A/N- Hi everyone! As you can see, this is a post-DH fic, but it won't go all the way up to the epilogue like so many of them do (although it will remain completely epilogue compliant). Updates may not be quick because I do have another story that I'm working on, but this will only be nine chapters long, and although it isn't all typed yet, I know exactly where I'm going with this. It's not really a song-fic, although the lyrics from 'Iridescent' by Linkin Park, that are added to the start of each chapter, seemed to fit perfectly with my story. Hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think!

Disclaimer- The entire world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. The lyrics at the start of each chapter belong to Linkin Park.

Chapter 1: The Beginning after the End

You were standing in the wake of devastation...

Harry woke slowly from the dreamless cocoon of sleep, his aching body feeling heavy against the mattress of the four-poster bed. Somehow, even though he hadn't fully awoken yet, he realised that the need for panic had gone. He almost relished the time he took to open his eyes now, knowing that he would not open them and see the inside of that god-forsaken tent or, even worse, a Death Eater pointing his wand at him. The constant fear of attack had finally left him, leaving only emptiness in its place.

It's over.

Those two simple words represented so much to Harry; relief, sadness, hope, grief. The short sentence conveyed so much more than recognition of the end of the fighting; to Harry it meant the beginning of his life. So much of his time and effort in the last few years had been focused on bringing about the demise of Voldemort and his followers. So much of his life had been entwined with that of the Dark Lord; from his childhood with the Dursleys to each of his adventures at Hogwarts, Harry had been facing a constant battle to survive because of him. Even his own mind had not been free from Voldemort's influence. But now with Voldemort dead, Harry finally had a chance to do more than simply survive; he had a chance to live.

It's over, and yet it's all just beginning.

His eyes now fully open, Harry blinked as he realised that it was still dark. It had been dark when he had finally gone to sleep as well, so the lack of light in the dormitory momentarily confused him. Lying on his back, still dressed in the clothes he had worn in the battle, Harry raised an arm and glanced at the watch that had once belonged to Fabian Prewett. Harry was surprised when he saw that it was only five o'clock in the morning. Despite the hour, Harry felt fully awake.

As he sat up, he finally took in his surroundings and found that he was sat on the bed that had belonged to him during his sixth year at Hogwarts, his final year before he had gone on the run. Last night he had gone up to his old dormitory on auto-pilot, the exhaustion leading the way. Now, as he stretched his aching muscles, he realised just how eerily quiet it was. There was no loud snoring, no whispers, no quiet laughing at a private joke. It felt wrong somehow, like some part of the past had been lost to him. He knew he would never live here like that again, would never again experience the life of a student. Too much had changed. He had changed.

The silence told him that he was completely alone in the room, and for a moment he wondered where everyone was. It took him a second to remember that Ron was likely to be with his family, and Hermione was likely to be with Ron. They had both walked up to the common room with him, none of them needing to speak, but the new couple had made it clear that they were not going to separate simply by their body language alone. When Ron had announced that the Weasleys had been allocated a classroom where they could set up camp for a few days until everything was sorted, Harry knew that they would both be heading straight there. Harry, on the other hand, simply bid them goodnight and trenched tiredly up to the dormitory. He didn't want to intrude on the family's grief.

He had enough of that himself.

Now, as he sat on the four-poster bed, staring unseeingly at the wall in front of him, Harry thought back to all the deaths that had occurred in order to ensure that this was indeed a victory and not a defeat. The cost had been high.

Too high, Harry thought to himself.

The list of the dead stretched far longer than those who had been lost in the Battle of Hogwarts. He had never even had the chance to know his parents, their deaths occurring when he was just one year old, but as long as he could remember, he had always grieved their loss. However, since that day he had lost so many people that were close to him, who had mattered greatly to him, that now the grief threatened to overwhelm him. All he could think was that they should all be there to celebrate the victory with them. If he had just been stronger, quicker, would they have lived? He had been blaming himself for the death of Sirius, his Godfather, since the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts, but now he added countless more names to that list: Dumbledore, Snape, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Colin...

