Chapter 10

"Alright, are we all ready?" Hermione asked, her eyes flitting from child to child before landing on Miranda.

The family was standing in their hotel suite, just about ready to leave for dinner at the Potters. Surprisingly, all four of her children had willingly napped that afternoon and there had only been one minor, easily solvable tantrum (Carina and Miranda had both wanted the bed by the window; some rearranging of furniture left them a bit huffy, but satisfied enough to sleep).

Her children glanced around at each other and then nodded at their mother.

"We each picked one toy, and we have our coats," Miranda reported, pausing to look up at her father and baby brother, "and Daddy has Ollie's diaper bag with everything else."

Hermione nodded, allowing her approval to shine through her expression. She'd stolen - and tweaked - this little pre-outing ritual from one of Miranda's preschool teachers, allowing each child a turn at taking some responsibility. Now it was just a matter of getting through the evening incident-free.

"Good. Now make sure you hold tight to your toys when we apparate," she reminded the lot. "Daddy and I won't be fixing any splinched teddy bears until we come home. And we can't fix splinched books." She added the last bit for Miranda's benefit since her studious little girl preferred books and animals to toys and games.

The three kids hugged their chosen items closer to their bodies, then latched themselves onto their chosen parent: Miranda hugged herself to Draco's side, while the twins jumped into Hermione's arms. Carina's little foot accidentally snagged the cord of Hermione's purse, but neither she nor her daughter minded. They'd untangle it momentarily.

With a quick smile at Draco to soothe her own nerves, Hermione pictured the house Harry had sent a picture of and turned on her heel.

They all arrived a moment later on a paved pathway leading up through the front gardens of a country style home that reminded Hermione of a more modern Burrow.

The three older children quickly detached themselves from Hermione and Draco and made their way up the walkway.

"Here goes nothing," she whispered when they had all reached the door.

Draco's free arm snaked around her waist, his hand gently squeezing her side in comfort. She took a breath and reminded herself to be a Gryffindor. After all, this was supposed to be a lot scarier for her husband than for her, right?

Sensing her apprehension, Draco nudged Carina toward the door, encouraging her to knock for them (like most three-year-olds, she liked pushing buttons and knocking on doors).

A moment later the door swung open and Harry was ushering the Malfoy family inside. Hermione had to remind herself to keep a smile on her face and breathe as her friend shook hands with her husband and welcomed each of her children before turning to her.

"Hey Hermione," he said, his eyes shining with unspoken emotion.

"Hey Harry," she replied. She was sure her eyes reflected the same inner turmoil. They stood in silence for a moment as Hermione fought back a prickling sensation in her eyes. Before either could speak again, a series of little footsteps rushed down the hall and Hermione felt her breath catch in her chest.

Standing before her were two miniature Harrys: his children, James and Albus.

Harry introduced them, adding more for her own children's benefit that they called Albus Al for short, and then chuckled slightly when Miranda introduced her own family.

"I'm Miranda. These are my siblings, Carina and Caelum" she said, motioning to the twins sounding rather scarily like a young Draco, "We call him Cammie. And Daddy's holding Oliver. We call him Ollie."

Hermione was still slightly frozen, but Draco bent down to the children's eye level.

"Hi James and Al," he greeted, "my name is Draco, and that's Hermione. She was good friends with your dad, did you know that?"

The little boys nodded excitedly and Hermione felt her breath return. She and Draco had filled her own kids in on who they would be meeting on this trip to England and was relieved that Harry seemed to have done the same. Whatever issues would come up among the adults, she wanted the kids to feel as safe and normal as possible.

"Want to go play?" James, about a year younger than Miranda and a year older than the twins, offered. Cammie and Carina spun around for permission, which Draco and Hermione gave with a nod, and the twins ran off with James and Al. Miranda stayed behind and Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Do you have any owls, Mr. Harry?" she asked instead.

Harry looked only slightly surprised, having seen firsthand the girl's fascination with her own familiar. "We do," he confirmed and told her where to find them. The little girl set off cheerfully and Hermione felt suddenly vulnerable.

Draco rose up to normal height and the three adults stood in silence for a moment. Then Hermione's breath caught again, this time accompanied by an even more rapid pulse.

"Hi Hermione," Ron said quietly, emerging from a side room with an extremely pregnant Ginny in tow. The Weasley siblings moved closer and Harry stepped aside. The foyer suddenly felt very crowded.

