A/N: Once again, I must thank all of you faithful reviewers, whose positive words and steadfast encouragement keep me grueling away at this story, even if it's mostly at a snail's pace! I'm not one to ever abandon stories I write, BUT the thought has crossed my mind with this fic from time to time! ;)

Thanks for your continued patience and support.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox and own none of her associated characters. No money, just fun.

Chapter 26: The Taste of Enough

Hermione made her way towards the closed-off room where Ginny was waiting for her—each step forward slow and hesitant—as Severus gently coaxed her along, one hand pressed lightly against her back, providing her silent emotional support. Each step that brought Hermione closer felt more nerve-wracking than the last, however. She swallowed hard once she was standing directly in front of the door, her right hand trembling as it reached out to grab hold of the handle.

Taking a short moment to pause and collect herself, Hermione finally walked inside, fearful of catching a trace of dear, old Harry lingering in her ginger friend's jaw-dropping Glamour, which Severus had assured her earlier was no longer in place.

Hermione was still quite shaken up after seeing her late friend in the flesh, though. Her astute mind repeated over and over again that it was a guise and not the real Harry, but her broken heart hadn't been prepared to encounter such a spot-on resemblance.

Ginny had certainly done a stellar job of making herself look and act the part, and, for a split second in that darkened hallway cut off from the rest of the world, it was as though the Boy Who Lived had never died; never left Hermione alone to fend for herself in this godforsaken world; never forced her to fight on without him by her side. She was ashamed of having bolted from Ginny like a cowardly lioness, but breaking down in front of a handful of people who looked to her for strength and leadership hadn't been a desirable option, so Hermione had responded the only way she could think of in the fleet of the moment: she fled.

Hermione let out a shuddering breath at the comforting sight she found in place of 'Harry' this time. There, at the far end of what looked like a low lit storage room, stood the real Ginny Weasley, with all that striking red hair (now chin-length), dulled brown eyes, and endearing freckles that speckled her pallid, pleasing face.

After a quick recovery, however, Hermione was aggrieved by the grim reflection that stared back at her. Since they had last seen one another, Ginny had physically changed significantly, having become grossly thin in the past many months. Her cheekbones were sunken in, making her look frightfully gaunt rather than healthy, and her eyes, once a shiny sepia brewing with liveliness and ambition, had turned to a shell of their former self, now hollow and tragic.

Hermione visibly startled. It was like staring into the face of a ghost—or half of a person—and it nearly brought her to her knees.

"Hey, Hermione," Ginny offered with softened enthusiasm; the shred of eagerness she detected from Ginny sounded forced rather than natural.

Despite appearances, Ginny did seem relieved to see Hermione, and, so, Hermione pushed her concerns to the back of her mind—at least, temporarily—to rush at her friend and throw her arms around Ginny in one of the fiercest hugs she could provide. Severus silently closed the door to give the two much needed privacy, slipping away unnoticed.

"Oh, Ginny, I'm so happy to see you!" Hermione choked through her tears as she stepped back to examine the witch closer, continuing to grasp Ginny firmly by the arms.

"You, too! It's good to see you well and..."

It was acknowledged but not said: alive. Hermione brought the pair of them into another appreciative embrace.

"I know," she softly finished Ginny's refrain. "I know..."

"Bill's dead."

That unexpected news brought Hermione up short. She froze in place, eventually gathering her emotions together before pulling back to look her friend in the face without breaking down. Ginny's stone expression near shattered her. What made matters worse was the lazy, half smile she bore, one she had clearly put on display one too many times over the past couple of years.

"W - When?" Hermione asked once she felt she could speak without choking on her tongue.

"Just last week." The next question was on the tip of Hermione's lips, but Ginny answered quicker. "Ambushed. He'd been travelling with a small group of supporters west of the Rhine. None of 'em made it. They were on their way to meet up with us, actually; only a day's Apparation away..."

"I'm so sorry, Gin. I had no idea..."

Ginny shrugged off Hermione's condolences and diverted her gaze towards the floor. Her eyes weren't watery from explaining the loss of her brother; the redhead seemed incapable of crying, or, perhaps, Hermione considered gravely, she lacked the physical will to shed any more tears for the countless loved ones they had lost.

"It's just me now," Ginny whispered as the silence between them stretched itself thin. That haunting expression—so unemotional and empty—returned to Hermione, and Hermione thought Ginny to have tripled in age in the past two-some years. "I'm all that's left of my family."

A pressure closed around Hermione's throat. How should she respond? How could she respond? There weren't words palpable enough to describe Ginny's level of anguish. Anything Hermione wanted to say was lost on her tongue, and she swiftly resolved not to try to fill the heavy-handed silence with expressions of grief, heartfelt as they may be. Words simply weren't enough.

"Oh, Ginny..."

Hermione stepped forward and hugged her friend a third time, noting how Ginny grabbed onto her blouse a little tighter this time. They held to one another—their embrace firm and uncompromising—for as long as Ginny deemed it necessary. It didn't take long for Ginny to pull away from Hermione again, her eyes still dry and, alas, occluded.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you," Ginny pressed on in haste, throwing Hermione an apologetic look over. "I've forgotten how petrifying it has to be for others who knew and remember Harry to see me as...him. I shouldn't have greeted you like that."

