith's hand.

"The dead wan' some 'elp," Hagrid said. "So I'm 'elping."

"I'll come too, if you don't mind," the second, Bill, replied. "I've got nothing better to do out here. Cleaned up all the remaining curses and what not. Was a breeze after the Pyramids."

Michael the Blacksmith wasn't overjoyed about this development, but both men stared at his ghostly hand, waiting. Knowing he was now stuck with both, he moved on, going through an opening large enough for the large man. He led them down into the crypts, waiting patiently for this Hagrid to navigate the tightly spiraling staircase. Once down, he led them past those working on the poisons, past those searching, and through a very cleverly hidden door.

It had been this door that had fooled Michael the Blacksmith and his contemporaries. It had been this door that had led to their downfall, allowing the dark wizards access to the sanctuary and kill them all. Beyond it, the Cathedral's ghosts waited. Rebeckah the Seamstress smiled at the younger man; if Michael the Blacksmith remembered properly, Rebeckah the Seamstress' husband had been a redhead. Alec the Auror looked eager to have his body found and released though a proper burial. David the Butcher glared at Hagrid; his mother had been killed by a giant when he'd been a small boy. Mary the Potioneer laid a calming arm on David the Butcher's arm, reminding her husband that not all giants had been enemies with just a touch.

"Is it just me or did it get cold in here?" Bill asked, keeping his voice light even though Michael the Blacksmith could see the nervous fear in him.

Hagrid shrugged. His moleskin coat would keep away most chills. Both mortals jumped when every ghosts' solidified one of their hands. He didn't blame them; they numbered thirteen now. Leading the ghosts, who led the mortals, Michael the Blacksmith brought them deeper into the crypts, where the dungeon was.

"Blimey," Bill said, as he realized where they'd brought them. Each of the twenty cells were filled, either with a body long dead or a prisoner near death's door. "I'm going to go get some healers down here," Bill went on, and he sprinted out. Michael the Blacksmith looked at the Seamstress and she nodded. Rebeckah the Seamstress floated through the walls, hurrying to catch up with the mortal so that she could lead him back.

The ghosts watched as Hagrid carefully released the living prisoners from their bonds, using the keys hanging near the secret door to the dungeon. He placed his coat over a shivering girl, the non-Magical girl who believed in them. The one that spoke in a language none had heard before when the deliriums gripped her.

Michael the Blacksmith was sorry Arya the Muggle couldn't become a ghost. They had visited her and comforted her, before the deliriums had become more real than reality. All the prisoners had taken comfort from the ghost's presence. It had been Alec the Auror's idea to drive the demons and the Evil from the crypts, if not the whole Cathedral. Once they'd done that, David the Butcher had convinced a nearby ghoul, a friendly one, to help carry food and water to the mortals.

Arya the Muggle cried out, shrieking about a nightmare man. The Evil had killed her mother and her second father, as well as everyone belonging to her village. She had told Michael the Blacksmith how someone had controlled the Evil and made it let her go. She'd run and run and run, but they'd found her eventually. They had brought her back here, for no other reason than that someone had spared her. She'd sat in her cell, listening as the other prisoners were tortured. They had ignored her, except for food.

She'd die before the day was out. He'd seen death enough to know that. He knew this Hagrid would take care of her during her last hours among the living.

The Healers arrived, and they took one look at her before moving on. Hagrid yelled at them, but Michael the Blacksmith knew that any effort would be wasted on her. Her mind was long gone; her body was longing for death, pleading for it to come soon. Death was waiting for her allotted time to run its course; neither would have to wait much longer.

Hagrid growled, and picked the girl up in his arms, lifting her as if she weighed no more than a rag doll; Michael the Blacksmith was surprised to realize that she probably didn't weigh much more than that to this giant of a man. He led the way through the crypts, taking Hagrid to the surface. He watched as this Hagrid got someone to give him a Portkey and was gone.

Michael the Blacksmith smiled.

That had gone better than he'd expected.

When the sun was high in the sky, the last of the mortals left. They took with them the last of the work: Stubborn poisons and books were carefully spelled and transported to a safe location for further work. The skeletons from the crypts were taken to Hogwarts to await funerals. The prisoners had long gone to receive serious medical aid.

No one remained. Nothing of the Evil befouled their home.

The ghosts came from their hiding spots deep within the crypts. They reveled in the return of their empty cathedral and haunted in peace.

When Harry woke up the next morning, he felt eyes on him.

A lot of eyes on him.

More eyes than he liked so early in the morning before his mind had really woken up. He blinked and threw his arm out to grab his glasses only to hit empty air. He remembered, then, that he was in the Great Hall, under guard, so that he wouldn't go back and help with clean up at the cathedral.

"Glasses?" he croaked, wishing he had inherited his mum's eyesight along with the eye color. A fuzzy shape with red hair that could only be Mrs. Weasley approached him and handed the glasses to him. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley." He put them on and wished he couldn't see the eyes looking at him as well as feel them.

"You're welcome, Harry," she said kindly. She looked around and smiled apologetically. "You've become quite a hero."

"I know," he muttered. "Doesn't mean I got to like it."

"Nancy, he's awake," she called and Harry smiled as the old witch approached him. Her white hair was a mess after what had to have been an all nighter. She smiled as well and then went through the familiar spells to make sure everything was all right.

"You're leg is going to give you problems your whole life," she told him. "Nothing too bad, probably just stiffness. Otherwise, you've got a clean bill of health. I'm going to leave it in the cast for a few days so that it can strengthen on its own. It'll be better for it. Molly, you want to take him to Ginny's bed, I'm sure he'd like to be briefed on her situation."

Mrs. Weasley nodded, her eyes darkening as if she was close to tears. She helped him up, and Harry was grateful to find he was still in the clothes he had worn under his Auror robes the day before. He hadn't felt up to walking around in hospital robes or pajamas, not with all these people looking at him. With an arm around her shoulders and one of her arms around his waist, Harry managed to hobble over to the bed where Ginny was sleeping.

