"Lord Howe Island, Australia?" Her brow rose and she felt a slight pull from a scabbed abrasion, "Are you sure, isn't the community's population strictly regulated to around three hundred fifty?"

His face held no humor, "Yes, and only four hundred tourists allowed at anytime." He began to shuffle through the piles of paperwork lining his desk, straightening the documents without a purpose other than to preoccupy his mind.

Hermoine shook her head, her lip curling up, "Well, how could they have immigrated to that particular island?"

The Minister grinned, "You are the brightest witch of our age, and they did conceive you."

Hermoine rubbed her temples and sighed, "Do I have arrangements? I am sure there is a waiting period."

Kingsley waved his hand, "Merely six months, that gives you time to reestablish their lives here."

If her parents even wanted to return from their paradise was the only thought that crossed her mind but she regarded him coolly, "That would be imprudent." She flattened her palms against her thighs feeling the telltale grit under the pads of her susceptible fingers, misleading sensitivity.

"In any case, you may complete your N.E.W.T.S."

Hermoine's eyes shot up conveying her confusion, "I thought that that opportunity was, well, at least I should complete my last year?"

"You may take your exams whenever you feel prepared enough within the next six months. I feel you have earned at least that much from the wizarding world."

Hermoine received the last statement as petulant and she felt ungracious with her trite doubts. She looked down at her hands both lying flat on her knees. Gradually lifting her fingers with her palms remaining flat, she could still see the dirt beneath her nails, the dirt she knew did not exist and she was reminded of recent events. "I cannot stay here for now," she breathed with a stern assertion. She did not look up at Kingsley, but brooded over her path that followed the madness of that damned spot. "I will return in three months for my N.E.W.T.S. and I would truly appreciate arrangements to travel to Sydney, if not Lord Howe Island." She rose from the armchair and extended one of those blotched and tarnished hands, watching the robotic pleasantries unfold as though outside of her body. She marveled at how easily the man across the table leapt to embrace that filth and she knew she would be unable to meet his eyes while she could not calm these raging thoughts.

His voice caught her by surprise, "Thank you Hermoine, I will do my best by you."

She pulled her hand away quickly, and even before he could encase her delicate fingers in his own she felt her nerve endings give a vicious shock as though lightening had struck her extremities and she heard him gasp in reaction, "I am sorry if I have been out of sorts." She licked her cracked lips, sampling the remnants of a metallic flavor, "I will not have a forwarding address at this time."

Kingsley's brow knitted in concern, "Let me also reward you with financial compensation then…"

His words were lost on her as she turned her head toward the solitary window framed in darkness and she could see the billowing clouds, motionless black and blue with the torment of fragile mortality. Since that night, if in fact it had been night, she continuously felt the shudder running up and down her spine, as though at any moment her discs would crush beneath the ache of that thrilling pain. Her nose creased as the all too familiar smell of burning hair and the muck of vomit, blood and feces that had once stained the grounds of Malfoy Manor filled her nostrils from an unseen source. She heard that witch laughing, no, cackling ravenously and she was deaf to the reality of what the Minister was telling her. The echoing miscellany of pain that even now threatened to rip through her muscles numbed her reaction to the heavy velvet purse that dropped hap hazardously into her outstretched hand.

She left, knowing that her body had not betrayed her. She had mechanically given a farewell along with her respect for Mr. Shackelbolt's kindness. Tucking the purple purse into her robes, her knuckles lightly skimmed her wand. She drowned further into that non-reality when the crisp shaft of her wand almost stung her with the curses she had so easily cast not very long ago. Swallowing hard, she registered her feet carrying her from the Ministry and onto the streets overcast with the mirth of recent war and England's fog. The clouds seemed to surround her and sheath her in a tomb of her own device and she began to feel sick as her steps became exponentially more arduous. Stomp, stomp, stomp, she dared not drag her feet for fear of falling deeper into the abyss of her surreal perception of the present. Instead she focused on one thing, getting the hell away from this moment and the previous moments that had led her here.

