Snape's eyes flashed angrily, but Harry could tell he was taken aback. Still, after only a second's hesitation, the man's upper lip curled into its familiar sneer. "How do you know that I didn't take one look at your father and Black and run screaming the other way?"

"I didn't mean that other side,” Harry retorted. "They sure wouldn't want you around, but I was referring to the erstwhile Death Eaters frying on spits down below. I mean, I doubt they really liked you anyway, but now that they know you betrayed them . . . and of course, the Big Guy is busy with Voldemort."

"In my day, we called him the Old Harry, funnily enough," Snape made a lame retort.

"In your day, there were a lot of euphemisms. Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, anyone?"

Snape started to speak, but he was cut off by Ron's voice as he came around the corner. "Harry, there you are!" the redheaded teenager exclaimed as he ran up to them with Hermione in tow. "We were just coming to get you. We're eating outside, 'cause the Gr —" Ron's jaw went slack as he took in Harry's partner in conversation. He started to say something, but after a few seconds of watching Snape's robes fluttering gently in a nonexistent breeze, all he could manage was a weak "Bloody Hell."

"They didn't want him," Harry informed his friend, ignoring Snape's glowering. "Seriously, though," he said, addressing Snape, "I was thinking on our way down here, we really need to get your body from the Shack. It can't just lie there."

"Why not?" Snape asked, echoed by Ron. Only Hermione seemed to agree with Harry; she nodded her approval.

"Because Ginny and I were planning to set up housekeeping there," Harry said in exasperation. "Why don't you think about it?"

"It would be a step up in the world for a Weasley, that's for sure," Snape replied dryly.

"Oi!" Ron interjected, furious. "You're not exactly royalty, greasy git. Watch what you say about my sister."

"You're awfully concerned about getting me buried," Snape said to Harry while ignoring Ron, his eyes narrowing. "I'll bet you can't wait to dance on my grave."

"I'm concerned because it's summer and decomposing flesh doesn't smell too wonderful in the heat," Harry said slowly, enunciating as if Snape were a particularly slow-witted child. "And as for dancing on your grave, I'm going to have enough to do at the Ministry without having to wait in line in my spare time, too."

That did it. Glaring daggers at the dark-haired boy, Snape turned and sailed through the wall into the next room.

"Good riddance," Harry said to the wall, then turned to his best mates. "Can we eat?"

Hermione had recovered her equanimity very quickly. "Right, the house-elves are bringing breakfast outside," she said brusquely. "No one wanted to eat in the Hall where . . ." she swallowed.

"I get it," Harry said heavily. The three headed outside into the bright sunshine. Harry looked around, surprised to see how few people there were. "Where is everyone?" he asked his friends.

"Well, most people left for their homes last night," Hermione explained. "I couldn't sleep, so after you passed . . . went to bed, I was wandering around down here. The kids mostly all went to Aberforth's to Floo home, which was a good idea. I mean, can you imagine if you were a parent and your kid didn't come home last night? I'd be going out of my skull."

"Mum gave me an arseache over wanting to stay here," Ron offered. "I guess she wanted all her kids with her, after . . . Fred." He forced a smile. "But she's got all the others, so I stayed here."

Harry sympathised with Mrs. Weasley, who, having lost one of her brood, would naturally want to keep an eye on her remaining chicks. Still, considering the size of the Weasley clan, she'd have all the support she needed. Ron was more important at Hogwarts, and Harry was touched by his refusal to leave. As they sat in the shade of a large oak tree, a house-elf wearing the uniform Hogwarts tea towel came running up to them. "What is Masters and Miss liking to eat?" she squeaked.

Ron was ready. "Bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese, no mushrooms, toast, tea, bangers and mash, fruit salad," he rattled off promptly. Harry stared; Ron looked pleased with himself. "We've been eating mushrooms for months. I've had that all planned out for a long time," he explained.

Hermione was not amused. "Next time we'll bring your mother so she can cook you breakfast every morning," she snapped before addressing the elf. "May I have the same?"

"And me," Harry added.

"Twinky is bringing it straight away!" the elf exclaimed before Disapparating with a pop.

Hermione settled back against the tree and frowned up at the branches. "Now that McGonagall is headmistress, we've got to get the house-elves wearing clothes," she said firmly.

Ron gaped at her. "Could we at least rebuild the castle first?" he asked sarcastically.

"Ronald, you really are an arse," she said loftily. "The elves have been slaves for centuries, and they fought for us last night. They deserve their freedom."

