A creepy, glowing mist emerges from Harry's mouth, his Avada Kedavra green eyes gleaming menacingly. He lifts the elder wand, and the mist solidifies into a glowing blue ball, then lifts the resurrection stone and presses against his heart.

He breathes, slowly, almost unsure of himself.

"I'm alive," he whispers.

"I'm alive!"

They stare at him like he's mad. Luna whispers something about nargles reacting to wrackspurts and the spirit of death, and Hermione lets out a gasp.

"Kissing a dementor... by choice... it... it lets you survive the dementors kiss, your soul leaves your body, but you still have control, you... well, it just sort of hangs around, but you're the master of death and you control this sort of thing! You can get us all out, can't you?!" Hermione's voice slowly rose into a shriek.

Harry's smirk confirmed all.

Luna tilted her head, sapphire eyes glowing, with the sort of look that says, that's what I said.

Life seems to be returning to the shattered people beside them. They have hope for the first time in nine months. Nine months, nine people, nine objects. Nine different reasons to fight. Nine people to take down Albus too-many-middle-names Dumbledore.

War was on.