She did not know exactly how long it took her to reach the doors of the Leaky Cauldron, she balanced her whole body however frail and exhausted against the swollen wood heaving open the doors as though they weighed a ton. Almost tumbling into the establishment, she was greeted by a blinding light that evaporated the mist muddying her vision. Pausing at the threshold, the room dimed and she was aware that it had merely been a trick of her own mind and the Leaky Cauldron suddenly looked as it always had with the whistling of distinct music filtering through the atmosphere. In relief, she ran her fingers through her hair which had been damped by the weather. Taking in a shaky breath, she made her way to the bar and climbed clumsily onto a stool. Without a word spoken, a glass materialized before her with four cubes of ice, an amber bottle levitated and poured the concoction slowly into the tumbler.

Hermoine welcomed the distraction being conjured in front of her and grasped the fire whiskey firmly. Frowning to herself she resigned not to regret this brief lapse of her often steely resolve, a fleeting thought of Fred crossed her mind, she deftly took a large gulp and hissed at the burn briefly regretting her Gryffindor nature. Soon the flames died down and she felt warmth spread in her belly. Smiling, she lifted her glass to the dark figure behind the bar that only tilted their head in acknowledgement. She felt the edges of rationality return and she attributed such coherence to the liquor and took another healthy gulp. Her cognition slowed as her thoughts no longer wandered morosely through the rubble of neither her beloved Hogwarts nor the broken bodies of her friends. Instead, she listened adoringly to the music and chatter that trickled playfully above her acting as a bystander to the world around her.

A couple of hours passed and three tall glasses later, she made an attempt to stand from her stool. Practically dropping from the height of her seat, she laughed to herself and knew she was blushing and to her surprise she was not embarrassed but finally content with herself. She did not have to fear the days to come, she could complete her exams and live her life and all of these events could be banished from her existence. With gusto she held herself up between the sturdy bar and widdled stool, letting the rush of adrenaline console her. Inspiration making a great escape, she was going to create as much distance between herself and the malevolence that had formed the cohesive bond of her friendships and ambitions. She was going to transcend the incarnated evil that manifested itself in Lord Voldemort and, as she had come to believe, in her own self as well as Harry and Ron when they wore the Horcruxes. She felt free when she determined that she would abstain from her past and all that it had been composed of, that was until she felt that strong hand on her lower back.

"Hermoine," the voice so collected but the tone full of doubt.

Already hating the idea of who it could possibly be she peered up at him slowly and the fortitude to put as much space between her and the past seven years fell away along with the increasingly raucous noise of the Leaky Cauldron. An unanticipated burning brimmed behind her eyes and she could not halt the anguished look that painted her face. He mirrored her in that moment. They had both judged the world cruel and dark. They had both resigned to bring an end to the torment of the veracity that evil directed their lives. They sought refuge in a distraction of sensations, to lessen the intangible burden. They did not need to speak or confirm what had transpired between them but instead they begrudgingly pulled away from each other and Hermoine made a new scheme, one which she intended to be short-lived.

He thoughtfully tossed some galleons on the scored wood and she followed him, blindly, to the stairway and the seconds swiftly passed until she was immersed in the darkness of a bedroom with his back to her as he shut the door. They remained silent as he cautiously pivoted in her direction and she adroitly strode towards to small window, tugging the heavy wool to peak another time into the desolate sky that haunted the once vibrant alley. She felt his large hands grip her shoulders those familiar calloused hands as dirtied as her own, and that unmistakable anxiety she harbored on the stairs shattered. She forgot to breathe. He leaned down with his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply, a gesture that she never expected. Her hands dropped to her sides and her heavy lids slid shut. She allowed the alcohol to guide her judgment and she turned to him.

Their eyes met again and the pale blue of his irises was the very first comfort she had found since the war had ended, so clear and uncompromising. She regarded this as inebriation and pushed her body into his, drawing his head down with her hands at the nape of his neck. Their lips met and it was gentle. She hesitated for a moment, a mere and unnecessary split second to reevaluate the situation, and slanted her mouth on his. Despite the torture they had endured and what she felt was a perversion of their relationship, a fever was ignited and he wrapped his arms around her waist. She felt as though she stood on a cloud and soon discovered that her toes were sliding over the floorboards as her back came in contact with the chill of the thick glass she had uncovered. He pinned her there and his fingers tugged at her robes, she felt her nails dig into the flesh of his muscled neck and roughly pull through his fiery locks much softer than her own.

