A/N: I own nothing of Harry Potter, it's all JK Rowling.
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“Remus,” Harry yelled across the battle, “to your left!”
Remus blasted his opponent with one, last, knockout curse and sent his wand in the direction Harry had warned, throwing a fifth attacking Death Eater to the ground.
“Expelliarmus!” He cried into the damp air.
The two men stood, sweat dripping, hands shaking, watching frantically for any sign of further attackers. Harry’s breath was short and sporadic and his eyes begged to focus the dark. Without realizing it he began to inch towards Remus, stepping ever so slowly, his feet carrying him without his mind’s permission.
“How many more do you think, Harry?” He heard Remus whisper.
“I’m not sure,” he replied, his heart pounding, “I don’t remember there being very many, but I’m sure since you arrived they’ve called for others.”
Harry continued stepping back until suddenly he felt a bump at his hip and shot around, his wand at the ready to expel another curse. Remus had done the same and the two realized they had walked into each other without knowing they’d even been moving.
It gave moment for breath and Remus shook his head at the sky. He took a long, grateful glance at Harry and they both lowered their wands, letting the full weight of the past rest as Remus slapped Harry on the shoulder, pulling him into a tight embrace. He sighed and patted his friend on the back with a hearty sound.
“I thought I might have lost you…” he said into Harry’s neck.
“I know, Remus…” Harry whispered back.
The last hour had been a blur to Harry as Remus had come to his aid. He felt a bit frustrated that he was unable save himself, yet again putting others in harm’s way, but couldn’t help but be entirely grateful at the same time, for without the timely and effective pluck Harry might not have lived to see the next morning.
The Death Eaters were scrambling for life with the sudden downfall of their leader. Those who had already exposed themselves knew their terrible fate lest they be caught and were certainly not going to accept it easily.
Without Voldemort, the collection of dark wizards had no chance of survival however they were fighting with every resource available regardless. And the best resource for fighting power? Men.
As Harry had fast discovered after his kidnapping, there were massive cells of Death Eaters whom had remained secret during the war, fighting from behind, stabbing in the back, so to speak. Now, with desperation as the forwarding force, there was less room for “blankets”, as they were referred to by those who’d been upfront the entire time. Or, at least, so was being said by at least a few Death Eaters.
“There are so many, Remus,” Harry expounded, “I don’t know where they all came from!”
“Obviously Voldemort had more up his sleeve than we were aware of…I can’t say I don’t feel like a fool, either.” Remus sighed.
The men were rambling over the numbers and the task they had before them when a cracking from the surrounding trees grabbed their attention and both Harry and Remus raised their wands again, neither willing to admit they were too tired to fight anymore.
A tall figure emerged from the shadows and just as Harry was about to spit out the next curse on his mind he heard a deep voice call out to him. Harry stopped for a moment to listen, trying to ascertain the noise.
“Ron?” He cried as the figure emerged into the moonlight, limping and covered in blood.
Harry rushed towards the body that had now collapsed on the ground, and dropped to his knees before it. Studying the wounds on Ron’s robes he recognized the curse immediately - he had used it before himself.
“Ron, are there more coming?” Remus asked quickly from behind the two men on the ground.
Ron gave a weak shake of his head letting Harry take in a sigh of relief and Remus raced off to see if any of the others had been hurt.
Harry watched Lupin’s robes fly behind him, ripping in the wind as he raced away. He hoped that Ron had been right, there was simply no energy left inside of him to fight.
There was a strange gargling sound that brought him back to the friend before him and he noticed that Ron had made the noise, trying to speak. Harry leaned in a bit closer, listening intently, but the world around him was so loud he could hardly even hear the mumble, let alone understand it. The wind was howling and screaming and Harry’s heart was racing in his ears.
“Ron, what is it?” He begged.
Ron’s eyes rotated towards Harry’s and he reached up a weary hand to Harry’s robes.
“Hermione…” he finally coughed.
Harry’s heart dropped onto the grass beneath his knees and as he watched Ron for a few seconds more, the sounds outside becoming an even more bitter noise.
“Hermio-“ he tried to say again and Harry reached for his head. “The baby…”
Harry shut his eyes tightly for a moment.
“No, no, no…” he mumbled, grasping a desperate desire for Ron’s survival, which was not for his own selfish reasons anymore.
Ron gave one last look to Harry, letting their eyes speak for things that could not be said aloud then coughed and let his neck fall weak upon the ground, sliding out of consciousness.
“Ron?” Harry called as he placed his hand upon Ron’s jaw. “Ron! No, no!”
Everything was beginning to spin around him. Trees were swirling and blending with the sky like an explosion of oil paints and his focus was drifting farther and farther from reality. He gripped onto Ron’s robes, wishing he had learned the counter-curse to this dreadful spell. His hands were covered by Ron’s blood as he searched for his heart under the torn cloth.
Please let there be a pulse, he thought frantically.
“Harry!” A voice screamed from the distance, catching Harry in midmotion.
He looked up just in time to see a cloaked figure bounding towards him, wand outstretched. The flash of light blasted him into the air with undeniable force and knocked him solid to the ground with a powerful, loud, thud.
