Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but bits of the plotline.

He woke, again, to white walls.

"Sometime," he mumbled quietly, "I'm just going to fall asleep, not get knocked unconscious. I swear, sometime it's going to happen."

He rolled over, and the slumbering shape of Ginny Weasley became apparent next to him, her left arm bandaged and a neatly stitched scar on her cheek.

He heard a soft chuckling from behind him and turned. Remus Lupin was sitting on a chair beside the bed, a book in his lap.

"Awake, finally. There are some people who want to see you."

"Who?" said Harry, glancing around the hospital room.

"Quite a few, actually. Your friends, your classmates, the Minister, the press…of course, many of them can wait."

"They'd better wait," said Harry mutinously, imagining an army of Rita Skeeters descending on him.

"I'm sure you'd like to see—"

"Harry!"

Harry pushed himself up so that his back was against the wall as his two friends rushed into the room. Both were clean, wearing new robes, and looking extremely happy. Harry felt happiness swell within himself, as well, as he saw them, and glanced at Ginny, and realized that they had all survived.

"Hey, Ron," he said, smiling. "Hi, Hermione."

"Remus, McGonagall needs you out there," said Hermione as she and Ron took two empty seats by the bed. "She thinks it's over, and she says you can help the Healers."

"What's over?" asked Harry, frowning, glancing out the window across from him. It displayed nothing but a plain blue sky.

"Well…apparently that attack on St. Mungo's last week wasn't just random."

"What?" said Harry. "Last week?"

"You've been in bed for a while, mate," said Ron, grinning. "Long enough for us to sort everything out for you."

"What happened?" said Harry again. "What's over?"

"Mungo's was part of a larger string of attacks, on the Ministry, on Hogwarts…pretty much every major building. That's why Voldemort only had three Death Eaters when we got to him."

"He thought you'd be easy, coming out a Hospital bed," said Hermione, smiling. "He probably thought you were deluded, seeking him out like that."

"We sure thought so," murmured Ron.

"But no," continued Hermione. "Ever since we brought you back here, we've been helping the Order round up all the Death Eaters. Apparently they all panicked as soon as they felt you kill Voldemort, Harry, but what else could they do but keep fighting?"

"Er…stop fighting?"

"Well, yes, and some of them did, and I'm sure that that will make a difference in their trials. Some who were under the Imperius curse, I mean." Hermione continued. "But about you, Harry- there are about a thousand reporters waiting outside. We always have to push our way through them to get in here."

"Sometimes we can just bring Hagrid, and he knocks them out of the way," added Ron. "Or Snape. He seems to clear a path without touching anyone—"

"Snape has been here?"

"He just glanced in and left," said Ginny, and Harry jumped, not having realized that she had woken. "I think he was on his way to see someone else, to be honest."

"Is there something wrong with me?" Harry asked hesitantly. "I mean, I'm in bed for a week and nothing happens to any of you…"

"No, nothing," said Hermione hastily. "I mean, the Healers say you drained yourself again, and that you might have been hit by the magical backlash when Voldemort died, but actually, I think Ron took most of that for you."

Harry glanced at Ron, who reddened.

"I just got angry."

"And this huge shockwave seemed to just bounce off him," added Ginny, smiling slightly.

"He Apparated you to the Burrow because it was the safest place he could think of," Hermione said, as Ron reddened further. "Ginny and I both ended up here, and we were terrified that you had been Splinched again."

"And then we were distracted by the Dementors that were still running around," grumbled Ginny.

"There were only a few, though. Some of the Order had arrived by then. Eight people got Kissed," said Hermione sadly. "There were some Deaths at the Ministry too. None at Hogwarts, though. The Order was there, mostly."

"And then I got you here and…now you're here," Ron finished lamely. "And all these reporters seem to think you're ready to come out of a deathly coma to talk to them in the first minute—"

"A deathly coma?" Harry repeated.

A Healer, dressed in emerald green, entered the room. "We may have exaggerated your condition slightly, Mr. Potter. If only to keep them from breaking down the door."

