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SIYE Time:13:36 on 29th March 2024
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Normalcy
By notadryeeye

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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-HBP
Characters:None
Genres: Tragedy
Warnings: Dark Fiction, Death, Sexual Situations, Violence
Story is Complete
Rating: R
Reviews: 1174
Summary: Harry gets one night that gives him a glimpse into what life could be like with the Dursley's. But events turn for the worse and both Harry and the wizarding world are left wondering what it's consquences mean for the future of the world.
Hitcount: Story Total: 500809; Chapter Total: 9639
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
I don't own anything. I just write fan fics for fun and to take up time. JK Rowling owns the entire Potter Universe. No Copyright infringement is intended




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She said 'No one is alone, the way you are alone.'
Then you held her looser than you would have if you ever could have known.

Some things tie your life together--slender threads and things to treasure

Days like that should last and last and last...




--Dusk and Summer by Dashboard Confessional



The landing was unusually soft and the feeling of compression had barely bothered her. She was numb and void of any real sensation. She felt oddly cold, strangely empty as her feet touched down on the dewy grass in the cool spring evening. The light, chilly breeze that brushed against her skin and rustled her hair as she righted herself after their short journey did not register as anything more than another cold hand--reaching out and touching her--mockingly reminding her of the coldness enveloping her life.

Once everyone had stabilized after the mass group apparition, the party of Weasley's and Remus began to walk up the lane towards the castle in distance. The lights were ablaze in the ramparts and towers and the castle was alive, teeming with life and joy, grief and heartache--all products of the victory and the costs it had taken to achieve it.

Nobody spoke as they walked together, gravel crunching softly beneath their feet as they moved towards the castle. Bill and Percy carried the stretcher, Fred and George walked on either side as Remus led the way of their grim procession. Ginny walked slowly behind them, her father walking alongside her. She could feel his hand resting gently on her back, providing some form of comfort and guiding her as she walked, not really seeing or caring where she was going.

Before she realized it, they had approached the great iron gates of Hogwarts, the giant boar statues flanking it on either side standing out against the darkening skies. Remus reached out to push the gates open, only to find them locked and unmoving. He tried forcing them open once more, the gate not giving an inch.

"Who goes there?" a voice called from the other side of the gates, hidden by the increasing darkness of the evening and the shadows it created. The voice sounded familiar to Ginny and it only took her a moment to put a name with it.

But before she was able to call out to him, Neville stepped out of the shadows, his wand drawn at them as he surveyed the group standing on the other side of the gate.

"Neville, it's us," Fred called to him and Ginny could see Neville squinting through the darkness to place the responding voice. As Neville seemed to be deliberating within himself about their arrival, more people began appearing behind him on the other side of the gate. And slight movement from above them revealed people standing on the walls above them, their wands all drawn and ready. It looked as they had been standing guard all along; protecting the castle from any outside force that still might possibly threaten them and those inside.

"I thought everybody'd come back from the Ministry already?" Neville replied. "They said they'd gotten everyone out that they could and were completely evacuated."

"Well I guess we're the last ones back then," George supplied. "We've got me and Fred...Ginny...Percy, Bill, our dad and Remus here. So if you're worried about any rogue Death Eaters coming--you should probably let us in."

"Open the gate," Neville's voice called after another moment of silent surveying on his part. "Open it," he ordered once again. With a groan and a slight clanking sound, the iron gates began to swing apart and the people standing behind it stepped aside to allow the group to move into the grounds.

As they moved through the gates and down the path towards the castle, Ginny could see that the people that were standing guard around it were students, past and present, all having answered the call to defend their school if need be. She recognized her classmates all around her, some of them bruised and bloody from having returned from the fighting at the Ministry themselves, only to have joined the guard at the castle in case of a new attack from desperate surviving Death Eaters.

And as the group walked slowly towards the castle, all eyes seemed to be drawn towards the blood-soaked sheet covering the body on the stretcher between Percy and Bill. They did not seemed shocked at seeing a stretcher that was most obviously carrying a casualty, but there was sadness as they watched on--as if they were becoming weary of watching the lost be brought back along with the survivors.

Or maybe it was a sadness brought on by a realization of who they were possibly carrying back. Now that Ginny thought of it--the company that she was in might be a clear indicator to those watching on that they were carrying back a fallen brother or a friend that most of them would certainly know.

"Ginny," Neville said as he came up from behind her, causing her to pause. His voice was quiet and hesitant, as if he were afraid of intruding on her thoughts. She turned to face Neville, her eyes not meeting his, but instead looking straight into his chest, afraid of any question she would see there that she would not be strong enough to answer.

"Ginny" she heard Neville repeat again and she forced herself to look up at meet his eyes.

He was watching her carefully, his gaze searching her through. His eyes flickered momentarily over her shoulder and Ginny knew that Neville had glanced back at the stretcher. There was a questioning in his look and she knew that he wanted to know who they’d brought back and perhaps confirm his suspicions that he already made in his mind.

But she couldn’t say it–she couldn’t bring herself to tell Neville and vocalize the truth. She hoped he would read her body language and her own eyes and figure things out himself or at least leave it be for the time being.

As she quietly tried to make Neville understand, she could feel her eyes begin to cloud over with tears and her bottom lip tremble as she tried to force herself to do something or say anything.

But it seemed as though she would not have to bring forth any information. Neville already knew.

He wrapped his arms around her and allowed her to rest her head upon her his shoulder.

"I’m sorry," he whispered to her. "I’m so sorry," he repeated as he rubbed her back gently and Ginny sniffed back

She held onto Neville, just for the moment wanting somebody to cling to, someone to hold her. If she closed her eyes she could pretend she was in someone else's arms, arms she wished would wrap her up and never let go--arms she knew would never again make things better with just a simple embrace. She wantingly found similarities with the embraces as she held tight to him. Neville and Harry were about the same height, and although Neville was more filled out and bit larger than Harry, it felt oddly comforting to be in his arms.

But as soon as that thought crossed her mind, she pulled away from Neville, slightly horrified that she had even attempted to compare. Nothing would feel the same again. She would never have that kind of comfort back.

Neville watched her carefully as if afraid he'd done something wrong by hugging her and offering his condolences. And Ginny quickly sought words to remedy this slightly awkward situation without her voice betraying.