"It's all right, Gin. What could you have done? The others aren't aware of who you really are, and, Merlin knows, I'll need to get used to seeing you like this going forward. It was just...overwhelming," Hermione settled for by way of an explanation. She wanted to add that she couldn't imagine how Ginny was coping with playing the part of Harry, and repeatedly at that, but the thought must have been written across her face, for Ginny shot her another half-hearted, half smile.

"Someone has to do it; someone who was close to him. If there had been another way..."

Hermione gulped and nodded, quietly understanding Ginny's unfinished response. She paused to soak in her brave friend once more, finding herself increasingly in awe as the moments passed.

"Many are so grateful to you, you know..."

Ginny shrugged off Hermione's words again, evidently uncomfortable with receiving such gratitude. "Everyone's made sacrifices."

"Yes, well..." Feeling the crippling sorrow that had been tugging on her throat becoming ever more acute, Hermione reached out to appreciatively stroke a handful of Ginny's tresses through her fingers; it felt somehow therapeutic to do so. "You cut your hair," she pointed out in a hushed but thoughtful tone, studying the fine, red hairs at length.

"Yeah, I did it myself. What do you think?"

"I like it; it suits you very well."

"It's easier to manage."

Gradually, Hermione dropped her hand to her side. "And...Harry?" she finally chanced inquiring, having been uncertain as to how to breach such a sensitive topic.

Ginny's vacant expression seemed to cave in on itself, though she managed to reply with little feeling, "Some days are all right. Others..." She paused to draw breath. "Unbearable."

Hermione's hand instinctively looped around Ginny's arm. Ginny acknowledged her touch before carrying on. It seemed both witches were determined to get through this part of the conversation as painlessly and hastily as possible.

"Days after the battle, Severus Snape and other Death Eaters acquired chunks of Harry's hair. That is, before... Before his corpse was destroyed."

A sickening memory flashed across Hermione's eyes and she couldn't help but shake from the aftermath of its remembrance. It stricken her to recall how disrespectfully all their fallen had been treated following the battle, but most especially Harry, whose dead body was made a mockery of by their enemy. He—more specifically, his decapitated head—had been paraded about as a twisted reminder of the Light's defeated servitude and their own outcomes should they continue to defy the Dark Lord under his new regime. Harry's head sat on display in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic—rotting and decomposing—until it was nothing more than a broken skull.

To this day, there he remained. The Dark Lord had yet to see fit to remove what remained of him.

"I wasn't aware Snape and others had gone to such lengths to preserve something of Harry's," Ginny carried on, her voice monotone. "Obviously, they had had the wicked sense, even in those early days, to get strands of Harry's hair, knowing someone might be able to bring him back to life...at some point. Must have been something he and the Malfoys considered from the start. As warped as it all sounds, and it is bonkers, I know, I'm glad somebody had the twisted sense to think of it."

"The Dark Lord's terrified because of you. Sev—Snape says he's been made to believe the head he's let rot was a fake and that you're the real deal."

"Brilliant!" Ginny flashed a devious smile at Hermione—one that was so reminiscent of her twin brothers, Fred and George, that Hermione's heart skipped several beats—and gestured to her face. "It's a combination of Polyjuice and Glamours. I take elixirs three times a day to wane off the abuses the Polyjuice otherwise does to my nervous system. Oh, it's fine," she added at Hermione's flourish of worry. "Snape's been good enough to provide me with refills whenever I require them. Who would have thought he'd turn out to be a decent fellow?"

Hermione swallowed thickly, aware that she was blushing, though there was no reason to. "I see... I figured as much with the Glamours, but the Polyjuice..."

Ginny cracked a smaller but genuine smile this time, one Hermione was immensely grateful for. "You would, of course," she snickered.

And of course Severus would be involved! Hermione reviewed in her reeling head.

It was an awful lot to take in: Severus somehow obtaining bits of a lifeless Harry's hair; formulating a plan to fight back against his 'master', even as the fallen bodies of those they had lost weren't yet buried in the ground. She hadn't known how crucial Severus had been to the process of Ginny's transformation, nor how much influence he had clearly brought to the table in those early days. He had failed to mention any of it.

Whilst I was running for my life, he was forming our revolution.

Then again, Hermione reflected rather morbidly, how exactly would Severus have approached her about such alarming information as snatching the hair off of her perished friend's head? She didn't want to visualise how disturbing that was.

The less you knew back then, the better.

"I only found out after being under Snape's charge that you were impersonating him," Hermione spoke up after a long, considerate pause. "Had I known, Gin, I would've..."

To her immense relief, Ginny showed no resentment or anger. Instead, she reached out and touched Hermione's arm.

"It's all right, Hermione. I know you would've reached out if you could."

"Yes, but...I didn't," Hermione stammered, trying to wade off the sudden fluctuation of tears forming in her eyes again.

