Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.

There is no despair so absolute as that which comes with the first moments of our first great sorrow, when we have not yet known what it is to have suffered and be healed, to have despaired and have recovered hope.
-George Eliot

Once they'd moved her inside, Ginny turned to face Hermione. Her friend looked terrible- her face drawn and ashen, her hair a tangled knot on the back of her head, her eyes bleary and still moist from tears. Ginny felt her heart give a huge wrench in her chest and she threw her arms about the other woman.

"Ginny…" Hermione murmured. She hugged her friend back gently before disentangling herself. "Where is she?" she asked quietly. Her voice, if nothing else about her, was surprisingly normal and calm.

Ginny looked to Neville. "She's upstairs, asleep. I put her in Ronald's room again," he said softly, putting one hand on Hermione's shoulder briefly before withdrawing it. She smiled at him gratefully. She didn't want anymore sympathetic touches; no more pitying hugs. She just wanted to see her daughter.

Hermione started for the stairs. Below her, she could hear Ginny trying to call out to her. To Ginny, this was the moment where, if this were a film, they'd watch Hermione walk up the stairs and seconds later they would hear a gunshot. She was desperately worried for her friend.

"Hermione- what are you doing, Neville?"

He'd taken his fiery wife by the arm and was holding her back. "Just let her go. Let it go, Gin," he murmured to her in hushed tones. He knew that no matter what happened, now was not the time to interfere.

As she made her way up the stairs, Hermione felt extremely grateful. No more. She didn't want to feel anything else tonight. She just wanted to see her little girl. Their little girl.

She opened the door to Ronald's room quietly, one trembling hand turning the knob. She entered the room quickly, closing the door gently behind her. There, in the lamplight which spilled in the window from the street, was her daughter lying in the twin bed opposite little Ron's. She stood there a moment, silent, taking in the scene. It was so peaceful, as if nothing so horrendous had happened earlier that day.

She wondered briefly who had picked Viola up from school.

Then she realized it didn't matter, because it would never be Harry's job ever again.

Stifling a sob, she made her way over to the bed her daughter lay so quietly in and, lifting the covers, crawled in next to the little girl. Her raven curls spilled over the pillow and onto her arms and her tiny form lay curled up, knees drawn to her chest, breathing deep and regular, eyelids fluttering in her dreams.

Hermione lay down beside her and slowly- gently- passed her arms about the small, sleeping form; drawing the girl close to her, tucking her into the curve of her own body. She could feel her child's heart beating steadily. It should've been reassuring.

Laying her head down on the pillow, she could feel her tears slipping from the corners of her eyes…racing down her temple, her cheek. Soaking the fabric. Soaking the curls beneath her face. Her hair was matted down with her daughter's, her brown waves indiscernible from those black ones in the dim light.

Viola shifted about in her arms a bit, eliciting another choked sob from Hermione's throat.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered into the darkness. "You've left us after all."

Holding the little girl tighter, Hermione finally closed her eyes against the flood of tears and attempted to sleep.

Maybe, if she was very, very lucky, she would never wake up.

Draco pulled to a stop in front of the town home and fairly leapt from the vehicle. He didn't have time to put it away- he was in too much of a hurry to see his family. He had to know they were alright. He had to make sure they were safe. Potter's death had affected him more than he cared to admit.

Opening the front door, he stepped inside quickly and closed it behind him. The house was silent and dark.

That wasn't right.

"Pansy?" he called, suddenly concerned. He flipped the light switch in the front hall and blinked at the brightness. He glanced about and noticed a note on the hall table. He walked over and picked it up.

Darling,

If I'm not here when you get home, don't worry too much. I told Mother I would stop by with Barclay after his doctor's appointment. We might stay there for dinner. And take care to eat something yourself- you know I don't like my men too thin.

All my love, Pansy

It was Pansy's handwriting. So…stopping by her mother's, eh? Draco breathed a sigh of relief. Well that was fine, then. He set the note back on the table and turned about, removing his coat.

"Shackleton?" he called. The house elf shuffled from the shadows of a doorway down the hall.

"Sir!" it called, its face transforming into one of recognition and cheer. "Oh, I am glad you are home, Sir," the elf murmured as it came forward to take Draco's things. His face fell to seriousness as it folded the coat over one arm. "I have a plate of dinner warming for you in the oven; but first, I believe, you will wish to speak with Madame Parkinson."

Draco looked down at the elf, curious. He felt his heart plummet to his shoes. "What do you mean? Pansy's mother? Why?"

Shackleton looked up at him, equally concerned.

"She's been flooing for you most of the day. The woman demanded I notify her and you immediately once you'd arrived home. I've already told her you just got in."

Draco didn't think it was possible for his heart to fall any farther, but it did. Straight through the floor. He stared at the poor house elf, bewildered.

"What is it? What does she want?" He let out a shaky laugh. "Has Pansy been telling stories on me again?"