"You should--er--you can probably tell the others that they don't have to stand guard anymore," she said quietly, knowing that her eyes were still full of unshed tears. "They should probably try and let their families know that they're ok now...and those who don't know--let them find out about their families," she added, knowing that some of the teens on guard had mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters who had been part of the battle.

Neville nodded in understanding.

"And--you'll be ok?" Neville asked hesitantly. As soon as he spoke, he winced slightly as if he'd immediately regretted the question.

"Yeah," she said quietly, glancing over her shoulder to find that the others had paused just outside the oak front doors, waiting for her was they watched. "I'll be ok."

Neville nodded sadly and with that, Ginny turned around, unable to take his sympathetic stare.

She began to walk towards the others, her arms folded protectively over her chest as she moved.

How many more times tonight or in the coming days and weeks would she hear "I’m sorry" or other words of comfort and condolence? How many times would she have to endure being embraced and told that it would be alright or be asked if she was ok when she was everything but. She didn’t know if she could take it and still remain sane.

Nothing would ever be ok and nothing would be the same again. Did they not understand that?

Now that she was away from the moment and was no longer forced to act as the rock, holding herself and her own grief in check for Harry’s sake so that he would not be afraid–things began to press down upon her; the weight of it all began to cause her to buckle and her resolve to crumble.

She finally reached where her brothers, her father and Remus were waiting. As she entered back into the group, her father put his arm around her once again and Ginny’s arms remained in a protective barrier across her chest as she tried to provide a bit of her own comfort. The oak front doors were pushed open as they entered the castle, which was alive and bustling with those who had returned from the Ministry and others who had come to either help out with the recovery or discover what fate their friends and loved ones had endured.

"Arthur!" someone called from the marble staircase leading into the entrance hall where they all stood, frozen by the sound of the voice.

"Minerva," Mr. Weasley replied as the Headmistress now moved past the crowds of people moving up and down the staircase. Professor McGonagall looked ruffled and out of sorts–her usually neat and tightly pulled back hair was loose in places and her spectacles were askew upon her prominent nose.

"Oh thank God," she said as she neared them. "They said that they’d completely evacuated–Molly was starting go spare. She’ll be so relieved to know that you’re all–"

But as she began to speak, she broke off, her eyes catching sight of the stretcher held between Bill and Percy. Her face seemed to betray the gambit of emotion and deduction going through her mind as her eyes roved over the Weasley boys, Arthur, Ginny and then Remus before they landed back on the stretcher.

Her hand went to her mouth as it formed an ‘o’.

She knew who they’d brought back.

"No," she gasped in a horrified whisper. "Please tell me that’s not–" she trailed away, unable to finish her sentence as the awfulness of reality choked her words off. She shook her head slowly from side to side.

"We need to bring his–him somewhere, Minerva" Remus supplied, correcting himself as he spoke, unable to bring himself to say ‘body’; as if uttering the word would break him.

"They’re putting the–the dead–in the Great Hall," Professor McGonagall managed after composing herself, trying now not to have her eyes land upon the stretcher containing a former and favorite student’s body. "So that they can be identified and claimed," she added quietly.

Remus nodded in sad understanding and Bill and Percy took a step towards the hall.

"No," Ginny cried out suddenly. "I don’t want you to take him in there," she said loudly and desperately. The others stared at her openly, frozen by her sudden outburst.

Something had suddenly sparked within her. It was a want more than a need and for once, and for the first time since this whole thing taken place, she wanted to be selfish.

"Gin?" her father said softly to her in an effort to calm her. But she shrugged him off.

"I don’t want him taken into the Great Hall," she repeated fiercely. "I don’t want him with the others–I don’t want people crowding around and gawking at him–not the way he is. He deserves better," she said desperately, her breathing coming in pants as she spoke. "You’ll take him somewhere else," she told them firmly as she looked away from their sympathetic looks.

As soon as word got out of Harry’s death, things would become even more of circus than what they were now. People would want to get close to their hero even after death. She didn’t want people trying to steal looks, take pictures or bother him in any way. He deserved peace now.

"My office–is open," Professor McGonagall offered gently. "You shouldn’t be bothered there. The password is–‘victory’," she supplied to them, her voice trembling as she spoke the password to the headmaster’s office.

"Thank you, Minerva," Remus responded. Professor McGonagall could only nod. She turned away from the little group, and moved in the opposite direction towards one of the hallways leading off the entrance hall. As Ginny watched her headmistress for a moment as she walked away, she swore she could see the older women’s shoulders begin to tremble as she seemingly succumbed to her own grief.

------------------------------ --

Compared to the rest of the castle, the circular office was overcome with a quiet calm that seemed to disconnect it from the rest of the building. The general din of noise and movement was not audible or detectable here. It was as if this was the only place that remained unchanged, untouched by the hand of war.

Most of the figures in the paintings of past headmasters were empty, most having gone to survey and gather news in other frames throughout the castle. The ones that were left were quietly watching on as her brothers lay the stretcher on a long table that had been cleared of gadgets and whatever instruments had adorned it.

After setting Harry’s body down on the table, Percy and Bill stepped away slowly; both eyeing the still figure under the shroud sadly as they did.

Now that they were here, there was a sense of uncertainty that seemed to grip the room. It was as if none of them knew what to do now. Nobody knew how to carry on or what came next.

Should they leave to seek the rest of their loved ones now? Should their next move be to reunite the rest of their family and be together finally after the uncertainty of battle?

Ginny knew they would have to leave this room eventually. Sometime she would need to rest, to eat and refresh herself. Eventually they would all need to start picking up the pieces of their shattered lives and begin anew. Sometime soon, much sooner than she wanted to, they would have to leave him behind. They would have their chance to say their final goodbyes. But then they would need to bury him–to leave him somewhere away in the cold, hard earth as they tried to move on.

With his body here in the room, so near to her now, it was hard to imagine what that would be like yet. What would it be like when the closest she could be to him was in her thoughts and memories? She knew she would never and could never forget him–even if she tried to extinguish those memories in feelings to bury her own pain and move on. But would things fade away and would they become harder to recall as time went on?

Would there come a time in whatever distant future where her life was filled with enough activity and distraction where she would not pay him a moment’s thought in a day?

Not remembering closing her eyes, Ginny opened them, only to find that her vision was cloudy and obscured by tears. But they did not remain unshed as they began to cascade down her cheeks. She did not wipe them away, but let them flow. She was not sobbing, not bawling her eyes out–but still the tears came.