"Hermione," Ginny said simply, enveloping her friend in a rather awkwardly bumpy hug that immediately slowed Hermione's heart rate back to normal and set her emotions at relative ease.

"You look great, Ginny."

"My mum helps a lot," the woman offered as an explanation which, Hermione supposed, it was. She felt a slight twinge in her heart. She and Draco managed just fine, but compared to how much Molly Weasley was likely involved in her grandchildren's life, Hermione and Draco's own parents would seem rather disengaged.

"Malfoy," Ron greeted, holding his hand out to the only blonde in the room.

Draco shook it but said nothing in return. Hermione wasn't sure if it was because he felt uncomfortable or if he simply didn't know how to address them without sparking umbrage.

Taking a cue from her brother, Ginny shook Draco's hand as well before inviting them all into the living room for a drink. They had begun to move as a group further into the house when Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Ron holding her back.

"Could we speak privately for a moment?" He asked, gesturing to the room he and Ginny had come out of previously. Hermione's eyes darted up the hallway to the retreating forms of her husband, Harry, and Ginny and then back to the man she'd once thought she'd marry. She nodded.

When she walked into the room he'd chosen, Hermione immediately wondered if he chose it on purpose: an entire wall was lined with shelves, all of which were filled with a huge array of books both magical and muggle.

Ron sat down on one of the couches; Hermione took a place opposite him on its twin. Her shoulders were tense, her hands folded tightly in her lap as she waited for the redhead to speak.

Hermione listened to the grandfather clock behind them tick away the seconds. She'd counted forty-seven ticks when Ron finally spoke:

"Harry tells me you're doing well?"

Hermione nodded.

"I was angry that Harry and Ginny didn't tell me they'd found you," he explained, his expression something she couldn't place. "I love them, of course, but they can be a bit overprotective at times." Hermione recognized his new expression: Ron was grinning sheepishly. She could be a bit overprotective at times, too, a fact she knew he remembered clearly.

"So I want to say I'm sorry," Ron continued, his face once again unreadable, "I've missed you, and I'm really glad you're back."

"I've missed you too," she replied, unable to bring herself to mirror the other two sentiments just yet. She saw his cheek twitch slightly, turning his slight smile into a frown for a millisecond. She fidgeted on the couch and glanced at her shoes.

"I'm sure this is hard for you."

Hermione nodded again.

"I know we're not friends like we used to be."

She looked up from her shoes. Another nod.

"But I'd like for us to work through everything and try to become close again."

Hermione hesitated.

"I think I'd like that too."

Now it was Ron's turn to nod. "Would it be alright if I hugged you?"

Hermione smiled and stood to receive him with open arms. She wasn't sure who this new Ron was or how he had come to be, but she thought she liked it.

Dinner was far less awkward than their greetings. After Ron and Hermione had joined the other adults for drinks they had quickly called the children to the table, each parent (or Uncle, in Ron's case) overseeing the washing of hands and doling out of food before the actual eating began. And once that started, the adults were able to lapse into parent-mode rather easily.

It was necessary, with seven little ones at the table.

Their attention partially occupied, the adults' conversation focused primarily on something easy: work. Harry talked about interesting cases, Ginny about upcoming articles for her Quidditch column, and Ron about working with George at the joke shop. Miranda's attention had been captured by Ron's stories. She'd been particularly interested in Ron's explanation of the Pygmy Puffs and surprised no one by begging Hermione and Draco to allow a visit to the shop later that week.

Toward the end of the meal, while Draco was sharing his potions' company's latest work on cures for muggle-bourne illnesses, the Potter and Malfoy children had begun scheming.

At their rising tones, the adults broke off to listen just as James suggested leaving the table in favor of the playroom upstairs.

"James Sirius, you have not asked permission to leave the table yet," Ginny reminded sharply. The little boy jumped, not realizing his mother had heard his conversation with his new friends.

"Can we go play?" He asked, genuinely, sounding far more like the sweet young Harry Hermione knew than like the boy's marauding namesakes, at least according to the stories. Ginny nodded and looked to Hermione, obviously not wanting to give permission to someone else's children. The twins saw.

"Mummy can we?" Caelum asked excitedly, just as Carina begged: "Please can we play, Daddy?"

"We'll be really careful with Al," Caelum promised, looking at Draco.

"and we'll not do anything mean or scary," Carina added, her eyes flashing to Hermione.

"and we'll wash our hands," they finished together.

"Our house elf can watch over them all, and Oliver," Ginny offered, inclining her head toward the baby who was struggling to stay awake in his high chair.

