BLESS THE BROKEN ROAD

BETAS: devilsdaughter13 AND snowblind12
Snowblind12 writes her own fics, and I love them. Check her out!

Here Comes Good-bye
Chapter One
February 4th, 2006
"Why does it have to go from good to gone?*"

"The head is out!" a Mediwitch crowed in delight. "One more push should do it! You're doing great, mummy! You got this!"

"Come on, Tori, one more push," Draco encouraged. He smoothed her beautiful, sweat soaked, dark chestnut locks out of her face. Giving her an affectionate smile, he took her hand again. "You can do it, baby."

Astoria gave him a jerky nod and a tight smile, exhaustion evident on her face. He watched her prepare for the coming contraction. Her face crumpled and pulled into a grimace of undeniable pain mixed with overwhelming fatigue. Gritting her teeth, she grunted, and pushed with all her might, her face turning red with the effort.

Draco watched the slippery, purple, white-coated infant slip from his wife's body in utter amazement. It was the most incredible thing he had every witnessed.

"It's a boy!" the Healer exclaimed as precious cries started to fill the room.

"I knew it!" Draco cried, turning back to Astoria. His eyes were filled with excitement and triumph. He had expected to see her beautiful blue eyes watching their son, had expected to see them wet with tears of joy. Seeing his wife's beautiful blue eyes fixed and staring was something he was not expecting to see.

"Tori?" The question was fearful and came just as high-pitched beeping wail pierced the room. It seemed that, for a just a second, the Healer and Mediwitches froze. Then utter chaos ensued. He was buffeted back against the wall, knocking his head. "Tori!" The cry was desperate, his voice choked with fear.

"Get him out of here!" the Healer shouted.

"What's going on?" he demanded. Terror gripped his chest, making it hard to breathe. He couldn't think, couldn't…no. This couldn't be happening . "Please!" he cried when no one answered.

"You must come with me, Mr. Malfoy." One Mediwitch gripped his arm tightly and started to pull him from the room.

"No!" he exclaimed. "What's wrong with my wife?"

"Get him out of here!" the Healer cried again. He couldn't see the Healer or Astoria as a half dozen more medical staff came surging into the room. Strong arms grasped him from behind and, even though he fought with all his might, he was dragged from the room by two large security wizards.

"Draco!" Narcissa Malfoy was running – yes running – down the hall. Her face was a mask of fear and concern. "What's going on?" His father was behind her, but much more composed.

"Is it the baby?" Astoria's mother, Iris, questioned as she pushed her way between Lucius and Narcissa.

"Come." The Mediwitch, he thought her name was Daisy, grasped Draco's arm and beckoned his parents and mother-in-law forward. "There is a private waiting room just over here."

"I demand you tell me what is going on!" Draco seethed, anger and haughtiness taking over to help crush the stifling fear he felt deep in his gut.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy," she responded placatingly. "Please, come." She gestured them through the door into the small, but luxurious waiting space. "I will try and figure out what is happening, Mr. Malfoy. I'm sorry for your fear. I will be back as quickly as I can." Before anyone in the room could protest, she was gone.

"What is going on, Draco?" Narcissa asked gently, she wound her hand through the arm of her twenty-five-year-old son, attempting to get him to look at her. "Is the baby all right?"

"I-I…I don't know." He was barely able to choke out the words. He felt like he couldn't breathe. Was he having a heart attack? "He was crying, the Medi-staff was excited – they seemed happy."

"He?" Lucius's face split into a grin. "A son, then, Draco? Congratulations." Narcissa shot him a mixed look of exasperation, delight, and concern. Of course she was ecstatic to hear about the birth of her grandson, but something was not right. Her son was positively beside himself.

"I don't understand," Iris intoned, Ignoring Lucius' words, she watched the face of her son-in-law carefully. "If the baby was crying, what happened?"

"Astoria…" Draco swallowed, a hand coming up to card through his hair. "I…oh my God." His throat closed and a sob wrenched his way up out of his chest.