‘That time won’t come’ she thought to herself. ‘You will never let that happen. There are too many who love him and will help you remember.’

Even as she thought those sentiments, she remembered the others. Ron and Hermione were here in the castle, in the hospital wing most likely still–and they did not know yet.

Without really thinking, she began to move towards the door.

"Ginny? Where are you going?" she heard her father ask.

"I’m going to find Ron and Hermione," she said quietly without turning around.

"Ginny--you don't have to--" began Bill.

"I do," she said, cutting him off. "I don't want them finding out from somebody else--hearing some rumor from a stranger. I need to tell them."

"I'll go with you," her father offered instantly, moving forward to show his commitment to her. "You don't have to do this alone," he told her quietly as he stood next to her. She nodded, knowing that she would need whatever strength she could gather from whatever source in the coming minutes, hours, days and beyond.

As the two began to move towards the door, she heard George's voice speak up through quietness that had enveloped the room.

"Remus, Bill--you two should go too," he said gently. "Tonks and Fleur are gonna want to know that you're both ok," he added.

"We'll stay here," she heard Fred add. "It'll be ok," he assured them.

Ginny did not turn to witness the immediate reaction of two men. She heard both Bill and Remus speak quietly after awhile and heard footsteps following her and her father as they made their way down the spiral staircase that led out of the Headmaster's office.

----------------------------- ----------------------

He didn't know what to say.

He felt helpless as he walked slightly behind her, a light hand on her back, trying to guide her as they walked through the castle. There didn't seem to be anything he could do for her now and that feeling tore into him like a knife. He was her father and as a father, he was supposed to be able to comfort his children--keep them safe from the evils that threatened them.

It was easy when she was a little girl. When she would come to him with a problem or after being picked on or teased by an older brother--only after put up a fight of her own, of course--he could remedy the situation by letting her climb into his lap where he could placate the situation by telling a story or promising that he'd help her get her brothers back for whatever they'd done. He could hold her and everything would be better until the next time.

But the time when a simple embrace would solve her woes was behind them. She was no longer a little girl--she hadn't been for a long time. She was a young woman now--a women beyond her sixteen years.

And although she was not yet of age, she had experienced something special while enduring so much that was unimaginable.

Some people went their whole lives without ever finding that one person, that one soul to intertwine with theirs forever.

He was lucky enough to say that he had found that one love in his lifetime. His Molly was not only his wife, his lover, the mother of his amazing children, but she was his partner, the other half of his heart that completed him and made him exactly who he was everyday for the nearly 30 years they'd been married. He couldn't imagine a life worth living without her there by his side.

But now his own daughter, who had found that one person so early on in her young life, had suddenly had that part of her taken away--half of her heart ripped out. He had known from the first time he had observed the two interact this summer that this was much more than a teenage romance, much more than a simple crush for either of them.

The way Harry had looked at Ginny had both scared and thrilled him. He couldn't begin to count the many times that Ginny had begged him with her big brown eyes pleading with him to tell her the story of "The Boy Who Lived" when she was a little girl. So he'd regaled her with the story of the little boy who had magically vanquished You-Know-Who and the evil he had brought to the world; how little Harry Potter had been left alone and sent to his muggle relatives--to live and grow until he came to Hogwarts.

But as the years went on and he was asked to tell the story less and less, the evil that he had always spoke of began to grow again and began to threaten his life and his family. The little boy who had been iconisized and idolized by his own tales had become the young man who had befriended his youngest son, who he had gotten to know these past years and who he had welcomed into his home nearly every summer as of late. Arthur couldn't think of him as The Boy Who Lived anymore. What struck Arthur about Harry was that he was exactly and at the same time anything but what his legend indicated. He was the unassuming and unwilling hero. Despite all of the bravery that he had been forced to bring forth and the greatness that had been thrust upon him--Harry was a teenager--a boy growing into a man--trying to find himself amongst the changes and stresses of everyday life.

And even more recently, he had become the young man who had fallen for his daughter. Arthur had watched as their love had blossomed and then seemed to reach a fever pitch overnight. The intensity of their feelings towards one another had initially worried Arthur and he had been fearful that this relationship was somehow rooted in the crush and draw that Ginny had always seemed to have towards Harry. Ginny had watched from the sidelines for so long, had waited patiently for chance, her moment to come--and finally she had her man, her dream relationship. Arthur had just hoped that it was more than a fulfilled crush.

He had watched them grow and fall further in love over the past few months, despite the forces keeping them apart and making their relationship difficult and at times, near impossible. And as he had watched his daughter, not even an hour ago, comfort and soothe her dying boyfriend in his last moments, while she remained strong and steadfast, making sure that he would not be afraid when death took him--he knew that any fears he had were unfounded. What they had was love--deeper than any he had witnessed before.

But now that was gone. The love that had burned so intensely, yet for such a short period of time had been extinguished in unimaginable tragedy.

Harry had lost his life, but they both had lost much more.

He knew the pain of losing a child. Charlie's death had been the single hardest thing he'd ever had to endure. It had been the one point in whole ordeal where he wondered if any of this fighting or rebelling was worth it. Winning this war wouldn't bring his son back. And to continue in this fight might only lead to more loss.

But as soon as those dark thoughts had clouded his consciousness, he realized that this loss, losing Charlie was the exact reason they needed to fight. He had amazing memories of his son that would never leave him and he was so proud of the man he could say Charlie had become. They needed to end this war so that others had a chance to create those memories for themselves with there own families now and in the future and so that they may carry on living where Charlie could not, but would want them to.

As he watched Ginny before him, he suddenly became aware that victory here may not have those same opportunities that he had imagined.

Time would go on and wounds would begin to heal or at least scar over. Things would begin to pick up eventually and they would go back to life--however changed it would be now.

But what did that mean?

Where would Ginny find her happiness now and what would she do to make life go on?

Would she and could she in time love someone enough to share her life with? Would there be someone who could at least claim the remaining part of his daughter's heart and make her happy? Give her the things she deserved? Would there be somebody she could marry, have children and experience all those great things that Arthur knew life held?

Would she even want that now? Or would she resign herself to this fate and go on her own now?

Arthur did not had more time to mull over this impossible and heart wrenching situation much further because he now found that he and Ginny had arrived at the hospital wing.

Without pausing, Ginny pushed open the doors. She strode into the busy and chaotic ward without a glance backward. Arthur followed her quickly as she moved without distraction, as if on a mission that she would not be deterred from.

But as he moved into the ward, allowing Ginny a little space as she walked, Arthur's path was cut off by a stretcher that was suddenly pushed out into the aisle way as a team of healers and helpers moved a badly injured wizard.

Arthur ducked out of the way, side-stepping them and was offered apologies from the passing healers as they maneuvered the bed out of the ward. Arthur fleetingly wondered where they were taking the man, he certainly wasn't dead but was wrenched from that thought when he heard his name.

"Arthur!" he heard her cry before she flung herself into his arms.

Molly's embrace was fierce and tight, on the brink of cutting off his oxygen supply completely. But he didn’t care; he wanted to hold her forever and clutched her back just as strongly as she cried in relief into his chest.

But as he held his wife, Arthur continued to watch Ginny as she walked down the ward, now peering into sectioned off and curtained areas further down the ward.

"Oh thank God," she cried into his chest. "I was so afraid I’d lost you, Arthur. They said that they’d gotten everyone out–but you hadn’t come back yet–"

"I’m here," he whispered to her, stroking her hair gently to get her to calm some. "It's ok. I'm here," he repeated.

"The boys?" she asked him through tears, her voice suddenly fearful again.

"They're ok," he assured her. "They're back and they're safe," he repeated.

"Thank you," she whispered as a wave of relief crashed over her. "Thank you," she repeated.

They held onto one another for a few more moments, swaying slightly as they stood in the middle of the crowded and noisy hospital ward, full of the injured and dying.

"They say--" Molly began as she separated herself from his chest. "They're saying that it's over--that we won," she pressed on.

And here it was--the subject he was weary of bringing up and the threshold he was afraid of crossing, the bad news he was afraid of bringing.

"They're saying--that Harry did it," she said looking up at him for confirmation or any assurance that the rumors had been true. "That Voldemort is gone."

Arthur found that he could only nod, his eyes once again drifting over his wife's head down the ward where he could see Ginny standing outside one of the last curtained sections of the wing. She seemed to be steeling herself, gearing up to go inside and be the bearer of bad and unimaginable news.

"Arthur?" Molly's questioning voice threatened to interrupt him. But he could not take his eyes from his daughter.

He heard Molly repeat his name once more. He then felt Molly turn slightly, following his gaze down the ward to where Ginny stood. He saw Ginny take a visible deep breath before she reached forward and parted the curtains before her, stepping forward and disappearing from sight.

Gently, two hands grasped his face on either side, wrenching his gaze from where his daughter had been. Molly pulled his head and his attention down to her, where he was forced to look her in the eyes--those same beautiful golden brown eyes she had passed on to their only daughter.

"What it is?" she whispered, not releasing him from her hold. "Arthur? What is it?" she repeated.

He could not keep anything a secret from her when she looked at him like this, as if she could see the contents of his heart and soul--not even to protect her from the pain that his words would cause.

"He--" Arthur began, closing his eyes momentarily to fight off the wave of emotion that welled up suddenly. He opened them again, looking into his wife's eyes to siphon strength from their depths.

"Harry--Harry didn't make it," he said quietly, his voice trembling. "We found him...but we couldn't save him," he added sadly, watching as Molly's face fell and fresh tears clouded her eyes as she declutched her hold on him once again. "It was too late," he said in an afterthought.

Molly said nothing in the wake of the news. She just remained holding him, sobbing softly into his chest.

The hurt was deep, he knew that much. They had all known that it would be a great possibility that Harry might not make it through this war, whether victory or defeat was the outcome. Harry's words only a few months ago that announced him as the final Horcrux that could possibly link Voldemort to life and the changes they had seen him go through as his journey had unfolded and the piece of evil within him had grown and taken over the boy they knew--it became ever more evident that his may not be a battle Harry would win.

But as he spoke the words, as the news sunk in and the reality imprinted itself within their minds that Harry had died, it seemed so much more awful--so much more final than just the thought of a possible tragedy, however ready they believed they might have been for it.

"Bill!" a shrill voice interrupted their silent grieving as Arthur looked up just in time to see a flash of silvery hair whip past them. Both he and Molly turned in unison to find Fleur wrapped around Bill as he had just entered the hospital wing. Bill's arms closed instinctively around her as they kissed hard as they were reunited.

"I'm ok, I'm ok," Bill repeated in between kisses as Fleur cried in relief at Bill's return. "I'm here, luv. I'm ok," he assured her as he held her close, one of his hands caressing her pregnant belly between them.

As Molly and Arthur watched this small moment of happiness occur as the couple was reunited, they suddenly became aware of another person that must have entered the room at the same time as Bill. Remus was standing a little way behind the embracing couple, looking around as if looking for someone.

"Remus," Molly called, separating herself from Arthur a bit. Remus looked up at his name and walked slowly towards them.

As Remus approached, Molly totally disengaged herself from her husband and wrapped her arms around Remus. He tentatively returned the hug, patting Molly gently on the back. As he pulled away, Molly kept a hand on his arm, squeezing it tightly for strength for the both of them. Remus's cheeks underneath his eyes were red and blotchy, his eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed. They exchanged a few moments quiet communication, relaying the horrible realities of the situation without speaking. They both knew why they were grieving. There didn't need to be any words between them.

"Is Tonks around?" Remus asked weakly.

"Yes," Molly replied, her face suddenly brightening a bit despite the tragic circumstances. "She should be in there," she added, pointing to a sectioned off area just a few feet away from where they were standing. Remus paid no heed to any change in Molly's face and began to move towards the curtains without a second thought, as if his only concern was to be with and comforted by his girlfriend.

------------------------- ----------------------------

He wanted to hold her. He wanted to get lost in her arms and stay there forever. Perhaps he could numb the pain that way? Perhaps if he stayed there long enough he could forget?

But things wouldn’t get better. Nothing would make him forget and nothing would change what had happened.

He paused slightly in front of the curtains, listening for sounds from within that would tell him if Tonks was busy helping with an injured witch or wizard. But it was relatively quiet and he momentarily wondered if Molly had pointed him in the right direction, to the right curtained off section.

He lifted a hand to the white partition and moved aside the fabric, slowly stepping in from the crowded and chaotic ward outside.

"Remus!" he heard her cry out in a high pitched-whisper before he could register his surroundings.

But what he expected to see was not at all what was before him. There was no team of healers or helpers huddled around the sickbed of an injured fighter. There was only Tonks, sitting propped up in the bed amongst the white sheets and pillows. Her usually bubble gum pink spiked hair had returned to its natural shade of dark brown; its longer length now falling in soft ringlets on the pillows around her.

And as Remus looked closer and began to take in more of the tiny space, his eyes focused on the bundle of blankets she was holding close to her chest.

He stood there just inside the safety of the privacy curtains, frozen and rooted to the spot, unable to process what was in front of him.

She watched him for a moment as he stood there, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar.

"Come meet your son, Remus," she said as a smile captured her lips. "Come on," she prodded when he did not move, but remained firmly stationary.

His son.

The words reverberated through him and welled up emotions he did not think he could call forward at this moment.

In the midst of all that had just happened it seemed odd to be here, finding Tonks smiling so brilliantly at him, holding their son–holding a new life in her arms when they had just lost another so violently.

But his feet seemed to begin to move of their own accord, guiding him towards the bedside where Tonks and their son sat watching him.

He came to the right side and Tonks put an arm around him, bringing him in close. She kissed him on the side of the cheek, but his eyes were focused on the beautiful baby boy nestled in her arms, asleep and unaware of anything around going on around him.

His face was round and tiny. His eyes hidden only by the paper thin eyelids and long dark lashes attached. His small pink lips moved every few seconds as he slumbered peacefully. He was perfect, even his small tuft of dark brown hair atop his head was beautiful and wonderful.

"He just couldn’t wait," Tonks whispered quietly with a little bit of amusement in her voice. "My water broke a while after you left–and he came a little while after that," she added as she fluffed the hair on top of the baby’s head.

His heart filled with an instant and indescribable warmth and love that he’d never experienced before. For a moment, all he could think of was the little boy in Tonks arms, his little boy that they’d created together.

But that love, however wonderful and deep it was, could not extinguish and overwhelm the hurt and the pain that he was still reeling from.

It seemed so perfect, yet so unfair that he was here now, watching his newborn son, at the beginning of his life, which could only be a few hours old at the most when he had just watched another life reach it’s end. He had heard it said that for every life lost, there would be a new life to take its place.

And here was that living proof of that slumbering before him. Harry was gone from this world, but Remus’s own son had taken his place and was beginning his journey to fulfill a life that Harry had not gotten to complete.

Remus felt more tears well up in his eyes.

He thought of James. He remembered the day nearly eighteen years getting an owl saying that Lily had gone into labor that morning and that a son had been born that afternoon. He and Sirius and Peter were invited to come visit in the morning–to meet the newest and littlest of the Potters.

When they had gotten there the next morning, James’s head had been ten miles high in the clouds. Remus couldn’t ever remember him so ecstatic, bouncing on his heels and smiling wider than he thought was humanly possible. James doted so much on Harry, showing off the little baby, who even at not a day old looked like his father with a great shock of black hair upon his tidy head.

Remus remembered feeling in awe of little Harry that day, not because of anything he did, but just because of his presence, his arrival into this world and into their midst. Life had become different that day in July. Lily and James had created this little life and in doing so altered their own lives–priorities shifted and the reasons for fighting became clearer–even if they hadn’t really realized it at the time. In that time of darkness, Harry’s birth had brought that little bit of light that they had needed.



Now Remus had his own happiness–his own glimmer of hope and wonder in his son.

But that light from long ago that had stolen those moments of happiness and shown Remus what potential life could hold for someone…had gone out.

They were all gone now.

They’d all left him.

Remus found himself crying openly now as he gently stroked the smooth and soft cheek of his son. The tragedy of the day had finally overwhelmed the joy he was feeling. He couldn’t hold it in any longer.

"Remus," Tonks breathed out, sounding scared and fearful of his breakdown. These tears were not ones of relief and celebration. There was no mistaking them for anything but grief.

"Remus…talk to me," she cried out quietly as she rested her cheek against his so that his tears hit her face. "Please," she whispered desperately.

"He’s–he’s dead," he choked out, his voice thick and broken sounding. "Harry’s gone," he said flatly as tears poured down his cheeks.

Tonks brought a hand to his face and guided it so that their foreheads touched. He could feel her crying also, her tears mixing in with his.

"I'm sorry," she whispered soothingly, gently stroking his hair and the side of his face. "I'm so sorry," she repeated.

"He’s–he’s dead," he choked out, his voice thick and broken sounding. "Harry’s gone," he said flatly as tears poured down his cheeks.

"He died right there in front of us," Remus cried into her embrace. "I watched him–I watched him die, Dora," he bawled miserably.

With that he broke down completely, drawing Tonks and their son as close as possible, sobbing hard together as they fully grieved for Harry.

It seemed like forever, but in reality it was probably only a few minutes that they stayed like that together, openly crying and trying to comfort one another.

Finally they were able to compose themselves enough to wipe away most of the tears marring both of their faces. They lapsed into a heavy silence that seemed to block out even the noise coming from the ward beyond their small space.

Remus laid his head against Dora’s, but his eyes were on his son. One tiny hand had freed itself in his slumber from his blankets. Remus reached forward and gently grasped the small fist in his own. He rubbed his thumb slowly in circles across the soft, smooth and unblemished skin of the back of his son's hand, relishing in the feel of it.

"I haven't--haven't asked what we named him--" Remus said aloud suddenly when the thought occurred to him. There had been so much on his mind when he had entered, but it seemed odd that he had not even wondered about his own son's name until now.

"I went with what we talked about," Tonks said as she sniffed away her remnant tears. "It's Jacob," she added quietly.

"Jacob," Remus repeated breathlessly as if in awe of the name for this tiny boy.

"I didn't pick a middle name yet," Tonks added. "I thought you should be here with me--to do so."

Remus nodded.

Part of him felt so low for not being there with Tonks when she had gone into labor and given birth. He had wanted to be there, to be by her side when it happened. But she had been alone, in pain, and unsure of whether he was coming back from battle. But yet she was not angry or disgruntled with him in the least. And she had wanted him to be the one to give their son his middle name.

But Remus could not think of one at the moment--nothing came to mind as a million different emotions took up all space for thought in his head.