Hermione caught Draco's eye. "You may go play," they replied in unison.

Four children scrambled out of their chairs, Miranda announced that she was going back to the little owlery behind the kitchen, and a house elf appeared to take Oliver somewhere he could sleep undisturbed.

As soon as the last pair of feet crossed the dining room, Ron burst out laughing. Hermione jumped slightly and whipped her head over to him. He had been so quiet all evening that the loud guffaws she'd associated with him in their youth now seemed out of place.

"That was bloody priceless," Ron explained, clutching his stomach.

"Oh man I —" he paused then, the laughter subsiding, "I haven't seen double teaming like that since Fred and George," he finished.

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. Memories of fireworks, swamps, and nosebleed nougats filled her mind. For a moment there was utter silence. And then, to her surprise, Draco spoke up:

"I guess we'll have to get some tips from your mother, then."

Ron smiled tightly, his eyes shining with unshed tears, though whether they were from laughter or pain, Hermione wasn't sure. Maybe they were from both.

"I think she would love that," Ron acknowledged, nodding slightly. She heard Draco inhale sharply and assumed he was pleased he had said the right thing. Around the table, all five adults relaxed into their seats.

After another beat of silence, Harry cleared his throat.

"I'm really glad you're here, Hermione," he said sincerely. She flashed a half smile. As painful and stressful as much of this was, a warmth and welcome sense of home-ness had permeated their dinner.

But then Harry said, "Before we do dessert, though, I think there's something you need to know. Accio charter."

An official parchment came zooming in from somewhere outside the dining room; Hermione's muscles tightened. Her pulse began to quicken and, as they only did on rare occasions, her palms started to get a bit sweaty.

"When the Wizengamot voted to approve the creation of the department," Harry explained, handing the parchment across the table to Hermione, "they did so with the condition that you would head it."

She snatched the document out of Harry's hands, her empty hand curling into a fist as her eyes scanned the signed decree. There it is, she thought, trying to stop her bottom lip from trembling. I knew this was too good to be true.

The sound of youthful laughter traveled to them from another part of the house, and her eyes started to prickle. She hadn't wanted to be right, but it seemed Harry had manipulated her into a corner. Now, if she said no, she was screwing over an entire country.

When she didn't say anything, Harry continued: "Apparently, while the members liked the idea of forming the department - of modernizing - they felt it would only be successful if someone who knew what they were doing at the helm."

Hermione's lip was still trembling and she dropped the now slightly crumpled parchment onto the table.

"You manipulated her," Draco practically growled beside her, decades-old tension radiating off of him for the first time all night. It wasn't a question.

"No!" Harry exclaimed, sounding surprised and desperate. "No, I —"

Draco cut him off with his trademark Malfoy sneer.

"So you weren't trying to manipulate her into moving back?" Draco drawled threateningly. Hermione's jaw finally tightened. She glared across the table, adding her own disbelief to her husband's.

Harry leaned back in his seat as if backing away from his adolescent rival and ran a hand through his mess of hair.

"It started out that way, yes," he confessed, avoiding Draco's narrowed eyes and looking instead at Hermione, "But, please believe me when I say I never intended to cause you harm and I'm really sorry if I have. I know you have an amazing life in the States. You have a great family, a great job, a great life. I saw all of that. But . . . well, I also saw how scared you were of coming back - of being judged, or haunted by the past, or . . .

Look if you don't want to come back to London, that's fine," his voice broke slightly; his hands made another pass through the mop of raven hair atop his head. "You need to do what's best for you and your family, so if you choose to stay in the US - if you choose to turn down the job, that's okay. But turn down the job because you don't want it. Stay in the US because you want to. Don't choose to stay in the US because you're scared of facing your past, of confronting your fears, of . . .

I love you, Hermione. You're my sister, so I'm sorry if I went about this in the wrong way. I know you have a great life in the US. But I wanted . . . I needed you to see that you don't have to be in the US to have a great life. You can have just as great a life here if you want it. I didn't want to force your hand. I promise you that. But I needed you to realize that coming back was an option."

Harry's shoulders dropped and he slumped down slightly, breathing deeply, his hands palm-down on the table. He didn't take his eyes off her, though.

Hermione, for her part, was having some trouble breathing. She was hot - physically, scalding hot, from her chest up to her ears and she resisted the urge to press her freezing hands to her cheeks. She also had a strong urge to curl into a ball underneath the table.

