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SIYE Time:11:31 on 28th March 2024
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A Second Passed
By Mojomig

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Category: Post-Hogwarts
Characters:None
Genres: Drama
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG
Reviews: 12
Summary: "A second passed, or maybe an hour, or even a day. Time no longer seemed important." This short story begins in the aftermath of the final battle.
Hitcount: Story Total: 5263



Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work.



Author's Notes:
I wrote this in response to a challenge on (shock horror) another site, but there was no good reason not to post here too!




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A second passed, or maybe an hour, or even a day. Time no longer seemed important.

There was silence. But it was a good silence. A calm after the storm silence.

Then there was pain. And blackness.

---

Harry woke again some time later. His eyes didn't open at first, but the smell of the damp morning drifted into his senses. He was cold, wet and his whole body ached. Without moving, he started to open his eyes. As his heavy eyelids opened a chink, the early morning sun made his eyes hurt.

Still remaining motionless, Harry Potter started to remember. Fighting with Death Eaters, scared children screaming, innocent people falling, buildings burning. Hogsmeade crumbling into the dust and smoke. Waiting. Waiting for Voldemort. The final fight. A fight to the death.

Harry was startled out of his reverie by a noise to his left. It was a groaning sound. Another person! There was another person near. Risking the bright sunlight again, Harry slowly opened his eyes once more. The sun was still burning into his retinas, but he managed to turn his head to the side, towards the direction of the groan.

About ten yards to Harry's left lay Hermione Granger. Remarkably, Harry's glasses had made it through all the fighting intact and he could make out the blood that had dried in her hair and the awkward angle of her right leg.

"Hermione!" Harry called weakly, but she did not answer. Perhaps she had lapsed back into unconsciousness. Staring past the battered body of his best friend, Harry's delicate eyes made out another shape lying in the grass. The shape had orange-red hair. Ron. It had to be Ron.

So here they were, the famous Gryffindor trio, lying side by side in the aftermath of the greatest battle the wizarding world had ever witnessed. More memories slowly returned to the battered and bloodied young hero. Voldemort faced them. Harry, and to his left Hermione, and on her left was Ron. United they stood in the face of adversity.

But wait. Something felt out of place. There was something missing, something to his right. In his memory, Harry turned his head to the right. Ginny was there. Ginny. His strength and his inspiration. She was the reason he fought, and the only person who had the influence to stay his hand.

GINNY. Harry's mind screamed. Gingerly, he turned his head to the right. There she was. Maybe thirty yards away, slumped against the thick trunk of an old oak tree, was the petite shape of Ginny Weasley. Harry's head turned back to point at the sky. His eyes closed once more and he began to contemplate.

At least they were all together, at the end of things. The four friends who stood and laughed in the face of the most hideous evil each lay together. Hermione Jane Granger. Ronald Bilius Weasley. Ginevra Molly Weasley. The three people he loved more than anything else or anyone in the world had stood beside him and together they triumphed. Maybe one day the world would know the sacrifice they had made. Perhaps, in years to come, people would tell the story of the four brave, young witches and wizards who stood up to adversity and oppression and sent its master back into the abyss.

But what now? Harry's entire life had been a battle. For eleven years he had wrestled his relatives, striving for acceptance, fighting a battle he could never win. For the following seven years, his life was consumed by thoughts of Voldemort, of hiding, running, mourning and fighting. His destiny was met. The prophecy had been fulfilled. Harry's purpose was spent. Had he become obsolete? What was his place in the world now that the fighting was over? Harry wasn't sure he knew how to have a normal life.

Eventually, as his thoughts spiralled further and further into the realms of despair, Harry drifted back into blissful unconsciousness, waking a few days later in a totally different place.

---

After several days, some of the surviving Order members - which were jarringly few - managed to locate the famous quartet. Minerva McGonagall, Tonks and the Weasley twins followed a distraught Hedwig who led them to a hillside, a hundred or so miles from Hogsmeade. However, they were not ready for the scene that awaited them.

The four teenagers' bodies were lying in a sort of semi-circle, with differing spaces between them. In the centre of the semi-circle the grass was scorched and blackened, as if something had exploded there. Indeed, in the grass around the burnt area, small fragments of cloth could be seen.

On the far right, lying at the base of a tree, was Ginny. She was half on her front, and it was obvious that she had been hit on the back of the head, judging by the dried blood on her neck and in her hair. It looked like the explosion had thrown her back into the trunk of the oak tree, under which she lay.

On the left end, Ron was lying flat on his back. His body was covered in spell inflicted wounds. Apparently, he had borne the brunt of the duel with the Dark Lord. Although he had no specific large injuries, his body was exhausted and he had lost much blood from the multiple lacerations that criss-crossed his arms and legs.

Hermione had blood in her hair from a cut caused by flying debris from the explosion. More worrying, however, was the horrific angle of her right leg, which had snapped just above the knee.

Finally, the searchers examined Harry. Like the others, he was unconscious, but seemed to be relatively uninjured. Apart from the fact that they couldn't wake him.

---

A few years later, Ron and Hermione could be found living in a large, secluded house in leafy Surrey. Having spent very little time with her family whilst at Hogwarts, they agreed to live near Hermione's parents. The generous thank you the pair had been given by the Ministry of Magic meant they could afford a spacious home, with a reasonable amount of land. Not enough for a quidditch pitch, but certainly plenty of room for Ron to run around with any children they might have in the future. They were married as soon as all their injuries were healed, approximately three months after the final showdown.

Hermione worked in the Department of Mysteries, so no-one apart from her and her superiors really knew what she worked on, although it was rumoured to involve finding a way to block the unforgivable curses.

Ron on the other hand, had fallen in love with the game of rugby, having been taken to see a game by his father in law. He had grown to a massive six feet and six inches, as well as developing Charlie's stockiness. As a result, he made a perfect back row forward, and quickly rose through the ranks of club rugby towards the professional leagues. On the day of his first match for a professional team, even Ron and Hermione's best friends, Jane and John Smith, came to watch.

---

Jane and John Smith lived in smart riverside apartment, overlooking the River Thames in Limehouse, London. They were a very quiet, normal couple, who were content to go about their lives inconspicuously. John had close cropped, jet black hair and worked as a building contractor on one of the many office blocks that was being constructed in the Docklands area, a mile or so to the East of their home. He was a hardworking man, well liked by his co-workers and respected by his bosses. Never shirking a difficult or dangerous task, John Smith always got his jobs done without a fuss and without incident.

His wife Jane had red hair, cut short into a funky, windswept style that was modern and stylish. She also worked in the docklands area, in one of the many trendy bars and restaurants that had sprung up, all over the Canary Wharf estate. She worked mostly day shifts, so that she and her husband could spend the evenings together. More often than not they sat quietly in their apartment, on the balcony if the weather was kind, telling each other about their days.

One thing they never spoke of, however, was the past. Both had horrors that they desperately sought to forget, and largely this was managed. The world was a safer place now, and there was nothing to be gained from dwelling on forgotten lives and painful memories.

---

Only the famous four Gryffindors knew what had happened on that hillside. Of course, they confirmed the absolute destruction of Voldemort, but none ever spoke a word about what had happened, or how they had defeated the most powerful dark wizard in history. Decades later, their stories would no doubt be studied in History lessons, but for now, it was a time forgotten. No-one who met John Smith ever suspected what had occurred in his past. The only possible hint was just visible in certain lights, and was found on John's forehead: a faint, lightning bolt shaped scar.

---

A/N Please let me know what you thought...
Reviews 12
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