"You didn't because you couldn't," Ginny corrected her and calmly reached for her hand. "You had to hide. You had to do what you needed to in order to survive."

"We've all had to survive, Gin—"

"Yes, we've all had to survive, and for none has that been more trying or terrorising than the Muggle-borns. It's been hell for you guys. Don't be so hard on yourself."

Hermione wiped at the tears that had started rapidly trickling down her cheeks, though there was little point. She nodded and accepted Ginny's compassion, but it was trying to receive, especially seeing her friend so frail and tormented from all she had endured in her absence.

"I've missed you," she blurted out, stumbling over the words as they poured out of her.

Ginny's returning smile was slight but sincere. "I've missed you, too, Hermione."

Ginny drew closer to bring them into another emotional, tight embrace. In that brief exchange of desperately sought-after consolation, Hermione, at last, surrendered to her emotions. Although she only wept a short while, she quivered in Ginny's arms, stifling her sobs but letting them out, nonetheless. Her head dropped against Ginny's shoulder, staining the witch's shirt with tears.

For nearly two years, Hermione had dodged on and off of a perilous, lonely road, fighting to make it through another day. The stench of death and destruction had hovered over her head daily—and continued to do so—presenting repeated, painful reminders of the unknown; of not knowing when—or if—she would ever see her loved ones again or where her next meal might come from or when she, too, might receive the Killing Curse and join her friends and her parents and all those whose lives had been so wrongly robbed of being here.

Ginny Weasley was the last link to her family's lineage. From the time Hermione had first become a witch, Ginny and her warm, loving family had treated her as one of their own, never making her feel less for who she was: a Muggle-born. They had accepted her—and all her non-pureblood stature—with open arms and without prejudice, and, so, Hermione openly mourned Ginny's devastation, unabashedly, for they had been her family, too.

Both had lost far too much. Far, far too much...

"I should probably get back," Ginny professed after Hermione's crying subsided; her voice sounded cracked and worn, as though she was trying to hold it together rather than fall apart as Hermione had.

Hermione reared back, wiped at the remainder of her tears, and smiled a pained, messy smile. "Yes, of course. The people will want to chat with their hero."

For the first time since their exchange, Hermione detected grief and open sorrow flickering in Ginny's eyes. "He was our hero, wasn't he?" she whispered, her hushed voice filled with longing.

A heavy silence followed that rhetorical question. Then Hermione clutched Ginny by the hand once more and found her endurance, briefly hidden away beneath a mound of despair.

"Yes, he was," she answered ever so softly, "and he still is. He's with us, Gin. I can feel it."

Ginny pressed her lips together. Perhaps she didn't sense what Hermione felt in her heart but wanted to believe it. Perhaps she thought Hermione off her rocker but didn't have the heart to tell her so. Her chin momentarily trembled, however, and then her hand retreated to her back pocket to extract her wand. She eyed Hermione over with caution before pressing forward.

"Would you like to leave before I do this?"

Hermione exhaled a collected sigh. "No, I... I think I should stay."

"All right...if you insist."

After another hesitant glance, Ginny expanded something clasped in her opposite hand—a phial filled with what looked like thick, dark mud, which Hermione recognised at once to be Polyjuice—and popped off the lid. The contents bubbled and the shade turned a deep auburn in her hand. Hermione was grateful she couldn't discern Harry's hair within the glass. Remembering how ghastly Polyjuice tasted was unsettling enough.

"Cheers," Ginny quipped and toasted Hermione with a raise of the phial; she gulped it down with barely a cringe, obviously well accustomed to the taste.

Ginny then scaled down the phial and shoved it back into her pocket. Suddenly, her features began to morph and change. Her red hair shortened, turning black and shaggy and unkempt. Her bleak, brown irises switched to a pair of vivid green that shown brightly in the darkness. Her breasts shrunk and her lanky form heightened, stretching into that of a male's anatomy. Her shirt and jeans, which had been hanging on her before, now filled out rather nicely. Even a glimpse of Harry's lightning bolt scar could be discerned through all that utter disarray of hair.

Just like I remember... Hermione reflected, her emotions strained.

Ginny took her wand in hand and, using a small compact mirror she withdrew from her pocket, touched up her transformation with a few Glamour spells. She diminished a couple cuts on Harry's cheeks, cast a spell that lowered her voice, and transfigured a pair of round glasses onto her—his—well defined nose. She then tucked the mirror away and glanced at Hermione, taking a moment to adjust the rims of the lenses.

"These glasses are fucking maddening," she grumbled, frowning just as Harry used to do when he was in one of his moods. "I don't know how he ever managed to keep these damn things on his face."

"He didn't," Hermione chuckled, feeling the atmosphere lift and breathe again; she smiled at Ginny, though not for long.

It was indeed a tad terrifying to be so close to 'Harry'. She could make out every essence of those fiery green eyes from here; that scar that had been the cause of so much confusion and heartache; that dishevelled mop of hair, always in need of a trim, that used to drive her batty. It was almost too disarming differentiating Ginny's impersonation from the real man.

"Hermione?" Ginny questioned; Hermione suddenly realised she had been gawking. "You sure you're all right?"