He manipulated you, she reminded herself.

But despite his misguided actions, Harry clearly still loved her. So was she hiding from her past? Did she stay in the US out of fear? Her heart was beating madly.

Eyebrows scrunched, Hermione let songs from college parties play in her head. She smelled the warm cookies Matt's wife baked weekly for the office and felt her constricted chest relax slightly as she remembered hugging family and friends at the holidays. She thought about the other parents she'd met and become friends with and her mouth watered when she thought about book club snacks at Lisa's. Her stomach muscles unclenched slightly, and she felt the desire to hide under the table weaken.

And then she heard the very real, non-memory sound of her children running around upstairs, and the coils rewound themselves in her intestines.

They had plans to see the whole Weasley clan tomorrow, and Narcissa the day after that. Harry had called her his sister. Imaginary children's voices were added to the real ones echoing from above, and Hermione heard the long-forgotten familial jumble of meals at the Burrow. Both she and Draco were only children; her children wouldn't have real cousins, but perhaps . . . could they have makeshift ones?

Her pulse was racing again and it took a moment for Hermione to realize that neither of the two Weasleys at this particular table had said a word.

Ron had propped his elbows on the table and had his head in his hands, so Hermione looked nervously at Ginny.

"And what about you?" she asked, failing to keep her voice from cracking and fairly certain her heart was close to beating right out of her chest and onto her plate, "I'm assuming you had a hand in all this?"

Ginny nodded, "It was originally my idea."

When she stopped there, Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"If you're asking me if I'm sorry," Ginny spoke softly, but confidently, "my honest answer is no, I'm not sorry. Not at all."

Flames rushed over Hermione's body head to toe and settled somewhere around her chest. She felt something deep inside her roar. Before Hermione could start screaming though, Ginny continued.

"I love you, Hermione. You were one of my best friends and I still consider you family. I have missed you every day for ten years and when Harry told me he'd found you, I was ecstatic. I would love nothing more than to be in your life and to have you in mine. But frankly, after the war, you were a selfish bitch."

Hermione's jaw dropped. Ron glanced up sharply, cringed, and then dropped his head back into his hands. Draco reached out and curled a hand around Hermione's thigh.

Harry cast a muffliato charm.

"I understand that you were traumatized," Ginny continued, her voice sharp but not hateful, "and that you were even more traumatized when you found your parents. Harry told me what happened. I can't imagine how painful that must have been for you. But we were all traumatized, Hermione, and you abandoned us. We needed you, but you didn't care about us, did you? You didn't give a shit."

"Of course I cared!" Hermione retorted, her voice shaking though whether from anger or something else she wasn't sure. "I spent seven years caring about everyone but myself. Sacrificing myself and my health and my needs for you all. So I'm sorry that the one time I did something to save my own life you couldn't handle it."

"And just who said we couldn't handle it?" Ginny questioned angrily, arms crossed tightly above her protruding stomach. "You made an assumption, Hermione. You didn't check in, you didn't notify us. Did you really think so little of us that you thought we wouldn't have respected your needs? Or did you just not think about us at all? Merlin, Hermione if you had just said you needed space we would have supported you! I can't believe I have to say that!"

"You wouldn't have understood," Hermione responded, her voice sounding small and pathetic as it made the excuse she'd clung to for ten years. Draco's hand gripped her thigh tighter under the table but she barely registered it.

Ginny was shaking her head. "There you go making assumptions again," she accused. "What exactly wouldn't have we understood? Tell me, did you ever - at any point while in Australia or in the ten years that followed - think about how we were all feeling? I'm not just talking about how you disappeared without a trace, two weeks after a war in which people who disappeared without traces were usually dead. I'm talking about how every single one of us had faced a trauma. We all went through hell and back together. Did you really think you were the only one who had come out with some emotional bumps and bruises?"

"I —" Hermione tried to cut in.

"My brother was murdered, Hermione!" Ginny roared suddenly, raising her voice for the first time all night. Everyone else in the room flinched and Harry doubled the muffliato charm. Hermione noted vaguely that her left arm had started shaking slightly.

"Families were torn apart!" Ginny continued shouting. "Harry blamed every single death on himself! Did you think about that? No. You didn't, because you were only thinking about yourself! And Ron —"

Suddenly Ron shot up, laying a hand sharply on his sister's arm and shaking his head. Ginny's mouth clamped immediately.

