Silent Witness

Christmas Day - 2AM

Each footstep echoed loudly in the wide, sterile hall. The sconces that hung on the white walls followed him, fading from light to shadow. He kept his gaze forward; unseeing to the other faces swimming before him, unhearing to the voices whispering at the beds of loved ones. His body was tense - rigid; the only movements were the echoing footsteps.

When Harry Potter entered isolation room four, his heart stopped. For the first time since his arrival at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries a flicker of emotion passed over his gaze. Ginny Weasley was perched on the edge of a metal chair, her back to the door. She hadn't yet noticed him, or if she had, she paid no notice. Her hands were clasped tightly around the motionless body that lay unmoving on the narrow hospital bed. Ron Weasley twitched in his potion-induced sleep as his sister leaned forward to brush a fluttering red hair from his face.

"How is he?" HHHhrlakjsfd;ahfHarry crossed the private room in a few strides. He stood at the foot of the bed, watching the slow rise and fall of his best friend's chest. She'd jumped at the sound of his voice and now her teary, reproachful gaze was bearing down upon him. Ginny sniffed, tearing her hands away from Ron's.

"You have some nerve, coming here." Harry blanched. Did she know? He didn't think so. No one did, not yet anyway. Everything about her screamed anger. He was confused and a little bit hurt. She'd left him with his jaw opening and closing with nothing to say. Harry had always been one to blame himself for things like this, but no one else ever had. The Blasting Curse had been entirely his fault; he wouldn't try to deny that. Just as a guttural sigh came from his throat, Ginny rose from her seat and stormed out the door. Left in a moment of stunned silence, it took Harry a moment to regain his composure. But suddenly it had been regained and confusion was replaced by anger of his own.

He crossed the room faster then he'd entered and was hot on Ginny's trail. She was mere steps ahead of him, her red hair swinging with each livid stride. She was heading for the elevator but just as her hand pushed the up button he caught her roughly by the upper arm. She went oddly limp.

"What did I do that was so terribly rotten?" he asked, sarcastically, his voice rising with every word.

That brought Ginny's subdued state to a jarring halt. She wrenched her arm from his grasp, spinning to face him. Her eyes were bright with hostility.

"What did you do? What did you do?" Ginny threw up her hands in apparent disbelief of his stupidity. "You, Harry Potter, did what you always do. You put yourself in danger again. And for what? Can't you stop for one goddamn minute and think? Think that your actions just may hurt other people?" Unexpectedly, her shoulders slumped and her angry tones dropped to disappointment. Somehow, that was so much worse. "Stop being a selfish git and realize that you matter just as much as anyone else, realize that with each attempt at bravado you ended up hurting Ron more."

He took a step back, stunned. She was right of course, she usually was; but that didn't make absorbing it any easier.

"You call that selfishness?" Bitterness was creeping into his words now. "You call that-" He gaped, suddenly at a loss for words. But it quickly came rushing back. "I gave up my life for this war. Everything-"

The elevator dinged.

"Oh, spare me the sob story, Harry." She rolled her eyes. "We've all had to make sacrifices, the rest of us have just manage to handle it without boozing away at the pubs every ni-"

A Healer was approaching; she looked ready to deliver a tongue-lashing and that was the last thing Harry needed. He ushered her into the open elevator, his hand pushing gently on Ginny's stomach.

Soon the doors were closing behind them and Harry couldn't help but feel acutely aware of everything around him - the feeling of his tongue in his mouth, the burning on his shoulder from a healed blasting curse, the sensation of having Ginny's abdomen so close to his own . . .

How soft her lips looked and the way they were hovering just within reach. He could feel her breath on his cheek, she was moving upward, closer -

The elevator chimed. The doors opened.

And she was gone.

It was Christmas Eve. They had just been settling down for dinner at the Burrow. Molly had been at work all day and it was sure to be a feast to remember. It was the first time in months that they had all been able to gather together at one time. Arthur, Molly and Ginny were moving large platters of food from the oven and stove to their places on the table. Ron and Hermione should have been setting the silverware on the table but were spending more time flinging the cutlery at each other than actually placing it. George and Charlie were trying to change the station on the wireless from Celestina Warbeck, without arousing their mother's suspicions. Screams of childish laughter were emitting from the next room as Fleur and Bella tried to round up the kids. And Harry had been helping himself and Dumbledore to a cup of eggnog when it arrived.