Iris understood immediately and tears started forming in her eyes as one hand came up to cover her mouth. Narcissa's lovely face paled to a terrifying shade of white and she pulled her son into her arms, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and stroking his back. Lucius looked shocked and then an uncharacteristic bought of sadness swept his features as he glanced to the doorway. The Mediwitch, who's name tag did indeed read Daisy, had returned. Her face was grave, her eyes sad. Four faces fixed on her. In her arms, she held a small bundle of soft receiving blankets. In them an infant was squalling quietly, making smacking sounds with his lips.

"Healer Peters will be here to see you momentarily," she told them in a calm, soothing voice. "I thought, in the meantime, you'd like to meet your son." The jerk of Draco's head and the glare he sent to the blankets in her arms made Daisy take a startled step back.

Iris watched Draco with undecipherable emotion in her eyes. She knew the rejection of his son came from his denial surrounding the sudden and unexpected death of his wife. Her heart ached with the knowledge her youngest daughter was dead. Somehow, she knew, even if she hadn't heard the words yet.

"I will take the child." She took a step forward and Daisy placed the bundle tenderly in his grandmother's arms.

"How about the fun tidbits?" She was making a valiant effort to bring a bit of joy to what should have been a very happy day. "Weight? Length?"

"Of course." Daisy gave the small group a tender smile, eyes taking in the way the Malfoy's were clustered together; son wrapped in the mother's protective arms, father lording over them to bring a silent comfort. It was obviously a loving family. "This little guy was born at 6:52 in the evening weighing three point five seven kilograms.** He is 55.8 centimeters** in length and is absolute perfection." Her face could only be described as peaceful and affectionate as she watched the infant in Iris's arms.

A moment later, Healer Peters entered the room. Face set with grim determination, she gestured to the chairs. "Please sit," she instructed the room at large. Daisy inconspicuously took her leave as the group of four found seats. Draco between his parents; Iris and the child across from them.

"I am afraid Mrs. Astoria Malfoy suffered from an aneurysm in her brain that ruptured with the strain of childbirth." Draco couldn't believe how cold and unfeeling the words fell; horror and grief swept over him in a tidal wave of emotion.

"She'll recover, though, yes?" Narcissa questioned, a hint of desperation in her voice. She adored the woman who had made Draco so happy over the last three years. Astoria had become the daughter she never thought she'd have.

"I'm so sorry." Healer Peters' voice became soft and gentle, sadness seeping through and Draco's eyes slid closed in attempts to hide his pain and stop the tears that threatened to spill. "We did everything we could, but her heart stopped. We could not restart it. She died at 7:19."

The silence was deafening, even the infant made no sound. Does he know his mother is dead? Dead. My wife is dead. She never got to touch him, hold him…look at him. She never even got to see him. He heard a strangled cry and looked around for the noise, startled. Only when his mother pulled his head into her chest did he realize it was he – himself – making such an undignified sound.

Draco stood in the master suite in the West Wing of Malfoy Manor, staring at himself in the mirror of the bathroom he had shared with his wife and best friend for the last three years. His reflection would be perfect if it weren't for the purple bruises under his steel grey eyes and the hallow, sallowness of his cheeks. He had grown into himself. No longer was he gangly limbs and awkward movements. He shot up a few more inches since leaving Hogwarts, topping out at just over six feet. He was keeping his platinum blond locks shaved up the sides, but longer on top – always vainly liking the way it fell into his eyes. He was, what people liked to call, a beautiful man. He boasted a chiseled face with a strong jaw, a straight nose, and full lips. His brow line and eyes were unique as he had received them from his mother, wide eyes and long lashes gave him a face of beauty versus the more masculine word handsome. He had filled out and remained very active; his muscles were thick, defined, and ropey. His broad shoulders and chest tapered into a slender waist with jutting hip bones down to thick, powerful legs. He turned away from the mirror, not wanting to see how haunted he looked.

They buried Astoria Greengrass Malfoy in the family plot earlier that day. Underneath the large willow she was so fond of. The image of the casket holding his beautiful, twenty-three-year-old wife lowering into the ground replayed in his mind, the roiling sick from that moment came back full force and he barely made it to the toilet before losing what little he had in him. As he retched into the black porcelain toilet, his thoughts raced. I can't believe she's gone. This can't be happening. Life was just starting. It was just getting good. I was just starting to feel happy. He spat into the toilet as the contractions of his stomach subsided and flushed it before moving back to the sink to rinse his mouth and clean his teeth.