Ginny eyes shone with unshed tears. Harry wasn't holding his back. Hermione wasn't sure about Ron, because he had turned away and was staring at the wall. What had Ginny been about to say?

Draco was frozen, his long fingers curling into her thigh so tightly it would probably bruise.

Ginny took a deep, rasping breath, and Hermione reminded herself to keep breathing too.

"You made a choice, Hermione," Ginny explained, once again speaking calmly. "A choice that hurt a lot of people, not because of what you chose, but because you made it without thinking. Without considering the consequences. Without considering the people and the pain you'd be leaving behind.

This time, you're not going to have that luxury. We will support whatever choice you make, but no matter what you are going to have to make a choice, and this time you're damn well going to acknowledge the consequences. And if facing those consequences is stressful for you, or sad or painful, then good. It should be. Because choices - no matter how necessary - impact everyone around you for better or worse and it's time you damn well learned that."

Hermione felt her breath hitch. The skin on her face felt like it had been stretched tight. How dare she?

"Excuse me," Ginny said, pushing herself out of the chair and leaving the room too quickly for Hermione to spit back a retort.

Through the ferocious flames, a little voice whispered that maybe redhead had a point. Had Hermione been selfish? Had she taken the easy way out? Hermione could remember feeling like she didn't have a choice at the time but . . . had she had a choice? Would her friends have supported her decision?

"I was nineteen," Hermione bit out through a tightly set jaw, her voice gravelly. Maybe she had been selfish, but weren't nineteen-year-olds allowed to be a bit selfish?

"I was scared and I felt alone. Maybe I wasn't actually alone," she conceded at the utterly decimated look on Harry's face, "but that's how I felt at the time. I did what I needed to do. I know choices have consequences but I did what I needed to do!"

Hermione's eyes stung with unshed tears. The prickly sensation and tightness of skin had migrated: her whole upper body felt rigid.

"I couldn't be around magic," Hermione pleaded for them to understand, focusing her attention on Harry and Ron now that Ginny had left the room. "I had panic attacks every day for weeks!"

She needed them to understand. Maybe they could explain to Ginny. She had done what she needed to do.

"I spent a month living with Dudley," Harry replied tersely.

He . . . what? "You what?"

At the same time, Draco wondered aloud, "Who?"

Hermione glanced at her husband out of the corner of her eye. That was the first time he'd said anything since the shouting had started. His fingers loosening and retightening on her thigh told her this question had been a slip-up: he hadn't meant to interject.

"My muggle cousin," Harry explained, his voice soft as if he were talking to Buckbeak. Hermione could see his veins pulsing in his throat despite his gentle tone.

"After you left and Ron . . ." his voice hitched for a beat before trudging on, leaving whatever it was about Ron unspoken, "I had nightmares every night for a week, so I stopped going to sleep. That made it worse. Ginny tried to get me to see a Healer, but I'd started thinking that if only I'd been born to my Aunt Petunia, none of this would have happened. It wasn't rational, obviously, but I kept wishing I was a muggle, so I decided to give it a try. I slept on Dudley's couch for a month."

Hermione felt a lump forming in her throat and realized that she couldn't find the words. She hated not being able to find the words. Being without words was like being caught without clothes, in public, in a thunderstorm.

"The Weasleys would visit us every few days. Dudley really likes Molly's cooking," Harry finished sheepishly, fidgeting with his watch before looking directly into Hermione's overly rounded eyes.

"Ginny's right you know. If you'd have told us you needed to get away, to take a break, not only would we have respected that, we would have helped you move."

Then, with an apologetic grimace, Harry got up and followed his wife out of the room.

Draco, Ron, and Hermione sat in silence.

Finally, Ron spoke.

"We didn't see it."

His tone was soothing though pained, as if he was simultaneously apologizing and explaining. Hermione blinked rapidly. The prickling didn't stop.

"See what?"

"Your trauma," Ron clarified. "Harry and I didn't see it. My healer says it's because we were so wrapped up in our own trauma that we didn't - weren't able to see anyone else's. And it sounds like your trauma got a lot worse once you met your parents, so it makes sense that you didn't notice ours."

Hermione's brain stumbled, her mouth making a few uncoordinated sounds, still unable to find the words she so desperately craved.

"I think that's why Harry and I are able to understand and forgave you more easily," Ron continued. "We know that you didn't mean to be a bad friend — or a bad sister. We get it, but we've also spent the past ten years feeling sorry about not seeing your trauma and trying to come to terms with our mistakes. I think . . . well, I can't really speak for Ginny, but I think she's so upset because, well you don't seem to be at all sorry in return."