She sighed when the heavy fabric slid from her shoulders, catching at her elbows only a moment as he guided her body to undress for him. She was in no mentality to act modestly or perceive the discomfort of her aching joints that were exacerbated by the chill of the lonely breeze wafting under the seal of the pane. She let him move her, control her body and worship her new scars and healing bruises. She allowed him to cleanse the shooting pain running through her nerves with his tongue and lips, teeth lightly nipping at tender wounds, finding herself succumbing to these compassionate affections in an endeavor to quash her suspicions. He rubbed her arms and gently and guided her to the bed that soon cringed under the weight of two people. She sighed, barely aware of her complete nudity, and she indulged for only the second time in reveling in his interest.

She eyed him curiously as he kneeled at the end of the mattress. Shoving off his robes and almost ripping the tattered shirt from over his head, she lunged at him. They met again in a heated embrace with her hands gripping his broad shoulders, his clavicle bone slightly more pronounced than in previous months. Her brow knitted in empathy and she traveled her caresses over his chest, sides, back, tracing and memorizing the feel of his flesh against her own. She was tantalized by his reaction to her touch and found herself fiercely fighting for his adoration. He breathed some sentence, groaning as she reached his trousers and made quick work of undressing him. She was not in the disposition to decipher any cryptic messages and she did not care to analyze the situation, critical thinking could wait until she felt like herself again, vulnerability was not an option.

Somehow, she was covering him as he was now naked and lying incorrectly across the narrow mattress with his head almost hanging over the edge while his knees bent over the other side. She admired his marred visage, still holding the semblance of the boy she grew up, the boy she rashly kissed in the midst of battle. Frowning at her thoughts, she slung her leg over his thighs and straddled his lean figure. She reached between them and gripped his engorged penis while suckling at his ear. She heard his unintelligible moan and his breathing becoming thick as he labored to remain coherent. Her other hand found his and she continued to stroke him as she pressed his unoccupied hand onto her chest, squeezing her right breast. He gasped and without warning attempted to halt her ministrations, muttering to her incompressible phrases. She did not need explanations.

Hermoine did not hesitate and took this opportunity as he leaned her upright to shove his penis inside of her and sit on her haunches. The tightness in her groin was transitory though the tension of stretched muscles remained and she saw his strangled expression, creased forehead and lips pursed. She had seen the look so often in recent past; she braced a hand on his stomach and arched her back to avoid that look. Her right hand landed on his thigh and she raised her hips. At first she gave very inconsistent and shallow thrusts, concentrating only on the sensation of his penis sliding in and out of her. She was somewhat uncomfortable when she lowered herself too far onto him. She could hardly undulate without feeling some form of remorse and she could not dwell on that now.

As soon as she felt his shaking hands encircle her petit waist, she inclined over his chest with her face hidden above his shoulder. Feeling a wave of encouragement, she immediately discovered a rhythm and felt the strain of her muscles wean with a new tension blissfully superseding. She clawed at his shoulders, wrists going under his shoulder blades only to move faster and she could feel her own awkward breathing and erratic heartbeat. Her toes curled and she felt him trying to hold his orgasm at bay as she fought for her own release. He cam then and she did not show him mercy, but rather moved over him more fervently and she felt tears slip down her cheeks as she shouted her orgasm, the heat pooling through her legs and her insides clenching. He held her firmly to him and supported her weight without complaint while smoothing her ruffled hair, the other hand splayed on her lower back.

