Rodolphus Lestrange stood in the center of the lady's bedchamber. His mother had been the last woman to occupy it. The whole room was given over to frills, cherubs, and pastels. Still, it was better than what his nightmare of a wife would have done with it. He grimaced at the thought.

Bellatrix had never actually lived with him. The consummation of his wedding vows had taken place at Avery's Manor. The Dark Lord had dug deep into his flesh and his mind and forced him to her service. The next morning had seen him bleeding, broken, and marked. He wished time would dull those memories, but wishes were for young witchlings and unicorns. Seasoned warriors were left with nightmares and shattered dreams.

He ripped the tie from around his neck. He hated wearing formal robes. He hated playing nice with society. He didn't want to tear it apart and put himself in power. He didn't want any part of it.

"Sanity." He clenched his fists at his sides. "Stability."

He felt his magic flaring.

He could see her in his mind's eye. Regal and refined, the softest of chiffon robes sliding along her skin as she followed along precisely three strides behind Potter. He could see her laughing and taking a swig from a bottle as she straddled the balcony railing of some manor. He could see her asleep in a tousled bed. Somehow, she'd become important. She'd become vital, and Shacklebolt stepped in to break them both again.

Rodolphus felt his body begin to shake with the effort to control his surging magic. Years of training meant nothing against this. He'd been broken before. Time and again, he'd faced his own failures. He had tried to stand, to fight. He'd been trained by his grandfather in the battle arts, to use both mind, body, and magic in concert. He'd been forged and honed, but none of it mattered.

He felt his magic break free, saw the bed ripped apart cherub by bloody cherub. The whirlwind of destruction around him was nothing. He felt like he had that first time.

Perhaps it was boredom, perhaps, compulsion. He didn't much care. The war had been reduced to hard eyed staring and fake smiles. Survival meant compromise. The ideals he had supported had never been his own, but that didn't matter. His arm was still marked. He'd felt her eyes on him again and again. It had become something of a game. He'd needed the distraction. When she had wandered into the hedge maze, he'd followed. Watching her watch him had made being there bearable.

The maze was tall and designed to provide privacy. He'd hidden there a time or two, desperate to feel safe in a world gone mad. He'd rounded the corner to find himself facing her wand. His own fell easily into his hand, and they stared at each other. The insanity of it, of breaking the forced decorum, of letting go, had caught them both. The garden party at Malfoy's had provided them both with a plethora of reasons. The siren call of battle lured them both, and they tumbled into it. Hex fire heated the air around them, charging the area with the crackle of power. He wiped at the blood oozing from a slicing hex she'd landed. His wand was in her off hand. The sweat rolled down her skin and dampened her floral dress. He could still see the riot of colors swirling around her tanned legs as she advanced towards him with her wand extended.

He could still remember the kiss that came next. Her lips pressed against his, her teeth, her tongue. He would always remember it.

Awareness broke through the haze of memory. He was alone, fallen to his knees in the wreckage of a room. He threw back his head and let the pain take him.

"Kindness," he whispered before toppling to his side and sobbing. He didn't care for any of those things. He wanted Hermione.

Kingsley slumped in his chair. His life was a living hell. He'd thought muggles were daft for believing in such a place until recently, but he'd learned.

Harry had won the day. He'd managed to do what grown wizards could not, and they'd all been fiercely proud of him. Hermione had stood beside him or behind him every step of the way. She was as loyal as any Hufflepuff could ask. Ron had been swept up with them. His brief faltering missteps had been swept away as the press dubbed them The Golden Trio.

Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegrood were also raised up by the press. They were the powerful and the true. If they were uncomfortable in the glare of celebrity, it did not matter.

The adults had been happy to let the adulation fall on their shoulders. The business of rebuilding society was theirs. They'd been happy to let the heroes pretend to be the children they should have been.

They'd passed through the halls of the Department of Mysteries to take their oaths. Andromeda Tonks, Arthur Weasley, Amos Diggory, and Sagacity Pringle had joined him in a loose circle around the foundation stone to pledge themselves to the service of the Ministry. They'd been so bloody arrogant.