The elf shook his broad bald head sadly. "No, Sir. She wants to know where the mistress is and why she and the young master never arrived at her home this afternoon. I tried to tell her I did not know where you were or when you would return- she even said she had contacted the ministry, but they would not tell her anything-."

Draco didn't stay to hear the rest. He dropped his briefcase and raced down the hall to his study, grabbing too much floo powder in his haste and making a large mess of the carpet as he summoned the Brambles, Pansy's family home.

Seconds later, he was face to face with Mrs. Parkinson herself. The woman looked terrible- she'd obviously been crying and was worried sick. Lord, not another one. Draco wasn't sure he could handle another tearful woman in the same night. And this one about his own wife- he couldn't deny he was worried as well. His heart was pounding in his ears.

"Draco!" the woman shrieked when she saw his face, "Where is she? Do you know?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't- Ornella, I need you to calm down. You're certain they never stopped by- and Pansy told you earlier she would? No owls or anything like that?"

The woman shook her head at him, teary-eyed. "No, nothing. They were supposed to be here by three and never showed! Oh, Draco- you don't think-?"

"I don't know what to think," he replied. "I've already gotten some terrible news about the second accident today-," he paused, suddenly thoughtful. "Have you flooed all her friends? Isn't it possible she went to see one of them instead?"

The older woman looked at him scornfully. "And not have little Barclay home and in bed by-," she glanced at her clock, "ten at night? Of course not. But no, I haven't flooed them. You think I should?" she asked, looking at him hopefully.

"Yes," he replied, "I think you should." He paused as another thought struck him. "Ornella," he said slowly, scared of what the answer to his next question might be, "Did Pansy mention how she planned on getting there if she didn't have the car?"

The woman looked puzzled for a moment. "Why, by the underground, of course- you know she took it every chance she got, although why she did I'll never understand- nasty thing, that muggle tube-." Her voice dropped off suddenly as realization dawned on her. "Oh, Draco," she murmured, her face pale, "what ever are we going to do?"

"Stay calm!" Draco barked at her. "Listen, I have to go now. Please contact her friends. I'm going to the ministry to see if I can find out anything. I'll contact you within the hour. Don't go anywhere," he warned her before pulling his head back from the flames and severing the connection.

He felt slightly dizzy from the impact of her words. Trust Pansy, today of all days, to insist on using a muggle contraption. He knew she only wanted to help Barclay- Barclay. His sense of urgency returned and he found himself on his feet again and running for the front door. She never came home, she never made it to her mother's- and we both know she wouldn't have gone to a friend's without telling that woman first. She and her mother are best friends! Oh, Merlin. Oh, sweet Merlin.

Draco snatched his coat from Shackleton's waiting arm.

"Are you leaving again, Sir?" The house elf's voice held a note of alarm. "What is wrong- is it the mistress?"

"I can't explain now- please keep an eye on the fire for Ornella or anyone else of importance. I'm going to the ministry for a while to see if I can get any more information," he said shortly as he shrugged into his coat. The elf nodded at him and Draco reached for the door handle.

A knock, as clear and loud as the tolling of a bell, sounded on the door. Through the glass, dimly, Draco could see two tall figures standing just outside.

His heart began beating faster in spite of the feeling that he was moving in slow motion. And he could've sworn that, although it had plummeted through his shoes earlier, it was now lodged firmly in his throat.

The knock sounded again. Draco didn't move.

"Shall I get it, Sir?" his elf asked quietly. After what felt like several long seconds, Draco shook his head and reached for the handle once more. He pulled the door open wide.

Two officers from the department of Magical Law Enforcement stood before him. One of them stepped forward, removing his hat . His face was long and his eyes filled with pity. Before he even spoke, Draco held up a hand to stop him.

Fighting back tears, he spoke. "Don't say it. Please, for the love of Merlin, don't say it. Just-," he straightened himself and looked the other man square in the face, eyes blinking furiously. "Just tell me what I need to do," he finished, his voice as steady as possible.

The two men gave one another a long look and then finally the one who'd stepped forward bowed his head and gestured to the squad car on the street below.

"If you'd come with us, Mr. Malfoy."

As dignified as he could, Draco took the proffered scarf from Shackleton before following the officers down the steps and to the car.

"Best not to mention this to Mrs. Parkinson," he murmured to the house elf. "I'll go directly from St. Mungo's to the Brambles to tell her myself."

The elf nodded and watched sadly as his master walked down the steps and into the night once more. He didn't close the door until he could no longer see the car heading up the street.

Life was cruel, it was. Those were Shackleton's sentiments as he dead bolted the door and then walked wearily up the hallway and into the kitchen. He wondered if the master would mind him having a nip of brandy. Thinking not, he poured himself a tall finger- he was fairly certain he needed it and even more certain the master would as well once he was back home.

It was turning out to be a cold night.