He pulled the cravat from his neck and shed his dress robes into a heap at his feet – the house elves would take care of them later. He flicked his wand at the shower and the multi-headed torrent of water started to pummel the black and green-veined marble walls and smoke-glass doors. He let the water warm before stepping into the punishing spray. The hot water calmed him greatly, forcing his tense muscles to unclench and relax, but it also opened his mind. His thoughts were nothing but pain and loss and the tears of grief started to slide easily down his face and mix with the hot water.

Sobs left him in great heaves of agony and he leaned his forehead into the cool stone of the stall wall. After a long time, he calmed and straightened to shut off the taps. Wrapping his waist in a thick towel, he padded barefoot to the large walk-in closet that joined the bathroom to the bedchamber. He avoided looking to the left, where Astoria's things were kept along with her makeup vanity and all those odds and ends women think they need to be beautiful. Instead, he turned right, into his own wardrobe. He pulled a pair of soft, grey fleece pants from his dresser and a white cotton tee from a hanger and slipped into them. He was looking forward to the oblivion sleep would give him.

He walked back into his bedroom and stopped. Something seemed out of place. He looked around for a moment before his eyes fell to his bed. In the middle of it, a bundle of blankets was spotted and a tiny fist was waving around outside of the folds of cloth. He panicked, quickly walking to his chamber doors with every intention to flee. They were locked. The terror continued to rise.

"Tilly!" he exclaimed to no one, but the house elf heard him. He was stalking across the room, back to the bathroom in search of his wand when he heard the elf crack into existence.

"What can Tilly do for young Master?" she asked, her bulbous eyes watching him warily from across the room.

"Why is my room locked?" He demanded, pointing his wand at the door with a silent Alohamora. It did not budge.

"Young Master will not be able to open the door," Tilly said in an apologetic voice. "Master and Mistress forbid it. They is saying young Master must bond with the wee one."

Draco looked at the elf in horror. "Tilly, I demand you let me out of here at once."

"I is sorry, Master. I cannot be doing this."

"Tilly!"

"Tilly is threatened with clothes, young Master. Tilly is allowed to bring young Master anything he wishes for personal comfort, sir. Anything he needs for the wee one. But Tilly is not being allowed to let young Master leave his room or to take the wee one out of his care. Mistress is telling Tilly you must look after the babe." Tilly was very unhappy to be upsetting her young Master whom she helped bring up from infancy, but was more terrified of Lucius and Narcissa by far. Her ears were flat against her head.

Draco closed his eyes. His Mother was a stubborn piece of work on her best days. She was furious with him for refusing to even look at the little monster on the bed, let alone touch or hold him. "Tilly, tell my mother she much come and fetch the child at once."

"Tilly will let Mistress know of young Master's discomfort."

"Please, Tilly, and thank you. You may be dismissed." It wasn't that Draco would hurt the child, and he knew his mother knew this, he just…couldn't look at him. Couldn't touch him. He was struggling with the misguided notion that this little person in the middle of his and Astoria's bed was the reason his beloved wife was gone. Deep down he knew this was utter rubbish, but the pain was just too new; the wounds were too raw. He glanced at the little, undefinable lump of fabric and, for the first time since he had been told his wife was dead, felt a tug of curiosity pull him. He walked slowly across the room, never noticing the crack that sounded as the elf disapparated.

He stood at the edge of the large bed, hands shoved into the pockets of his lounge pants, wet platinum blond hair dripping into his eyes. Slowly, so slowly, he crawled onto the bed and settled beside the child, who was starting to whimper as he rutted with his mouth in the folds of the blanket. Cautiously, Draco slipped his hands into the soft warmth of the bundle and pulled the blanket away from the face of the child. His child. Her child. He drank in the sight of a beautiful, tiny, perfect face. He had her nose and lips. His breath caught. My son. Our son.