The Apparated note hovered before Harry like a beacon of death. He'd wished his estimate hadn't been so accurate. The room had gone still. When these small pieces of parchment appeared, everyone knew what they meant.

Apparated notes had been developed just a few years ago; they were created to allow for easier and faster communication among the Aurors. The magic was fairly simple, one need merely call out someone in his or her ranks and a blank parchment would appear. The sender could merely scribble out a note, speak the word Adlego and the message would disappear, arriving before the person in question.

Harry received these messages on a fairly regular basis and, recently, they never seemed to contain good news.

Chief -

Ministry needs damage control on ransacked Muggle home. Note is Portkey. Bring Dumbledore and Weasley. No one else available on holiday. You three are the only ones with clearance to sift through an active spell zone. Sorry to bother.

It was supposed to be routine. Sift through some of the rubble, declare lack of survivors and ward the area. Ron had given Hermione a chaste kiss and promised to be back before dessert.

An incantation later and they were standing among the ashy ruins of what used to be 1348 Oak Lane. It had been just what Harry expected. How could it not be? He'd seen it so many times during Voldemort's ten-year rise to power that Harry couldn't help but feel - nothing. Of course, that could have been the spiked eggnog talking.

It was then that they heard a cry pierce the air. It wasn't the sort that one usually heard on the battlefield - one of a tortured soul. It was the sound of a baby - crying. Ron was the first to act, moving toward the sound, Harry a few strides behind. Dumbledore had gone off in the opposite direction, scouring the area.

He'd only looked away for a second. But Harry should have learned by now that all time, no matter how small, was valuable.

The best Harry could discern as a jet of red light shot past him was that Ron had found the baby, or what he'd thought was a baby. Moving forward through the haze of spells and smoke, his assessment was confirmed. What appeared to be an overturned cradle lay strewn on the ground and that was now where the Death Eater took cover. Ron was moving backwards, trying to find cover of his own when the spell shot across the makeshift battlefield.

It was a Blasting Curse and it appeared to be making aim right at Ron's chest. All rational thought seemed to have left Harry as he sped towards the masked man and his best friend. Upon later recollection, Harry realized he should have used an Absorption Charm but where that would have left him in the end, he wouldn't know.

"Protego!" Harry cried, just as the spell nicked his shoulder. The angle was all wrong, he should have seen it coming. The shield barely took a hit, but just barely seemed to be enough. That small bit of leverage was all it needed, the curse ricocheted to the left, moving in line with where Ron had just taken cover. The redhead jolted back as he was hit and crumpled to the ground, bleeding and unconscious.

The air around Harry seemed to crackle with anger, he'd barely taken a step towards the masked man when he Disapparated. Casting the air where the coward had once stood a glare for good measure, Harry turned on his heel.

He had been intending to go to Ron, possibly apply some immediate medical attention, when he was brought to his knees. Harry's forehead was searing, he clapped his hands to his head, doubling over with the pain. It could only mean one thing. And however cliché it may have been, Voldemort had arrived.

With an almighty wrench, Harry pulled himself to his feet and headed in the direction from which Dumbledore had left. He found himself looking upon his mentor and arch rival engaging in heated battle. The urge to intervene was growing stronger by the second, but Harry had made enough foolish errors tonight and to jump into a battle without a weapon was foolish. His and Voldemort's wands were useless against one another.

Abruptly, a green light cascaded over the pile of ruin. In the moment that Harry had used to strategize he'd lost all hope of redemption. The crack of Avada Kedavra as it collided with Albus Dumbledore was so resounding that Harry knew it would haunt his dreams forever. And as the former Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry fell to the ground, his lifeless eyes boring into Harry's, every ounce of his person became consumed. By what - Harry couldn't begin to explain.

The backwash of the spell was flying towards him at an alarming rate and Voldemort stood cackling just meters away. The Killing Curse couldn't be shielded - but its aftermath? His mind raced, thinking back to what had just happened to Ron. Before he could begin to think it out, Harry was raising his wand and for the second time that night, crying out, "Protego!"

