Harry stretched out his left aching leg, his breath vibrating quietly in his chest. Crouched down, caught between the beds of the Infirmary, he and Ron evened out their breath in the seeping darkness of the night.

All around, the other souls of the Wing slept, Neville snoring somewhat, while Ginny and Hermione puttered slightly with their breath. Sharing a sideways look with each other, the two mischievous boys nodded in agreement, and using a stealth that they really shouldn’t’ve contained, they crept forth into the open and out of the Hospital Wing without a fault.

Once they were out of the Wing, they relished in their impromptu freedom, smirking and swatting hands briefly. They had been cramped up in the Wing for six days straight, and while they seemed completely healed, Madame Pomfrey didn’t dare to believe so.

So they had taken matters into their own hands in getting out.

Sure, it was at midnight when they found their freedom, but it was better then nothing.

“Come, mate, let’s check out this Party thing in the Great Hall,” Ron gestured them down the corridor, and smiling at each other, they walked off. “You know, I still think sneaking about under the Invisibility cloak is better, but it’s good to know we can without out.”

“Ron,” Harry said with a shake of his head. “The castle’s empty—literally. I think we could’ve just walked out of the Hospital Wing and have survived.” His freckly friend burned a bright red but stubbornly remained silent as they walked the rest of the way.

In no time at all they were creaking open the doors of the Great Hall and peering in. The four house tables were no longer there, and only the Head Table was still there—yet from where the two boys stood, it looked like the hall was littered with round tables and center pieces.

Decorations of the Hogwarts Houses hung about the hall, with banners, with streamers, with signs and with lots of litter tidbits here and there. There was a fashioned banner that Harry had the suspicion the twins snuck up that read: THE DEMISE PARTY in large letters laughingly.

“Can you believe it?” Ron breathed, straightening up as he walked all the way in.

“Overdone if you asked me,” Harry muttered as he stared around blandly.

“Not that,” Ron turned to him, his eyes glinting. “You-Know-Who being dead, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, his throat strangely tight. Glancing down at his hands, he cringed and looked away. “I guess it is—we can really get to life, can’t we?”

“What are we going to get around to doing then?” Ron fiddled with the fabric that was spread over a round table. “I was thinking of doing somethin’ else then being an Auror Professional Quidditch player, eh?” Harry smirked. He wished Ron the best of luck with that.

“How ‘bout Captain Hooker?” he asked, causing the boy to swat at him.

“Oh buggar off,” he grumbled sourly causing Harry to laugh at him. Yet, he quickly looked away, caught in his own confusing thoughts. Did he want to be an Auror anymore? It was all he had thought about being…maybe, maybe he could change it.

He glanced at his hands again.

Voldemort might’ve been a monster to all—but he was still a breathing human and Harry had taken his life. Briefly he closed his eyes, taking deep calming breaths.

“Oy, mate, let’s move some of this around,” Ron grinned wickedly causing Harry to momentarily forget his hands.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Yet, you know,” he rubbed his cheek. “It’ll be back to the same by tomorrow night.”

888

“Harry,” a hand shook his shoulder, bringing him out of his daze. Shaking his head, slightly surprised, he turned away from the Hospital Wing window, turning to look at Ginny. “Can’t start this party without you, ya know?”

Rubbing his unruly black hair, Harry smiled lopsidedly. “Yeah, right,” he chuckled distantly. Turning, he looked at everyone that was shifting about the Hospital Wing, all restless in their new, itchy dress robes.

Ron looked slightly flushed in his new, brand new dress robe that didn’t have lace or tears in it, while Luna was smiling elegantly in her green dress robe, though she seemed off balanced without her bottleneck necklace.

He watched them all with a sort of detachment, feeling slightly drawn from them all, his head somewhat pounding with something he knew wasn’t a headache. Hermione was talking amiably with Remus Lupin, smiling and gesturing with her hands about something amazing she had just read in a medical book, while Luna was talking lopsidedly to Neville, who was attempting in vain to explain the true properties of some plant.

“Harry,” Ginny’s hand gently touched his elbow, startling him. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” he smiled weakly at her. “Just, erm, you know, not really looking forward to this.”

“Truly, Mr. Potter?” a voice drawled from behind them suddenly. Pivoting harshly on their heel, they found Snape standing there, donning his usual black robes, they just looked a bit silkier this time. “And here I thought you would like the added fame.”

Ginny instantly growled, her lips twitching with a comment.

Yet, before she could speak, Harry just shrugged indifferent. “Think whatever the hell you want to.” Then he turned and walked off, leaving two surprised souls in her wake. Twitching, he rubbed his hands on his robes, feverishly.

It hadn’t happened—the stains he meant. They hadn’t come until he had explain to Dumbledore how Voldemort was killed. Until then, maybe he really hadn’t thought about it, or maybe he had been repressing it, but thinking about it…caused them.

Taking a breath, he saddled up alongside Ron, who gave him a sheepish smile and pulled at the neck of his robes, worried. “Think it’ll be bad?”