"I..." She hitched a breath, wishing to still her pounding heart. "Yes, I - I think so."

"It'll get easier," Ginny tried to reassure her, using an unusually gentle voice. She extended her hand to Hermione, only it was no longer hers. It was Harry's larger palm and fingers now; his touch. "And it won't last forever."

Hermione grasped the hand asking for hers. It took her a moment to find her stamina again.

"No, you're right," she acknowledged with a bite to her bottom lip. "I hope I don't grow too fond of seeing you like this, Gin. It makes me miss him...all the more..."

Ginny—Harry—returned that overwrought thought with a smile, and it was a smile hampered by woe and yearning rather than joy. "I know. Me, too."

Severus, Hermione, and their faithful compatriots had been preparing to leave that evening with the intent of departing in small groups when word flew in—literally—by way of an unregistered Floo call from Draco, informing all that the Dark Lord was "officially" declaring war on their organisation. The young Malfoy, whose blond head popped in on them unexpectedly, warned to look for the headline in the following morning's Daily Prophet, as well as associated French newspapers.

Sure enough, the headline that appeared the next day read in big, bold, black letters an inescapable ploy: war was upon them, and, this time, it would be the final skirmish between the Light and the Dark.

Luna and a few of their associates picked up a handful of French papers that morning, passing them out to as many as they could, and everyone took turns reading the articles that recounted Lord Voldemort's brutal promise of death and destruction. The same nauseating picture accompanied each newspaper's headline, that of a naked body impaled on a pike in front of the gates to the lunatic's private estate. The body of a dead and malnourished female Muggle-born, her limp and battered form on display for all to see, filled them with rage, overflowing frustration, and unequivocal determination. The girl's long hair was drenched in her own blood, her face unrecognisable to all, save for one.

Bridgette.

Severus's throat plummeted into the pit of his stomach at the sight of that terrible photograph. He had promised to look after her and the other unfortunate slaves trapped in the Shacklebolt estate, plunged into servitude under the most notorious and foul master they could come in contact with. In exchange for helping him gain access to the Dark Lord's property and poisoning his familiar, Severus had assured Bridgette he would secure their safety before a final battle got underway.

Yet there she was, reduced to a black and white photograph reprinted over and over again for the masses; dead at the doorstep of the maniac who had stripped her of everything she had—from the clothes on her back to her dignity and value—save for her life. In the end, he had squandered that, too.

What have you done, Severus?

It was another hard blow in a long list of failures the wizard found intolerable, though no one would have known by the fixed mask he held in place that morning. He knew he should have anticipated that Bridgette, like so many unfortunate Muggle-borns before her, may very well not make it...

But you promised her, damn it! You gave her your word! Of what good was any of that? Severus clenched his jaw and fought to keep his head. Now look at her! Another death you could have prevented! Another soul you should have saved!

Severus couldn't bring himself to read the blasted article; not in its entirety, anyway. Nothing the Dark Lord boasted of—revenge, getting even, threatening the spy's very life by calling him out by name—would faze Severus Snape now; only that haunting photograph of Bridgette, which spoke for so many with so little rights or fight left in them, would compel him to react now.

Staring at the young witch's exposed corpse, nearly split in half by the jagged pike that tore a hole straight through her abdomen (he prayed that that hadn't been her end; that perhaps she had managed to obtain a more merciful death at the debauched hands of her master) was like staring into the lifeless faces of all those lost to Severus's protection.

It also served as a stirring reminder of who that woman could have been instead. He could have been staring right into Hermione's grisly future, for all he knew, and the thought sickened Severus to the point of unrest. He slipped away to the loo in the hopes of clearing his head. The photograph had made him unstable, dizzy, and he certainly wasn't about to retch in front of anyone. He wasn't permitted to be alone for long, however. All too soon, a polite knock at the door forced him to give up his temporary sanctuary to another occupant.

As Severus begrudgingly made his way back to the enlarged bedroom that housed a handful of cots, where he hoped few would be hanging about, he discovered Hermione waiting for him by the open doorway. Her large brown eyes suggested that she had glimpsed something in him that, at once, Severus wished she hadn't. There was nowhere to escape to, though, so he braced himself for whatever questions were coming.

"You knew her," she murmured once he was standing in front of her; it was a statement rather than a question, without judgement or resent attached.

At first, Severus was incapable of answering. He hovered by the doorway a moment, recounting the unsightly photograph as if it was Hermione rather than Bridgette dangling naked and stiff from those front gates, before coming to his senses. He slumped past Hermione into the room and collapsed onto the nearest bed, pale hands clamped on top of his knees. Hermione trailed after him and took a seat at his side, remaining silent and still as the suddenly withdrawn wizard gathered his thoughts together, sensing that this time there would be no holding back.

"Yes," Severus, at last, spoke, though his voice betrayed him; it was hoarse, fainter than normal, "I knew her..."

"How?"

Severus felt the prickle of nervousness beneath that question, surmising what was likely running through Hermione's mind at that moment. He turned to her, the hard lines around his mouth frank but not tense, and received her thoughtful gaze for his troubles.

