I would like to thank all my readers and reviewers for staying with me till the end. I hope that you have enjoyed reading this story at least as much as I enjoyed writing it. And I truly hope that all my reviewers (past, present, and future) know just how much their reviews mean to me - A LOT; you have all been amazing and I really, really appreciate your effort. :)
Everything To Lose
Epilogue
She placed the mug of cocoa on the table in front of him, then proceeded to make tea for herself, shivering slightly from a coldness that had nothing do with the biting wind outside. She knew that she would not get rid of it completely, but hot tea, cosy room, and good company was the best cure she had found so far. It was nice and warm in the kitchen at the Burrow, which had become their unofficial meeting spot now that the war was over and Grimmauld Place seemed to be holding too many bad memories, and the current company couldn't have been much better either.
"What plans do you have for today, Lilya?" Neville asked, taking a sip of his drink and sending her an attentive glance.
"Wizengamot again," she replied, and the frosty feeling intensified.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, feeling rather horrified and angry at himself for having forgotten it. She had told him this only a few days ago, and Ron had mentioned something just this morning, but somehow he had still managed to be an inconsiderate bastard.
"I'm so sorry, Lilya," he apologized to her. "I don't know what I was thinking, I should have remembered this. I am a bad friend."
"It's okay, Neville. Don't torture yourself," she said with a small smile. Even if his forgetfulness had hurt her, the genuine remorse and sympathy reflecting from his eyes and face would have told her louder and clearer than any words that he truly cared for her. But she didn't need to be reassured because she knew all about his demons and the rough time he was going through.
"I can come with you," he offered, still feeling bad about it.
"No, you don't have to. It's not the final thing anyway. They are just making some sort of a summary of all the evidence and testimonies, and see if there's anything else they need to know before the big decision."
"I'm sure they'll let him go," he tried to assure her. "Harry testified for him, and his word weighs quite a lot these days. And he did save your life. The Wizengamot can't convict him after that."
"Get real, Neville! Marcus is my brother and I love him a lot and I hope with all my heart that the verdict will be in his favour, but even I can't deny that he was a Death Eater. True, he did give himself up and has shown a decent amount of penitence for his sins, but they can't let him go just because his sister happens to know the great Harry Potter. That's not fair."
"Still, I hope they will go easy on him," he stated softly, ignoring her rant, aware of how hard all this had been on her. "Are you sure you don't want me to accompany you?"
"Ron is coming with me," she replied, smiling again. He nodded with understanding and acceptance, again wondering when these two would get officially together. He had enough reasons to believe that what Ron and Lilya had was more than friendship. The signs were all there: the recent conversation between her and Molly Weasley that had somehow gone from cooking to children, also including the part of Ron really needing a good woman to take care of him; the way they were both breathing heavily and blushing furiously when Ron had finally opened his door to their knocking; the fact that not only was this one of the main subject of gossip amongst everybody else, but there were also several bets involved. And even though he had five Galleons on Lilya being the first to admit their relationship, all he really wanted was her to be happy.
"And you? Doing something special tonight?" Lilya questioned in turn.
"Just the usual," he said. "Go home, tend to my plants, read some good book, visit Milla..."
He saw the look in her eyes, the concerned but exasperated look, and gazed back defiantly, aware of what was to come next.
"Neville," she began carefully. "It's been six months. I don't think it's good for you to go to her grave every day. She wouldn't want that. She would want you to move on, to let go of her, to live and be happy."
"I promised to bring her yellow tulips every day, and I intend to keep my promise," he stated stubbornly. They had had this conversation before, more often than he cared, and he knew that she wouldn't leave it at this. But he also knew that he would stand by his words, and his promise, whatever arguments she might come up with to change his mind and make him see just how unhealthy his present behaviour was.
Just as he had expected, she started to say something more, but at that moment the door burst open, and three more people entered the kitchen, laughing and clinging to each other for support.