She did not know where those frustrated tears sprang from or even when they had started. She had a sneaking suspicion she had been crying from the moment she forced penetration and she did not want to look him in the face. She was still too weakened to stand but did roll off of him and onto her side, her back to him. She thought she felt him turn his head to her but they both remained silent. It felt as though hours passed and Hermoine lifted her protesting body to gather her things, slinging them over her form and leaving just as abruptly through the door he had previously held open for her, inviting her, welcoming her. Before shutting the door she looked back at him. Naked and peering over his shoulder, he had been watching her the whole time and for the first time since she had known him, he did not toss even the hint of a smile, all humor lost in the recesses of his inaccessible thoughts. She swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling at fault for having encumbered him, and again disappeared into the frigid early morning fog.

A few months later she returned to the Ministry without a signal of her arrival or even a letter to her friends. She had spent the time amongst an obscure wizarding settlement outside of a small village in the United Kingdom. The settlement was originally a monastery of sorts and for the past two centuries was devoted to the study and reproduction of ancient literary works for future generations. The territory remained untouched by the plight, as though a holy ground or a place of salvation. She enveloped herself in parchment, dust, and ink, in an effort to make amends with past transgressions and her lack of civility preceding the war. She could not find peace within the text that covered the tattered pages in archaic tomes. She sought forgiveness and consequently continued to find relentless malice in the history of mankind, she felt as lost as ever when no sign of hope flared on a distant horizon.

Shaking her head to focus on her purpose, she heard her feet pattering on the newly installed marble of the lobby floor of the renovated building. She passed Mr. Weasley in the hall and scuttled through the crowd intent on hiding her identity from the older gentleman, even raising a hand to her brow in the hope that she may mask her features. She knew that he has registered her appearance but when he turned to greet her, he witnessed her flight through the expanse of the entrance and sighed to himself, feeling even more distressed by these events. She could not witness such an episode, preoccupied with her own urgent tribulations. She faltered in her step, Hermoine missed Fred's burial. She had missed so many others' burials. She did send all of her remaining monetary "compensation" to the Wealseys anonymously to try and counteract her irrational guilt. She was feeling ultimately disgusted at this point.

She completed her N.E.W.T.S. as promptly as possible after double and triple checking her answers, she was then given the news that she was capable of traveling to Lord Howe Island as soon as she was prepared to leave, reservations for three weeks with all expenses paid and contact information for the resident healer to aid in the restoration of her parents' memories. Taking a deep breath, she looked over the itinerary. Distracted by the impending journey and overwhelming emotions of seeing her parents after so long, she bumped into the back of another person. She uttered a brusque apology but before walking by the individual, she was roughly pulled into a hug. She pushed away violently only to hear a curt laugh and she looked up into the face of a mock scandalized Harry Potter. She appeared to be a deer caught in headlights, but he just brushed the encounter off as nerves.

"Hermoine! I am so glad to see you again, Kingsley was never able to give us your address and we wanted to floo…" His tirade of cheer faded into the back of her mind and she saw Ron standing behind him. He seemed just as surprised to have her run into them. "We are starting Auror training. It should be wicked difficult what with the new…"

She held Ron's gaze and again found that fleeting comfort. With her mind devoid of thought, she interjected, "I am going away to fetch my parents. I am not sure how long it will take."

Harry eyed her with reservation, "Will you send us some notice this time?" She shrugged obligingly and he added, "I have some very interesting news." Hermoine eyed him and he blurted out, "I am secretly engaged!"

Ron finally spoke, "Not much of a secret if you ask me. Yelling in the middle of the Ministry lobby and all…"

Hermoine genuinely smiled for the first time since she was given the news of the war's end, "That's wonderful, Harry."

Harry wagged his eyebrows, "You never asked to whom."

She rolled her eyes and Ron sarcastically pointed out, "That is definitely not a secret."

Hermoine allowed the faint inkling of a laugh to blow past her lips and the relief of feeling something, anything, eased her heart. In that moment she felt somewhat guilty and her eyes lowered to her feet. Harry merely scoffed at Ron, "Anyway, I think I am going to announce the engagement after training. I do hope you will be able to attend the ceremony, though we do not have a date set."

Hermoine forced herself to look him straight into the face, "Of course, Harry."