"Maybe--" Tonks began, but broke off, her eyes raking over Jacob's sleeping form nestled in her embrace. She seemed to be fighting with words--trying to decide if she should say what was on her mind. That was normally never a problem for the outspoken Auror. She was always first to tell you how she was feeling or what she thought about something. But now Tonks seemed hesitant, unsure if she should go on.

"What is it?" Remus asked quietly, kissing her softly on her temple, trying to assure her that it would be alright to go on with whatever she was debating.

"Maybe we could--maybe we should name him after..." she began, still struggling with herself. She trailed off, unable to finish what she had started to say.

But Remus knew what she was getting at.

He paused, not saying anything as he let the suggestion sink in.

"It's too soon, " Tonks said quickly, trying to dismiss her words as though she thought that Remus's silence was a sign of his displeasure with the suggestion. "I'm sorry--I just--I just thought maybe--" she stumbled through her words, trying to backtrack on her unfinished idea.

"No," Remus assured her quietly. "I think Harry would've liked that," Remus said truthfully. "He will like that," he repeated.

Part of him wondered if he really could name his son after Harry so soon after they'd lost him. How hard would it be to have that constant reminder, even if only in a middle name? Would giving Jacob that name bring up the pain and the loss every time it was spoken or written?

He knew, that although it might hurt for a while, he would never be sad when he laid eyes upon his son, no matter what name he was given. Harry had died, sacrificed himself so that they all could have better lives, so that Jacob would never have to know the darkness and evil that had encompassed the world that Harry had grown up with.

No--giving Jacob his name would be a lasting reminder and celebration of the man that Harry was and the way he lived. It would be an honored remembrance, an homage to the young man that Remus had known as much more than his public heroics. It would be a way to keep Harry alive even when he could not be there with them. He would make sure that Jacob knew all about the man he'd been named after--what kind of a man Harry really had been. He would not be forgotten.

"Jacob Harry Lupin," Tonks whispered, gazing affectionately down at their son as he slept, unaware, in her arms.

------------------------------- ------------------

Her feet didn't want to move. She was rooted to the spot, her brain screaming at her to enter the tiny cubicle. Her body disobeying her and proving stubborn to submit.

She could hear them talking softly just beyond the curtains. She couldn't make out what they were saying or the content of their conversation. She knew it was them. She recognized the tone of both of their voices and it sounded as though they were discussing something heatedly. Not that that was extremely unusual.

But what would their reactions be when she entered and was forced to tell them? What would her reaction be? Would she be able to utter the words and verbalize the news?

It was all of those questions that were preventing her from entering.

But she had to do it. They would find out somehow. There was no keeping this from them and no use in stalling in hopes of staving off the pain and grief for but a moment longer.

She took a steadying breath and then reached out a hand to push aside the curtains.

"I know you can reverse the charm, Hermione," Ron was pressing firmly, sounding every bit annoyed as Hermione sat in a chair beside his bed, looking sternly at him. "Just do it--I need to get back there," he demanded with a hint of desperation in his tone.

"Ron, you need stay in bed and let your legs mend," Hermione replied firmly. "The healers told you--"

But she broke off when the rustling of the curtains caught her attention. Her eyes, as well as Ron's found Ginny as she entered the small space.

"Gin," Ron breathed out and his eyes went wide at the sight of her. Hermione's face mirrored him, taking on the same highly shocked expression.

"Oh my, God," Hermione whispered as her hand went up to cover her mouth. The look on her face was one of horror and revulsion.

Ginny followed both of their gazes and soon found the reason for their reactions.

There was blood soaked into the white tank top she was wearing and smeared on her hands and forearms. The scarlet liquid had colored most of her clothes a dark crimson.

She still had Harry's blood all over. She hadn't even thought about cleaning up before she had gotten up here. What was before them must look horrible to Ron and Hermione.

"I--he--" Ginny began, breaking off as she looked down at the blood dried on her hands, imbedded under her fingernails and up her arms. She wanted to be physically sick. The sight of blood she had not noticed before was suddenly too much for her to handle. This was his blood, a horrible reminder of what had just happened and she had it all over.

Her breath began to become laborious and she found herself panting slightly against the panic and revulsion building up inside her. She couldn't do it. She couldn't tell them.

"Ginny, come here," Ron said in a thick voice, extending an arm that she was supposed to take. But she just stood there, shaking her head slowly as she tried to force back tears.

Hermione got up from her spot at the chair and began to move towards Ginny as Ron spoke again in a pleading voice.

"Gin--Gin, come here," he repeated, trying to push the emotion from his voice so that he sounded comforting instead.

Before she could refuse any of the advances, Hermione wrapped her arms around Ginny. She did not respond by returning the embrace, but allowed Hermione to engulf her in her arms, both girls swaying slightly as Ginny fought against her tears.

But she could hold them in no longer as Hermione held tight to her. Something in the soothing embrace told her that it was alright to let go, to let everything out.

She began to sob into Hermione's shoulder without restraint, the force of her cries wracking both of them. She did not even notice as Hermione steered her to where Ron sat propped on the bed. Soon his arms were around both of them, drawing them to his chest as the three of them began to break down in each other's arms.

"He's gone," she cried miserably. "He's gone," she repeated in a emotion choked whisper.

In the midst of the grieving, she was transferred from Hermione's shoulder and pulled against Ron as he held her close. She could feel him shaking and crying himself, his hot tears spilling into her hair as he rested his chin atop her head.

"It's alright," Ron whispered to her as he stroked her hair and took great gasping breaths to steady himself. "It'll be alright," he repeated in vain, knowing that it wouldn't be, but needing to say something to ease the moment for them all.

"He died--he died right in my arms," she cried weakly, screwing up her face in anguish against Ron's chest as a new wave of guilt and pain assailed her. "I told him that it was ok to go...I told him he could leave us..." she whispered brokenly.

"You did it because you love him," she heard Hermione whisper thickly from somewhere nearby.

"He was so afraid..." Ginny said miserably as she pulled away from Ron's chest and wiped at the tears coating her cheeks. "He was scared to die...and I--I tried--" she broke off unable to continue.

"You were with him," Ron said firmly, taking her hands in each of his much larger ones. At the contact she forced herself to look up into Ron's face. His blue iris's stood out bright and piercing against the bloodshot whites of his eyes.