“Nah,” Harry said, attempting to add something to his voice. “It’ll be over before we know it, right?”

Ron didn’t look relieved but Harry was saved from further conversation when the door to the Hospital Wings opened and Dumbledore, trailed by McGonagall and Flitwick—their respected Head of Houses. The Headmaster was smiling largely, giving Harry the impression that he might just throw out his arms at any given moment.

“Come, come,” the man beckoned. “The party is to begin when you arrive.” Harry wondered if the man knew half the people there didn’t want to even attend the ‘Demise Party’. “Now some of the students of the school have taken an early train back to be here, but most of the people you probably won’t know.”

For a moment he looked somewhat sympathetic. “But we mustn’t stall.” This time he waved his hands around, indicating that they should follow their Head of Houses. Luna being the only one not from the same house was instantly swooped up in Flitwick’s small arms and lead out.

McGonagall was much more formal with the affair, though there was no mistaken the proud twitching of her lips. Hermione took the lead, seeing that no one else was, quickly followed by Ron, Ginny, and Harry.

The youngest Weasley shot Harry a concerned look, but the boy gave her a feeble, reassuring smile that wasn’t half believed by the girl. Instead she roamed her eyes behind the boy, meeting eyes with someone who was behind him, and then they started to walk off.

It was a jittery affair to the Great Hall, everyone fiddling nervously with their new dress robes, especially the louder that the noise got the closer they got. Harry had a feeling he was drawing backwards, slowly down his step until a hand pressed into the small of his back, pushing him forward.

Frowning, he looked over to see who it was, but the swarm of everyone bundling up before the Great Hall doors crowded the mysterious hand away, and he was stuck looking at Luna’s and Neville’s tinted faces.

“Whoa, it’s loud,” Neville said breathless. “Think there’s a lot of people in there?” There wasn’t a need for that question.

Glancing over his shoulder, Dumbledore smiled slightly before opening the doors to the Great Hall with a wave of his hand. Instantly the chatter and the laughter fell silent, only broken by the scraping of chairs as everyone stood up, and in a silently line they all walked in.

For a moment, the light of the hall blurred out their faces, making the hundreds of people faceless, somewhat relieving Harry, and then as the silence broke with an eruption of applause, causing everyone in the line to blush—excluding Snape.

Settling themselves at their designated seats at the Head Table, the six teenagers glanced about at each other, slightly flustered, though Ron—despite his burning cheeks—seemed somewhat taken with all the limelight that was shining down upon him.

Awkwardly rubbing his hands, Harry turned to see Dumbledore standing up, in the center of the table, his arms held wide for silence.

“A great deed was done for us by these seven—six of whom are students and one of whom is a trusted employee and friend—and seeing how they did us a greatdeed, we should return this favor to them tonight. A dark evil had been killed, so come and celebrate the ‘Demise Party’—or so the lovely Weasley Twins have so elegantly put it,” several people chuckled. “Let’s come to life again.”

Clapping his hands, a swarm of food appeared. “Tuck in!” he called out, before taking a seat. Loud, gracious chatter filled the air as everyone clattered to grab food and talk to their neighbors.

Skimming the hall, he found that the Weasley twins were secretly passing out Fire Whiskey to all those students underage. Harry caught Ron’s eye and smirked laughingly.

“Well honestly,” Hermione huffed out tightly, staring at the twins with amounting annoyance. “Always breaking the rules.”

“Hmm…this coming from who?” Ginny asked, flicking her fork at the bushy haired girl.

“Hush,” Hermione flushed a bit through the chatter. “You know as well as I do, I just go to keep those two boys out of trouble,” both Harry and Ron gasped indignantly.

“Us?” Ron gestured to the two of them. “In trouble?”

“Never?” Harry scoffed. Hermione rolled her eyes while Neville laughed over his steak. A slight, eased silence fell over them as they ate and greeted the people that they knew and didn’t know came up to them.

Harry found frustrating that he could barely get through a bite without a man or woman swaggering up to them, while Ron found it grand, recapping several stories and Hermione finally just settled on pretending to be talking to Ginny deeply so that they weren’t bothered.

“What do you think of You-Know-Who being dead?”

“What was it like, getting rid of your greatest enemy?”

“Do you think you got revenge for your parents?”

“Do you feel his death atoned for all his wickedness, Mr. Potter?”

“What to plan on doing, now that You-Know-Who is dead?”

“Were you scared when you fought him?”

The questions whirled and swam about Harry’s head, engulfing and gnawing at him. Every time someone said ‘You-Know-You’ and ‘dead’ in the same sentence, he had to bite back a cringe. He fended off the questions with murmurs, and if the asked him to repeat, he would murmur again.

After a while they backed off.

Eventually, as all the others got up to go talk to the DA table, which was getting acknowledgement too, Harry slipped off to the side. Making sure no one was watching him, he escaped out of the Great Hall, vigorously rubbing his hair, fraying it out, horribly, completely distraught.