The shield captured the green light, and with every bit of strength he'd had left, Harry had heaved the spell towards Voldemort. There was a moment when all he could see was the cold, red eyes, before the stench of fear filled the air and Voldemort became nothing but dust, undistinguishable from the rubble that surrounded him.

The darkness crept in and Harry succumbed.

He was standing on a shore. He could feel the sand beneath his toes. He was barefoot. When did that happen? The sound of the waves crashing against the beach caused Harry to look up. It was sunset and the rays were bearing into his eyes.

There was someone - a woman - standing just ahead. She was in silhouette and her hair was flying in the wind. She was calling to him, drawing him closer. Her hand was extended and Harry reached out to her. He would give anything to touch those soft, familiar hands.

"Chief!" she called.

"Chief!"

Harry suddenly found himself sitting up and starring, bleary eyed, at the figure of Lieutenant Simmons. His head was poking just inside the flap of Harry's tent. Reaching blindly out towards his night table, Harry grabbed at his glasses before shoving them roughly onto his face.

Simmons' young but haggard features came into sharp focus, leaving Harry's head pounding. But that probably had nothing to do with the glasses and everything to do with those empty flasks of Firewhisky strewn across the dirt floor. As Harry carefully made his was to his feet, he kicked the bottles underneath his cot and stretched his arms over his head. Rubbing a weary hand over his eyes, Harry cricked his neck.

"What's so important that you have to wake me at this ungodly hour, Lieutenant?" To be perfectly honest, the hour wasn't that ungodly. It was seven in the morning and it was the latest Harry had been able to sleep in a long time. People didn't seem to find the need to wake him so very pressing when Voldemort was out of the picture. If there was one thing that Harry had expected to look forward to at Voldemort's downfall, he certainly didn't think it would be the ability to sleep in.

"I've got an owl for you, sir."

Shuffling forward, he snatched the parchment from Simmons' outstretched hand and unfurled it. He hadn't yet read the first line due to the unsettling feeling of a presence hovering just behind him. Harry didn't bother turning around, he just sighed and rolled his eyes. "Dismissed, Simmons." There was a flapping sound of the tent closing and Harry was left in peace.

The owl appeared to have been scribbled in haste, which was unusual considering the sender.

Harry-

Fleur's in labor. We're leaving for St. Mungo's. Meet us there.

-Hermione

Harry sighed. It wasn't that he wasn't glad for Fleur but he just wished it could have come at a better time. Ginny's voice was ringing in his head. Stop being selfish. He shook his head, why was she always right? For the first time since he'd woken this morning, Harry realized that a heavy rain was beating against the tent and thunder was rumbling in the distance. Rainy days had become a distant familiarity over the years and they always seemed to accompany the mood at camp; but despite the sudden upturn in happy faces the water kept pouring in.

All things considered camp wasn't going very well at all, save for the minor detail of Voldemort's recent demise. Just after Harry, Ron and Dumbledore had been called away to Oak Lane, destruction had arrived at camp in the form of two very large giants. Since the ambush, they'd been recuperating from the loss of supplies and soldiers. It was lucky really, that the attack had been during a holiday, for the damage would have been much more disastrous. Not that the loss of even a single life wasn't a disaster. Of the twelve that had been at camp that night, four were lost and two were severely injured. The other six, while sporting bruises, managed to stay on their feet.

Had the situation been routine, Harry would have had the entire encampment moved to another location but the situation wasn't routine anymore. The Auror Corps were no longer in hiding. The war was over. But as Harry bent to pick up the sheaves of parchment that he had spent most of the evening pouring over, he found himself unbelieving of what should have been a wonderful truth.

Ten years since Voldemort had risen, eight years of open war fare and it was over - just like that. Some might have found error with a statement like that. A decade certainly wasn't an insignificant amount of time but the end couldn't help but feel trivial to Harry. He was twenty-four years old and had no idea how to move on with his life.