"You were there when he needed you most," Ron told her, his voice calmly composed now. "He wasn't alone--he wasn't alone in the end," Ron repeated. "You were with him and I know that it meant it meant everything to him to have you there--to say goodbye. You made it so he didn't have to be afraid."

Ginny could only nod weakly, wanting to believe wholeheartedly that Harry had been at peace and had not died fearful of what lay beyond. But whatever she could tell herself about his final state of mind when the moment of passing had come could not comfort her and change the reality and enormity of the situation. He was gone in every definite and final sense of the word.

The three teens sat in virtual silence for the next few minutes, relishing in their close proximity as they grieved and mourned for their lost friend and brother. They kept arms around one another, all sniffling and crying quietly as everything seemed to press in on them.

It was only when the curtain surrounding them lifted and the noise of the outside ward reached them that they moved and shifted from where they sat on Ron's bed.

Mr. Weasley, followed by Bill and Fleur entered the space, all looking solemn and sad. There were tear tracks visible on Fleur's cheeks, a tell-tale sign that she had been crying--a sign that they all knew about Harry's death now.

Fleur crossed the space between them to the teens on the bed and hugged both Hermione and Ginny simultaneously, whispering soft words of comfort to both of them. Bill moved in behind her to offer his own solace and Mr. Weasley embraced his youngest son. Ron melted into his father’s arms and allowed himself to be held and comforted.

"Do you guys need anything?" Bill asked after a while as embraces were shared around the group and each adult took turns embracing the younger trio. His question was quiet and almost an afterthought, as though Bill spoke only to fill the silence.

"No," Ron said quietly, shaking his head as he wiped away tears. "Not at the moment," he added.

"We should get you cleaned up, Ginny," Arthur interjected gently as he addressed his daughter. His eyes roved over her blood-soaked clothes sadly.

Ginny nodded heavily.

"Here," Bill whispered as he held his wand out over Ginny, his eyes and his scarred features asking for her permission to scourgify and remove the blood. Ginny gave him a permissive nod and held out her arms so that he could work his spells and clean her clothes and both hands and arms.

She closed her eyes she felt the sticky, dried on remnants peel away from her skin as Bill moved his wand over her. Her clothes suddenly felt lighter and she knew that he had succeeded in removing the scarlet liquid that had seeped into her jeans and top.

There was a part of her that felt odd and strangely naked with the blood cleaned away. However repulsed she had been before at having Harry’s blood on her, she now felt a sense of renewed loss with it gone.

"Where is everyone now?" Hermione asked as Bill moved away from Ginny and re-sheathed his wand at his side before moving to place an arm around Fleur, bringing her close to him.

"The twins and Percy are up in the Headmaster’s office keeping–keeping guard over…Harry," Mr. Weasley responded, growing quieter as he spoke. "Molly and Remus just headed up there to join them and to start--arrangements," he added in explanation.

"I’m going up there too," Ron said suddenly.

"You should rest, Ron," Bill supplied. "You’ve been through a lot. We’ll take of things-"

"I’m going," Ron said firmly, struggling to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, dislodging both Hermione and Ginny from where they sat beside him. "I need to go," he repeated firmly.

He seemed to be having a tough time getting his legs to cooperate. Although they seemed to be healed and the severe breaks mended, his legs seemed largely unresponsive and limp--as though a protective charm had been put on them to keep him from moving around too much as he recovered.

Ron snarled and swore as he placed his feet on the ground, attempting to put weight on his recently patched up legs. They were shaky and unsteady as he tried to push himself up from the bed. After only a few second's struggle he was forced to drop back down onto the bed in defeat.

"Somebody get me crutches--or a cane or something," Ron ordered aloud, looking from his father to Bill. They seemed hesitant about doing so, but the determination on Ron's face and in his voice told them both that he would find a way to get up to the Headmaster's office with their help or not.

After a few moments Bill obliged and a pair of crutches soon materialized as he waved his wand before himself. He caught them in mid air and handed them to Ron, who wasted no time in using them to prop himself up and stand on his unsteady and recently repaired legs. It took him a few seconds to allow his body to adjust as he leaned heavily on the wooden crutches.

He took a few tentative steps relying largely on the crutches and then began moving towards where the others had entered the cubicle area only a few minutes ago. Nobody reached out or spoke out to stop Ron. Hermione and Ginny both got up from where they had been sitting and moved to walk on either of Ron's sides. They seemed to be there to follow as well as support in case Ron would stumble or fall.

Bill, Mr. Weasley and Fleur all followed behind, walking a short distance behind the teens as they made their way back out into the ward.

------------------------------- -----------------------

He looked so peaceful.

All of the anguish, all of the hardness that had overtaken his features the past few times she had seen him had melted away now. He looked younger by far than he had in a long time--finally free from the burdens and horrors that had been piled upon his shoulders.

His face was calmly serene, his long lashes resting just so upon his cheeks, his lips barely parted in a hint of a smile.

But as much as she wanted to take him in and rest her eyes upon him, Molly could not bear to let her gaze linger too long over his features. It was too painful; to hard to remember him as he was with him lying here like this.

Harry looked asleep, as though he would soon wake. But she knew he would not.

He would not be getting up. He would open his eyes to look around, wondering what Molly was doing with the wet cloth she was wiping the blood from his chin with. They would never hear his voice again; never witness that endearing crooked smile that lit up the rest of his face and whatever room he was in.

His chest would not rise and fall with the intake of a fresh breath.

His heart would not beat again.

Molly continued to try and wash away the blood from his skin that had been spilled by his many wounds. She had already gone through another cloth and this one was soaked through, dyed a sickening shade of crimson. She knew she could have used magic to clean and prepare his body, but this way seemed much more fitting. Magic and lure of what power it held had done this to him--it would not touch him now.

Molly moved the cloth down Harry's exposed neck and over his chest, beginning to try and wash away the blood covering his chest. She and Remus had removed his clothes and she had been horrified to discover the full scope of his injuries. She couldn't even begin to imagine what he'd gone through and she did not want to think about the pain he had endured. His body was a mess, ravaged and ruined beyond endurance.

She very gingerly and gently dabbed the cloth around the two large puncture wounds on Harry's chest and then stomach. She had heard the twins conversing quietly with Percy, filling him in on what had happened during the battle during Percy's absence. And the bits she had heard made her heart ache.