What? Of course I was sorry! Hermione's mind immediately argued. But then . . . an hour ago I wasn't.

"Shit, Weasley," Draco loosened his grip on Hermione's leg slightly as he spoke. "When did you become so in tune with your emotions?"

Hermione glanced between the two men. Draco had an eyebrow raised, though his posture was still perfectly rigid.

Ron chuckled, but Hermione heard darkness underneath. It was the same darkness she'd seen underneath his smiles, she realized with a start.

"With everything that had happened, I wasn't doing well," he offered vaguely. "I hid it well. Ginny was the only one who saw what was going on. She . . . well, let's just say she pulled me out of a really dark place and forced me to get help. It worked. After that, Ginny proposed a law requiring everyone affected in the War to see a Mental Health Healer. They passed it and they even offered financial help for those who wanted to continue their appointments past the required check-ups. I still go once a month."

Hermione couldn't help but fall back into her chair as the information washed over her. Still curious about what had happened to Ron, her hands fell into her lap.

If I'd stayed, I would have been forced to see a mental health healer.

"I don't regret my choices," she said stubbornly, but slowly, not looking up from the hands folded in her lap.

"No one ever said you should." Ron's eyes flashed toward Draco and back to her. "Sure, we might have protested a bit at first, but I would have loved to come to your graduation, and your wedding, and to be there for your kids' birthdays —"

With each example of what she'd missed out on, Hermione felt a needle puncture her heart.

"— but I've learned that everything happens for a reason. I'd have loved to be there for all those things, but I wasn't and it's no use getting upset about that because it's not going to change anything. That said, an 'I'm sorry' would have been nice."

Something the size and weight of an elephant sat down on her heart, sending the needles that had lodged there on a kamikaze mission throughout her entire body. She couldn't breathe.

The prickling in her eyes burst; the dam broke. The tears she'd been holding back cascaded down her cheeks and she choked out a sob, and then another. She felt Draco's arm move from her thigh to her back, tracing soothing circles up and down.

Then something moved in the corner of her eye and suddenly Ron was beside her, pulling her out of her seat and enveloping her in a massive bear hug. Her arms hung helplessly at her sides. Ron tightened his arms around her. She wasn't sure how much time passed before she felt her breath return and tried to take in a swallow of air.

"I'm sorry," she let out breathily, not entirely sure what she was apologizing for but feeling like she was supposed to say it.

"You're family, Hermione," Ron whispered gently. "Family messes up, but they're still family."

"Draco, too?" She asked through her now-less intense sobs, eyes crinkling in attempted humor.

"The Bouncing Ferret is family now too," Ron laughed, loosening his hold on her, "Though he and Percy will have to fight over the title of biggest prat." Draco snorted. A tiny ray of sunlight hit her heart-sitting elephant, and it shrunk slightly.

Hermione took a few more shaky breaths. "What do I do now?" She asked, wiping some of the salt water off her cheeks.

Ron smiled sadly. "I think that depends."

"On?"

"Just because I understand why you did what you did doesn't mean you didn't do it," Ron explained carefully, holding her away from him slightly so that he could look into her eyes. "Just because I forgave you doesn't mean Ginny isn't also right."

Hermione's heart dropped into her stomach.

"Was I really that horrible?" The question came out as a whisper.

Ron blinked. "I'm going to check on the kids," he announced instead of answering. He let go of her arms and moved toward the doorway. Hermione looked at Draco for support, but he was watching Ron.

"Ginny will probably be in the library," Ron added over his shoulder "that's where she goes when she misses you most."

Hermione sunk back into her seat and dropped her head into an arm-pillow on the table. Draco's hand returned to rub gentle circles on her back. Hermione felt a much more welcome warmth than her imaginary flames spreading through her body, starting where his hand lay on her back. Her left arm was still shaking, though less dramatically. The tears had stalled momentarily, but she could feel them waiting at the edges of her eyes. They'd return, but for now, Draco kept them at bay.

"I think you did to your friends what I did to my mother."

Draco's voice was gentle and thoughtful and caught her entirely off guard. She tensed. The hand stopped in its circular path momentarily and then took up again.

"What do you mean?" She asked wearily.

"Remember freshman year?" he coached, scooting his chair closer as he prompted her to think back to the beginnings of their friendship. "I was in that really bad place and I blamed her. I blamed her for my situation - for the choices I felt like I'd been forced to make. And in a way, she was to blame. She was my mother - she was supposed to protect me from people like Lucius and Voldemort - but she was also a victim. Just as much of a victim as I was."