"My mum said it's a nasty curse," he whispered as Mrs. Weasley levered him into a comfortable chair.

"It is," Mrs. Weasley agreed, quickly understanding what he'd meant. "They have her stabilized, and once things calm down a bit, they'll have time to actually break it properly. Do you remember Callan Quirke?" Harry nodded, wondering how she expected him to have forgotten the Healer who had helped rehabilitate him over the summer and gotten him permission first to go flying and later to play Quidditch. "She's been around and will probably end up as Ginny's main healer."

"What happened once Hermione left to return to the cathedral?" he asked, trying to distract Mrs. Weasley from Ginny's state. He was horrified to realize she was closer to tears than ever.

"Ron had gone after the Death Eaters who had betrayed Voldemort, along with O'Neil and another Auror," she said softly. "When Hermione found them, the Auror was dead, O'Neil was the only one fighting, and a curse had nearly eaten away all of Ron's lower right arm. She sent a Patronus to Fred who she'd seen as she was flying, and she along with Fred, Angelina, and Mundungus Fletcher saved them. Hermione got another Portkey from a Healer and brought both O'Neil and Ron back here. Ron's over on that bed there," she said pointing. "Quirke stopped the curse from spreading further, but once things settle down, they'll have to amputate above the curse to stop it from spreading in the years to come. She's got to renew her spell every twenty minutes. His Quidditch career is over before it even begun," she said sadly, looking over at her youngest son.

A few minutes of silence passed, Harry looking back and forth between Ginny's and Ron's beds. He knew more must have happened, but he couldn't question Mrs. Weasley further, not after that tale. He was afraid what other bad tidings she might give.

"Why don't you go check up on Ron?" he suggested and she nodded, bustling off. Harry remained sitting next to Ginny's bed, his left leg stretched out, and his fingers tapping the cast absentmindedly.

"I told you to watch your leg," Luna said as dreamy as ever as she stepped to stand next to him. Neville was leaning on her other side. "But no one ever listens to me." Harry had to think hard to figure out what she was talking about. Remembering he had to smile at the blonde woman.

"You only asked me if it was alright, last year after the Ravenclaw game where we beat Cho and them," he replied, his smile failing when he said Cho's name.

"So you know then?" Neville asked.

"I know who died up until I came here," he answered, not wanting to speak about what had happened after he'd disappeared. He was next to positive he'd never speak of it, this side of Death. No wonder Ravenclaw had never written about what had happened with the spell, Harry doubted Slytherin would have wanted to speak about it any more than he did. Would they even believe him? "What happened after that? I know about Ron and obviously Ginny. How's Hermione? I don't see her around. And Remus, how's he taking Thia's death? Tonks? Severus?"

"Harry, stop and let us answer," Luna chided him. "'Severus' is alive, though barely. He threw himself into clean-up once you where taken away. He's taking up a lot of the healers with curse-breaking background, with Healer Quirke in charge. A nasty curse was protecting a poison bubbling in the crypts. Fool of a man was too tired to realize it until too late."

"Tonks is alright," Neville answered. "She disappeared with Remus into their rooms once they got back near midnight. I'm not too sure he's taking his sister's death well."

"Hermione's been all over, as a parrot and a woman, helping everywhere she can," Luna continued. "She's even been to Azkaban to take Terry O'Murray herself in. Oh, I've never seen Hermione so determined before. It was delightful. Ron managed to capture Draco Malfoy before Celeste Blackstone cursed him."

"So they're in Azkaban?"

"Were," Neville said, sadly.

"The three got out when the Aurors were bringing in Dolohov and a few others," Luna said with a shake of her head. "There was just too much traffic in and out and not enough people at Azkaban to book them all. Gawain Roberts is furiously apologetic about it. Hermione nearly blew up the poor owl who had delivered the note, she was so angry."

Harry nodded, unsure of how he felt about the three traitorous Death Eaters.

"You do know that O'Murray was the one to kill Thia, don't you?" Neville asked, but didn't seem surprised when Harry shook his head no. "Apparently, O'Murray and Blackstone were dueling Tonks and Thia, when Thia destroyed O'Murray's eye. You had to have seen it roughly bandaged." Harry nodded; he had wondered about it last night. "O'Murray was beside herself with anger and Thia died because of it."

"So what were you two up to during the battle?" he asked, looking at them.

During their stories, Quirke came quickly to reapply the spell on Ron's arm and check over Ginny. She rushed back to the end of the hall where the worst cases where. He recognized many of the healers down there from his multiple stays at St. Mungo's, both as a patient and as a visitor.

"Who's Blaise sitting next to?" he asked as his eyes fell on the Slytherin.

"Sephra," Luna said softly. Harry gaped at them.

"They don't think she'll make it to noon," Neville added, even more softly, as if his words were a curse that could infect those nearby. "Blaise hasn't left her side since they brought her here before nightfall."

"It breaks my heart, seeing him like that," Luna said softly.

"Never thought I'd be pitying a Slytherin," Seamus said, dragging over his chair from a nearby bed. He conjured up another one, a large cushy armchair large enough for both Luna and Neville. "Amazing how the last two years have changed us."

"I've got to go check up on Padma," Luna told the boys. She kissed Neville on the check and smiled goodbye to Harry and Seamus. They watched her leave.

"She's such an oddball," Harry confided with Neville.

"I know, but she's such a loveable oddball," Neville admitted.

"I'm glad she hasn't changed too much," Harry said. "She's gotten in touch a bit more with the real world, but hasn't lost her... oddities."

"Yeah," Neville agreed, distracted. His eyes fell to his hands, and Harry watched him wring them.

He looked around the Great Hall, and realized that they hadn't suffered too badly. Considering that the battle had raged for almost eight hours, the fact that only about forty beds held patients with very anxious healers spoke of how lucky they'd been.

Of course, Death Eaters went for the throat, killing more than injuring if they could manage.