May 2nd, 2012
"Here comes goodbye. Here comes the last time. Here comes the start of every sleepless night. The first of every tear I'm going to cry. Here comes the pain. Here comes me wishing things would never change and you were right here in my arms tonight. Here comes goodbye."*

"Ron! We're going to be late! You still need to get Hugo to the nursery!" Hermione Granger called up the stairs of their small, two-story home.

"I'm coming, sweetheart!" The reply came with just a touch of exasperation and she grinned at the ceiling before going back to the diligent preparation for the upcoming departure of their red haired, befreckled four-year-old son. At his mother's silly expression, Hugo gave her a lopsided smile much like that of his father's.

"Daddy's late again?" he asked her in a sweet, high pitched voice.

"As always!" She tapped him on the nose with a smile and finished zipping his light coat. It was promising to be a nice, warm spring day, but the morning was cool. "Are you ready to go to nursery, love bug?"

"Yes! I'm essited to see Lily! I love my Lily." The last part of the sentence was said with such sloppy, loving warmth it made Hermione's heart swell. She envied her children their many cousins; growing up so alone had been no way to live. She adored her big, extended family.

"I'm here, I'm here!" Ron dashed into the kitchen, eyes bright. That same, lop-sided grin on his handsome face lit the room and sent a twinge of desire to her womb. I think it's time to ask him about one more baby.

"Good morning, little man!" He scooped Hugo up into his arms. The tot gave an appreciative squeal and Hermione laughed brightly as Ron gave the child a light toss in the air and then wrapped him in a protective hug, dropping a kiss to the thatch of red, thick, unruly curls.

"'Morning, daddy," Hugo squealed, snuggling into his dad's embrace.

"'Morning, Hugo…'Mione." Ron leaned down to press a kiss to Hermione's lips which she returned with ardent enthusiasm. He slipped his tongue past her lips and one arm left the cocoon he had made for his son to wrap around his wife's slender waist. Ten years of marriage had not dampened his love for her – as his best friend or his wife. In fact, things just seemed to get better every year.

"Morning, love," she responded dreamily after he pulled away. He raised his hand from her waist and brushed a stray curl from her face before smoothing the light laugh lines at the corner of one of her eyes.

"You look lovely, as always." The crooked grin, plus the compliment, brought a light blush to Hermione's cheeks. She stood up on her tip toes and pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth.

"I've been thinking…" She trailed off, watching him devour his son's face with his eyes. Gods, he was such a wonderful daddy. Ron tilted his head and looked down at her as she slipped both arms around his slender waist.

"That's always dangerous." His eyes twinkled with mirth and she gave him a playful slap on the arm.

"Oh, you!" She chuckled. "Do you want to know? Or are you going to tease me all morning?"

"I always want to know what's going on in that brilliant brain of yours," he told her seriously, but his eyes did not lose their mischief. She grinned.

"I'm thinking it's time for another one of these." She ran her hand through Hugo's curls lovingly, warm brown eyes watching her husband's face expectantly. His clear blue eyes widened as a full grin slowly split his face.

"Yeah?" He set Hugo down and urged him to go play for a few minutes before they had to go.

"Yeah." She crinkled her nose as her smiled widened. He wrapped one arm around her and tilted her face up by the chin, plopping a chaste kiss on her lips. "Would you be okay with that?"

"Would I be…? Bloody hell, woman. I want to get started right away!" He slapped her behind playfully and she let out a squeak of surprise, mirth and happiness etched into every line on her face. He sealed his mouth to hers hungrily, both hands now cupping her bum as he pulled her into his growing desire as evidence he was not lying. She returned the kiss with vigor for a bit before coming to her senses.

"We can get started tonight." She waggled her eyebrows at him as she pulled away. He heaved a sigh of regret and reluctantly let her go.

She put Hugo's lovey in his back pack before handing it to Ron along with the bacon sandwich she had made him for breakfast and his lunch container. Ron called to Hugo to come back and get ready to floo out. "I'll see you for lunch?"

"Not today, sweetheart, I'm sorry." He gave her an apologetic look and dropped a kiss to her forehead before taking the items from her. "Harry and I are patrolling Diagon Alley." He grimaced. "There's usually some sort of idiocy that happens today, you know that. All Aurors are on high alert and in the field."