"She helped me gain entry to the Shacklebolt estate. Without her actions, Nagini would still be alive, and none of us would have found out what his spies had been up to here in Paris until... Well, probably until now, if not days away. Well after you would have had need of us; of me."

Hermione made a gradual nod of her head, her thoughtful eyes coming to rest on one of Severus's fisted hands. "What was her name?" she inquired innocently and leaned closer.

"Bridgette." Severus's mouth twitched with regret. "I...never knew her last name."

"She was a Muggle-born," said Hermione, her smaller hand covering the top of Severus's; her touch was soothing and pleasant, "like me..."

Severus stared down at the witch, his mind still weighty with the ghoulish vision of a dead Hermione hanging over a cast-iron gate, disposed like a wet rag rather than the amazing, capable human being that she was, and his features twisted with feeling. "Yes..." he returned with equal strain and subtlety; the words were difficult to get out. "Like you."

Hermione's fingers curled around Severus's hand and squeezed gently. She leaned further into him, propping her head against his left shoulder. Eventually, Severus's chin came to rest atop her head, a shuddering breath escaping his body like the shaking of an invisible pair of weights.

For a time, neither of them spoke, though their hands remained interwoven. With so few words, they had unearthed many hidden fears and uncertainties both didn't wish to touch upon but Bridgette's horrific death had, alas, brought to the forefront.

"I'm sorry," Hermione eventually piped up; she raised her head to stare deep into Severus's eyes which had become bitter and inconsolable, plagued by guilt.

"I made her the same unkept promises I've made you."

Hermione instinctively pressed his hand. "Severus..."

"I promised Bridgette what I couldn't deliver, and she lost her life on that promise."

"But her death wasn't your fault." Severus turned away and stared at the floor, breathing audibly through his flared nostrils. "It's not your fault," Hermione repeated with more emphasis, though to little avail.

Realising that she wasn't going to get a proper response out of Severus—not yet anyway, for he kept his sharp eyes glued to the floor—Hermione inclined against him and squeezed his arm in comfort. He slightly turned his head, though their eyes didn't meet, and released another burdensome sigh. They fell into another quiet rhythm after that, one leaning into the other whilst the other fought to maintain his composure.

"You know," Hermione spoke after a while, her eyes roving over their hands that had become intertwined once again, "by trying to set an example with Bridgette, the Dark Lord just provided fuel to our fire." She glanced at Severus, who was eying her sidelong, listening intently with one eyebrow raised. "Now we have all the more justification for going to war against that bloody tyrant and all those who share his demonic way of life. Thanks to him, our rebellion is stronger and more thirsty for revenge than ever before."

Severus's inscrutable expression didn't falter, though his dark eyes shifted. "True."

Giving his hand an encouraging pat, Hermione offered up a smile, slim as it was. "We'll make Bridgette and all those who've suffered so needlessly under his regime proud, Severus. We will."

"Yes," Severus concurred all too quietly, "I hope you're right."

London

Two Days Later

A nervous but exciting energy hovered in the night air as Severus, Hermione, Luna, Ginny, and their associates arrived on the outskirts of London. Up until now, the mixture of half-bloods, Muggle-borns, and purebloods of the underground movement had clung together in hiding, honing their duelling skills and rallying support to their cause; but today, here in England, they were embarking on the most important mission of their lives: the final fight to win back their freedom and civil rights.

Hopefully, the outcome would mirror the thrill those like 'Harry' and Hermione were invoking in their rebellion.

Hermione had clung to the hope of this day like a distant but seemingly unobtainable lifeline. Hope had certainly presented its share of challenges over the pasty twenty-something months that she had been struggling to stay alive, let alone make herself useful. It seemed for ages that this opportunity might never come; that there might never be the probability of taking back all they had lost.

In the blink of an eye, under the trees of the Forbidden Forest some two years ago, everything had changed, snatching all Hermione knew and believed in from beneath her feet. Harry's death had been the start of the Light's downfall.

Now, it was rising again like the phoenix's ashes, with Hermione, Severus, and their friends at forefront of it all, prepared to test the Dark Lord's resilience one last time.

Hermione was nauseous and eager, apprehensive yet dangerously optimistic. She knew it was foolhardy to hold much faith in their prospects—war was gruesome, unforgiving, and, most importantly, unpredictable—and yet, hadn't they obsessed over this day? And for how long? Hadn't they been painstakingly readying themselves for one more chance to fight back?

Hermione hadn't been able to gauge much of Severus's feelings on what lay ahead of them. His feelings, if he carried much hope at all for their side, were carefully guarded and locked away in his heart; but a steadfast resilience burned in his eyes as they approached Malfoy Manor.

On this misty, early spring night, well before the light of dawn would creep over the horizon in the hours to come, Severus stood alongside Hermione, close enough to touch but not close enough to feel. In their short journey home-bound, he had remained either at her back or at her side, never veering too far from sight, and Hermione was comforted by his presence, knowing this complicated but loving man guarded her and her welfare in the same manner he guarded his heart: with everything he had.

