A.V. - After Voldemort

Hello, and thank you for taking the time to at least click on this link and see what this story is about. This story is, as much as it can be, canon based on what J.K. Rowling has revealed about the future of the characters of the Potterverse, with me basically filling in the gaps. This means that I have attempted, to the best of my ability, to make this "realistic" in terms of how the characters act and the over-all plot, even though I might personally have preferred a Neville/Luna pairing for instance.

As such, THE SEX WILL COME LATER. I highly doubt that the characters are going to be shacking up as soon as Voldemort is dead.

With that in mind, here is Chapter One!

Chapter One: In Memory
-----------------------------------

A.V. - After Voldemort


He was running, the air in his lungs insufficient to propel him fast enough, as a long and slender hand raised a wand, and uttered words resulting in a green light flying out at a red headed girl, her eyes wide in terror...

Harry Potter awoke with a start, sweat covering his face. He clutched at himself to make sure he was still in one piece, then flopped his head back into his pillow on his bed next to Ron, who snored on peacefully as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Of course, Harry had had the nightmare often in the week since the battle at Hogwarts. It was hard for Harry to think that it had only been that long. It seemed at once so far away, and also as if it had just happened. He had replayed every event of what was surely the oddest and scariest night of his life in his head. The dreams were never about his death – he had long ago accepted that he had died – but about people he loved dying. Ginny was naturally the usual target of Voldemort's killing curse, but Ron, Hermione, Neville, and even Dobby had made appearances to be killed in his mind every night, usually several times a night.

Harry's heart was still racing as he lay in his bed at the Burrow. He decided to walk around to clear his head, and crept slowly out of the room, his bare feet making very little noise as he walked in the creaky house. His years of sneaking around Hogwarts had given him very good lessons in moving silently.

As he crept past Ginny's door, however, the door opened, revealing Ginny in her night clothes. She looked at Harry, and he nodded slightly. He had told Ginny about his dreams, and she didn't speak, but instead grabbed his hand and walked with him quietly down the stairs and out of the house.

When they were far enough from the house, Ginny tentatively asked what his dream had been about. When Harry mentioned her role in his dream, Ginny gripped his arm tighter. At the time, the adrenaline and battle lust had driven all thought of what could have gone wrong from his mind, but now, with the battle done, he was aware of how lucky they had all been to have survived that terrible night. Some, Harry knew, had not been so lucky. A memorial service was scheduled for the following morning, and Harry also had heard that awards would be given out to the heroes of the day.

“Are you dreading the coming day?” asked Ginny as she and Harry lay down just outside the fence of Mrs. Weasley's garden in the soft grass. She put her arms around him, moving her body close to him, though the night was quite warm.

“They are going to ask me to speak,” Harry predicted, “and I have no idea what to say to them. I don't even know how I feel about it.” He had been talking to Ginny in private quite a lot recently, and found confiding with her quite soothing.

Ginny hugged him tighter. “When the time comes, I'm sure you'll have just the words they need to hear,” she said reassuringly.

“It was just...so random, just a matter of luck,” Harry said, gazing at the stars without really seeing them. “Just a small movement of her wrist, and Bellatrix Lestrange would have hit you before your mother stepped in there.” Harry tried to bite back the tears that were coming unbidden to his eyes, but they came anyways as his voice faltered. Ginny pulled him on to her chest, and held him as he cried as he had never been able to cry before. He had been doing this a lot, but only with Ginny or while alone. He didn't want anyone else to think he had gone mental, and Ginny had been more than understanding with him.

“The important thing is that we survived, and it's no use thinking about what could have been,” Ginny stated wisely, looking down at him with a piercingly fierce gaze. Harry leaned up, and Ginny's lips met his. For a fleeting moment, he forgot all about the war that had happened so recently, and the lives that had been lost. It was just Ginny and him, and he wished it would be like that always.

“Come on,” Ginny said, breaking the kiss. “We need to both be rested for tomorrow. We have a long day ahead of us.” They held hands on the way back into the house and up the stairs. Harry kissed Ginny at her door, and then crept back into Ron's room, Ron still blissfully asleep. Harry felt his head hit his pillow, and was instantly asleep.

* * *

The following morning showed why Harry stayed at the Burrow instead of at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, Sirius's house. He still didn't see it as his. Despite Kreacher's best efforts to make it more a home than before, Harry couldn't sleep there. He had a feeling it was because no one was there except him, him and Sirius's memory. It was dark and gloomy, and far too silent for Harry. As such, he had taken Mrs. Weasley up on her offer for Harry to stay with the Weasleys as long as he liked.

The house was packed. Besides Harry, Ron, and Ginny, Hermione was staying with them until after the memorial service, when she and Ron planned to go bring Hermione's parents back. George was also back to staying at the Burrow. Harry knew why, and could sympathize. Percy had also returned after his long stint away, as though to make up for lost time.

After a beautiful breakfast made by Mrs. Weasley, they put on their best dark dress robes, and all Apparated - Ginny having just passed her qualification test – to Hogsmeade to join what appeared to be all of the U.K's wizarding population in the procession to Hogwarts.

The sky was a gloomy and dark gray, quite fitting the emotions swarming in Harry as he looked on the castle, still in ruin after the battle. Though some efforts had already been made to mend the castle, there were still large gaping holes and many, many smashed windows. Harry glanced around, and was more than a little pleased to see the blood stains had been cleaned off the lawn, so that at least it looked pristine and new.

The front lawn was covered in chairs. Harry saw a small stage set up in front of Dumbledore's white casket, which was now joined by the gravestones of everyone who had died in alphabetical order. There was a large stone tablet next to these gravestones which read “Here lay those who died fighting Voldemort” and Harry was very pleased to see that people were not calling Tom Riddle He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named anymore.

They took seats in the front that were reserved for those who had lost loved ones. But before Harry had sat down, Kingsley Shacklebolt, interim Minister of Magic, walked up to him, shaking his hand, his face grave and serious. “Harry, I was wondering if you might say a few words for the dead.” Harry had been expecting this, and mutely nodded. He still didn't have the slightest clue what he would say. Kingsley dragged him up on to the stage, and there was a rush of sound as people started talking, glancing up occasionally in Harry's direction.

Harry had lived his entire life in the spotlight, and after defeating Voldemort once and for all, it had only gotten worse. The day after the battle, Number 12, Grimmauld Place had been surrounded by reporters, all wanting an interview or comments. Harry, who had had practice the previous year with disappearing from the house without anyone noticing, had been sneaking out for days before they finally dispersed.

That had not, however, stopped the constant stream of owls that bombarded him wherever he went. Most of them he opened and threw in the fire, since they mirrored the reporters' wishes, or else were from every manner of girl pledging their undying love to Harry Potter. Rather than being offended, Ginny had laughed the hardest upon seeing the stacks of love letters. “I'm dating the most attractive bachelor in Britain,” she had said with a cheeky grin as Harry had blushed crimson.

This day was no different from any other. Reporters were standing around the seats, and Harry saw a microphone on the podium, which he guessed led to a broadcast of the memorial service for those who could not attend in person.

Kingsley made a motion to someone Harry could not see, and somber music began to softly play over the crowd, and they were silenced quickly. Kingsley stood up and approached the podium just as the music stopped.

“Citizens of the magical world,” Kingsley began with a very serious and sad air, “We are gathered here today to commemorate and honor those brave witches and wizards who fought Voldemort.” The crowd reacted as Harry had been seeing them react for years at the mention of Voldemort's name. “While we were victorious, it was not without heavy losses, both to Hogwarts and to us all personally. We lost some of the best of our kind. We have lain them to rest by Professor Dumbledore, that they might all be remembered as the ones who gave everything they had for freedom and peace.”

The air was thick with a somber veil over the entire crowd. Several people were already crying, or at least dabbing at their eyes. “I will now read the names of each of these brave witches and wizards in alphabetical order. They will all be receiving, posthumusly, the Order of Merlin, Second Class for their efforts against Voldemort.” And as he began to read each name off slowly, it was as if Harry was having knives driven into his soul with each name, each person who had died so that he could survive and win. He was especially panged by Colin Creevey's name and by Fred's. At the mention of Fred there was renewed sobbing from the Weasleys. Harry tried as hard as he could not to cry, but he couldn't stop the hot tears that began to run down his face as he silently listened to the rest of the names.

As the last name was called, Kingsley glanced at Harry, and Harry stood up, wiping his tears on his sleeve before standing in front of the podium. The crowd instantly hushed, and Harry felt a mix of nervousness and sudden eloquence upon gazing out at the crowd.

“I'm sure many of you are expecting me to have some words of comfort for your losses this day. You want me to make sense of why your relative or friend had to be killed while another survived.” He swallowed and glanced up at the castle, remembering each death he had witnessed that night. “I can't explain it, because it's not a matter of skill or luck or any of that stuff when you're fighting. It's just you and fate.”

Harry saw the crowd on the edge of their seats, and could feel the silence elsewhere as others listened to their radios. “What I can tell you,” Harry continued, his voice cracking as tears came to his eyes, “is that your loved ones did not die for nothing. They died to defend our freedom, and insure that we could live in a world without oppression and without the need to fight and die simply for being different. I hope we all never forget what that means, and work to make that dream an eternal reality.”

He stepped back from the podium, and Kingsley stood to shake his hand with an approving nod as he replaced Harry at the podium. “Would the following people please stand in front of me here,” he said, motioning with his arm in front of him. Kingsley read off a list that Harry recognized as most of the people who had survived the battle at Hogwarts. After they had assembled, Kingsley handed out Order of Merlin, Third Class medals to all of them with a shake of his hand.

Returning to the stage, Kingsley silenced those who had clapped with a raised hand. “Would Molly Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley come stand in front of me.” They all received the Order of Merlin, Second Class for their individual contributions on the battlefield.

“And finally, to Mr. Harry James Potter,” Kingsley said, glancing at Harry, who stood, “I present the Order of Merlin, First Class for his exceptional courage and ability not only in defending this school, but in defending all of mankind against a great and terrible evil.” He handed Harry his medal, which Harry took mutely, unable to think of anything to say as mixed emotions swirled in his guy. As he and Kingsley turned to the crowd, there was a thunder of applause, as though the dead had finally been dealt with, and the wizarding world could properly celebrate the defeat of Voldemort.

As people began to file from the rows of chairs, Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Professor McGonagall looking at him. “Potter,” she said quietly, “I need to talk to you, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger about your schooling. Meet me in the Headmaster's office when this is all over. The password is still 'Dumbledore.'”

Harry mutely nodded, and went off to find Hermione and Ron, who were being embraced by the Weasley family. Harry noticed them subtly holding hands amid all the embraces, as though afraid that if they let go, they'd never see each other again. He whispered into their ears about Professor McGonagall's wishes, and they extracted themselves a half hour later from the crowds of admirers to climb the steps in the castle to the Headmaster's office. A knock opened the way for them to enter the room.

Upon entering the room, Harry noticed it was slightly cleaner. The odd gadgets and gizmo's that Dumbledore had had around the room had been moved elsewhere, save for the Pensieve, which still stood on the desk, unmoved from where Harry had left it the night of the battle. Seeing it reminded Harry of Snape, and Harry looked around to see that Snape's portrait had not been added as Dumbledore's had been upon his death.

Before Harry could ask about the portrait, Professor McGonagall got their attention with a slight clearing of her throat. “The fact obviously needs to be addressed,” she began in her usual stern voice, “regarding your seventh year. Since none of you were not at school the entire year, there is no credit I could give you toward your N.E.W.T. scores.” Harry had been aware of the fact, but had not yet decided whether he wanted to go back for his diploma or just go on with his life, his dreams of being an Auror forgotten.

“However,” she continued before they had time to respond, “I have asked the Board of Governors, and they agree with my advisement that we should give the three of you N.E.W.T credit for all of the classes you were enrolled in your sixth year.” Harry glanced at Hermione's face to see her almost sad that she did not get the opportunity to learn and study all of that material, but the sad expression vanished with a subtle glance at Ron, who looked elated to be done with school.

“That's very kind of you, Professor,” Harry said. Professor McGonagall opened a drawer in her desk, and removed three pieces of parchment, each stating they had graduated from Hogwarts and their N.E.W.T. scores. Harry accepted his, and was instantly reminded that Ginny still had one more year to go at Hogwarts, and that if he took Professor McGonagall up on her offer, he wouldn't be able to see her outside of Hogsmeade weekends until she graduated.

Wrestling momentarily with the thought of tearing up the parchment and going back to school with Ginny, he thought better of it, and quickly rolled the parchment up, hiding it in his robes.

“Now, Potter, I'd like a word with you in private,” Professor McGonagall said, standing to show Ron and Hermione out and closing the door behind them before returning to her desk.

“As has been a tradition for a long time here, Hogwarts once again lacks a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. There are a lot of qualified wizards and witches, Potter, but I thought I'd offer the position to you, seeing as you now have the most experience of anyone in the wizarding world at fighting the Dark Arts.”

Harry had seen this invitation to teach coming ever since he had formed Dumbledore's Army in his fifth year. He had a knack for teaching the material, and he had no doubt that any of the students would think him unqualified. He also knew that he thought of Hogwarts and the only real home he had ever known, and in a way he was loathe to leave it for good to go out into the wizarding world.

“I'd be honored Professor, but I can't,” Harry explained.

“Oh?” questioned Professor McGonagall, seeming not at all shocked by his answer. “I'm well aware of your dream to become an Auror, Potter, but for the sake of my own curiosity, why can't you teach?” She glared at Harry in a much kinder way than he had ever seen her look at him, and was suddenly reminded of the way Dumbledore had looked at him when he was alive.

“Well, you're right that I want to be an Auror,” Harry started, “and I can't do that and teach at the same time. I'm also literally just out of Hogwarts myself. I know I know the material, but I'm sure there are plenty of witches and wizards out there who have had years of experience with things of a Dark nature.” Professor McGonagall coughed and raised one eyebrow, and Harry realized with a start that he had faced plenty of what they had covered in his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, from werewolves to boggarts, to Unforgivable Curses and all manner of jink and hex. He had dueled countless Dark wizards, and even killed a basilisk in his second year.

“Alright, so I'm perfect for the job!” Harry said, throwing up his hands, his temper flaring. “But I'm still dating Ginny Weasley, and there's no way I could grade her fairly. I'd be biased.”

Professor McGonagall smiled widely. “Good enough for me, then.” She stood and shook Harry's hand briefly before pulling him into a hug. “I know you'll do great things no matter what you end up doing, Harry,” she whispered into his ear.

“Thanks, Professor,” Harry said, not sure what had caused the sudden upsurge in emotion from his Transfiguration teacher. He turned to leave, but swung back quickly. “Snape deserves his portrait up here with the rest of the departed headmasters,” he said quickly, with a glance at Dumbledore's portrait, which continued to feign sleep as they had talked, thought Harry thought he had seen a glint of an open eye behind half-moon spectacles at least once. Professor McGonagall cocked up one eyebrow, then furrowed it.

“That man was a horrible wretch,” she spat.

“Look in the Pensieve, which has the memory of his life, and it might change your mind, Professor,” Harry said rather cryptically. “Good day,” he said a little more stiffly than he intended, turning once again for the door, and walking out of it, down the winding staircase to join Ron and Hermione, who pulled away from snogging each other senseless once he politely looked the other way and coughed.

--------------------------------
A/N: I'll be updating this story fairly quickly since I know where everything is going and I just need to type it out. If you would like an e-mail update for this story, shoot me an e-mail at Satdaten AT gmail DOT com and I'll e-mail you when I update this story.

Comments, both good and bad, are welcome!