Hermione felt her mouth tug into a tight frown, her teeth coming out to worry her bottom lip. Yes, she knew – she was just trying to forget that today was the fourteenth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and the defeat of Voldemort.

"Hey," he paused and used his thumb to pluck her bottom lip. "None of this, everything will be fine." He gave her another, gentle kiss.

That helped pull her out of her worry. "Yes, I forgot about the patrol today. I'll see you at home tonight, then. I'll get Rose from your mum and dad's, I already sent her through the floo to joint tutoring with Albus and Dominique at Shell Cottage. Fleur will send her to your mum's when their lessons are done for today. Don't forget to pick Hugo up from the Ministry nursery before you come home!"

Ron pouted. "I forget once. Once! And you feel the need to remind me every day for the rest of my life!" The comment was laced with feigned frustration and Hermione threw a smirk at him over her shoulder as she pulled her traveling cloak on. He winked at her. "I love you, Hermione."

"I love you!" She called, as she slipped her bag over her shoulder and, after grabbing a pinch of floo powder, disappeared into the fireplace.

Screams echoed the halls and Hermione rose from her desk in alarm. She heard someone sobbing from behind a closed door. Pumps clacking on the tile floor, she broke into run. She exited the cubicles of her co-workers in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures where she held the Assistant Head position. "What's going on?" she inquired wildly, grabbing the arm of Melissa Pennyworth.

"There was an attack in Diagon Alley, an explosion. It's bad, Hermione, really bad."

Hermione's face drained of blood and the room spun alarmingly. She forced her suddenly parched throat to move as she attempted to swallow her fear. Ron and Harry are fine, they'll be fine. They would be helping people, she would go to St. Mungo's and find them.

"Melissa, tell everyone they're dismissed. Go home and be with your family."

"Are you okay, Hermione?" Her co-worker asked softly, noticing the demeanor and pallor of her friend.

"I'll be fine, I just need to check on Ron and Harry," she answered, forcing a smile to her lips. "I'm going to see if I can find Kingsley." Pulling the girl into a brief hug, she told her to be safe and then departed.

She couldn't find Kingsley, so she went to the nursery.

"Hermione!" Susan Bones greeted her old classmate with a worried expression from behind the front desk of the childcare center. "Are you okay?"

"I think so, Susan," Hermione answered cautiously. "I'm here to pick up the kids. I'm going to take Hugo and Lily over to the Weasley's and see if I can find Ron and Harry at St. Mungo's. I'm just worried. Do the children know what's been going on?"

"No, we've kept it quiet. Although, I think they known something is wrong. We've had a lot of parents come early today – not that I blame them!"

Hermione nodded absentmindedly.

"I'll get them ready for you, why don't you take a moment and collect yourself here? I'll bring them out in a mo'."

Hermione expressed her gratitude and plopped down on a chair. She placed her elbows on her knees and fisted her hands into her hair. Pulling in deep breaths, she attempted to calm her thundering heart and racing mind. They're fine. They're fine. They're going to be just fine. She attempted in vain to calm herself; the thick, cloying sense of dread that had filled her the moment she heard the first scream would not leave. Something was wrong. Fear was starting to claw through her being.

"Here we are! Here's your mum, Hugo, and your auntie, Lily!" Susan's cheerful voice broke through the fog of panic that was threatening to overwhelm her.

"Hello, my lovelies!" She forced a happy smile on her face and opened her arms to be filled by two beautiful, redheaded children. Both the tots squealed with joy and flung themselves into her arms. She squeezed them with all her might, pressing kisses to the tops of their heads.

"Should we go to MiMi's?" she asked the two four-year-olds gently.

"Yeah! MiMi and Pops?" Hugo pulled back with his father's lopsided grin plastered on his face and Hermione's heart leapt.

"Yes, love bug, let's go." She took one of each child's hands and pulled them into the Atrium. They stepped up to one of the humongous fireplaces and she threw a small handful of floo powder into the grate before stepping into the green flames holding each child's hand and crying out, "The Burrow!"