Maybe a hundred or so beds held those who were stabilized but still needing attention. Harry was sure there would be at least a hundred or more like him—injured but relatively fine, free to go or come as they pleased.

Thinking about his freedom, he stood and hobbled around the room, greeting those who were awake and staring at him. Seamus and Neville didn't move or acknowledge him leaving. It seemed they were both still in shock.

He stopped at Sephra's bed and placed a hand on Blaise's shoulder. Harry doubted the other man had even noticed it. Sephra looked as if she was asleep; though, when he looked at her neck, he spotted a red line around her throat, as if an invisible cord strangled her.

He stopped at Ron's bed and gave Mrs. Weasley a hug, something he should have done as soon as he woke up. It surprised her, but in a good way. She clung to him, and Harry realized that none of the other Weasley's were around—unless they were on a bed.

"It'll be alright, Mrs. Weasley," he said, and he was genuinely surprised that he actually meant it. "It'll sort itself out; don't you worry."

"Tonks told me the story of what happened," she said, squeezing him tighter. "I'm glad you reappeared. We'd have missed you."

"I couldn't let you all down," he said, pulling away.

He smiled at her, and looked down at his best mate. Ron, too, looked as if he was asleep, until Harry looked at his arm. The hand itself was an indistinguishable pile of mold, and the greens, browns, oranges, and reds of the different molds ran up his arm, feathering up to run along a straight line an inch or two above the elbow. That must be where Quirke had managed to place the stop. "That is disgusting. Has someone taken a picture for prosperity's sake?" he asked, smiling as he remembered the picture Fred and George had from last November. That picture of Ginny, with the poison-induced chartreuse spider-web like affect, was still a favorite of the twins. If the twins could get a shot of this, it would join the other.

"No," she said, glaring at Harry. Then she too smiled. "Fred and George haven't had time yet. I'm sure they'll get a chance before its—" She broke off, and swallowed. "He's going to be crushed when he wakes up. And he can't until it's off. If his bed gets bumped, and the arm moves even the slightest, I have to get Quirke over here quickly to reset the spell. Any movement destroys it."

"So that's why they have to amputate," he said softly. He'd wondered why, if there was a spell to stop its advance, why it would have to come off. But, if any movement at all disturbed it— "He'll probably end up with a job as a scout. He's good at scouting out talent. All the reserves he picked out this year were great."

"I hope so," she said doubtfully.

"Either way, Hermione and I'll set him straight." She smiled and he gave her a quick hug before returning to his inspection of the room.

He was surprised when Hagrid came in carrying a body. He watched as the half-giant laid it down carefully on an empty bed, one he recognized as his, and hurried over to a Healer. The Healer hurried back to the body, a girl's he realized, and cast several spells before shaking his head and apologizing to Hagrid.

"'Ear this! She deserves 'ttention! Not 'er fault to be mixed inta our mess!" Harry hurried as fast as he could in a leg cast, trying to figure out what was going on and avoiding a scene involving his first friend and guide in the magical world.

"I'm sorry, I really am," he heard the healer say. "She's lost too much muscle, she has no fat stores, her mind is shattered. Her heart is weak, her lungs are filled with liquid, one is actually punctured by one of the shattered ribs. Her stomach is actually feeding upon itself. This leg is infected, which is what brought on the fever and delirium. And every Healer in the room is either busy with people more likely to survive, or burnt out like I am. Hagrid, if I could do something, it'd only bring back her body. She'd be a vegetable. I'm sorry." The Healer, who looked vaguely familiar, though Harry couldn't place him, sighed. "It's the worst part about healing. There are times you have to say no."

Hagrid pulled out his huge handkerchief and blew his nose and wiped his tears.

"Hello, Harry," the Healer said. "Good to see you up and about." He smiled faintly at the look Harry knew he was giving the other man. "Xavier—"

"Zane!" he said, recognizing the third Healer who had helped last summer. Zane had been the one he had seen the least of and knew the least. "I knew I knew you from somewhere. Where'd you find her, Hagrid?" he asked the huge man.

"Dunjun's under the church," the other answered.

"The crypts?" he asked, confused. Crypts were scary, yes, but nothing like dungeons.

"No, under dem too."

"How'd you find those?"

"Ghosts took me and Bill."

Harry looked at the girl and felt his blood run cold.

He was looking at the emaciated face of Arya Britton. Everything Zane had said about her came rushing back, and Harry searched the nearby area, trying to find a chair to sit in. Not finding one, he dropped to the floor. His hands went directly to his hair, his fingers tugging at it gently, and as always it comforted him, centering his thoughts the best it could.

"Wa's the matter, 'Arry?" Hagrid asked, crouching over in concern.

"She's...she's the one...I saved...or thought I had when I possessed Voldemort," Harry answered, though he never remembered giving his mouth the orders to. "I...Why'd I save her? I didn't save her? I just made it worse! Her...I...Merlin! ARRRGG!"

His tugging fingers yanked on his hair, dragging his head down between his bent up knees. A wretched sound ripped from his throat, shaking his body. He rocked forward and backward, gripping his hair so hard he was sure he was pulling some out by the roots. He'd been so positive he was helping, so sure of himself. Severus had told him not to do anything he didn't know. Told him not cross any lines.

But he always had to be the hero!

He always had to save people!

He couldn't just let her die quickly, a simple Avada Kedavra.

It would have been so nice, so easy.

His breath caught in his chest, and he struggled to get breath into his lungs, but it wouldn't go in, he tried, begged his lungs to inhale oxygen, wanting to breath so desperately that his struggle impeded his breathing even further, but the air just wouldn't come in, it was like he'd swallowed his tongue, the sobbing wasn't helping, not that there was much air exchange because he'd just used it all, he just wanted some fresh air, was that too much to ask after getting rid of a seriously dark wizard?