Yes, there was hope and it was so close they could practically taste its sweet compensation. Home was near. And beyond that, well, they would find out soon enough...

"I assure you, the Dark Lord doesn't suspect a bloody thing," Draco reasoned tiredly, dousing the last of the Firewhisky he had been cradling for some time. "His spies are gathering reinforcements and prepping to go out searching for your lot again. This will be an unpleasant surprise. We began spreading word of Harry's and Hermione's return yesterday. I guarantee it'll make this morning's Prophet."

"And by evening," Narcissa concluded, poised and seated on a fine-looking sofa at his side, "we'll be at war, with even more supporters rallying to our side. Our heroes have returned, and that's all the incentive those who've remained quiet will need to stand up and fight."

"You're certain there are others prepared to join us?" Hermione pressed, feeling uncertain. "Prepared to fight as soon as tonight?"

"Oh, yes," Narcissa assured her, a gleam of confidence passing over her icy blue eyes, "believe me, the people have been waiting for this day. They've sat dormant, restless and agitated, for too long. Even now, some are acting out against the Dark Lord without fear of the repercussions. They're ready for war."

It was the wee hours of the morning, though their various groups, all of which had been arriving at Malfoy Manor throughout the night, were too wired for sleep. All appeared as exhausted and run down as they surely felt, but, still, most weren't ready to crash just yet.

The Bulgarians had been the first to arrive two days prior and were prepping their own for the coming battle. Dean Thomas and his supporters had been in and out of the Manor most of the day, along with at least a dozen others acting alone or in groups of two or three at most, from Madam Hooch and Romilda Snow to Waylon Carter and Phineas Jenkins to the elusive but effective Rennie Bromley.

Now, nearly everyone was present, crammed shoulder-to-shoulder inside one of the Malfoys' larger sitting quarters, which they had expanded to fit everyone, each and every individual huddling close to hear the plans for their glorious revolution that, at long last, was about to get underway. Even Lucius was present, flanked by his silver flask that he held close to his breast, and toasted to their brighter future. Hermione wasn't sure if the Malfoy patriarch was planning on partaking in tonight's grand scheme, but she appreciated his rousing words of support, nevertheless.

Seated on the floor next to the roaring fireplace, Hermione eyed Luna across from her as people began to disperse for the night. Luna was sitting Indian-style, with a purring Moo curled into a ball on her lap. The cat had passed out hours ago, having worn himself out after his recent re-acquaintance with his mistress, but Luna continued to mindlessly stroke his fur. Moo's rumbling purr sent any within earshot into a calming, relaxed state of mind, including Hermione.

Hermione had nearly nodded off when she heard a deep, recognisable voice approach. "Do you intend to sleep here for tonight?"

"No," she mumbled, eyes fluttering upward.

Severus was smirking at her, that slight, raised curl of his upper lip concealed in shadow; but she saw it, and its suggestion awakened her. His hand extended towards her.

"Miss Granger," he addressed her softly, encouraging Hermione to take his hand, which she did and found herself hauled to her feet as though she was weightless. She stumbled forward and was instantly caught by Severus's arms. "Allow me," he murmured close to her ear, too low to be overheard by those still lingering about.

Hermione caught a glimpse of Snow crouching down to join Luna on the floor with Moo and a huddled Draco and Ginny—still Polyjuiced as Harry—whispering to one another against the door frame that led out of the sitting room; but she was too knackered to speak and merely nodded her 'good nights' to those they encountered on their way out, leaning heavily on Severus's arm for support as he dragged them off somewhere to sleep, hopefully alone.

To their luck, Severus uncovered a vacant bedroom on the second floor, which he locked and muffled with his wand upon entry, ensuring that they wouldn't be disturbed. It was enormously gratifying to be by themselves for a change. They had had barely a moment since Severus's unexpected visit to Paris. Now, with any luck, they would have the rest of the night—early morning, rather—to themselves.

But first, sleep.

Hermione's mind and body demanded it. With a grateful sigh, she sagged onto the pristine bed before her, and burrowed her face into a plush pillow. Her legs were effortlessly hoisted onto the bed and the covers soon yanked from beneath her weight. Her shoes were removed, too, as well as her dirty trousers, and, within seconds, Hermione found herself submerged under a series of warm blankets that left her aching body singing in gratitude.

Hermione never heard Severus crawl into bed beside her or sense one of his wiry arms rope possessively around her waist to hug her back to his chest. After the sheets had covered her, Hermione quickly passed out, and Severus soon joined her in sleep, the unconventional lovers resting peacefully for several hours for the first time in what seemed like decades, even with war fast approaching.

"Hermione?"

"Mmm?"

"Can you wake up?"

"Mmmhmm," she half-mumbled, half-yawned; she stretched her arms lazily and turned her head to glance at Severus over her shoulder. "What is it?"

Then she felt a sharp stirring between her legs: Severus's hard-on rubbing against the dampened cleft of her behind. He must have been enticing her to wake for some time, for she was already wet and heavily aroused by his efforts. Her knickers had also been removed.

Sly bastard.