"They think you'll die if exposed to too much human contact," said Ron, casting an admiring glance at the Healer. "Dunno how Healer Smythe managed to convince them, but she did."

Harry glanced at the woman, who was checking the bandage on his leg. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, Mr. Potter. I like those pesky press about as much as you do." She backed away from his leg. "This needs to be cleaned regularly, but other than that, you're free to go." She frowned. "I don't know how you managed to achieve that hand, but you're going to have to live with it. You can get out of bed and walk away, if you want. That is, if you want to brave that lot at the front."

"Can we just…floo out, or something?" said Harry hopefully. He hadn't even remembered his hand, though now that he looked at it, he knew it wouldn't be of any use for the rest of his life, unless he wanted to startle people by putting it through them.

"There are no open communication channels in the Hospital at the moment," said the Healer, shaking her head regretfully. "Everything was stopped during the attack. If that were not the case, you wouldn't have quite so many waiting at the door."

"Where did you want to go, Harry?" asked Hermione carefully. "Grimmauld Place?"

"No," said Harry at once, thinking. He hadn't actually decided yet. But…

"Somewhere far away, if possible?" he said, sighing. "Just away from all these people. Away from the hero-worship."

"We could stay at Hogwarts, no one would bother us there—"

"Too close," said Harry. He was filled with the powerful urge to get out of the country where he had grown up, to leave the devastation left behind by Voldemort, and to just live a quiet life for some time.

---

For so long, he had dreamed of a Britain without Voldemort, and now that it had happened, he didn't know what to do. Nothing seemed to have change where the people not on Voldemort's side were concerned; the press were still hounding him, there were still Death Eaters out there evading justice, and from the pile of letters on his bedside table, Rufus Scrimgeour was still seeking his help.

Things had changed, but at the same time had not changed. Beside Scrimgeour's letters were a pile from old school friends, Order members, and teachers, either thanking him or asking him to return; in Molly Weasley's case, there was a charred mark where her Howler had been.

Beyond that were more letters, from people Harry didn't even know; letters thanking him for finally ending the war, containing sweets, singing cards, or in one case a marriage proposal, which had had Ginny laughing.

Harry slipped out of his chair and into a pair of sandals, glancing out the window. The sun shone, reflecting off the white sand of the beach and the water beyond it. He could hear splashing and shouting; Ron was out there trying to learn to surf, and Hermione was watching him, smiling, with a book in her lap.

It was Hermione's house, her parents' beachfront property in France. They had added Unplottable charms to the house, removing the chances of someone being able to find it that they didn't want. Visitors came, occasionally; just the previous day Remus and Tonks had left, saying they needed to get back to the real world. Harry had no such convictions, and he didn't think any of his friends did either; he was slowly healing here, letting his fighting instincts disappear, learning how to swim, and re-learning how to fly a broom. Tryouts for the Chudley Cannons began in a month, and Harry and Ron had both been invited; in fact, Harry had been invited to try out for nearly every team in the league, and had been offered spots on most of them, but Ron had browbeaten him into coming out for the Cannons.

Harry padded out of the small house and onto the beach, pulling off his shirt as he did so. The sun beat down, hard, on the back of his neck and his scalp. He grinned down at Ginny, who was lying in a beach chair and also shaking her head at Ron. The fourth finger on her left hand gleamed with the silver and diamond engagement ring that he had found for her just over a week ago.

"We're going to have to go back eventually," she murmured quietly to him as he sat beside her, watching as Ron fell off the surfboard for the fourth time in as many minutes. "You're hiding, and everyone knows it." She rubbed his back and grinned, showing him it was a joke.

"Eventually," he shrugged. "Not now, though."

---

A/N: So, that's it. I was losing momentum on this story, so I needed to finish it quickly before I totally lost everything and abandoned it. The end was quicker than I would have liked, but I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks to everyone who reviewed-I hope to see you at midnight on the 21st!