When the spell hit him, it felt like a tiny fresh breeze brushed past him, slowly filling his lungs and calming him down. His panic gulps retreated, even the sobs, and he took a slow, even breath in and let it out just as slowly. He clamored for more air sooner, but the spell kept his breathing even.

"Come on, sit up properly, and fill your whole lungs," a soft voice said in his ear. Hands helped him to sit properly, bracing his back as Harry felt his lungs slowly draw air in. "Lucky enough, this is an easy charm, or you'd have suffocated yourself in that panic by now," the voice continued.

Harry found himself nodding. It was a simple charm, and he had been suffocating.

"Now who is this young lady?" the voice continued, and, as Harry's mind got the oxygen it needed, he realized it was Zane's.

"Her name's Arya Britton," Harry answered automatically. The charm held the panic attack at bay, keeping Harry's guilt from swamping his exhausted brain once more. He switched into reporting mode, a lesson Shacklebolt had drilled him in during rest periods. He gave as much information as he could as simply and quickly as possible. "I watched her village get destroyed, everyone killed, except her. I made Voldemort stop. There was something different, an understanding without understanding in her eyes. I think she must have liked fantasy novels or something, because she wasn't stunned by the magic. It was the death and Voldemort that scared her. And I couldn't let her die. So I possessed Voldemort. Nearly got myself killed. I...thought I'd saved her...Guess not..."

A stronger hand gripped Harry's other shoulder, and he recognized Remus' touch before he even looked up into the other man's eyes. Harry threw himself at the older man, knowing the eyes watched as he broke down, but he didn't care. It was too much. Thia was dead, same with Dean, Lavender, Parvati, and all the others; Sephra was dying; Ron was losing his arm; he was still exhausted from the battle last night; Ginny was still unconscious; and now this.

It was too much.

"Choices are hard," Remus said softly, though Harry could tell his voice carried. The Great Hall had fallen silent, as Harry was so used to it doing, everyone watching their hero sobbing into Remus' shoulder. "We never know where they'll lead us, and they hardly end where we'd expect. Take this choice of yours. You decided to possess Voldemort, against Severus' strict rules regarding your Legilimency lessons, and now this girl's—"

"Arya," Harry interrupted through his tears. "Her name's Arya. We owe it to her to call her by it."

"Arya will pay with her life for the choice," Remus continued. "She could have had a quick and easy death, had you not stepped in." Harry nodded his head miserably. "But, had you not, had you chosen to follow the rules, you would have second guessed the situation the rest of your life. And knowing you as I know you, Harry, you would have been bothered by the guilt until you died. Not once would you have thought of a situation like this.

"But that gives you comfort at her expense," Remus continued after a short pause. "And that isn't like you either. You wouldn't be happy with just that explanation. So, had you not possessed Voldemort, what would have happened?"

He waited, smoothing Harry's back. Harry felt like an idiot, crying like he was. He was nearly eighteen, and here he was, crying like a little baby. But it felt good, getting all the pain out and letting Remus' words wash over him. It was like drawing out a poison; as painful and humiliating as this was, he would be better afterwards.

"Voldemort was scared by your stunt. It surprised him. He was silent for a full week, until Rita Skeeter published her article, forcing him back into the open. His first main attack after that was the first one on Diagon Alley. I'm sure he hadn't planned on going quiet until you scared him. So, that's at least three or four villages not attacked. Not to mention, showing Voldemort that you are a force to be reckoned with, even without Professor Dumbledore leading the way for you."

"She wasn't tortured," Zane put in, once Remus had been silent for a time, and Harry had calmed down enough to pull away. "It was just neglect that'll do her in, if that helps."

Harry frowned and struggled to stand up without placing any weight on his broken leg. Remus grabbed him around the middle to help and steadied him once he was up. Harry shuffled over to Arya's bed and looked at her.

"I'm so sorry," he told her, surprised at how calm his voice sounded. Now that he'd gotten that out of his system, he felt truly centered. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

Her eyes drifted open and fixed on his. Harry stared back, not understanding why he felt compelled to. Sometime later, Harry realized her eyes were dulled in death. He reached down and closed them with a weary hand.

"I'm so sorry."

He saw Hermione swoop in as Damagris and landed on a seat next to Mrs. Weasley. She returned to her human form, though the transformation seemed sluggish. She frowned when their eyes connected, but Harry's smile, tired as it was, seemed to reassure her. She returned the smile, though it was exhausted. He looked back down at Arya.

"I want her buried as one of us," he said, and hobbled back to his chair next to Ginny, fed up with his tour of the Great Hall.

There was a lot to be thankful for, least of which was the fact that Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and he were alive. Arya's death was a shock he hadn't been ready for, but it did bring to light that his future was completely free of his past. It was scary, the complete freedom he would have now. His free hand went to touch the scar—the eerily silent scar—and traced its jagged line.

"And neither can live while the other survives."

The words echoed in his mind, filling the silence left since Voldemort's defeat.

"Neither can live..."

Life.

He was finally free of Voldemort, of the Prophecy that had plagued him all his life, whether he'd known it or not. He was free to practice Defense if he wished, to go where ever he pleased, and do whatever he wanted. The War wasn't quite over, the rest of Voldemort's followers would need to be captured and tried, but the worst of it, the Final Battle was finished.

Voldemort was finished.

The Prophecy was finished.

Harry mused on what had happened when that ghostly phoenix had devoured the cleansed soul of Tom Riddle. Had he died? Or had he been wiped from all existence, unable to mess with the mortal world as the likes of Gryffindor did? Dumbledore had said something about a worse fate than death... so maybe it was the second. Or maybe something worse than even that.

Ginny shook her head, as if to banish a nightmare. He gripped her hand tighter, telling her that he was here for her. Whispering that he would be here for her, no matter what.

Neville, who hadn't left Ginny's side during Harry's walk, muttered something about needing to go check-up on someone and left. Harry nodded a reply, but didn't turn away from Ginny.