The long-ago sensation of hot sex penetrated every fraction of Hermione's being, forcing her to still beneath the covers in order to savour the slow, steady friction. Severus wasn't frantic or in a hurry to speed things along but was maintaining a pleasant rhythm. And it felt bloody marvellous.

Hermione smiled into her pillow. "Is that why you wanted me awake?"

"It's been forever," he moaned, much like a petulant child in need of a treat.

Hermione chuckled but that speedily switched to a hitched breath or two. Severus had re-angled his hips, thereby surprising Hermione by pressing his erection harder and deeper between her moistened pussy lips. She instinctively rocked backward, reclining further into his chest.

"Yes...it has," she breathlessly agreed. "So...so long..."

Severus gave a quiet but eager hiss and nibbled at her earlobe, sending sparks through Hermione's nerve-endings. Her stomach clenched and she rocked harder and faster upon his cock, lifting her outer leg to receive better access.

"I've wanted to fuck you since Paris," Severus spat with passion against her ear, grabbing onto her shoulders and pinning her in place. "Ever since you woke up in my arms...and I knew you were safe... I've wanted to fuck you senseless since that day."

"Yes..." Hermione moaned with utter joy. "Oh, gods, yes... Please..."

Severus's sweet breaths were growing heated and urgent from behind. She turned to face him but her out-of-control curls blocked much of his honed profile. She snatched one of his hands from her shoulder and decided to redirect it elsewhere, entreating him to cup her sex and bring her pleasure.

"Fuck me senseless, Severus." She didn't anticipate tearing up when the words suddenly escaped her mouth. "There - There isn't much time..."

At once, Severus shushed her, ensnaring her silence with an all-consuming kiss to the lips. "Don't think about that," he urged her in that smooth baritone once their lips parted. He slid faster against her warm, wet pussy, his index finger making teasing circles of her highly sensitive nub at the same time.

Hermione jolted and cried out. Her stomach flipped, too, and her outer arm wrapped around Severus to clutch his buttocks, in want of something of him to grab onto. Her aggressiveness brought forth another glottal growl from the back of the wizard's throat, serving to trigger them both to heighten the friction. Hermione dipped her hips so as to best angle herself but writhed at Severus's repeated, vigorous-working finger. Each delicate motion brought her closer and closer to the edge, and yet, she wanted him, not his touch alone, to assuage the sweltering madness growing between her legs.

Finding herself more and more desperate to be abated by the second, Hermione soon took matters into her own hands. She reached down to reposition Severus's cock at her entrance, and he instantly growled at the firmness of her forceful hand grabbing and holding his cock.

Then, exercising some force, Severus took over from there. He stretched Hermione's walls and entered her fully. At last! At last! their bodies and minds cried in unison.

Hermione's hand flew back to Severus's arse cheek again, giving it an unintentional but rigorous slap. Her fingers dug into his skin, coaxing another excited snarl from between his clenched teeth. Both lovers' spines were arched, Hermione's back curving into Severus's chest. Then they moved, swaying and bending; plunging and grinding; connecting deeper and deeper with every excited breath, every sensual move of their bodies.

"Oh! Oh, gods!" Hermione started to exclaim, one hand still planted firmly on Severus's behind; he had increased the rhythm and was massaging her swollen clit harder than ever, to the point that she thought she might explode. "I think...! OH! Oh, GODS! I'm gonna come!"

Severus's hips slapped Hermione's buttocks with each frantic merge. Their sweaty forms were becoming increasingly entangled within the bedsheets, too, but both hungrily ignored that minor hitch in pursuit of erotic bliss.

Severus wasn't about to have a quick, messy shag and be done with Hermione, however. He fought off the much-desired urge to come alongside her, for she was on the brink of a mind-blowing orgasm, so close that he suspected she may be drawing blood from gripping his arse so tightly. What had begun as low, intermittent mewls when they started had risen to outbursts of the utmost desperation, and it wasn't long after entering her that Hermione succumbed to what Severus, in turn, was grappling to ward off.

"OH, GODS! SEVERUS!"

With that shrill cry, as well as an accompanying shudder of satisfaction that saw her walls clamping down around Severus's cock, Hermione came. Severus briefly considered what a good measure it had been to place a Muffling Charm on their room before taking the witch to bed, but that was as far as he got. When her walls quivered around his throbbing shaft, Severus nearly lost himself.

Hermione wrestled to catch her breath, and it took her hazy mind a moment to catch up to that of her eager partner's. In her present state, she could barely move, but Severus seemed to sense that, for he initiated everything. He scooted backward until his back was propped against the bedpost, holding onto Hermione as he repositioned himself. Then he easily hoisted her onto his lap, keeping her back cushioned, once again, against his chest. Those dexterous, long fingers glided beneath her wet and sticky thighs, now smothered with her essence, and gently pried them apart, drawing her pussy lips wide.

Although still loose and dazed from her first climax, Hermione instinctively lifted her legs, though only with Severus's added support, and, once more, felt him slide inside her. Her body readily made room for him, his pulsating cock filling what, moments ago, had felt far too empty for her liking.

