Chapter One

If there was anyone who knew about the importance of life, it was Hermione Granger. Being the best friend of the most targeted wizard in Britain for almost eight years will do that to a person. Sometime throughout the course of her numerous death-defying experiences, she had learned to appreciate the little things and live each moment as if it were her last. And, living through times like the ones that the wizarding world had just endured, that was an extremely important thing.

The war had come to an unofficial end by the middle of May. Lord Voldemort had been defeated, finally, by Harry Potter. While this was a cause for celebration, almost no one in the British wizarding community could find the spirit within themselves to feel happy. Funerals for loved ones were planned, and later attended by all those who had had the pleasure of knowing the deceased in their glory days. Hermione had attended so many ceremonies and services that she had lost count; even more so for Harry, who had received countless letters from people he had never met before pleading for his presence at the memorial service of their loved one. Hermione felt very bad for him; he clearly did not want to attend these funerals, but didn't have the heart within himself to say no.

While they did attend some services for people they had never met or had never heard of before, the Golden Trio did their fair share of mourning.

The hardest to attend had been that of Fred Weasley. Hermione could still picture his gaunt face, the ghost of his last laugh still etched on his features. The proceedings were exactly as the family wanted, but Hermione kept her thoughts to herself. While she thought the service had been beautiful and heartbreaking, she thought that it lacked the spirit that Fred had brought into everyone's lives. She thought it had been too sad for his lively ways, and she would never forget the devastating cry of Molly Weasley as her son was lowered into the ground, or the crack in George's voice as he attempted to deliver a eulogy that would do justice to his twin's unique character. The worst part of the day had been the moment when her and Harry found themselves having to console Ron as he broke down into lifeless sobs over the cruel loss of one of his favourite brothers.

After Fred's funeral, the list grew longer and longer. Flashes of shuddered memories flitted through Hermione's mind on particularly bad days. The blank expression on Dennis Creevey's face as his enigmatic brother was put to rest – the service held in memory of the brave man that was Severus Snape, cruelly attended by barely anyone – the dead weep emitted from Andromeda Tonks as she mourned the second death in her family in less than a year – the list was never-ending. And neither were the memories.

Even when the worst of the times were over and the grieving had been transformed into stony-faced silence, the horror still continued. Furious Death Eaters began to concoct plans to seek revenge on Harry and anyone who had helped him to defeat Voldemort, but luckily the Aurors discovered their new headquarters fairly quickly and chucked them all in Azkaban with no trial and a life sentence.

When the threat of the Death Eaters was not quite present, another loomed overhead. Sometimes, loneliness was a much more poignant threat than the one of no more life. With so many people gone and families rallying together to beat their grief, it was easy to feel isolated and alone. In the month after the war, Hermione had decided that Ron was simply not the person for her and she told him that. She felt bad for rejecting him so soon after his brother's death, but she wasn't about to risk her own happiness while he spent months searching for his. Since then, things had been strained and she found herself unable to seek solace in the family she had embraced for so many years. Ron ignored her, quite understandably, but she found herself missing the company of Ginny and Mrs. Weasley despite their dreary attitudes as of late.

Even her relationship with Harry seemed a bit strained. He was living at the Burrow, so obviously things would be awkward in that regard, but something about their friendship had changed that she couldn't quite put her finger on. They were still quite close, but he seemed distant, as if he were trying to shield or protect himself from her. This caused Hermione an unexpected amount of pain; she told Harry everything and was always there for him, why was he acting like this? She simply couldn't understand what she had done.

So life moved on. Since she had no place to live, Hermione spent the summer at Hogwarts, helping to repair and rebuild the damage done during the final battle. She took up her old room in Gryffindor Tower, but the changes that had taken place were blindingly obvious. She was all alone. There was no babble of Lavender gossiping to Parvati about some romantic interlude her eyes had bore witness to earlier in the day – no voices wafting up the stairs from the common room. Silence greeted her in every direction, and she had never felt more alone.

Of course, Hermione wasn't the only one at the castle. Every remaining teacher who usually spent their summer elsewhere stayed behind to oversee and aid with the reparations. Every day, groups of volunteers and helpers drifted in and out and here and there, slowly returning the ancient castle to its former splendor. Hermione helped with a different part of the building every day, never finding a place to remain for more than a few hours at a time.

One day in mid-June, she found herself being called to the headmistress's office. As she offered the password to the gargoyles and stood on the staircase as it winded itself up, she wondered what McGonagall could want with her. She hadn't spoken a word to her mentor since moving back into the castle, finding that she had absolutely nothing to say.

She knocked on the majestic door and let herself in when she heard acceptance for her entrance.

"Ah, Hermione! Come in, sit down, my dear."

Hermione forced a smile and sat herself down in one of the stiff-backed chairs facing McGonagall's desk. The teacher looked at her expectantly, but she remained silent.

"Is there a reason you asked me here today, Professor?" She found herself asking. Her tone came out much ruder than she had wished, and she flinched inwardly.