Harry bore the weight of Thia's body on one shoulder, carrying the platform with the help of Tonks, McGonagall, and Minister Vance. The four left Hogwarts with Remus, and Althea following, and the six walked outside to the spot where Remus had asked the pyre to be built. They were near the Whomping Willow, closer to the Forbidden Forest than the tree. The bearers carefully set her body on the wood they'd prepared earlier.

"Thank you for coming to the funeral of my friend and Godmother Synthia Joyce Black," Harry intoned, feeling the magic the words invoked surround him. "Thia—" he stopped and cleared his throat. "Over the past two years, Thia has taught me more about who I am and who I want to be than anyone else ever bothered to. She taught me to duel, taught me how to handle my fears. She taught me how to lead and how to follow. We—" he stopped again, closing his eyes. "Once things started getting hectic, she wasn't around as much as she used to, she was in charge of the Aurors, and time wasn't an ally. I missed her and will miss her. She never got to live the peace she'd fought so hard and long for. Let us join together in our grief and, in that way, give each other comfort."

He stepped forward and set his final exam from last year next to her. She'd written a lengthy note on it, a note he hadn't gotten until Remus had found it while cleaning out her office a few days ago. Because of his capture, he'd never gotten back any of last year's finals.

She'd been proud of his accomplishments, thrilled to have worked with him, eager to see where he'd go in his life.

She'd only be able to watch from the Cliff between Life and Death from now on instead of being an active participant in his life.

Remus stepped forward next.

"Thank you for coming to the funeral of my sister, Thia Joyce Lupin Black," he said, smiling slightly. His back was to the crowd, and he stared into his sister's face. "I never deserved a sister like you. You took my bite right in stride, you never complained when Mum and Dad wouldn't let you go to Hogwarts, you let me have my own friends, even though I knew you wanted to protect me. You took all the jokes about our age difference in stride. You let me know when I was being an idiot. You've helped me deal with a strange wife and a stressful war and Caitlan. Like Sirius, I know you're happy to have gone down in battle. I just wish the battle could have been years down the line, because I missed you while you were undercover. We had so many years to make up for. I'm going to miss you." He turned to face everyone, the tears ignored as they fell slowly down his cheeks. "Let us join together in our grief and, in that way, give each other comfort."

He stepped forward and placed a small replica of a moon next to her body. The Goddess of the Moon, her nickname from Hogwarts, had gone on to join her other fellow Wild Goddesses.

"Thank you for coming to the funeral of my friend, Thia Joyce Black," Althea said solemnly. "Once Harry was at school, you were free to create havoc undercover with Druce, Bryant, and I. I was so happy to finally have another girl in our team, even if you couldn't stay with us for the whole year. When you asked us to come teach a boy, when you explained why, we thought you'd gotten hit on the head a time too many. But we came and we haven't regretted it. You and Bryant don't get up to too much trouble without Druce or me, you hear me? It's going to be hard enough forgiving you both for dying, let alone for all the things you two do without us. Just you wait until I can get my hands on you!" Althea's laugh sounded almost desperate, but she turned back to the crowd and finished the spell, saying, "Let us join together in our grief and, in that way, give each other comfort."

She stepped forward and left a daffodil next to the moon figurine and Harry's final. He took a deep breath and pulled the waiting torch from the ground. As Thia's willed heir, it was his duty to free her body and the inert magic that remained within it.

"We now return the magic that made you back to the world which gave you life. We will remember you until we join you on the other side. May your journey not take you farther from us then it must. Until we see you again." He set the pyre alight and watched with unfocused eyes as the flames and spells released the magic.

In the days that came, Harry participated in many funerals for those who had died in the Battle of the Lost Cathedral, the name it was going down in the history books. He stood as a funeral bearer for each member of Dumbledore's Army, though he wasn't asked to speak at any but Dean's. Blaise had barely been able to choke out his speech for Sephra's funeral and then their friend, Edlyn Slooth, stepped beside him, threw a comforting arm around him, and started her speech.

"Welcome to the funeral of my friend, Sephra Desiree Carrigan," she said in her soft voice. "Sephra was sadly American for all she was a British pureblood. She came to Hogwarts in her sixth year, my seventh, and turned Slytherin House on our heads. Poor Blaise never knew what hit him. She disregarded all our traditions and took charge. When her cousin made several drastic mistakes, she convinced us all to fight for our Quidditch team and got Blaise the captaincy. She even made Gryffindors and everyone else forget their long held assumptions about Slytherins, and made them realize that Slytherin doesn't mean evil. And during it all, she never asked if we wanted it. She just took over. Damn Slytherin of her, if you ask me." She had smiled at Blaise's choking laugh. "Let us join together in our grief and, in that way, give each other comfort."

Harry had wished Sephra all the best as her body went up in flames. She was with her parents and younger brother now.

There were funerals for the Aurors killed, but they were nothing like the traditional funerals. The Aurors had their own traditions. Bolt's final request was that everyone had to wear something pink at his funeral. O'Bleery had fire whiskey passed around and a carton of the stuff poured around him before they lit him on fire.

Remus had told Harry that had Thia not had a State funeral, and thus a completely normal one, the speeches were to have been given in pirate-speech. Harry was eternally grateful that he hadn't had to suffer that embarrassment and that no one had to suffer his lame attempt at it.

Normal funerals for refugees occurred as well. Angelina Johnson, his former Quidditch teammate, had died, taking a spell for Fred. The twins spoke back and forth, giving their friend a fitting farewell. Others Harry had only known for a few weeks while they lived in the tent city surrounding the bank of the Lake. He attended every funeral he could, honoring the people who had made his victory over Voldemort possible.

There was one funeral that followed none of the basic rules. It belonged to Arya Britton. Harry watched her pyre burn with only Remus, Tonks, and Caitlan beside him. There was too much grief in him for him to feel any worse about the fate he had condemned her to. His actions had turned what would have been a quick death into... what it had been.

Life was too complicated to allow him much guilt over his choice. Remus had been right. In the end, no one had survived that Revelry, not even the one person he had thought. Caitlan's small hand yanked some of Harry's hair, distracting him, and he couldn't help the smile that spread over his face when she giggled. Life would go on, and they would have to live for everyone who died.

When he wasn't at a funeral, he was in the Great Hall, sitting next to Ginny's bed or Ron's. About a week after the battle, Quirke and Nettle had finally been able to amputate Ron's arm and wake him up from the deep sleep Hermione had sent him into back at the battle field. In the two days since, Ron was still trying to get over the loss. Just that morning, the three of them had had a ... discussion concerning Ron's depression.

"It's just stupid!" Hermione shouted, frustrated beyond a civil tone. "It's only an arm!"

"Let's take your arm off then, see how you like it!" Ron shouted back.

"It's his wand arm, Hermione," Harry reminded her. "Just think of how you'd feel without yours."

"You're not helping," she hissed quietly at him, heeding the commands to lower their voices. "It doesn't make sense. He's no less of a person without it! I love him just the same."

"Same here," Harry said. "But...Hermione, your talent is your brain. Yeah, it's nice that you can cast spells no one else knows, but you could always explain it to us if you couldn't. Ron doesn't have that."

"Thanks, mate," Ron said bitterly.

"His career, a good Quidditch career, is down the drains because of this," Harry continued, callously ignoring Ron for the moment in favor of trying to explain to Hermione why it wasn't as simple as she thought. "It’s hard enough choosing a career, let alone having it taken from you while you slept."

"Not helping," Ron spat, his body radiating disgruntled anger.

"And you," Harry said, finally turning his attention to Ron. "You haven't lost anything important either. Sure, it'll take years to learn to cast with your left arm, but just think of who you'll have as a professor." He looked at Hermione pointedly to make sure Ron understood exactly who he meant. "And the rest of us will help you. Just because Moody doesn't have a leg or a nose or an eye or whatever else he's lost, doesn't mean any of the Order think less of him."

"We do call him Mad-Eye," Ron pointed out. "And think he's bonkers."

"Good thing he's not right behind you," Harry said. "He'd be the type to show up just then. You're right, but that's because he's paranoid. You become paranoid, and we'll call you bonkers too. That has nothing to do with his lost limbs.

"Anyways, you're good at strategy. You picked all the reserves, and I doubted some of them at first. Heck, you helped pick the beaters fifth year when they were crap. Now they'll end up better than your brothers. I think you'll make a better scout then player. Don't get me wrong," Harry added quickly. "You'd've been a good player, great even, if you'd have trained hard and kept at it. But, you're a natural scout."

Ron hadn't said anything after that, and neither had Hermione. The worse part, for Ron, was not having had any say in its removal. He'd just woken up to find it gone. At least George had been in to take pictures the day before it was taken off. Ron had gone a pasty white when he looked at them. It hadn't been a pretty sight and at least he now understood why it had to come off.

Severus was still unconscious, but only because he was too difficult to keep in bed without the induced coma. The one time they had allowed the man to wake up, he'd chewed them out for not letting him stand. Harry had overheard Quirke and Nettle agree that he needed at least another week before they would think about waking him a second time.

Padma was a quiet shadow who followed Neville and Luna around. The three had formed a tight bond, and Harry kept nudging Seamus into their group, knowing that they'd be able to help him as well. Even Harry took strength from Neville's quite assurance and Luna's undying optimism.

At the moment, Ron and Harry were playing wizard's chess, with Luna and Hermione gossiping nearby. Neville had gone to his grandmother's home to see how she was adjusting to being home again.

The Death Eaters had fallen quick and hard, giving up the pointless siege at the Ministry and clearing out of Hogsmeade for better hiding spots. The new Commander of the Aurors, a Bartholomew Boyd, had led the Aurors in a nearly forty-eight hour attack on Hogsmeade. The cowards had sneaked out the back and escaped.

Tonks, a celebrated hero from the Battle of the Lost Cathedral and the Reclaiming of Hogsmeade, was in charge of the Auror team rounding up the Death Eaters. She was super busy with that, hardly around to help out around Hogwarts.

Harry watched as Remus, left behind as his wife did heroic things all day, and Caitlan walked in—slowly. Remus stooped down, letting Caitlan use his fingers as steadying grips, and shuffled forward inch by inch as she took her steps. Harry chuckled as he watched Remus bent almost in half by helping. He knew that Remus was letting her walk wherever she wanted, so his guess was that Remus' back was killing him because they must have walked almost all the way like that—minus the stairs, which were difficult enough when you were eleven, let alone a little over a year.

Harry stood and hobbled over to them. His leg was making amazing progress even without a proper Healing. Nettle said that his magic was helping it along. Hopefully next week they'd take the cast off and he'd be able to walk normally. Reaching them, he swooped Caitlan into the air, tossing her just slightly enough to make her giggle and not give Remus a heart attack.

"You loved that, too, at her age," the older man said, his hands going to rest on his lower back as he pushed against his spine. Harry heard at least four pops and winced in sympathy. They headed back over to the group. "Sirius used to toss you several feet into the air instead of a few inches. Once, when Lily wasn't around, he even levitated you. You didn't stop grinning for hours after that. Lily couldn't figure out why you always ran to Sirius and asked, 'Levy, Levy!' like a maniac."

"No wonder I love flying," Harry replied, tossing Caitlan again.

"It still makes me nervous seeing a kid airborne without a broom," he muttered, taking Harry's seat.

"Conjure me up a chair and I won't do it again until she asks for it," Harry bargained. Remus hurriedly conjured up a chair. "Unless you're not around, of course, 'cause Tonks doesn't mind one bit."

"And she's the one with a Healer's record a foot thick," Remus stated with a laugh. "And I'm not joking. Ted's told me she used to end up at St. Mungo's once a week for something or another. She'd find something to get into or jump off of or into. I'm afraid what a kid with Lupin genes and Tonks genes will be like."

"Only one way to find out," Luna said with a smile.