Looking at his hands, he grimaced and without a backwards glance he fled the Entrance Hall, making beeline for Moaning Myrtle’s Bathroom. Skidding across the slightly wet floor, ignoring Myrtle’s wails of despair, he fell before one of the sinks.

Turning on the water, he scrubbed his hands with soap, vigorously washing away at the stains. Yet, they weren’t going away—his hands blistered red, not the blood, dripping red that came from stealing a life, but red from rubbing his hands raw.

Tears cupped the corners of his eyes, but it wouldn’t go away.

Make it go away!

“Hello,” Myrtle sniffled. “What are you doing?” she floated over, her pigtails jittering about her head waspishly. “You never nipped in to see me, you know? Like you promised.”

“Go away,” Harry snarled, at his hands, not at Myrtle, but the poor ghost took offense nonetheless and huffing out sourly she glided away.

“Fine, fine,” she sniffled. “Be rude like that—all boys are.” She floated back into her toilet and wailed even louder.

The read wouldn’t go away, it was still there, rippling and dribbling across his hands, and all he could see was the blood stain. Back and forth, up and down, scrubbing, rubbing, breaking them raw and bloodied. Soap stung his the raw, dryness, water washed away nothing that he wanted it to wash—it wouldn’t stop.

“Potter!” a voice shouted suddenly from behind him. “Potter, you imbecile stop,” someone ran forward, prying a hand into his shoulder. “Stop this.”

“It won’t go away,” Harry ground out, fighting against the hand. “Hafta make it go away.”

“You can’t, Potter,” the arm shifted, wrapping around his chest and yanking him backwards. The boy thrashed against the arms, trying to get back to the sink, but his feet were too slippery on the bathroom floor and he lost all gripping.

Stumbling backwards, straight into the chest of the man, he stared in horror at this hands. “Make it go away,” he moaned in disdain.

“It won’t Mr. Potter,” the voice said easily in his ear, quiet and subtle. “It’s there for life…”

“He was a monster.”

“Still he was a human.”

“He said I couldn’t do it.”

“You did though.”

“Make it go away,” he dropped a bit, but the arm across his chest heaved him up.

“It won’t Mr. Potter,” the voice informed, harsher. “You need to snap out of it, too. What’s done is done. Destroying your hands will make no difference, understood? One hand is weak already, you don’t need to handicap yourself anymore.”

Harry blinked for several moments, staring at his hands, slowly unseeing them, allowing the words to settle in, before raising his eyes to look in the mirror. He started in surprise.

It was Snape.

Instantly the boy pulled free and he turned around to face the man, who was gazing at him with a slight sneer. “Dumbledore sent me after you,” he informed impassively. “Make sure you didn’t do something drastic. He’s worried about your mental health.”

“I’m not a nut,” Harry muttered feverishly.

“Hmm…well could’ve fooled me,” Snape informed crisply and Harry glared at him.

Silently, he turned, brushed out his dress robes somewhat, and made to walk away. He glanced helplessly at his hands though. “Potter,” Snape called out to him, dragging him to a halt. “Don’t let it control you—it’ll just eat you alive if you did.”

Harry tipped his head back, eyes bowed down so not to meet the man’s reading eyes. “I wasn’t ready.”

“No,” Snape concurred. “You weren’t ready—however, it’s done. Live again, boy.” With that last snarl to his word, he stalked by the boy, his robes billowing out dramatically. “Get back to the party—if I have to be there, so do you.”

Harry didn’t go immediately, instead he lingered a bit to allow Snape enough time to get back there himself, before leaving the bathroom himself.

It wouldn’t be so easy, he realized. Getting back to his life. Those plans that he had were going to be harder then he thought. Wincing he looked down at his hands. They were scalded from his scrubbing.

Pulling out his wand, he weakly murmured a spell over them, shielding their damage for the time, before returning to the party. As soon as he slipped through the door, he felt Snape’s eyes bore into him, having been waiting darkly for him to return, but Harry didn’t grace him with a look.

Taking a breath, he walked over to the DA table and joined the chatter with a plastered smile.

“Hey, Harry,” Neville smiled at him, imploring. “We’ve been talking, about the DA and all, and we were wondering if we could keep it running.”

Harry smiled at them, feeling his spirit lift just a bit. “Well of course,” he laughed toothily at them. “Wouldn’t dream of getting rid of it.”

Invigorated by the news, instantly the table got louder, and soon everyone was swooned up in conversation. Offhandedly, Harry got into a conversation with Ernie and Justin over some DA issues—they were explaining how certain lessons had inevitably helped him—while Ginny glowered at Cho Chang, who that the misfortune to say something against her Quidditch team.

All and all, it seemed to be settling down…something per se to a new life.

Harry didn’t even remember the end of the party, the retreat to Gryffindor Tower, or falling into his bed, completely clothed, and instantly asleep.