He had been run through not once, but twice with a sword. His left arm had been severed and his legs, as well as his pelvis had been crushed in the aftershock of whatever had happened to collapse the Department of Mysteries.

Part of her was relieved that he was no longer suffering, that his pain was over. But that relief could not override the grief she was feeling at the moment. Harry was like one of her own children and she had failed him in that role, allowing him to taken and consumed by darkness and an evil she could not protect him from.

Molly let out a heavy, shaky breath looked up, her eyes landing on Remus. He was at the far end of the stretcher, trying carefully to patch together Harry's obliterated limbs. She knew that there was really no point in mending the bones, which were little more than fragments in places and that poked through the skin in others. But Remus was managing the best he could, healing up the places where the bone had punctured the skin. He was trying to make Harry as whole as he could again even if he could not bring him back.

The two continued concentrating on the task at hand, trying to make Harry presentable, when the door of the office opened, causing both of them to look up.

Ron limped into the room with Hermione and Ginny on either side of him. They moved into the room so that Bill, Fleur and Arthur could move in behind them. The room was now filled with those who had known and cared for Harry on a more intimate and personal level. Aside from the newcomers, Professor McGonagall, Mad-Eye and Kingsley had joined the crowd.

Ginny moved further into the room, striding towards where Molly and Remus stood on the other side of Harry's prone figure on the stretcher. But Ron and Hermione stopped and Hermione let out a strangled cry of shock and turned into Ron's chest as she laid eyes upon where Harry's battered body lay.

"Oh, God," she gasped in dismay as Ron held her tightly. "No...no..." she cried miserably.

"It's ok," Ron soothed her, his eyes roving over Harry's body before he was forced to look away himself, closing his eyes as his face scrunched in a look of grief.

"It's not him," he repeated, speaking in a low voice to her. "It's not really him, Hermione. Harry's not here--it's just his body," he pressed to her as his own voice broke and he screwed his features up to assuage his emotions. "He's somewhere now where he doesn't have to hurt anymore. He's ok now--it's ok," he reassured her, holding onto her tightly as she sobbed into his chest.

Hermione still seemed reasonably upset about seeing Harry in that condition and Ginny moved back across the room to where her brother and best friend stood. She put a hand on Hermione shoulder, causing the older girl to separate herself from Ron and meet Ginny's touch.

"Ron's right," Ginny whispered. "He's somewhere good now away from this--I believe that," she said with a sad nod.

Hermione nodded back and turned to embrace Ginny, but did not seem any more inclined to look at Harry's broken visage any more than before. She may have been understanding of the idea that Harry was no longer suffering and that he somewhere beyond this life, but that did not make it any easier to look at what had been done to his body.

After the two girls separated Ginny moved back towards the place where Harry lay once again, approaching as she had originally been doing. As she neared she dipped her hands into the soapy wash basin that sat on a table near Harry's head and produced a clean wash cloth from within its depths.

"Ginny, you don't have to--" Molly began, but Ginny paid no attention to any suggestion her mother might offer.

She brought her washcloth to Harry's face and brushed at a spot just above his left eye where a small cut and bled and the blood had dried in his eyebrow. Molly watched as Ginny carefully and gently washed Harry's face, her hand lingering and softly caressing the skin as her face roved longingly over him.

"What happens now?" Ron's voice interrupted the tender moment, sounding closer than it had before as he had approached the place where Harry lay.

All eyes seemed to swivel towards Ron and then to each other, everyone unsure of how to answer that question.

"We'll need to notify St. Mungo's--they'll send someone to declare--make thing official," Remus spoke quietly, his voice wavering a bit as he spoke. "Then we'll need to make arrangements for...a funeral...decide on burial...and all that," Remus added, tearing his eyes away from Harry's body as if he could not speak those words while looking at him at the same time.

"He wants to be buried in Godric's Hollow," Hermione's voice sounded in the quiet room. "He wants to be laid next to his parents," she added. Every head turned towards her as she moved next to Ron and closer to where Harry was.

"He told us that--when we went to go visit the village and his parent's graves," she continued, her becoming choked again as she spoke. "He wanted us to know what his wishes were--and we told him to be quiet and not to talk about it," she said as more tears welled up in her eyes. "We told him that we wouldn't have to worry about that--"

There was a bit of guilt in her voice as she spoke, dwelling on the conversation that had took place months ago, but seemed so much longer now.

Ron placed a hand on her shoulder and brought her close to him as she struggled to keep the tears at bay.

But before he had a chance to offer words of solace and comfort about the issue now weighing heavily on her a loud humming noise caught the ear of every person in the room. The sound seemed to grow suddenly, moving from a droning buzz to an overwhelming din that soon filled the entire room in only a matter of seconds.

The noise seemed to be coming from everywhere--the walls of the office itself. But it soon became clear that the humming was coming from a darkened corner of the room, the source shadowed and partially hidden from view of all those looking on.

But light was soon shed on the situation as a spot of light materialized in mid air.

It was a small greenish dot of light that glowed brightly and quickly spread and branched out across the silver smooth surface of the mirror it revealed as the green light danced across the glass. The mirror was as tall as the room itself, wide and ornate as it's gilded gold frame glittered in the light of the expanding green glow that was nearly filling and obscuring most of the mirror's surface. The light intensified as it spread, causing the people in the room to shield their eyes and turn away as the light filled the room along with the humming drone that was as loud as ever.

Both elements were soon overwhelming those looking on and threatening them to the very edge of sanity as the noise and light pushed them nearly beyond endurance or tolerance.

And then both stopped.

Just as the sound had become unbearable and the light bright enough to blind all they were cut off abruptly, drowning the room in an eerie silence.

Or what they thought was silence.

As their hearing and sight adjusted back to their surroundings the sound of movement because audible above the ringing remaining in their ears. It was as something or someone was moving around, shifting and shuffling on the worn carpet just beyond view.

And then they heard the voices.

A/N: After a lot of mulling what to do about this chapter...I've decided to split this monster into two. As I've started writing the end of the chapter...I've realized it's turning into something way longer than I thought it would be--which isn't necessarily a bad thing. But I thought I'd get you this half first to tease you a bit lol...and then give you the other half in a day or so. This part is over eleven thousand words and when I'm done with the second half it'll probably be close to that. Needless to say--I've been having a ball writing and I've got a lot written. I hope you enjoyed this half and don't get out those pitchforks just yet!
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