"We're working on it, now that the War's over," Remus answered. He blinked once when all the teens around him started giggling or laughing out right, and then his face turned a bright red. "I didn't just honestly say that aloud, did I?"

"Oh, you did," Ron said, laughing. "Like I told Tonks, I'm happy that the two of you found each other. I just don't need any details. And that was a bit too much like details."

"You need a babysitter?" Harry asked innocently, bouncing Caitlan on his cast. She sat astride it, holding onto the foot of his cast, giggling like mad. "That way you can take Tonks out for a night on the town, and then have no interruptions?"

"Too much information!" Ron said, pretending to panic. "Have pity on the amputee!"

"Not like you can't leave," Hermione told him. "Healer Zane told you you're free now that your arm has fully healed."

"And miss Caitlan taking a face plant and Harry getting chewed out by Remus?" he asked, scandalized. "Not on my life!"

"She's not going to face plant," Harry defended himself. "Even if she did, it's not like there aren't twenty Healers around."

"She'd better not," Remus growled.

"Oh, hush, you took my chair," Harry retorted.

"Neville?" Luna asked, suddenly looking up and at the doors. Harry looked as well, just in time to see their friend walk into view. Luna flew to him, nearly knocking into beds, Healers, and visitors, though she never did. Somehow she managed to avoid them all.

Harry hadn't ever seen Neville like this. But he recognized the look in his eyes from Ginny's and Ron's eyes after their dad died, or Hermione's after her parents died, or Remus' when he'd spoken at Thia's funeral.

Neville walked over to them with Luna tucked into his side, and stood at the foot of Ginny's bed, playing with a post of the footboard. Harry didn't think Neville even noticed what his hand was doing as it gripped the finial tightly.

"She's dead," he said quickly. "I went to the house, and she didn't answer the door. The wards were broken, so I walked in. She was sitting in her favorite chair, I thought she was sleeping, her head resting against the wingback like she always did when napping. Only she wasn't. A card was in her lap with a—"

Harry winced as Neville's voice broke. The hand released the finial and dug into a pocket of his robe. He tossed a card, not much bigger than both of Caitlan's hands side by side. Hermione picked it up, turning it over, and gasped when she saw what was on it.

Someone had sketched a Dark Mark onto the paper in green ink. Whoever the person was, he or she wasn't an artist. Dean would have called the attempt a joke.

"I floo'ed the Auror office and got Tonks over right away," he continued. "She says the still loyal Death Eaters are trying to regain our fear. The cards only make it easier for them to track the Death Eaters though. They did their tests and gave it back, telling me to go and get some sleep."

"Neville, I'm so sorry," Hermione said, hugging him. Neville just nodded into her shoulder, not even attempting to hug her back.

"I hadn't even told her how serious Luna and I were," he said dully. "I was going to today and get her blessing to ask Luna. Not that I was planning on doing it soon, but better safe than sorry. I won't get that chance anymore."

"She knows," Harry assured him, imagining quite clearly, Mrs. Longbottom looking down from the Cliff and smiling at her grandson. "I'm sure just watching the two of you while she was here let her know. It's not like you tried to hide it."

"Yeah. I still wish I would have talked to her about it. She would have liked that better. Remus, you knew her, right?" Remus nodded, standing up with a slight wince.

"We spent a few days there almost every hols from fourth year on," he answered.

"Would you speak at her funeral? I'd be honored if you'd do it."

"Of course I will, Neville," Remus said, placing a strong hand on Neville's shoulder.

"I'm going to go tell Mum and Dad now," he said, and he and Luna walked over to the beds containing Frank and Alice Longbottom.

As soon as St. Mungo's had released the Lockdown Wards, keeping patients and Healers alike safe from Voldemort over the last month the Healers at Hogwarts moved most of the injured there. Likewise, they moved any patients they felt to be targets from St. Mungo's to Hogwarts. Both Longbottoms, as well as Charlie and Percy had been moved. They had moved everyone in St. Mungo's because of a "personal" Death Eater attack here.

Harry watched as Luna led Neville back outside once the news was shared. Neville walked automatically, following each gentle push Luna gave to direct his movements. Harry was sure the adrenalin and the conviction that had made Neville act, made him tell the authorities and his parents, had drained away. Harry was sure the next few days would be a blur to his friend, up until the moment of Mrs. Longbottom's funeral. That would be the moment the world would come back in a painfully vividness that would almost crush the other.

Harry had been through this enough times to know how it would go.

The funeral would be the start of the healing. The magic surrounding the rites were as much for the ones who had survived as much as it was for the one who had died—more so. The last line everyone spoke was the oldest comforting charm in history.

But only time would heal the wound.

And most likely leave behind a jagged scar.

"War's not quite as over as we pretend," Hermione finally said. The others nodded. "Not that these attacks compare to the full out attacks Voldemort managed. It just means we can't be as lax as we've been. Just because we have Hogsmeade and the Ministry back doesn't mean the Death Eaters are ready to face the music."

"I am not looking forward to the trials," Harry muttered, glancing around the Great Hall. Death Eaters would stand trial for every person still here. "And Tonks said Commander Boyd is making me testify. If I don't do it willingly, he'll get a court order."

"You do have quite a bit of firsthand knowledge of them," Remus said carefully, knowing just how painful most of the knowledge had been. "And Boyd isn't an Order member, and no one ever considered asking him to be one. So there's nothing Minerva can do about it. I doubt that even Albus would have been able to stop it."

"Why wasn't he considered?" Ron asked, looking surprised and a tad bit worried.

"Oh, he's not evil," Remus said with a sigh. "Just single-minded, and he works better either in charge or alone, never as a part of a supportive group like we had. He's the best qualified Auror, with Thia and Kingsley both dead." Harry wasn't surprised to hear Remus' voice deaden at the end. Both deaths had hit Remus hard. Both Remus and Harry missed them.