They looked just like back in school – the inseparable friends, the golden trio – Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Except that they didn't. The differences, although quite ignorable at first glance, were all there. For one, they all looked much older and wiser than they should have been at their age. Harry and Ron both emitted an aura of deep subconscious dreariness, some shadow lurking in the depths of their eyes and slipping over their faces even when they were happy and laughing; something that spoke of the loss of friends and family, the horrors of war, the guilt for not doing more, and the knowledge that some mistakes could not be corrected. They lived with the burden of the past, the burden of the people they had killed and those they hadn't been able to save, and in the darkest hours the distinction between them disappeared.
Hermione was the only one who looked as if the war had left no mark on her, and ironically, also the only one who had been marked by something visible to all. The deep gash on her cheek had left a scar, just like she had feared, but instead of hiding it with glamour spells or at least being miserable for it marring her face like this, she wore it like a badge of honour, like an Order of Merlin, First Class. And she never got that dark look when they discussed the war and all its terrors.
And Neville hated her for that. He hated her for being so calm and collected about dozens of people losing their lives, he hated her for seemingly not taking any responsibility, and he hated her for accepting his hatred for her, for not trying to change his mind, for giving him time and space. For not begging him to forgive her. For not even asking for this. Not that he would have forgiven her this easily, but her never even asking made things worse.
Averting his eyes from her, he noticed that the golden trio had not been out on their own, but with two additions - Ginny and Draco, who stood a little way off and conversed in low voices. But this meant, Neville realized, that their whole gang was together again. And then he realized that it wasn't - its most important (for him, at least) member was missing.
"Hey!" Harry suddenly exclaimed, making him startle. "We are all here! This demands a toast!"
The kitchen at the Burrow had always hosted many people, and it felt like only a second before the glasses were placed on the table, the bottle of Firewhiskey had appeared from seemingly nowhere, and Harry was ready to pour a fair share for everyone who wanted it.
"Not for me, please," Lilya politely refused. "I must stay sober for the court."
"Oh, that's right," Harry remembered. "Ron told me about it. Good luck with that."
"Thanks," she said, sipping her tea and feeling much warmer.
"I guess it's a no-no for me, as well," Ron stated nonchalantly, sending Lilya a quick glance which would probably fall prey to gossip after their departure.
"Neville?"
"I'm in," he said, busy with glaring at the table.
In another moment five glasses were filled with amber liquid and handed out; Ron had taken tea for himself after a swift peek into Lilya's cup.
"So, the toast," Harry announced but said no more. He had wanted to drink for them being all together, but 'For us!' felt a bit too selfish, now that he thought about it.
"For friends and friendship!" Ginny cried, raising her glass.
"And for love, as well," she added with a cheeky grin.
"For loyalty," said Harry.
"For future," said Draco.
"For luck," said Ron, toasting with his tea.
"For family," said Lilya.
"For Milla," muttered Neville.
"For freedom," said Hermione and proceeded to drain all her drink in one gulp.
For a while they all sat in silence, sipping their Firewhiskey and tea, and thinking their own thoughts. Lilya stood up from the table first, and as soon as everyone had wished her good luck, she left the building with Ron by her side. Harry and Ginny were next to go, excusing themselves with having to get ready for the Six Months Remembrance Dinner at Hogwarts - a small event for the Professors, where Harry happened to be invited, as well.
"They want him to teach DADA," Ginny had explained.
"Is it really six months?" Neville had then remarked in the a dull voice, thinking about the six bouquets of beautiful yellow tulips that were ready and waiting in his house.
He left soon afterwards, with a poisonous look at Hermione.
---
Draco watched her get up and pour herself another glass of Firewhiskey, yet instead of returning to the table, she leaned her back against the wall and gave him a look - gave him THAT look. He could see that she did it on purpose, wanting him to ask her about it, and he decided to humour her.
"What do you know that I don't?"
"Many things," she said, smirking.