Moments later, they spilled out of the Weasley's fireplace. Molly spun around from where she was at the sink, her hand fluttering to her chest and her eyes wide. "Hermione!" she exclaimed. "Oh, dear! You startled me so!" She stopped herself suddenly and her eyes narrowed, taking in Hermione's carefully controlled features.

The younger witch knelt down and pulled the children around to face her. "I want you to go to the playroom right away, I need to talk to MiMi in private," she told them, sliding their bags off their shoulders. "Then I have to go, but I'll back to get you, soon." Both children nodded solemnly at her grave expression and bolted out of the room after stopping quick to give their grandmother a hug hello.

"Hermione, dear, you're starting to scare me," Molly said softly, watching her daughter-in-law's face with keen interest.

"There was an attack in Diagon Alley – an explosion." Molly's face blanched and Hermione cleared her throat in attempts to make the tightness go away. "Harry and Ron were both on patrol there today, and I can't get any information. I'd like to go, but I don't want to put myself in danger. I was thinking I'd collect Ginny and go over to St. Mungo's…?" Her statement broke off as a question. In attempt to stem her rising panic, she was looking for approval.

"I think that's a good idea. Please keep me informed?"

"Of course, Molly." The young witch leaned over and kissed Molly on the cheek. "I love you, I'll be back to get the kids as soon as I know something."

Ginny was not at Grimmauld Place as was expected, so she immediately flooded over to the hospital. When she arrived, it was utter pandemonium. She stood frozen at the fireplace, eyes scanning the crowds of people in shock. She didn't move, didn't even blink, until she heard the floo flame again behind her and hastily stepped out of the way for the next person coming in. That next person was a frantic, tearful Ginny who didn't even notice Hermione as she pushed past, calling for her husband.

"Harry!" she cried, scanning the crowd. A messy, black haired head pop out from behind a curtain where he was assisting someone who was being triaged. Green eyes hidden behind broken spectacles focused on his wife instantly. "Harry! I couldn't find her. She wasn't at the Ministry or their house!"

"I'm right behind you Ginny." Relief that Harry was okay was evident in her voice. She tried to keep her tone bright as her sister-in-law spun in a circle, eyes widening in surprise. "I couldn't find you either, I – oh!" She broke off with a huff when Ginny threw herself at the curly-haired brunette and squeezed, effectively forcing the air from her lungs. Suddenly, she was engulfed by a strong pair of arms from behind. She was being swallowed by a Potter sandwich.

Then she knew – Oh! – she knew. Her knee's buckled and she felt tears sliding down her cheeks as they supported her. "No," she whispered against Ginny's ear. "Tell me he's okay. Tell me he'll be fine." She begged, her breath was sticking in her lungs and she couldn't control the flow of tears dripping down her face.

"I can't Hermione." Ginny's voice was thick with emotion. "I can't tell you that."

"Harry!" She pushed Ginny away in horror and spun around in her best friend's arms. She shoved him just far enough away to look into his eyes. They were full of unshed tears and red-rimmed, like he had already been crying. "Harry, no!" she screamed, slamming her fists into his chest. He stumbled back a step and she let out a tormented sob and struck him again, arms flailing wildly. He grasped her elbows in both his palms and tried to pull her against him as a sob broke through his tenuous control. "Harry…no. No, no, no. Please, no!" She collapsed against him, defeated, and felt Ginny slide back in against her as the dam of anger broke and horrible, terrible, anguished grief claimed her with an evil, unrelenting vengeance. The three family members held each other tightly as their world came crashing in around them.

She watched the mahogany casket start to lower into the black Earth, her heart begging for it to stop. Her legs trembled, barely supporting her. She kept expecting to wake from this nightmare. Hoping she would turn around to see Ron come striding through the crowd, asking everyone why they were so upset.

Her six-year-old daughter was next to her on her left, arms wrapped around her middle with her face buried in her hip. The poor thing hadn't stopped crying for five days. She just kept asking her mum why daddy wasn't coming home for dinner at night. Hermione had tried to help her understand, but Rose was protecting herself by pretending to not comprehend. She couldn't blame the child – she was trying to do the same thing. Harry was on her right, a possessive, comforting arm around her shoulders trying to give her reassurance. It wasn't working. Her life was ending. Part of her wished it was she being lowered into the ground. She didn't know how she was going to survive without the man her world centered around. It had barely been a week and the missing of him was stifling.

