Disclaimer: Not. Mine.

Warning: Some religious and contemplative themes.

Ouch.

For the first few moments of consciousness, amidst the whirling and throbbing pain, ouch is all my tired mind can come up with. So much for the English language.

Then the memories pounce on me and the shock pushes the almost unbearable ache away in favor of panic. The battle! The Dark Lord, the Death Eaters attacking en masse, the Order facing them defiantly, the many different colored lights of hexes and jinxes and curses, everyone especially avoiding the sickly green light if at all possible…

What happened?

I can't get up, I know that much. Judging from the sharp protests of an abused body, I've broken my leg and I probably have a minor concussion since everything seems hazily surreal. My eyes feel gritty, and the fact that its night and that I'm flat on my back staring at the obscenely serene moon doesn't help me discern my location or the outcome of the Final Battle at all.

Well, no use trying to do anything for the moment. I can't be too far off from Hogwarts, and someone—friend or foe, who knows?—will find me soon enough. The last thing I remember is sending a stupefy back at the idiot who wanted to curse me.

So I wait.

And wait. The moon gets higher. Then it sinks lower. There's Sirius, the dog star. Ugh, Sirius. Don't think about that. Mercury, pretty bright tonight. So are Castor and Pollux, and Bellatrix over there—no, don't think about that either! I wonder if she's dead. What's wrong with pureblooded families and their naming kids after stars and constellations? And why can't I find mine?

Finally, just as I am about to resort to numbering the stars one by one, I hear something.

Someone, actually. A female, muttering expletives, the likes of which I thought only muggle sailors and bartenders knew. I'm appreciative, but right now I'd rather either be killed and put out of the misery of a pounding migraine and throbbing leg by a foe, or healed up and sent to bed with a pat on my back by a friend. And I'd like to know my fate now.

"Hello? Who's that?"

There's a startled silence, and then the female voice, one I know very well. "Malfoy?" A face, surrounded by that distinct hair, fills my vision and blocks out the stars, the constellations, and the moon.

I blink. "Granger?"

Before I can say anything else, she sighs and kneels down beside me in a business-like manner. Wait, what is she doing? I panic.

Oops, must have said that out loud. She's looking at me a little crossly. "I'm checking to see what injuries you have, you bloody fool. Why are you out here? The last I saw you, you were appealing to some Death Eater inside Hogwarts."

"Well excuse me if I prefer living to dying, whether or not it's at the hands of your Order or the Death Eaters! He was pretty intent on killing me, and I somehow was missing my wand if you remember! Potter took it!"

"Shut up, Malfoy. You have a broken leg, some minor cuts and scrapes, and you probably have a concussion as well."

"I could have told you that."

"What did I say?"

"All right Granger, don't get your knickers in a twist."

She splutters and glares at me. Yes, her eyes are definitely much better to look at than the stars. Easier to count too. One, two. Wait, what am I thinking? I really better get my head looked at, it's not a minor concussion I have, it's a whopper if its got me thinking about comparing Granger's eyes to the stars! "I'm guessing since you're very remarkably alive, that the Dark Lord is dead and your Potter has won the war."

She stands up, carefully avoiding my eyes. "Yes, your brilliant deduction skills are correct. We've won." She doesn't give me a chance to retort.

"Hey, wha-" I feel my body whoosh up, and I can't move!

Hermione's voice, from behind. "I'm levitating you to the hospital wing, and I froze you so that you don't injure yourself further. You're a prat, but you're not about to get worse on my watch. Plus, your parents are worried about you."

My parents? Despite the fact that I can't move, I feel the urge to stiffen. "Are they…"

"They are both unharmed and whole, except for minor bruises and cuts. Your father is under Auror custody, along with the other captured Death Eaters, but they haven't taken him to Azkaban yet. Your mother has been released under twenty-four hour watch, because she helped Harry. Both of them refuse to leave until you have been found."

My mother helped Potter? I'm going to have to hear that story from her firsthand. We're approaching hospital wing much faster than I thought. Hermione is a really fast walker. Wait, when did she become Hermione and not Granger?

I clear my throat. Oh boy, these words are sure going to hurt. "Th-thanks Granger. I wouldn't have thought you'd have, um, helped me out, you know?"

Plonk. I'm on a bed, still frozen in place. Poppy's suddenly there, thrusting potions at me and I am once again shocked by the no nonsense manner of the Hogwarts mediwitch as she fixes me up and orders me to take the potions and rest as if I were still a little boy, untainted by death and the war. Especially after sixth year. Professor Snape…he's most likely dead. He protected me from so much, even myself. He knew he had no chance of surviving the Final Battle. I hope he died easily, and has a happier afterlife than this existence has been.

I'm drifting off to sleep when I hear her, her words floating softly to my tired ears. I had thought she had left without answering.

"You made some bad mistakes—we all do. You just had tons of pressure on your back to make it, and an entire lifetime of prejudice to support it. But your parents still love you, even if you or they committed crimes, and everyone deserves to live a normal life, with a family and love."

I open my eyes, and am abruptly caught in her gaze. Yes, they really are better than stars. "I don't know if a normal life is going to happen for us, Granger."

"Well at least now you have a chance to try, don't you?" She turns, moves towards the door. Just before she exits, she looks back. "My mother used to say that there is a God who determines the number of the stars, and calls them each by name, and if he knows such intricate details, well then he probably has a number and name for each of us humans too."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I am no more important than you are. Neither are you more significant than me. We're like stars to God. A name, a number. One star's death is just as mourned as another's."

I am too tired to understand it, and Hermione seems to understand. She smiles wanly, and leaves.

But when I fall into blessed sleep, my dreams are full of stars, and Hermione's eyes smiling at me as I slowly number each star in the night sky.

A/N: Yeah, you all know what I'm going to say- review, guys! Pretty please... :) The "number the stars" thing is from a children's book by Lois Lowry about the Holocaust, which I thought was an appropriate parallel with all the blood prejudices going on in HP. The quote about God determining the number of the stars and calling them by name is actually straight from the Bible, Psalms 147, and it's meant to remind humanity that he knows each and every person on earth intimately, just like he knows and can distinguish each and every star in the sky.