"Name one of them," he smiled, finding her teasing adorable. Despite Neville's observations, she wasn't living without the burden of her past, but of course, it wasn't Neville who had to witness her tossing and turning in the bed at night, waking up covered in cold sweat. And the worst part was that she didn't like to share those dreams with him, sometimes she didn't even let him hold and comfort her, but left the bed and stood hours in front of the window, gazing out into the darkness. And there was nothing he could do to help her because trying to do something had so far only managed to drive her out of the room, to some other window.
She tilted her head, as if wondering whether she should tell him or not, then announced,
"I got Snow Tear."
"What?"
"I said I got Snow Tear."
"I heard you," he spoke patiently. "What is Snow Tear?"
"What do you think it is?"
She was just teasing, but he still considered this.
"A jewel?" he ventured. "Sounds like one."
"I suppose you can call it a jewel," she admitted. "But it would be much more exact to call it a building. Castle, even."
"Snow Tear," he repeated, and the realization hit him before she gave another clue.
"In far north," she said.
"Murmansk?" he rasped, hoping against all hope that she would answer in negative. She didn't.
"Near it, yes."
"I didn't know it had a name," he remarked, not sure what he should think of it.
"I told you there are many things you don't know."
"Yes, I seem quite ignorant, don't I?" he agreed. "I don't know what it was called, I don't know what you mean by saying that you got it, and I don't know why you have brought this up now that I am finally starting to forget about it."
He was angry, and he thought he had every reason to be. It was hard enough seeing it trouble her almost every night, or at least he figured her nightmares had something to do with it as she refused to share them. But even during days, when she seemed happy and he could be happy with her, she sometimes just had to mention some little thing concerning Zabini or her life with him, and she did it casually, like it had been just some normal past relationship that didn't make her cry out in her sleep. Every time he thought they had managed to move on, to leave this in the past, she said something that proved him wrong. Just like she was doing now.
For a moment she looked as if she was going to yell at him, but then collected herself and gave him nothing but a cold look. He wished she had screamed, and not shut him out once again. She was still pretending, that was the harsh truth. She was pretending to be all right, to be back to her former self in the company of her friends. At least she didn't do it when they were alone, but even then she kept her feelings to herself, she didn't share them with him, she didn't let him help her.
"I didn't know the Order put it on sale," he remarked coolly, trying to look as indifferent as she was, but probably failing miserably.
"It didn't," she replied. "It was the Ministry who tried to put it on sale. And I did not buy it. Quite surprisingly, I don't own a secret vault in the depths of Gringotts filled with heaps of gold."
"Then how did you get it?" he asked, getting a bit curious despite himself.
"I inherited it," she said, and downed the rest of her drink.
"You inherited it?" he repeated in astonishment. "But how..."
"Yes," Hermione nodded, noticing the look of shock in his eyes. "Blaise left it to me in his will. And that's why the Ministry couldn't sell it as a confiscated Death Eater property, it didn't belong to a Death Eater any longer."
"Zabini left it to you? I can't believe it. Why would he..."
"Ah," she smirked. "Mystery, isn't it?"
"You know why he did it," he said. It was not a question.
"He left a note," she confessed. "So that you would never forget the time we spent together."
Draco's expression darkened, but this time his anger was not directed at her. That bastard! He still wouldn't let her go free. Even after his death he continued to harass her, tried to bind her to him.
"Sell it."
"I can't," she pressed through her teeth.
"What do you mean you can't? Sell it, or give it away, or just get rid of it!"
"I can't!" she yelled, grabbed her empty glass and threw it at the opposite wall.
"I can't," she went on in furious whisper. "I can't sell it, or give it away, or get rid of it. I can't do any of these things. Do you know why? Don't worry, I tell you why. Because the contract will not allow me to! Because the stupid magical contract will not allow me to sell it, or give it away, or get rid of it in any other way. The only thing it does allow me to do is bequeath it to someone, and that seems really great only for this little detail that I have to be dead for it. Which I very well might soon be if he doesn't leave me alone. It's more than enough that he haunts my dreams, but if he starts directing my whole life..."