The funeral attendance was huge. There were hundreds of people present. She supposed it was because of their celebrity status. She was trying to be grateful for the outpour of support, but in reality, she just wanted them all to go away. There were very few people she wanted in her life right now.

Hermione robotically completed her duties as widow throughout the rest of the day, often turning that word over in her mind. I'm a widow at thirty-two. Oh, Ron. Gods, I miss you. The last week had been painful, unendurable, unimaginable. She was surrounded by people at all times when she just needed to be alone. Alone with her thoughts, alone with her fears, alone with her worries. She needed to think, and she couldn't with the constant barrage of people.

She knew they meant well. Knew that everyone just wanted to make sure that she and the kids were doing okay. She loved them for it, more than they could ever know. If she didn't get a few moments to herself, soon, though, she would have a nervous breakdown that she might not come back from.

After what seemed like years, the last of the mourners left the banquet hall of the funeral home and Hermione was finally left with just her family. The Weasley's and Potter's milled around talking, crying, laughing, reminiscing, and caring for each another the only way they knew how – with tons food and love. Hermione couldn't eat, hadn't been able to eat for days. She sat in an overstuffed chair with a sleeping Hugo on her lap. Staring at nothing, she tried to focus on doing everything she could to hold it together. Just a little longer.

Harry and Ginny had agreed to take the children tonight so she could go home and get some peace. They knew her too well. Knew she would never be able to move forward in the grieving process if she didn't get this time. Even though it worried them, they were willing to help. She had told the other Weasley's that she would be staying with the Potter's to keep them off her back.

"Are you ready, 'Mione?" Harry said softly as he approached her with her daughter. Rose's fingers were laced through Harry's and she leaned into his side, it brought a sad smile to her lips. It was how she liked to hold her Daddy's hand, too. She'll never get to again.

That thought made Hermione give a little whimper in the back of her throat and she tried to force her face not to crumple and to keep the tears at bay. "I am," she rasped out, her voice weak with unshed tears. "Come give me some love, Rosie." She beckoned the girl forward and her daughter obliged, wrapping her slender, gangly arms around her mother's neck and pressing her face into her shoulder as Harry scooped Hugo out of her lap and into his arms. Ginny was waiting at the fireplace with James, Albus, and Lily, watching them with red-rimmed eyes.

"I love you, baby girl," she murmured. "I'll see you in the morning, yeah?"

"Okay, mum," Rose whispered, pulling back to plant a kiss on Hermione's cheek.

She let go of her mum and waved at her grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins as Harry and her brother joined Ginny and their children at the floo. Hermione watched as they disappeared in three groups; James going first, Ginny with their younger two, and Harry with her children.

"Are you leaving, az well, 'ermione?" Fleur questioned as she slowly approached the rest of the family.

"I'm going to follow them in a moment," Hermione agreed. "I'm so…tired." Fleur's face was soft and full of love. Bill came up behind her and clasped her shoulders, pulling her into a backward hug and dropping a kiss on her head. Bill was built much like Ron, and his gesture was something Ron had done often, it made her throat close. She struggled for a moment, eyes squeezing shut tight as her hands came up to wrap around Bill's wrists in thanks. When she opened them again, Fleur was looking away, tears trickling down her face. The women embraced and Hermione continued to make her rounds to say her good-byes.

Finally, she was flooing home, the house was eerily quiet. She made her way up the stairs to the moderately sized master bedroom suite at the far end of the hall. She stripped until she was in her skivvies and pulled Ron's cotton robe from the hook behind the door, wrapping herself in his scent before crawling into his side of the bed and burying her face in his pillow to cry. Finally able to let the flood gates open and not worry about a child coming in to find their mother in a puddle of despair on the floor. She fell asleep with wet cheeks and the smell of her husband all around her.

*"Here Comes Good-bye" written by Chris Sligh and Clint Lagerberg. Performed by Rascal Flatts from the album Unstoppable. Released January 2009.

**I did a metric conversion (to the best of my knowledge) and this equals 7lbs, 14oz, 22 inches.