Hermione nodded. He was speaking her own words back to her - words she had repeated time and time again throughout the first two years of their relationship until he'd finally listened and allowed her to contact Narcissa on his behalf.

"Your friends were just as young and scared and broken by the war as we were," Draco stopped rubbing her back entirely. Instead, he reached out, pulled her onto his lap and hugged her tightly to him. She let her head fall onto his chest as he spoke softly, the words floating just above her head. "Harry and Ron and Ginny were victims too, but instead of seeing that, you victimized yourself and blamed them."

Hermione sniffled. "So I am horrible?"

Draco shook his head, his chin moving back and forth on top of her head, ruffling her hair. "If I'm not horrible, you're certainly not horrible," he assured her. She tried to force a smile.

"Mya," he pulled away slightly and turned her head, forcing her to look into the silver-grey eyes that had become, at various points in her life, like a lifeboat and an anchor. "I am the luckiest man in the world to have married you and our children are the luckiest kids in the world to have you as a mother. You amaze me every day. You are not horrible. But remember what you said to me, about my past?"

It took a moment, but the words eventually came back to her.

"Don't forget it," she recalled, slowly letting her own advice sink in, "because it happened. Don't regret it, because it made you who you are today. Accept it, because you can't fix it if you pretend it wasn't bad, but then make amends and aim to make every day just a little bit better than yesterday for the rest of your life, because you can."

Draco nodded.

Hermione sighed and dropped her head back into his chest. The moments passed by. Draco held her tight. Finally, she took a steadying breath and pulled her head away.

"Are you ready to talk to Ginny?" He asked. Hermione nodded.

"Let's go find the library then."


Ginny sat as comfortably as she could on her favorite couch in the library. She'd need help getting up - she'd known that when she sat down on the plush sofa - but it was worth it. Not even the sofa's welcoming embrace cleared the tension from her neck and shoulders.

She brought her hands up to shield her eyes and sighed. That hadn't exactly gone according to plan.

"Hey."

Ginny moved an arm out of the way. Her husband was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed lightly over his chest.

The side of her mouth crooked up in a nervous smile.

"Hey."

Harry uncrossed his arms and moved languidly into the room, sitting down on the sofa next to her. After a moment, he asked, "So?"

Ginny sighed again.

"I got mad."

Harry let out a short bark of laughter.

"That was obvious."

Ginny flung the arm back up over her eyes. She felt Harry shift his weight next to her but didn't look. Her entire body felt like a massive weight — and not just because of the pregnancy.

"Was that was this was all about?" Harry asked sadly, "Get her back just to yell at her for leaving?"

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. The pain in her husband's voice shot straight through her and hit that place deep in the back of her soul.

"Of course not," she explained, hating that he thought she'd be that vindictive but knowing, as she said it, that she could have been. She may share the Weasley temper, but she had more Prewett in her than her brothers, and the Prewetts had always been a vengeful lot.

"Then, what?"

She couldn't see it, but she just knew Harry's face was pinched.

Ginny's thoughts raced back through the past few months, her chest tightening with each memory.

Just then Ron burst into the room.

"What the hell happened to not accosting her?" He accused, glaring at Ginny.

Ginny leaned her head back against the couch cushion, holding her now pounding head in her hands.

"Ron," Harry warned. Ginny could hear that his voice was still pinched, though. Apparently, both men were upset with her. Ron folded his arms across his puffed up chest.

"I was speaking to my sister," he said gruffly.

Ginny struggled to lean forward on the couch and looked into her brother's eyes.

"I didn't mean to," she confessed for the second time that evening.

The siblings stared at each other silently, defiantly. Ron broke eye contact first.

"Great Gin, just great," he spat, turning away from her and leaning up against a bookshelf.

Ginny watched him go, her muscles tight. When his shoulders finally relaxed, so did hers.

"How is she?" she asked hopefully.

Ron's shoulders stiffened again and he turned to glare. "How do you think she is?" Then, shaking his head, "she's processing."

Ron looked from his sister to the couch and then moved to sit in the same armchair he'd thrown himself into earlier that day. He threw his head back into his hands and the three of them sat in silence. Ginny felt like she was being steeped in a mug of blame-tea, but she probably deserved it. She deserved to be angry - that was would not back down on. But she'd lost her cool when explaining everything; it could have been handled more demurely. Maybe she'd blame the pregnancy hormones.