It tore at his heart to think about the sacrifice that they had all made, just so that he could carry on breathing. So that he could have a life.

With great difficulty, he pushed his depressing thoughts aside, and slowly rose to his feet. He had to help with the rebuilding. He had to feel useful, do something. Harry's chest throbbed painfully when he moved, but he simply chose to ignore it. He had no intention of looking at the damage that the Killing Curse had done. He didn't want to know if he had yet another scar; his collection was far too big already, especially after this year. He refused point blank to tell anyone that it was bothering him either; they all had enough to worry about, and he didn't need their pity.

I don't deserve it either, Harry thought.

He refused, however, to feel any pity for himself either. A little pain was the least he could endure for all those who had given their lives for him. He would bear it, as he had had to do with so many other burdens, and he would bear it with as much dignity as he could muster. The dead deserved that much from him. They had given him a second chance at life and he would not waste it; he would not allow himself to sink into depression. He would make something of his life; he would make their sacrifice worth it.

Harry felt that if he focused more on this thought then the guilt he felt over their deaths lessened a bit. Or was he just burying it beneath thoughts of penance? He didn't know, he thought, as he slowly made his way down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room, carrying the rucksack that, at the moment, contained all his possessions including both his wand and that of his mentor. He made a mental note to himself to fulfil his promise soon and return the elder wand back to its original owner; its rightful place.

Despite the early hour, Harry was surprised to find the common room empty and the fire out. He made his way across the floor, past his and Ron's favourite armchairs by the fire, and exited out of the portrait hole, idly wondering about the absence of the fat lady. He had been too tired last night to notice that the common room door had been left unguarded. Now he was simply too hungry to care.

As he walked through the hallowed and empty halls of his first real home, Harry thought about all that had changed since he had first laid eyes on the magnificent school; his haven. Some of the walls he passed were black with ash, others were crumbling to the ground. Hogwarts was damaged, that was for sure, but she was still standing. She had resisted, giving her very essence for the protection of people contained in her walls. In a way, she reflected the people themselves. They had suffered, and with time they could heal, but things would never be exactly as they once were. Memories of war would not quickly be forgotten, and the absence of loved ones could never be filled. Harry knew he was damaged too, not just physically either, and he wondered if the things that now haunted him would be as easy to repair as the castle's walls.

Lost in thought, he was surprised to find that he was now standing outside the entrance to the Great Hall. Realising that it was only very early in the morning, he suspected that there wasn't likely to be anyone around, much less any food that he could eat.

I could call Kreacher.

Harry was certain that the old elf would be quite willing to help him get something to eat and maybe even a change of clothes that hadn't spent the last few months in Hermione's handbag. However, before the idea of calling Kreacher had even fully formed in his mind, his attention was drawn into the Great Hall itself, and to an unnatural sound emitting from it. He realised that the doors were partially open and that the sound that he could hear was sobbing. Someone was in there and they were clearly distraught. He moved towards the door slowly, unsure whether or not he should enter or go for help, when he heard a half-strangled cry.

"It's all my fault! They should hate me!"

He opened the door quietly, decision made, and walked decisively though the entrance. When he looked around for the sound of the cry, he was surprised when his eyes focused on a red headed figure sat at the Gryffindor table. It was Percy and he was alone in the vast empty room.

Realising that it was too late to back out now, Harry walked calmly over to sit opposite from Percy. Without saying a word, but noticing the Weasley's gaze on him, he saw a plate of uneaten sandwiches and immediately grabbed one. It was stale, but to his starving stomach, it was heaven.

Percy, as he watched Harry devour the sandwiches, seemed to re-gather his senses. He took in the figure before him, noticing his messy black hair was covered in mud and what seemed to be blood, his face still carrying the bruises and scratches of battle. He hadn't even changed his clothes, let alone had a shower. Harry looked a mess...

"How are you holding up, Percy?"