"If they've been enslaved for centuries, what's another couple of weeks?" Ron asked, and quite reasonably, Harry thought. Hermione didn't deign to answer, and in any case, the elf was back with their breakfast. All three tore into the food like ravenous wolves. Harry's queasy stomach didn't balk at the influx of solids as much as he thought it would. Eating outside is always good for the appetite, which had made for some rough times when they were camping in the woods and, yes, living on stewed mushrooms. Today it was a blessing, and soon not a scrap of food was left.

While they ate, Harry briefly explained Snape's circumstances, to which Ron gave a snort of disgust. "He's always around when you don't want him and never when you do," he said through a mouthful of eggs.

"When did you ever want Snape around?" Harry questioned him. Ron shrugged.

No sooner had Harry downed the contents of his teacup when he heard, "Potter!" He turned to see the source of the summons. Professor McGonagall stood framed in the main doorway with Kingsley Shacklebolt by her side. Harry got up and dusted the grass off his trousers; Ron and Hermione followed suit. The trio left the remains of their breakfast on the lawn and headed for the castle.

Kingsley smiled at Harry as he climbed the stairs, his white teeth glistening in the sun. "Harry, good to see you," he said, reaching out to clap him on the shoulder.

"You, too," Harry said, grinning back. "Minister."

"Harry, Kingsley and I would like to speak with you and your friends. I'm not up for climbing the stairs again, so let's sit in here," Professor McGonagall said. She turned and walked towards the Great Hall; Harry followed Kingsley and heard Ron and Hermione fall into step behind him.

They sat at the end of one of the tables, as far from the bodies of the fallen as possible. "Now," McGonagall began, "we have a big job ahead of us. The castle, as you can see, is in need of, well, a bit of a tidy-up. Kingsley has his own fun job reconstructing the Ministry, so while he'll be available in an emergency, it's really left up to me, as headmistress, to deal with Hogwarts. I'm counting on the three of you; we need every pair of hands we can get, of course, but the Order is needed at the Ministry, and without you I just won't be able to handle it."

"Of course. Is the Order still . . . erm, up?" Harry asked awkwardly. Up. Good job, he chastened himself.

Kingsley steepled his fingers. "The original purpose of the Order was to stop Voldemort," he began. "That's been done, of course, but now . . . the Ministry, up to this point, was for all intents and purposes run by Voldemort. Only a very few employees that continued, like Arthur, were still on our side. And, of course, right at the end, even Arthur and the others had gone into hiding.

"I may be Minister now, but I'm pretty much the Ministry," he continued. "Those who were part of the Order are, with a few outside exceptions, the only ones we can trust to form a new staff. So to answer your question, Harry, yes, the Order is still, erm, up, as you so eloquently phrased it," he finished with a grin. Harry felt his face grow hot.

"So I take it we're finally allowed to join?" Ron asked grumpily. "Now that all the dangerous stuff is over?"

"Ronald, don't be childish," Hermione admonished him.

"We need your help, all three of you, very much," Kingsley answered. He turned to Harry. "Harry, Minerva told me long ago how you wished to become an Auror. While we definitely need Aurors now, and while I'll be glad to have you as soon as possible, I really need you here right now. This is where all the action was, and I don't know anyone else I can count on for what has to be done. Can you possibly understand?"

Harry warmed at the man's pleading tone. He really wasn't that disappointed, anyway. There'd be time enough later. "I've had enough of chasing Death Eaters for a while," he said in a deliberately offhand manner. "I wouldn't mind a break."

Kingsley threw back his head and laughed. "Good man," he said approvingly. "Right, so let's get down to it." He turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger, since I'd like people to be able to actually read it afterward, would you mind being our secretary?" She nodded eagerly. "I'm going to tell you things to write down, but feel free to add anything you think of," he said, addressing all three with the last part. "I'm not Dumbledore, and I'm not going to think of everything."

Hermione conjured a quill, ink, and a clipboard with several sheets of parchment; Harry looked at her gratefully. She always knew just what to do. He'd be needing her help desperately if they were to fix Hogwarts; Harry was sure that whatever rebuilding needed to be done would need some pretty advanced magic, and he was dreading having people find out that the Boy Who Lived, saviour of the Wizarding world, vanquisher of Voldemort, the most powerful Dark wizard of all time, knew little more practical magic than a Squib.

He turned back to Kingsley and McGonagall. "First," he began, "we should owl the families of all those who need to . . ." he hesitated. "Those with bodies to claim." Harry twirled the ink bottle in his fingers. "That's the most important thing, because we can't really get started with the cleanup until then."