Every part of his body felt stiff and achy, it was as if Harry had aged fifty years in those five hours of sleep and just bending over to pick of those empty bottles had seemed like a chore. As he made his way to the rubbish bin, he paused looking over the cot usually taken by Ronald Weasley: Head of the Auror Corps Tactic and Strategy Division. Currently, the bed opposite him was unoccupied. That side of their little room was spotless save for a tattered Chudley Cannons poster and photograph of Hermione. Harry's side on the other hand was a picture of destruction.

Since Ron was still at St. Mungo's recovering from Christmas Eve, Harry had failed to see the need to keep up with tidiness. In just a few more days, he would be packing up his things and searching for more permanent housing. There was a clang of glass meeting glass as three more bottles fell atop the others. Harry wondered idly if he ought to throw those piles of tactics and strategies in the bin atop the Firewhisky, but decided against it.

Casting a glance at his watch, Harry realized he'd dawdled long enough and headed towards the designated Apparation point.

Upon his arrival at St Mungo's, Harry was immediately bombarded by a barrage of faces. He supposed it was to be expected considering it was only four days since the announcement of Voldemort's downfall had hit the public. Harry generally remembered to bring his invisibility cloak when heading to places as public as this, but in his haste to get to the hospital; it had slipped his mind.

But all things considered the amount of attention he now received was far more positive than before. And when Harry had squeezed his way through the crowd with a flurry of "Pardon me's" and "Thank you's," he was left with a feeling of deep satisfaction instead of agonizing strain.

Stepping into the loo to apply a quick Refreshening Charm, Harry gave himself a once over in the mirror. He looked better, if not altogether good. His features were still haggard, his eyes were still dark and his shoulders still slumped but his hair was no longer greasy and matted from not showering and the smell of alcohol had gone from his breath. Splashing some water over his face for good measure, Harry headed towards the Delivery Ward.

The halls were much busier then the last time he had been here and construction was being undergone in the Dai Llewellyn Ward, from the Death Eater ambush just a few months ago. The raid on the hospital had preceded Bill's death by just a few days and the sight of it brought a pang in his abdomen. He had been here with Fleur, for her checkup on their unborn child's status. When the Death Eaters had arrived, he'd fought admirably among many others and had managed to regain the wing. No one would have guessed that within the week he would be dead at the large feet of an angry troll.

Harry rounded the corner to find the Delivery Ward occupied quite thoroughly by an entourage of red heads. Fleur and Bill's three older children stood huddled in a corner, no doubt planning their latest scheme. The youngest Weasleys and their mother had been recently occupying the Burrow, and while it may have been under grievous circumstances - no one could deny Molly's delight at having a full house once more.

George was on his feet, gesturing wildly at Charlie, who had his arms wrapped snugly around his wife of three years - Bella. It always brought warmth to Harry's heart to see George back to his old tricks. For about a year following his twin's death, the spark seemed to have left the stocky man but for the last three years he'd seemed to have found it was better to honor his brother's memory with laughter.

Remus and Tonks were even listening in, shaking with mirth, their hands joined. The two had become an almost permanent fixture in the Weasley crowd and Tonks seemed to have dyed her hair red for the occasion.

Another group had assembled just to the right. They appeared to be playing a rousing game of wizards scrabble. Among them was Mr. Weasley, Hermione and -

"Ron!" Harry cried, a genuine smile crossing his feature for the first time in awhile. The sound of his voice caused the group to look up. There was a chorus of cheers and welcomes as Harry made his way to his friend. He was even quite certain he'd heard George calling out to him, "Always one to be fashionably late, aren't you, Harry?"

Waving the man off with a disgruntled hand gesture, he abruptly caught Ron in a brief man hug. Managing an extra squeeze for good measure, Harry released his friend, ruffling his hair. "Good to see you up and about, mate."

Ron waved his hand in a nonchalant manner, before puffing himself up. "I'm not one to be taken down easily," he said, dropping Harry a wink. It was typical of Ron to make jokes. He always made light of any situation that made him uncomfortable. And this situation had made Harry much more uneasy then it had Ron. It had been close, and they all knew it.

Now that Harry had given Ron the once over, he allowed himself a more thorough examination of the waiting room. "Where's Molly and Ginny?"