He watched in horror as she clutched her head with her arms, seeking protection from her invisible torturer.
"Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Make him leave me alone," she sobbed, collapsing down onto the floor.
---
She didn't remember the last time she had cried this much, and it felt great. She was back in their apartment, in their bedroom, in his arms. She was home. And even though she had been there for six months already, it still felt as if she had just arrived from some long, long trip.
He stroked her hair, kissed her forehead, and murmured words of comfort into her ear, and she cried some more. It still felt great.
After a while she fell silent, having run out of tears, but he continued to hold her, not saying a word, probably thinking that she had fallen asleep. She hadn't. It just felt too great, all of it - his warmth, his heartbeat, his breathing, his smell. She didn't move in fear of ruining the moment, but then suddenly realized that she wouldn't. That he would still hold her, and comfort her, and love her. That she didn't need to pretend anything with him.
"Draco?"
"Hmm? You're awake, love?"
"I was never asleep."
There was a pause before he voiced the question.
"Are you all right, love?"
"I am now," she replied.
"Now," he repeated, sounding as if he was crying, too. "But what about tomorrow? And tonight?"
"I don't know. But I think... I think..."
"You think what, love?" his voice was nothing but tenderness.
"I want to go there, Draco," she said, glancing at his face to see his reaction. She had half-expected him to ask what she was talking about, but he didn't. She had thought he would get angry, but he didn't. He just looked back into her eyes and sighed.
"Are you sure it's a good idea?"
"No."
"But you still want to go there?"
"Yes."
"You think it will help you move on?"
"I don't know. I hope."
He sighed again.
"Very well, love. When do we leave?"
"We?"
"We, Hermione, you and me. If you think for one moment that I'll let you go there alone, then..."
She silenced him with a kiss.
"Thank you," she spoke when they finally broke apart.
"I love you," he stated simply and drew her back for another kiss.
I think I love you, too, she thought, but instead of telling him, she proceeded to show him.
The End
Note: Well, now the story is really over. I suppose the epilogue might have not been what you expected, and it wasn't all happy-happy-happy either, but hopefully you liked it anyway. Now, there are a few more things about this story that I'd like to share with you, but you don't have to read them if you don't want to. :)
Some facts about the story
Idea: It came to me from some fanfic I read, where Hermione (I think) got herself in a deadly situation and then faced her future killer with defiant pride and announced that she had nothing to lose. And that got me thinking that there's almost always something to lose and sometimes you have too much to lose and then you simply can't afford to die. At first this was going to be a long and sad and very angsty one-shot about breaking Hermione's spirit, demolishing that indifferent resigned attitude to her impending death through lots of emotional terror, but as you can see, I changed my mind.
Deaths: I don't think I ever intended to kill either Hermione or Draco. I can't remember my very first ideas about the ending, but while I did want her to save him life somehow, I didn't want her to die. At one point I was going to kill Neville and let Milla live, at another time I decided to kill them both. I also toyed with the idea of letting Marcus die for Lilya. Moody was destined to die from the beginning. In chapter 19 Kingsley and Hestia go on a mission and never return - originally it was Kingsley and Tonks.
Lilya Doonlen: I didn't plan to write an original character. But my beta said that there had to be someone for Ron. And then she said that she likes Ron. And me, the sneaky thing I am, put those two sentences together and brought in Lilya, a character who has represented my beta in several silly (non-fanfic) stories we have written together.
Sequel: Yes, I might write one. Yes, I even have an idea. No, I'm not going to write it in the near future. No, you can't change my mind about it. Yes, I might be wrong. :P
Hmm, I think this is all that I wanted to say. If you have any more questions, please feel free to ask them. :)
THANK YOU ALL AGAIN FOR YOUR SUPPORT. :) TILL WE MEET AGAIN!