"Harry," Ron interrupted. Harry looked up. Ron's face was suddenly very sad, and Harry knew he was thinking of Fred. "There's going to be a problem. A lot of people are either in Azkaban or on the run. It'll be days, weeks even, before we get to everyone, and really," he continued, "I bet we'll find a lot of them are dead, too."

"And even if we let everyone out of prison today," Hermione interjected, "they're not going to be up to funeral arrangements first thing. We need to store the bodies in the meantime."

"How do you deal with this — with . . . storage — in the Wizarding world?" Harry asked. Funny, of all the things he'd learned about magic, little tidbits that contrasted so starkly with the way Muggles handled the world, there were just some things that it never occurred to him to ask until he was smack in the middle of a pressing situation.

"Magic can be used to preserve bodies, much like that fimeld — . . . fimard —" Kingsley stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

"Formaldehyde?" Harry asked, amused.

"Right, that. There's a spell that I'll teach you, and that'll take care of preservation," he continued. He rubbed his forehead tiredly. "It would be best to move them out of the Hall, though. That was temporary."

"But where?" Ron asked. "The dungeons?"

"That doesn't seem . . . right, somehow," Hermione said slowly. "But I think it's the most viable option. Spell or no spell, it's hot as Hades outside, and the dungeons are cool at least. And they're out of sight. I guess I just don't like the idea of, say, Mrs. Creevey coming to pick up her son down there."

Harry felt a lump forming in his throat. He'd watched Oliver Wood carry Colin's tiny body into the Great Hall the night before. Colin had always been the one to tag after Harry, wanting so badly to be just like his hero. He'd only been sixteen, and too young to fight, but despite his slight frame, Colin was indeed a Gryffindor. Now, for once, that eager little boy who'd tried to take a picture of a basilisk in his first year had gone somewhere Harry could not. It would be many, many years before he caught up to Colin this time.

"Erm, what are we to do about . . . him?" Hermione asked.

"Who, Crackpot?" Ron asked. McGonagall gave him a disapproving look over her spectacles. "I vote we burn him."

"Mr. Weasley," the headmistress began.

"No, really," Harry interrupted her. "I agree. Nobody wants his body in the ground, it just isn't right. Some things need to be . . . finished."

"I'm with them," Kingsley told McGonagall. "When the Ministry destroys Dark objects, they use Fiendfyre in a controlled environment. We'll do the same with . . . him."

"Does it have to be in London?" Harry asked. "How will we get him there?" He had a mental image of someone spinning madly through the Floo with Voldemort's upright corpse in some obscene parody of a waltz and fought the insane urge to laugh.

"The thestrals can carry him," Kingsley said. "That's pretty much what they're used for, carrying large objects that you can't Apparate with or take through the Floo."

"What about the others, later?" Hermione inquired. "Will we need carriages for everyone? There'll be a . . . backlog."

Kingsley shook his head. "Portkeys will work fine for the others," he replied. "Now, Minerva, hear me out. To be blunt, you're no spring chicken."

She looked offended. "I beg your pardon," she began, but Kingsley continued as if he hadn't heard her.

"It's a very important job to see that the families of the dead are notified. Important, but at the same time sedentary. If you can work on that, it'll keep the rest of them free to do the heavy lifting and so on. Besides, it's some comfort to hear from the headmistress herself. Everyone knows who you are."

McGonagall still looked miffed, but she nodded agreement. "Very well."

"You three," he addressed Ron, Harry, and Hermione, "I'm going to tell you off the top of my head what needs to be done. It doesn't all need to be done today, and you may, of course, delegate anything you need, but you have to supervise and, above all, prioritize. First," he said, checking off items on his fingers, "is to move all of . . . our people to the dungeons. Second, prepare the thestrals to carry . . . it . . . to London. Dumbledore kept a carriage here, I don't know where, exactly —"

"I do," McGonagall cut in.

"Great. Third, Poppy is taking care of the injured, but check with her to see if anyone needs to be transferred to St. Mungo's. Fourth, when the carriage for . . . the thing . . . comes back, send it again with the Death Eaters. The Ministry will need to confirm their identities so we know who's still at large. Do not, under any circumstances, try to fix the actual structure of the building, like the walls or roofs. They held powerful enchantments, and you'll need to consult with Dumbledore's portrait about the spells. A simple Reparo isn't going to make the castle either secure or safe.