Hermione stepped forward, lacing her fingers with Ron's. "They went into to delivery with Fleur. Sorry if my note was a bit short, but the Healers estimated a short labor -"

"Not a problem, Hermione."

"Well, it doesn't seem like they'll be done anytime soon, besides." She cast an impatient glance toward the door. Ron rolled his eyes, smirking. "We've been waiting for over an hour now."

Arthur chuckled, having picked up the last of the Wizard's Scrabble and banished it. "Now, now, Hermione, we haven't been waiting very long at all. Why, I remember when Molly was in labor with Ginny, it took a good 26 hours before she'd worked her way out." He smiled wisely, pushing the glasses up on his nose. "I think we ought to settle in for a long -"

Mr. Weasley was interrupted by the sound of a door banging open. Mrs. Weasley stood in the doorway, beaming brightly, a small blue bundle in her arms. The congregation seemed to let out a delighted, collective squeal and hurried to form a crowded circle around the new arrival.

"I'd like you all to meet," Molly announced, sounding as if she'd caught a sudden head cold, "William Arthur Weasley Jr." A communal sigh emitted from the group as they ogled the small pink face. People had moved back to give the little boy some room as they waited in turns for their chance to hold the tiny newborn.

Giving Hermione a slight nudge, he whispered, "I'm going to go get everyone some coffee. Back in a bit." She nodded hurriedly and by the time he was back in the hall she had already moved over to little Bill.

Harry returned several minutes later to the sound of raucous laughter. If the atmosphere had been jubilant before, it was nothing compared to now. Molly was gone once more and with her was William Jr. Hermione and Bella were gabbing about baby clothes while Ron and Charlie sat together silently, casting one another stony looks.

He had been balancing the trays of steaming coffee precariously on top of one another when Mr. Weasley arrived to take off a bit of the load. Harry had just managed to grab two mugs of his own, when talkative "Weasleys" besieged upon the table where the drinks had just been placed.

Standing back from the crowd, Harry shifted awkwardly on his feet; wondering how to pose his question to Arthur while sounding as off hand as possible.

"So-" He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Where's Ginny gone off to?"

Mr. Weasley gave him a speculative look, before returning his gaze to the group - a slight smirk playing on his lips. "I think she went to help get Fleur cleaned up. You might be able to find her in the Recovery Ward."

"Thanks, Mr. Weasley." The man gave him a pointed look. "Uh - sir." Harry shrugged apologetically and shuffled off towards the recovery ward, two hot Styrofoam cups searing his hands.

Harry found himself walking down the hallway where most recovering mothers took their stay. But he couldn't bring himself to pop his head in an open door, much less knock on a closed one and see if Ginny or Fleur was inside. So, after several minutes of futile wandering, Harry resigned himself to the fact he'd be drinking two coffees and meandered over to the baby-viewing window.

He'd just rounded the corner towards his destination when he saw her. Her back was to him and her arms were crossed over her chest, but somehow he could tell from her stance that she was smiling.

Harry approached her cautiously, until he was standing at her right elbow. She made no indication that she'd noticed him, which made Harry all the more anxious, his mind drawing back to that Christmas morning.

"Hi." He extended his left hand, offering her the coffee. She took it, nodding her thanks. It took her a moment before she raised the cup to her lips, but when she did, she didn't take a sip. She just let her arm fall once more.

Starring blankly into the window of sleeping infants, Ginny's shoulders sagged. "Listen Harry-" She shifted slightly, her eyes meeting his. "About the other day - what I said - I'm sorry. At the time I didn't know about Dumb-"

"It's fine." She looked ready to open her mouth once more when he cut her off. "Really, Ginny. It's fine. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry too."

She nodded, averting her eyes back towards the window. "Fleur named me Godmother." Ginny nodded slightly, indicating to the sleeping Weasley in the third row.

"That's great." He swallowed. "I'm sure you'll be wonderful at it."

Harry watched for a moment in silence as she looked at her Godson. She looked so happy - at peace, really. Everything about her seemed to radiate this positive energy and he was being drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

And suddenly he was starring straight into her deep brown eyes, and found himself back in that elevator. But the next second it was gone. Ginny was looking at the baby once more; the only indication of their little tryst was the red tint to her cheeks and the burning of his ears.