Once he was flush against her arse, Severus sputtered something incoherent between his teeth that Hermione didn't catch; yet it made her shiver with giddy anticipation. She reached backward to clasp a handful of Severus's limp, greasy hair and began rolling her hips in slow, moan-filled circles, relishing how bloody fantastic the man completed her from the inside out. Severus, too, let forth a strained noise and shifted behind her, egging Hermione on to explore this new position that was already topping its predecessor.

Before long, Hermione had detached herself from Severus's chest and shuffled onto her knees, her reflexes wanting to slide back and forth upon Severus's cock until she found a rhythm and slant that bested any of the others. Every so often, Severus groaned or hissed at her back, sending rousing shivers up and down Hermione's spine.

It felt incredible to please and be pleased at the same time, and she delighted in all the sensations such a practice brought with her eyes closed. She drew forward and backward at a repeatedly slow but curious pace, making an explicit study of the stimulation such moves ignited in her, and how Severus reacted to them with each attempt.

"Uhhh!" he grunted as Hermione rotated her lower half, latching his hands onto her hips for purchase; she eased back onto his cock till she could slide no further. "Hermione..."

"Yes?" she breathed, eyes still closed, a half smile adorning her lips.

"Ugh... I... Fuck! Please..."

"Would you like me to fuck you, Severus?" There was no forethought to the dirty words that spilled from her mouth; Hermione simply rolled with it, too enticed to give much thought to what she was saying.

"Fuck, yes!" Severus snapped, inhaling an acute breath at the sublime view he had of Hermione's plump derriere and firm lower back.

"Shall I make you come?" she spurred and rotated her hips again in the way she knew would drive Severus mad.

"Uhhh, yes!" he hissed; his fingers coiled and tightened around her grinding hips.

Hermione dipped her lower body over and over, as she had explored for the past few minutes, and, soon enough, Severus's head was smacking roughly against the headboard, approving her course of action. His eyelids fluttered shut, every neck vein taut and exposed, as his near painful erection took over all sense and reason, seeking only relief; relief Hermione alone could bring.

Using Severus's thighs as anchors to keep herself upright, Hermione drove and rode the wizard with reckless abandonment, frizzed curls swishing forward and back as she struggled to reach the finish line, Severus enjoying every moment of her adventurous domination.

"Uhhh...! Oh, fuck yes!" Severus swore under his breath and grit his teeth. "Feels - so - bloody - good!"

Hermione was springing and thrashing and out of control at this point, helpless to acquiescing her wet appetite, and Severus was faring no better. He, too, was too lost in getting off to hold out another wretched minute.

Luckily, Hermione, having begun to cry out into the darkness moments ago, arrived at her second peak at the same time as Severus. Issuing a loud utterance of his name, Severus was triggered and poured himself into her, climaxing with furious fervour. Their conjoined orgasms rippled through their bodies like a pounding wave headed for shore.

"Oh...gods..." Hermione rasped before her upper strength gave out; she collapsed onto Severus's thighs, gasping for air.

Severus loosely held onto Hermione's hips a while, continuing to ride that blissful wave until it dissipated, leaving his and Hermione's forms limp and humming from their release. Neither moved until their pounding hearts slowed to an even, manageable beat. Hermione was the first to uproot herself. Severus's thumbs had unconsciously started tracing a slight curve in her back, prompting her to open her eyes and shiver.

With an ache-filled sigh, Hermione rose onto her hands and knees and shuffled around to face her lover. Strands of windswept curls darted across her rose-tinted cheeks and Severus couldn't help but smirk, whilst Hermione admired the healthier glow lighting up his hollowed face thanks to their shag fest.

Slowly, Hermione leaned in to press a dainty kiss to Severus's lips, but his hand looped around her neck to deepen the exchange. Their snogging continued for some time and, somehow, Hermione's limbs wound up successfully ensnared around Severus's, along with the wrinkled bed sheets, their legs roped together and their arms wrapped around each other in a secure embrace that would have taken mighty magic to tear apart.

As Severus's gentle, overworked fingers caressed one of Hermione's arms, the contented witch broke the stillness that had settled between them since their shagging concluded. "I've missed this..."

"I, too," Severus murmured sluggishly in reply, nearly asleep.

"I... That is, I hope...when this is all over..."

Severus stirred and brought his index finger to Hermione's lips, quieting the quiver growing in her voice, but not her unspoken worries. He waited till her gaze met his before speaking.

"Let's focus on getting through today, shall we?" Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Severus was quicker. "We have each other. Here. Right now. That has to be enough."

"But..."

"It has to be enough," he repeated without angst or urgency, only acceptance.

Slowly, Severus removed his hold on Hermione's puffy lips. She swallowed deeply before chancing to speak again, not trusting her voice to sound strong and resilient. Alas, it was faint but still heartfelt.

"You're right," she atoned ever so softly; she scrambled to seize one of Severus's hands and planted a fervent kiss on the inside of his palm. When her eyes bore into his once more, they were watery, even fearful. "It's enough."

A/N #2: Gotta grab those 'take the edge off' moments where you can...

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