"That's enough for a start. I'll be back every couple of days to check on things here, but for now," he stood up from the table, "I've got to get back." Everyone stood up and shook hands with the Minister before he headed up to the head's office to Floo back to the Ministry. "Miss Granger, come here a moment, and I'll teach you that preservation spell."

While Hermione was huddled with Kingsley in the corner, Harry turned to McGonagall. "Ron and Hermione and I are going to get Snape's body from the Shrieking Shack," he informed her, "and then we'll come back and start bringing everyone down to the dungeons."

"Right, then. I'll be in my office being feeble," she said, obviously still bitter at the Minister. "If I can even find my way there." With that, she swept out of the room. Hermione returned to find both boys sniggering, and after Kingsley left, they walked out onto the grounds towards the Whomping Willow.

"Oh, Hermione, wait a sec," Harry said, turning back around. "Where did we leave the basilisk fangs? Those shouldn't be lying around."

"We took them into the Room of Requirement, remember?" she answered. "They would have been destroyed by the Fiendfyre."

"Oh, right," he said, relieved, resuming his pace. Then another question occurred to him. He faced them again, but without stopping, walking somewhat sideways. "Oi, I wondered about something. I thought it was odd enough that you got into the Chamber, 'cause I didn't think you could just learn Parseltongue, but the entrance to it was, like, a straight drop. Fawkes had to fly us out of there. How did you two get out?"

Ron halted, Harry and Hermione following suit. He stared without expression until Harry began to fidget uncomfortably. "Are you calling us liars?" he finally asked in a low tone.

Harry was shocked. "No, no way, I wasn't saying that, I just . . . I wondered, is all . . ." Ron's gaze hadn't wavered. Hermione didn't say anything. "Right, then," Harry said awkwardly. "Well . . ." He started again in the direction of the Shack, and this time he didn't stop or look back.

Snape's body was just where they'd left it the night before, and in spite of himself Harry was startled to see the slack face of the man whom he'd been speaking with just over an hour ago. "How do we . . .?"

"I'll get it," Hermione said gently. For once, she didn't sound smug about her superior magical skills. She pulled out her wand and levitated Snape's body to about waist level, then muttered, "Mobilicorpus" as she propelled it toward the passageway.

Harry had the worst sense of déjà vu as they headed through the tunnel back to the school. Ron may not be limping, but the scene still mirrored uncomfortably the one after revealing Peter Pettigrew in the Shrieking Shack. Just like then, Snape's lifeless body was being pushed along by the same spell. This time, though, Sirius, Remus, and Peter were missing. Dead. Harry felt such a rush of longing for Sirius that he had to stop and lean against the dirt wall of the tunnel, his forehead resting on his closed fist.

"Harry?" Hermione had stopped, noticing his footsteps were no longer trailing her. Leaving Snape floating, she came back to him and squeezed his shoulder. "You all right?"

"I miss Sirius," he said thickly. She nodded her understanding. He knew that the eerie parallel of their current situation could not have escaped her. He felt her arms wrap gently around his chest, and though Ron didn't touch him, Harry was comforted by his presence. They stood like that for a few minutes before she let go and said quietly, "We should go."

The memory of that night four years ago had been so clear that Harry was startled to step out of the tunnel into bright sunshine. He had fully expected it to be dark out. "Right, then, so . . . where should we bury him?"

"I thought we were bringing him to the dungeons," Ron said in confusion.

"It doesn't seem . . . right," Harry answered slowly. "I just assumed he'd be buried on the grounds. He doesn't have any family, and this was his favourite place in the world." He looked to Hermione. "I'll go with your opinion," he told her.

"I agree," she said simply. "But where?"

"Let's bury him in the pumpkin patch next to Aragog," Ron suggested. This struck Harry as incredibly funny, and he ended up bent double from the onslaught of giggles.

"Let's . . . let's . . ." Ron could barely breathe, let alone talk. "Let's throw him in the lake for the Giant Squid to play with."

Hermione stood looking at them, her arms crossed. All the while, Snape's body continued to float, bumping her hip a few times. Finally, she spoke. "If you two are quite finished, I see a nice spot under that tree over there. When you're ready, come find me." She turned on her heel and left, the corpse following her like some macabre satellite.

Harry and Ron followed, but collapsed again after Harry got to the top of the hill and commented, "Oh, good, he can see the ducks on the lake from here."