It had never occurred to them to have the stone checked. It had never passed through their minds that such a thing could be corrupted. They'd gathered round it with honest hope.

Fools.

This was what was left to him.

He could in quiet moments still remember being the man he had been before.

It only made the whole thing worse.

Lucidity brought forth demons to torment him.

The memory of the smoothness of Hermione's skin under his fingers tore at him. He'd considered hurting her. He'd considered taking what should only be freely given.

He bolted from his chair and emptied his stomach into a rapidly conjured bucket.

Luna sighed. Draco and Harry were working over their plan again. Hermione had set the date. They had their charmed galleons. They didn't need them all though. She pulled hers from her pocket and watched it shine in the weak sunlight.

She loved it.

It was tangible proof that she was not alone in the world.

There had been times when her sanity had hinged on the warmth of this coin in her hand.

She licked her lips and looked over to the two wizards forging ahead with plans to save them all. All save one.

Hadn't the greater good been satisfied with the lives it had already taken.

She clenched her fist around the coin.

Hermione had been the one that united them.

Harry had been the leader, but Hermione had been the one with vision.

She'd seen the path to victory and deemed it worth the price.

Luna closed her eyes and studied the wild storm of images in her mind. She could trace the images and link them if she tried hard enough. Each path diverged and twisted its own course. The closer an event or the more likely, the more often she saw it.

There were always costs. Seeing those was not her specialty, but she could see enough to know that Hermione's sacrifice would save them. Britain would be lost, but their expatriate community would thrive.

Luna felt the tears trickling from between her closed eyelids. She dragged in a deep breath and held it until her lungs began to burn with in her. She pushed out the breath and forced herself to study the fainter images. There had to be a different way forward.

She caught sight of herself with Hermione watching their children soaring above them on flying horses. The vision was indistinct and distant, but that was the future she wanted. Pushing her magic toward it she saw it glow golden and another image flared to life in her mind.

She opened her eyes and looked again at Harry and Draco. They didn't need her right now. She stood up and summoned her cloak.

"I'm going out." she waved to them as they glanced in her direction. "I won't be long."

Lucius Malfoy stared at the galleon in his hand. It was a treasure beyond price if the Lovegood girl was right. He closed his fingers around it. He stared at his reflection in the window. The gardens and land that lay just beyond the glass seemed to be a part of him, and, in a very true sense they were. He had been born here. He was meant to be here. These were things he knew to be true. Still, there were less palatable truths that had to be faced at some point.

He'd stared a few in the face over the years. It wasn't at all a comfortable thing to do.

"Lucius, are you still in here?" Narcissa stood in the doorway. "Dinner is being served."

"Am I a good man?" He turned his back on his reflection and stared at his wife.

"Of course." She took a step towards him. "What has you so upset?"

"I suppose the hand of fate is upon me." Lucius shrugged.

"That sounds ominous." Narcissa grabbed his arm.

"The fate of our world is suddenly in my hands." He swallowed down the bile in his throat. "The Lovegood girl just put it there. She said she had faith in me."

"I know this world isn't what we imagined, but it is a decided improvement over Riddle's version." Narciisa sighed. "Luna Lovegood wants you to do something to change it? That makes no sense."

"No. She gave me a way to save a small contingent of our friends. She asked only that I find a way to save another." Lucius gripped the coin tighter. "Draco will be safe already."

"Safe?" Narcissa's hand shook slightly against his forearm.

"Away from England." Lucius smiled. "The trace will fail completely in a few days. Potter is taking our son and his merry band of misfits away."

"You can't turn them in." Narcissa stepped back from him. "I'll see you dead first."

"I never considered turning them in." Lucius shook his head. "The Lovegood girl wants me to rescue the witch that will make all of our escapes possible."

"If that's what we must do." Narcissa shrugged.

"It isn't." Lucius cut her off. "It was merely a favor asked."

"She gave you a way to save us. There is an implied debt." Narcissa waved her hand dismissively. 'There is no choice."

"Our lives are not at stake." Lucius paced the length of his study. "There is nothing required of us, but..."

"You want to look in the mirror and know you are a good man." Narcissa sighed. "So, we save the witch."