The question had surprised Percy. He had been lost in his thoughts, and had actually been on the verge of asking Harry the exact same thing; he wondered how Harry, looking like he did, was still standing.

"I'm alright," replied Percy, his puffy red eyes negating the truthfulness of that statement.

"You know, there was a reason I didn't ask if you were alright," said Harry calmly, with a knowing look in his eyes that would have reminded Percy of Albus Dumbledore, had his eyes been raised to notice it.

"I mean, how can anyone be alright after all this?". Harry gestured towards the tattered and scattered tables that lined the Great Hall walls, his gaze pausing at the floor where a number of the dead had been put at rest during the battle. They had moved on now, in both senses of the word.

"I doubt anything is going to be alright for a while, but we'll get there in the end,' Harry continued, resignation and determination warring with each other in his expression.

"How do you know?" asked Percy, desperation adding a strange tone to his voice.

"Because we're going to make it alright," replied Harry, with such certainness that Percy was momentarily shocked into silence. Harry took quick advantage of this, asking the question that had been nagging at him since he had first seen who it was who had been so distraught.

"Why aren't you with your family, Percy?" His voice was stern and yet kind. Harry had an idea as to the answer to that question, but he wanted to hear it from Percy. When Percy didn't reply, his eyes firmly fixed on the table in front of him, Harry continued.

"You know you're being selfish, don't you?" His tone was still kind and yet Percy still flinched at the words, his angry gaze rising rapidly to meet Harry's calm one. Harry felt no guilt over saying this; he knew he was being harsh, but he was also certain that he was right.

"How dare you! I'm doing them a favour by staying away!" Percy replied angrily.

"Why?" Harry asked steadily. "Why wouldn't they want you with them?" Harry had an idea where this was going, and he didn't like it.

"They hate me!" Percy shouted, his voice already hoarse from crying.

Harry fell silent. This was exactly what he had been afraid of. He had known that Percy would be blaming himself, was grieving Fred's loss as if it was his fault, but Harry had been there after the battle, had seen the grieving Weasleys, and he knew, as much as he knew anything, that they would never hate Percy. He was a part of their family, and Harry was sure that they would be devastated if Percy abandoned them again, even if it was because of the incorrect assumption that they wouldn't want him.

"They don't hate you," Harry stated calmly, and even though he hadn't spoken to any of them since the battle, he knew his words were true.

"They should! They'll never forgive me!" Percy cried distraughtly.

"They will," Harry said firmly.

"Well, I don't deserve their forgiveness!"

"It isn't about what you deserve Percy." Harry cut in, his tone still stern. "They're your family, they'll forgive you regardless. They've already lost one son and brother, don't make the same mistake! Fred has given you a second chance now, don't you dare waste it!

Harry, on seeing that Percy was about to protest, quickly continued, his voice steadying as he made an effort to calm down.

"You can wallow in self-pity and self-hatred all you want, Percy. But know this: I've been there. Trust me, you will never be able to change what happened, no matter how much you want to. You can scream at the world, or you can refuse to ever talk to anyone ever again, but nothing you ever do will ever bring Fred back!"

"I'm not saying this to hurt you, Percy," Harry continued. "It's just...well...you can't let their sacrifice be in vain. Your brother gave his life so that you could have a second chance with yours. You only have two options: take the chance or don't. But if you turn away from your family now, when they need you the most, you will regret it. And trust me, nothing hurts worse than regret, not even death."

At this point, Harry's thoughts fell immediately to Snape, and the intense regret that had caused a man to give up his happiness in order to atone for his mistake. In the end, death had been an escape for the potion's master. A relief from the pain of regret.

Harry made a move to get up and leave, but remembering something that Dumbledore had once said to him, Harry spoke once more.

"Don't pity the dead, Percy. Pity the living, and those who live without love. The dead are gone, and I'd like to believe they're in a better place, having their next great adventure. It's the living that need you now."

And with that Harry got up off the bench and quietly left the empty hall, leaving Percy alone to his troubled thoughts.

A/N- So how was it? Hope you enjoyed it!