Hermione looked thoroughly disgusted. With her wand, she savagely cleared out a six-foot-deep space in the ground. She took a small box from her pocket and tossed it to Harry. "Kingsley left us these," she said.

"Coriander's Collapsible Coffins," he read, and made the unfortunate mistake of looking at Ron. After that, neither boy was good for much, and it was Hermione who expanded the coffin, levitated Snape's corpse into it, and lowered the closed box into the hole.

"Right, now we each throw in a handful of dirt," Ron said, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes.

"You do that? I mean, wizards do?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Yeah, why not?"

"Well, I just thought it might be different, since it's not like people actually dig the graves or fill them up manually," she replied.

"It's just a gesture," Ron said, picking up his handful and letting it drop. Harry went next, then Hermione, who then cast a spell that caused all the dirt to neatly fill up the hole, leaving only a small mound. Just like she had at Harry's parents' grave, she conjured a wreath of roses and laid it on the mound.

The three stood awkwardly around Snape's final resting place. Except it really isn't, Harry thought. He thought it odd that he didn't feel sad at all, but then again, he'd been in a rather fragile state when he'd viewed Snape's memories in the Pensieve the night before. It was easy then to feel all choked up, especially since the memories mostly involved his mother. Now, in the light of day, he wasn't as moved. Particularly since the man hadn't exactly left, or even mellowed at all.

The rest of the day was grueling. Harry and Ron had to learn the hard way how to perfect the Mobilicorpus spell, so they wisely confined their first attempts to dead Death Eaters. That way, they didn't have to feel bad about bumping the bodies into walls or accidentally dropping them on the ground. The Death Eaters were confined to a separate dungeon than those who had fought against them.

The Weasleys, sans Ron, were all at the Burrow arranging for Fred's burial, and most of the others had gone home to their families. Oliver Wood had stayed to help, though, as well as Luna and Neville. Slughorn was busy in the dungeons brewing as many medicinal potions as he could; both Madam Pomfrey and St. Mungo's were running out fast. The rest of the staff were at the Ministry, helping Kingsley. Voldemort's body was packed into the school's carriage, and the thestrals, driven by Hagrid, also set off for the Ministry in London. Harry knew he'd feel better when he heard that the body had been burnt in Fiendfyre.

They all worked right up until dinnertime, and at last the Great Hall was empty. Everyone suddenly became very neurotic about cleaning spells, and desultory mutterings of "Scourgify," "Incendio," and "Aguamenti" could be heard throughout the room. Finally, the tables and benches were in their proper places and the room looked almost normal. They would check with Dumbledore's portrait on the major repairs the next day.

The trio finally retired to Gryffindor Tower around nine. This time, Neville and Ron shared the room with Harry, since he wasn't, as they put it, "piss drunk out of his mind." Harry had to force himself to stay awake for a shower, although the hot water and clean clothes afterward felt like a slice of heaven.

Hermione was in the room when he got back, lying across Seamus's bed. The four sat in silence for a while, just trying to shake off the day.

"I've been thinking," Hermione said suddenly. "Harry, we really should go hunt for the Resurrection Stone. It still works, even if it's broken, and besides being something that should be preserved because of its part in the war, it's a powerful magical object. We don't want it falling into the wrong hands."

"Who's going to find it?" Ron whined. "I'm not up for a trek in the Forest. What are the odds someone will stumble on it?"

"What were the odds that Harry just happened to use Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem, also known as Horcrux #5, as a place marker when he hid that old Potions text?" Hermione challenged. Ron fell silent. "Look, I'll get it," she said impatiently. "You two don't have to come. I just wanted to let you know what I was thinking."

"Thanks for the update." Ron was sore at her and didn't bother to hide it. Hermione glared at him as she got up and stalked toward the door.

"You're going now?" Harry asked, startled.

"Might as well." Harry looked helplessly at Ron, who rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

"Well, I'm going to sleep. If she wants to run around in the dark, so be it. Why the bloody hell it couldn't wait for morning . . ." Ron got under the covers. Harry knew he'd be snoring in minutes. He took off his glasses and laid them on the night table, then crawled into bed. Merlin, the sheets felt so good . . . his muscles were wound tight as springs, and he sank gratefully into the mattress. The pillow was as soft as a cloud, and Harry . . . was . . . so . . . tired . . .

"Psst." Harry opened one eye and groaned when he saw Snape floating next to the bed. He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow.

"POTTER!"

"What?" Harry snapped, his voice muffled.

"I forgot to tell you something," Snape insisted. "It's important."

"What?"

"I want to be cremated."