Caitlan picked that moment to squeal her displeasure. Harry looked down at her, surprised, but then he smiled at his Goddaughter and bounced his foot, making her giggle in delight. He had stopped without realizing it.

"At least your leg muscles won't atrophy, Harry," Hermione said, smiling as well.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Means my muscles won't disappear because they're un-active," Harry answered. "I've been in hospital beds for long periods of time, I know."

"Too often, if you ask me," Hermione muttered.

"You're telling me," Harry agreed. "It's not like I wanted to spend time there. I just ended up there."

"I think the papers were right all along," Ron stated. "Harry's just a nasty attention seeking prat."

"Well, of course," Harry said with a nod. "I mean, who wouldn't want to be known as a completely unbalanced loser whose girlfriend cheats on him with an older man who happens to be an international Quidditch star and a fellow Champion and, on top of all that, is a dirty Parselmouth to boot?"

"Not me," Hermione stated quite emphatically. "And I really did hate that article. To think, you and me, going out!"

"Too gross to consider," Harry agreed with a nod. "I mean, going out with one's best friend has got to be the nastiest thing around."

"Excuse me?" Hermione and Ron asked at the same time.

"Oh, come off it," Harry said with a shrug. "You two have had crushes on each other longer than either of you want to admit. You were just using me as an excuse to hang out when we were in danger of cooties and teasing." They glared at him. "Come on, admit it!"

"Excuse me," Burke said, clearing his throat. "I'd hate to interrupt, but I'd like a word, Mr. Potter." Harry turned and looked at his ex-Defense professor.

"Professor," Harry said by way of greeting.

"Not any longer," Burke replied. "Minerva finally had time to acknowledge my request to leave. I only taught as a favor to Dumbledore and now that he's dead, there's nothing to keep me."

"Well, that's... er..." Harry stammered, trying think of some way to reply that wasn't rude. Burke took that burden from him by saying:

"Don't start lying to me for the sake of manners, Mr. Potter. It would do us both an ill service."

"Makes life easier then, I suppose," Harry said with a nod. He was more thankful than he'd expect. "I can honestly wish you...ah...well, if you're going far from Hogwarts."

"I'm sure you can," Burke said with a nod. "Now, how about that private conversation?"

"This is as private as you get," Harry told him, with a smile. "I'll only have to repeat what would happen elsewhere to everyone around. Saves me time this way."

"Ah, yes," Burke said, reminding Harry of the greasy git a certain Potions Master had been before they'd become friends. It was condescending and disdainful at the same time, even if it was Burke who was asking for a favor. "Very well. I wanted to let you know that, though we've never seen eye to eye, I still—" Burke paused as if he had to think carefully before he continued, or as if he didn't particularly want to continue. "Admired your work with the students." Definitely hadn’t wanted to continue. "Teaching Defense is not the easiest thing to do. I should know, I've been doing it longer than you've been alive."

Harry looked at the man, using a shrewd look he'd learnt from Severus. Something was off about this. Yes, Harry felt the same way concerning Burke. He did admire how much Burke had gotten his students to learn. But it seemed odd that Burke would come out and say it. Harry never would—

"The Headmistress asked you to apologize, didn't she?" he asked, sudden understanding making his eyes twinkle. Burke's mouth twisted, out of distaste or amusement, Harry wasn't sure.

"Doesn't make the words untrue," the ex-Defense Professor finally said. "You kids fought well, and they owe their lives to you."

"They owe their lives to themselves," Harry retorted, angered by that assumption. "They wouldn't have shown up to the D.A. if they hadn't wanted to learn, and it was their efforts outside of both our classes that did them the most good."

"I told Minerva this wouldn't work," Burke said. "We were made to disagree. Good day, Potter, Weasley, Granger, Lupin. Good luck with clean-up." With that Burke left the Great Hall and then Hogwarts. Harry gave a sigh of relief before a worrying thought intruded on his mind.

"McGonagall is going to be worse than Professor Dumbledore about interfering were she is unwanted, isn't she?" he asked, unsure of his ultimate goal of teaching here some day.

"I plan on it," she answered, stepping in front of Harry. "Things get very boring in that tower and I'm ashamed that I ever scolded Albus for his interfering ways."

"At least we're forewarned," Hermione said with a smile. "Anything we can do for you, Headmistress, or did you just go for a walk for fresh air?"

"Oh, just making sure Anwellus did as he promised. He did have a two year contract with the school."

"The jinx still in effect then?" Remus asked.

"Seems that way," she answered. "Though the completely innocent way this professor went... I must say things are getting better. We'll just have to see how it goes over the years. Bill thinks with enough study, he can break it. Severus thinks it just needs a particularly stubborn person."

Harry laughed, earning him a disapproving look from both McGonagall and Hermione. "He suggested that I give it a try for that very reason," he explained. "I think he's afraid he won't have anyone to glare at if I leave for good."

"Oh, he'll find someone, I'm sure," his old Head of House said. "This coming fall, he'll have a student whose parents he taught for seven years. It'll be his first and, I'm sure, quite a shock to his poor old system."

"It'll be good for him," Harry agreed. "I still want to travel for a few years, so don't ask me to come back yet. No way do I want Ginny in my class."

"She is a challenge," Bill said, coming over from where he'd been sitting with Mrs. Weasley next to Charlie and Percy. "Though having one's longtime girlfriend as a student would have strange implications. It's hard enough as her brother."

"I wasn't going to ask," McGonagall said to them. "If I thought Severus too young when he began here, I most certainly think you're too young. You need a life outside of Hogwarts first."

"And the professors deserve a break after putting up with your antics over the years," Hermione replied piously.

"Hey, you were a part of my antics!" Harry told her.

"Oh, I know," she replied, pretending to be ashamed. "But I made up for it in classes. Valedictorian, I remind you."

"I should have let the troll beat you to mush," Harry muttered. "Then my poor wand wouldn't have had to get troll boogers on it."

"Yes, you probably should have," she replied with a huge grin. "It would have saved you from study schedules and the like."