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The Burrow was cold and fragile, the tension in the air tight and sharp. Ginny continued to listen to the heartbeat at her ear for a few minutes more when Harry suddenly pulled away from the hug and stepped back to stare Ginny straight in the face.
She looked confused at the motion, but receptive at the same time, as if she had wanted to do the same herself. Silence sustained them for what felt like hours as they just watched each other, drinking in the reality.
Finally, exhausted and entirely confused at the world around her, Ginny took the first step.
“I don’t know what’s going on..."
She bit her lip as she tried to build the courage to talk to this man, this person that she had known so well once before. It was her husband...but was he still the same man she'd married?
"How are you…I mean…you’re alive?” she asked softly.
Harry responded only with a barely-visible nod, trying to argue with his mind of just what to say. Ginny waited for a response, but there was only continued quiet.
“And?” She asked slightly irritated at his closure to her question.
Harry stared at her even harder. Her eyes were penetrating him in a deep, cold way that didn’t express love. She wanted answers, she deserved them, and he wanted to give them to her…but there was so much to explain. What if she didn’t believe him? What if she hated him? What if he had made the wrong choice by coming here now? A million thoughts barreled though his mind, years of terror breaking at his lips leaving him speechless.
Ginny waited, each passing second without conversation filling her with more and more frustration. Why wasn’t he saying anything? He’d been so ready to explain earlier and now when she was ready to listen he had shut up like a stick.
“Harry?” She said again, tears filling the space behind her eyes.
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“Ginny!” Harry screamed as he shot upwards.
His entire body was soaked with sweat and he felt something wrapped tightly and awkwardly around his chest and legs. He reached for his wand to find that it was not with him and his heart exploded in fear. His hands traced his body furiously as they searched for the wand anywhere, any pocket, and place beside him, until he slowed to focus on his surroundings.
The room looked oddly familiar; he must have seen it before. Everything was blurry and dark and he fumbled around for the glasses he hoped were nearby. His fingers discovered something cold and metal and he gripped them thankfully. Placing the spectacles on his nose he inhaled the hospital room, fighting with his memory to recall how he had come to be in the place.
A set of thin white sheets were tangled around his body and he kicked his legs about to remove them, but groaned in pain as he did so. His back ached as if a sledgehammer had been thrown at it, but it was his head that set him back against the pillows. He raised his hand to soothe it and felt a thick bandage covered a larger portion of his skull.
“Crucio!”
Harry cringed as the word flashed in his brain, called out by the cloaked figure after he had launched him through the air. He remembered that much. What had happened? How did he get here?
“Ron!” He called again, suddenly remembering the image of his best mate lying hopelessly on the ground. Was he okay? Oh Merlin, did he…die? Harry swallowed hard and attempted to sit up again when he heard a collection of feet pattering down the hall.
“Harry! Oh word, you’re alive!” A female voice said in an ecstatic, yet fearful tone.
Harry turned towards the door and saw a plump, young nurse standing in the light. She rushed to his bedside, glanced about a few bobbles here and there, felt his pulse and rushed out again without saying another word.
“Wait-“ Harry tried calling at her, but he could hear the sound of footsteps walking away.
Another face peered into the door, startling Harry a bit. It was a different nurse, this one older and much thinner, but just as short.
“Mr. Potter?” She asked shyly.
“Yeah,” he said, utterly confused at the way she hid beside the doorpost.
She jumped up just a bit and hobbled into the room to his bedside.
“We thought you were dead for sure, Mr. Potter, the whole world already thinks you are!” She said rather excitedly as she touched his bandage carefully. “We’ll have to change that.”
Harry gave her a confused look, but she pulled out a clean roll of tape and he realized she was talking about his head. She raised his neck from the pillow and Harry tried to pull himself all the way up.
“Nonsense,” the nurse said as she softly pushed him back down, “you’re not ready to be moving about like a train. You’ve only just woken up and I’d hate to have to watch you die a second time.”
“What?” Harry asked as the woman giggled and began removing the bandage.
“Looks well enough, that’s for certain. Don’t think many heal as nicely as you, there, Mr. Potter.”
She was much too bubbly to accept and Harry grabbed her arm with a weak force, taking her by surprise.
“What is going on? Where am I? How did I get here?” He asked desperately.
“Oh, gracious, dear,” she said again, sounding quite a lot like Molly Weasley, “I think that’s better left for another time, would it not?”
“No, it wouldn’t,” he responded quickly, but she ignored him and finished replacing the bandage.
“Well, that does do,” she said, content with her work, smiled, and bounded off the same way the first nurse had.
“What is going on?” Harry mumbled, his head pounding and his chest caving in like a mountainside.
He waited for a third nurse to enter, or even one of the first two to return, but no one came. There was an empty bed to his left, and a long body sleeping in the one across the corner. He tried to recognize the gangly toes hanging out from beneath the sheets, but quickly turned his attention to something simpler.
It was night, perhaps early morning, he wasn’t positive. He could see stars twinkling through the small window that sat towards the top of the wall, but there was no moon and the shadows attested to it. He looked at his bedside to notice a small, white table just slightly taller than the bed, covered with clean bandages and tape, scribbled papers and two half-empty glasses of water.
