As she stood up after lowering what she hoped was her last shared load the pains in her body finally pronounced themselves. It felt like a vice had been clamped around her thighs. The muscles in her back and arms pulled with every movement she made. Her whole body protesting at the slightest movement.
For hours now she had been wandering the castle and grounds with countless others, searching for the fallen soldiers. It didn't matter which side they'd been on. All the bodies had to be moved.
There was a silent agreement amongst them all that it be done without magic.
Sometimes she was aware of who she was helping lift the bodies with, sometimes she couldn't even see them through the tears in her eyes.
It was torturous work, and she couldn't divert any more energy into shielding herself from her emotions.
Especially when she recognized who it was she was carrying.
She embraced the pain. It was nothing compared to what she'd felt from the Cruciatus curse.
It felt good to let her tears fall as well.
All year she'd tried to be a beacon of strength amongst her peers. The younger students in particular. She'd refused to let herself crumble in front of them in exhaustion. They needed her more than she needed a cathartic breakdown.
She took one more walk around the castle and grounds and didn't see anyone laying prostrate on the ground, nor heard any morose calls for assistance.
Standing once more in the grand doorway to the Great Hall she found it divided. Like there was a line down the center, and everyone had been separated into two categories; with a heartbeat, and without.
Her family was now sitting together at the far end of the Gryffindor table, comforting each other as best they could. Save for Ron, who had disappeared earlier, herself, and Fred, who was in the other category.
Her family hadn't been sitting there for long. Everyone had pulled their weight. It didn't matter if you were in mourning for a friend or family member. The wands may be down, but this was the last part of the war that no one talked about in books.
What the clean up after a war actually was.
She couldn't bring herself to go in and join her family. She didn't want to do any comforting right now.
She wanted to be comforted.
A ridiculously whimsical idea came to her head at that.
Ice cream.
When she was little and she'd scrapped her knee, or her brothers had left her out of an adventure and she was feeling down she always had some ice cream and felt a little better.
Her feet had started taking her there before the thought even finished registering.
She let her feet lead her down the familiar corridor that would take her to it. The house Elves had already been hard at work righting all of the wrong that had happened.
And it seemed so wrong somehow. Like they shouldn't have cleaned up and erased the awfulness so soon after. There was no more rubble, or unidentified splatters anywhere along her way down. The portraits were not even off center.
She reached the one portrait in particular that was her destination and tickled the pear to gain entrance.
Throughout the year the leaders of the resistance had taken turns coming here to get whatever meager scraps the House Elves felt they could provide. It had always been a bustling place.