Ginny rubbed a hand absentmindedly across her belly. No, she thought, it wasn't the pregnancy hormones.

"Potter? Weasley?" Draco Malfoy's voice called into the room. Ginny pulled her arms off her eyes and looked at the doorway. Hermione was standing slightly behind Draco, determination shining through red-rimmed and puffy eyes. "Mind giving them a minute?"

Ginny watched as Harry and Ron rose from their seats and followed Draco out of the room. Hermione hesitated before coming in and sitting down across from Ginny on the opposite couch. Ginny let her hands fall to her sides, waiting for Hermione to speak. Hermione had her hands in her lap. A slight movement drew Ginny's eyes down to them; Hermione was gently rubbing her wedding band and staring at a point slightly to the left and down.

The grandfather clock ticked poignantly.

Hermione didn't speak.

"I probably shouldn't have yelled," Ginny confessed, her hand rubbing back and forth across the bump that would become her daughter in just a few more weeks.

Hermione's eyes caught the motion.

"No, but I probably needed you to."

Ginny felt her eyebrows raise into her hairline. "I figured you'd be pissed as hell at me."

Something dark flashed across Hermione's face but disappeared almost as quickly.

"I was."

"But?"

Ginny watched Hermione take in a few deep breaths, apprehension holding tight to her lungs. If she knew Hermione at all — and she liked to think she did — the former Gryffindor bookworm was searching for the right phrasing.

"What happened to Ron?"

Ginny's heart rate lurched; she felt the baby kick. Unprepared, the memories flooded her mind. Scrunching her eyes with the effort of occluding her mind from her own unwelcome invasion, she forced them back and shook her head rather more viciously than was likely necessary.

"If he wants you to know, he'll tell you himself," she explained. Ron had stopped her from saying anything at dinner but likely wouldn't have needed to. The pain of reliving it would have prevented the words from leaving her mouth.

Hermione seemed to accept that, albeit reluctantly. She slumped a bit in the couch. Finally, her eyes met Ginny's. The anger and resentment that had been there during their fight at the table were no longer there. Just pain. Ginny frowned.

"I realize now that I was selfishly blind to anyone's trauma but my own due to the severity of my own trauma."

Ginny nodded slowly, realizing why Hermione had asked about Ron. She sounded like Ron after a therapy session: like a talking textbook on mental health.

"I —" a loud crash from upstairs made them both jump a bit, and Hermione seemed to falter in her prepared speech.

When nothing dramatic followed the crash, Ginny turned back to her old friend and smiled encouragingly, hoping she'd continue.

"I am sorry that you all were so hurt by my tactless behavior, but I don't regret my choices."

A twisting sensation pulled her heart muscles around in a circle. Not a great apology, she thought bitterly, but Hermione wasn't done. In fact, her voice had grown ten times stronger.

"I was nineteen, and I was traumatized by war. I was allowed to be selfish. And as harmful as that was to people I loved, it led me to the life I have now and I wouldn't trade my family or my life for anything. And frankly, I don't appreciate being manipulated. If you thought I was being a horrid bitch, you could have said so much sooner than this. You didn't need to bring me all the way to England to do that."

Ginny had smiled tightly throughout Hermione's speech but, when she got to the end, she couldn't help but chuckle sadly. Even Harry had suspected the whole thing had been a ploy to yell at Hermione. But it hadn't been. Truly.

She explained as such to Hermione.

"So then, why?" Hermione asked, her voice apprehensive. Her fingers were once again tracing the band of her wedding ring.

"Because the Ministry for Magic, reformed as it may be since the war, is a joke," Ginny replied honestly, allowing the bitter amusement to flow through. "It may not be run by pureblood supremacists anymore but it was still organized by them. It needs you."

Ginny watched as Hermione's eyebrows contorted in thought. The woman sat up straighter; her fingers stopped running across her wedding band.

"Why me?"

Ginny scoffed. "Seriously? You're Hermione Granger! Everyone knows you're the best!"

The room was unexpectedly silent and Ginny watched Hermione's eyes grow wide. She raised a brow questioningly at the overly bright witch, wondering what she'd said to elicit such a response.

"That's just it, Ginny," Hermione breathed, a smile to rival the Cheshire cat's growing on her face. "I'm not."


A/N - This was an incredibly difficult chapter to write emotionally and otherwise. Hopefully, I did it justice. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing!