Aftermath

Hi all, I am new to Harry potter fan fic, but i have had this plot tormenting me for a while. If you are interested please review and I will continue the story, introduce more characters and explore relationships between the trio as well as some others. This will be a bit angsty and deal with violence, abuse, and their aftermath in later chapters. PLEASE NOTE: This will include male/male realtionships and likely explicit M/M sex, if you don\'t like it, don\'t read it, and don\'t flame me about it.

Disclaimer: Don\'t own, don\'t sue. All Harry Potter characters are property of the incomprable J.K. Rawlings.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was dead, permanently. Five years 6 months and 4 days after the death of Albus Dumbledore the self styled Lord Voldemort faced a cold eyed, black haired wizard in batte. He lost. So the day dawned, the wizard world rejoiced and \"the trio\', as the wizarding worlds most powerful weapon was called, prevailed.
The three silent figures stood outside the manor house, smeared with blood and watched the sun rise.
As the rays began to make there way across the green velvety grass they first caressed the face of General Ronald Weasley, a red haired man with a savage looking scar across his face, who leaned on a black cane. The greatest military mind since the original Gryiffindor, a true solder, he was the commander of the wizard forces. The milling witches and wizards walked softly and looked respectfully at the soldier. Yet Ron grieved. So many lives lost, his father, Ginny, Charlie, Bill, even Percy all dead. Ron had tried to defend his family when the death-eaters came, but he failed and was taken. It took Harry and Hermione 6 weeks to find him, and the damage to his body was permanent, but his mind was intact, mostly, and what damage done was known only to himself. Though he never wore robes, the sound of them swishing against one another made him cringe. His mind was the weapon he had wielded as he sent witches and wizards to their death in battle after battle with the dark ones.
Hermione Granger was a slim witch with closely cropped hair. Blood dripped from her wounded arm, and she absently healed herself. She was the greatest living witch, and the greatest mind of her generation. The years of training and battle had left her with powers of transfiguration, charms, and potions unlike any other. Yet Hermione grieved. She had become an unwilling soldier, and a spy. She had fought and she had killed, she was silent now, speaking rarely, seeing much. She had killed so many, she could remember each face, each name, yet all those names and faces paled to the memory of two graves. Her parents, killed in a war they did not even know existed. She had taken 5 long years to fine the horcruxes and each death stained her soul.
Finally, the sun touched the face of the Chosen One, it was a cold face, so unlike it had been all those years ago. Long dark hair caught at the nape of his neck, his eyes as as empty and brilliant as emeralds. The greatest living master of defensive spells, and a master of curses as well, He was a killer, not a soldier, an assassin, not a spy, and his hands and soul were soaked in blood and pain. Yet Harry raged. He had stopped counting the people he killed the day he gave up his soul. The day he looked at the pain racked, bloody body of Sevrious Snape, on his knees begging for his life, begging for mercy.Harry had none to give, he spoke the killing curse, and watched Snape die. He felt nothing. He was the hero, but he had failed them, failed them all. Each death, each pain, stained his hands, 5 long years to do what had to be done.
The world rejoiced and the trio, their souls tarnished returned home. Their ritual was the same as any other day, after any other battle. Ron went to his rooms bathed and then crawled into bed and wept for the men and women he had sent to die, for the loved ones he had been unable to protect. Hermione and Harry stood side by side gazing into the fountain outside their home, the former Black family mansion.
Silently, always silent, Hermione transfigured a handful of stones into flowers and the one by one threw the blossoms into the fountain. One for each of the dead she had loved, one for each of those who died as she failed to find the way. The fountain was soon covered in blooms. Then Hermione turned and went upstairs, she showered until her skin was raw, trying to get the blood off her hands then crawled silently in bed with Ron. He sobbed and she held him, always silently.
Harry waited until the sun set, they always did this at sunset, and then went and stood beside the door until Rons sobs ceased. Then on silent feet he walked into the room, checked the wards on the windows, unnecessary as they were placed there by Hermione. Then he walked toward the curtained bed and stood there for a moment gazing on the faces of his loved ones. First, he leaned in and gently placed a kiss on the firm lips of the fire haired man, then he walked around and gently running his hand across the face of the ginger haired witch, he touched his lips to hers as well. Then stood silently for a moment and walked away. None of them ever spoke of it, he never asked to stay and they never asked him to. Why not, none of them ever really understood. Then finally the raven haired hero of the wizarding world, fell onto his bed, smelling of blood and death, alone, always alone.