“Well we weren’t expecting this,” a man’s voice hissed down the hall.
Harry’s ears perked up again, hoping they were headed his direction. The footsteps began to build and he was certain both nurses had joined the new body. His heart was beating heavily, confusion abounding. If only he could remember what had happened to get him here.
‘Well, hello Harry,” the man said, who was now entering the room with a stealth, shadowy stalk.
Harry gazed at him, taking in his well-built appearance and expensive robes. He waited for the man to introduce himself, however no response came, and he was already confused as it were.
“Are you here for something or should I just go back to sleep?” He said bitterly.
The man shuffled about, pointing at random nothingness to the nurses as if he wanted to look more important that he really was, then walked to Harry’s left side. He was wearing a purple robe with matching top hat and let his fingers drop casually to the mattress just above Harry’s knee.
“Well, life all a bit hazy, is it?” He asked, refusing to make eye contact and instead staring down Harry’s sheets.
Harry would have liked to sock him, but he could feel every muscle ache with even the thought.
“I suppose you’d like to know what’s going on here, how you arrived, that sort?” The man said lightly.
“I wouldn’t bother wasting your time otherwise,” Harry replied sharply. He’d never disliked anyone so quickly.
“Yes, well, it’s not quite a waste, really, but is certainly suited for a different time and location, now isn’t it, Healer Knottinghopp?”
The younger, plumper nurse nodded less eagerly and Harry felt his face go red with frustration. This man was not a part of this hospital - that was for certain. If Harry had any sense at all, he was certain the man had been sent by the ministry, and rather cringed at the arrogance.
“Where is Ron? And Remus Lupin? What happened “ did the Death Eaters get away? How is the war going?” The words spilled out of his mouth with intensity and anger; questions were overflowing from every nook of his mind.
The man fidgeted awkwardly and glanced quickly at Harry before reaching to his head and pulling his top hat off. He let out a manufactured laugh and played with the rim of his hat, giving the nurses a reason to laugh as well.
“Well, you certainly are full of words, there, aren’t you, Mr. Potter? Yes, well, I will debrief you on the events more specifically later, but you have defeated the Dark Lord and there is nothing more to worry about. ”
His words were rushed and Harry could sense the force behind them. Something was strange about this situation and it was fast becoming apparent that his body was the not the only thing making him uncomfortable. He searched the man’s face for answers, for understanding, but couldn’t catch a proper glimpse.
A heavy silence filled the room and Harry waited for the man to speak again. The nurses were staring at each other, at the man, and then back to Harry, a rotation that set Harry’s stomach uneasy.
“Healer Bredou,” the man finally said, “I will stay and talk with Mr. Potter, try to catch him up, it’s been a long battle, of course, and I think he would be pleased to hear that peace is restored, don’t you?”
The two women nodded reluctantly as if they wanted to stay and listen to the stories as well, but left obediently.
“What’s going on? I know I killed Voldemort…I remember that just fine. There are other Death Eaters out there, not ready to give in so easily…” Harry paused, thinking deeply, contemplating this man. Why was he even letting him in on such privileged information?
“Yes, yes, sure you do, sure you do,” the man mumbled irrelevantly as he slapped his robes in search of something that seemed to be rather important to find.
Harry raised an eyebrow at the action and lost track of every question he'd yet considered except the one he decided particularly important at this time.
“Who are you?” He asked strongly.
“Jacob Phish at your service, Mr. Potter.” He reached into a deep pocket on the inside right of his robe and pulled out something tiny and simple enough to hide within his palm. Harry’s heart began to beat a bit faster once again, curious as to the identity of the object.
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"Harry?" Ginny said again, this time her voice stretched with anger.
Harry sighed, wishing it could only be so easy to just tell her the truth and be on with life.
“There’s so much to say, Gin,” he said finally, "there's just...there are so many things to explain."
He watched his wife who gave little reaction. She swallowed and let her eyes speak for her mouth, demanding that it made no difference, for if Harry ever owed her anything in life, this was most certainly it.
"Perhaps we should sit...or..." he glanced around the room in search of a chair or a couch, anything, but the Burrow was in total disarray.
Again without verbal response Ginny led the way. She moved towards the side of the room where the Weasley couch was tilted on its back. They took a second to heave it forward where it landed on to the front legs with a dusty thump.
Harry tried to take her hand, but she pulled it away with a subtle movement. The hug she had just given him would never be repeated less he took the time to sort out every inch and detail.
Would she listen to him? Where to start the story? What words could properly put into place the last eight years?
Her eyes penetrated deeper into his own and his heart longed to comfort her sorrows. If only he could do her justice.
“Well…” he said quietly, hoping beyond all measure she would sit for the entire tale, "The battle didn't end with Voldemort..."
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A/N: I know this chapter is short, but there is just so much that needs to be explained, it's going to take a little while to get everything out there, I can't cram everything in one chapter! The next few chapters will definately get everything out in the open, and then we'll really deal with Ginny's reaction to it all!