Ron snuck around Harry, staring at her the entire time, and Hermoine could not have predicted that the fingers of his right hand would skim along the back of her own. She inhaled sharply and looked at Harry, who was oblivious to the exchange. Harry looked passed her and excused himself to visit with an acquaintance that Hermoine could not place in her scattered thoughts. Without warning, she was rapidly led through the crowd with her hand in Ron's and she felt a now foreign impression of excitement enter her belly. Her heart thudded as he turned his head inquisitively, then scanned the hallway and pulled her into an empty storage room. They were again silent and he rubbed the back of his neck in consternation. His lips opened and closed as if to say something and Hermoine closed the distance between them, hoping to achieve some form of humanity.

He was shocked by her thrusting herself at him; their bodies flush against one another and her arms wrapped around his firm shoulders. He had filled out over the months that he had devoted to recovering from their hunt for the Horcruxes. Their eyes remained open, questioning one another but his hands found their way to her waist and she felt the heat of those brilliant instruments through her robes. He relaxed for a moment and she remembered specifically his tenderness. Her throat burned and she felt her chin tremble. She knew the heat that seeped into her body from his embrace was enough to quell her muddled uncertainty. As soon as she forgot the void that she had been quickly slipping into, that emptiness, a familiar pressure built between her thighs. Her eyes slid shut as she catapulted into the superb passion his touch stirred within her. She felt sane in that moment, and she was not focused on the quandaries that lie ahead.

He pulled her away slightly and his eyes tried to convey volumes but she merely ravaged his neck in response. She was baffled by what she perceived at indecision and she sought to goad him into action by diverting him from the complications of fallacious promises. A throaty moan erupted from his throat and the heat began to pull. Again, he pushed at her shoulders, instead of allowing the gesture; she lowered to her knees gracefully while strategically parting his robes. She heard him voice her name in question but she neglected to look up, only reaching to undo his trousers and release his erect penis. He hissed when she delicately took him into her right hand and ran the length; he was so thick and soft. She heard the thud of his head hitting the wall he leaned against behind him when she reached out her small pink tongue to taste him, that bitter and intoxicating flavor that held her captive.

He whispered a prayer to himself and she smiled, taking him into her mouth and holding the rest of him. She sucked gleefully and felt his fingers play in her hair timidly. Finally risking a glance upward, she was overcome with desire when their eyes met. She worked faster and reached into his trouser again, only to fondle his testicles. His head again hit the wall and she pulled deliciously at the sensitive flesh. He did not last long, she praised her receptive temperament. He warned her in a choked voice of his impending release and she delighted in his effort to maintain some semblance of control. She felt his balls tighten and quiver as he climaxed into her mouth. She saw his knees shake, his hand falling from her head to grasp the rail of a shelf beside him. She tried to consume the ejaculate and was fairly successful, as only a novice could be, and without a second thought wiped the remaining fluid on the inside of her robes.

She stood and was met by his questioning eyes, heavy panting, and sweating brow. He was a magnificent sight to behold and she swallowed again, her throat feeling dry from what she believed to be her most recent activities. He reached a hand up to touch her face; something she again did not expect was warranted. Her head tilted and he chose to refrain from such an action. His expression drawn and she did not have the inclination to clear the air. She felt irregular, not shameful, she had always been impulsive. Straightening her own attire, she witnessed him trying to attain some decorum while tucking his penis back into his pants. Before he could reach out to her again and before he could inspire another exchange, she hastily exited the storage room without exhibiting any form of anxiety to the few people that passed her in the hallway. In her head, she clawed at the surface of a burgeoning reality.

That was when she had the distinct notion that she was running, running from the war and her past and the people that she might have the opportunity to share a future with but as quickly as the idea crossed her mind, she knew she was overreacting and made her way to the liaison that would steer her to Lord Howe Island. Rationalizing, she would not have returned to complete her exams, stopped to converse with Harry, or even allowed the Ministry to aid in retrieving her parents if she was not dead set on making this new world right. "New" and "right" seemed awfully inept words to describe the predicament, but she was positive that she not running. In any case, she detached herself from this pattern of thought.