McGonagall looked slightly taken aback but responded nonetheless. "Two reasons, actually, my dear."

Hermione waited for the older woman to elaborate, but she didn't. She simply stared at the young witch with a calculating look, as if trying to determine the best manner to say what she wanted to say.

"I find myself growing more concerned about you by the day, Miss Granger."

"Concerned, Professor?" was her response.

"You drift about the castle in a nearly unconscious state. I haven't seen you in the company of Misters Potter and Weasley in weeks, and I puzzle myself to wonder why you are spending all of your time here when you could be spending it at the Burrow or even Grimmauld Place. Even more worrisome is the fact that you almost never talk to anyone, and I never see your face buried in a book like I am accustomed to. If I didn't know better, I would say you were depressed, judging on your lack of spirit and motivation. You are not the same Hermione Granger I am used to. What is going on?" McGonagall finished exasperatedly. She had barely taken a breath during her little speech and seemed to be scared and eager to hear an answer.

Hermione paused before answering. "What can I say, Professor? War changes people and friendships. Ron and I had a failed romantic relationship. I feel it would be rude of me to barge into the Weasley's house and ask for solace and support. Harry is living with them so I never see him, and whenever I do he is strained and distant. Obviously throughout the course of the war I gained a personality that pushes people away, so I'm just trying to go with it," and on a last minute thought, she added, "and I simply don't have the yearning to read at the moment. I have other things on my mind."

Her professor looked disturbed at her proclamation.

"I'm going to advise – no, correct that – demand that you go see Madam Pomfrey for a check up and perhaps some Cheering Potions, because the girl who just responded to my question is not the Hermione Granger that I know and admire." Minerva McGonagall's firm voice said.

Hermione felt slightly affronted. Couldn't people change? She thought bitterly.

"The second thing I wanted to speak to you about is a matter of greatest importance. The reparations on the castle are coming along at a glorious pace, but the grounds still find themselves war-torn and full of destruction. I was wondering if you could be responsible for repairing the damage done to our beautiful landscape a month and a half ago. I know this is asking a great deal from you-" she said as Hermione's mouth opened to protest. "-but know that you would not be alone. I have selected a wizard of greatest ability to aid you in this task. I wish I could offer you more assistance but we need every extra set of hands we can get here at the castle. We barely have enough help as it is, but I want to ensure that everything is as it used to be when term begins on the first of September."

Hermione thought about this for a moment and then agreed. What else did she have to do? At least this way, she could have a bit of solitude. It felt weird thinking about it in that way, but the more she thought about it, the less company she wanted.

"I'll do it, professor, but I can guarantee one thing. Nothing will be as it was before the war. Too many hearts have been broken and too many souls damaged."

"Once again you are right, Miss Granger. I only wish that this time you were wrong." McGonagall responded in a grim voice.

Hermione simply nodded and left.

Hermione woke early the next morning. She quickly got dressed and made her way down to the common room, even though it was much too early for breakfast. She sat on a squashy armchair for nearly an hour, not thinking about anything in particular. It was something she had to her advantage. Hermione had set out to become an Occlumens when she had realized the importance of mental privacy in her fifth year. Because of that, she found the task of emptying her mind to be quite simple indeed. When one had a particularly full mind, it was even borderline enjoyable.

She was pulled out of her stupor by a light tapping on the window. Glancing over, she saw a handsome tawny owl looking at her expectantly. She walked over to the window and let the beautiful animal inside. Taking the letter, she stroked the owl's head and it leaned into her touch. Hermione giggled at the simple innocence of the bird. In shock, she realized it was one of the first times she had laughed in months.

It was a letter from McGonagall, and it told her to meet the wizard who was going to be helping her down by the Black Lake in thirty minutes time. This made her go down to the kitchens for breakfast. She didn't really feel like being around anyone at the moment.

The house elves were still quite apprehensive of Hermione because of her offensive (to them, at least) treatment of them in the past. Nevertheless, they served her breakfast with their cheery elfish smiles and then went about their work.

The young Gryffindor found herself alone when she got down to the lake. Sitting down on the grassy slope, she gazed out onto the depths of the black water. Everything was silent; not even the ripple of a fish disturbed the perfect, flat top of the wide expanse of water. The giant squid appeared to be dormant beneath the surface. However, the quiet didn't last for too long. She heard muffled footsteps behind her and the murmur of a confused voice that she knew all too well.

"Hermione?" Her helper asked in a befuddled tone.

She stood up and took a good look at him. The war had changed him nearly as much as it had changed her. Hermione could tell that he wasn't getting much sleep based on the dark circles around the bottoms of his eyes. But then again, thought Hermione, he always had circles around his eyes. His robes were even shabbier than before, not to mention looking way too big for him. Fresh scars had joined the old ones on his tired-looking face, but somehow he still managed to be ruggedly handsome.

"Hello, Remus." She said, a small smile on her face.

He responded with a shy, slightly joyful smile.