A/N: Provided the rest of this story comes together in the manner that I intend, there will likely be one more chapter and then an Epilogue. Hard to believe the end is finally near!

For anyone interested, I recently posted an SSHG one-shot, A Sad, Sad Sap, if you'd like more SSHG to tie you over until the next update. I may also have a couple other pieces being posted in the interim, but we'll see...

Lastly, many thanks to those of you who've stuck with me over the long, near two year haul(!) that I've been writing and sharing this story, especially you dear reviewers! I LOVE hearing from you guys, so please don't stop, even if the story's winding down!

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 29: The Aftermath


Hermione bent down and smothered Severus's lips with, perhaps, the most intense kiss they had ever shared. Thrusting herself over top of him, with her fingers mindlessly digging at his coat, Hermione only sought deep fulfilment, willing it to last for as long as humanly possible. She wanted to hold onto him forever, for dear life; she needed to or else he might succumb to his injuries, leaving her as all of those she loved and lost before him had done.

No! No! No! her conscience wrestled and worried, the agonising images of the fallen weighing heavily on her mind as her hands strove for purchase around his back. The mere idea of Severus ending up amongst the casualties was too onerous on her heart and, with little effort, Hermione's weeping escalated.

To make matters worse, seconds after being overrun by Hermione's lips, Severus was sharply pulling back from her to gasp for air. His struggle to catch his breath became more and more apparent by the moment as his wheezing worsened and intensified.

"Severus!"

Hermione warped into panic mode. The sudden whiff of blood stung her nostrils. A reminder of the godawful sounds of Severus's skin splitting minutes before struck her like lightening, prompting Hermione to chance a peek down at his exposed chest. Immediately, she was overwrought by the Severus's front drenched in his own blood. A profound, deeply etched X-marking thrashed across his chest looked beyond any stinging or burning hex she had ever encountered before.

Shaken by the severity of the man's injuries, which were undoubtedly traumatic and life threatening, Hermione stiffened, gripped by fear; but then her adrenaline kicked into high gear and she was quickly scrambling for her wand on the floor, screaming at the top of her lungs for help.

Without much thought or consideration, for timing was of the essence, Hermione began soaking up whatever blood she could. Her wand hand was unsteady as she executed the spell but she was too preoccupied to be aware of her flimsy fingers, too absorbed in saving Severus's life.

"Hang on, Severus!" her voice rattled, widened, brown eyes darting feverishly between the wizard's grey face and his blood-soaked chest. "Hang on!"

"Her...mione," he choked out in an attempt to rasp her name. One of her arms coiled tighter around him.

"Do - Don't you dare die on me!" she spat, unable to bar her fears or the tears that seeped down her cheeks, one after the next. "Not now!"

She hollered again and again for help over her shoulder, but her vocal cords were going hoarse and her surroundings were becoming a blur—a whirlwind of too much strife and turmoil for her agitated, overworked brain to handle. Thankfully, within moments, help arrived in the form of a soft, putter-pattering Luna Lovegood as well as two male companions whom Hermione recognised as a part of their original group from upstairs. None of them said a word but threw themselves down beside Hermione, who was now cradling a laboriously breathing Severus in her arms, and silently took over healing duties without so much as asking permission to inspect his injuries.

Hermione was too shaken to be of much use—or even coherent enough to speak the spells without visibly trembling—and, thus, she allowed the three to do whatever was necessary and without much issue. Placing Severus's life in their capable hands wasn't so trying a task, for Hermione understood how beneficial Luna had been not too long ago in saving her own hide, so Hermione quietly pushed herself out of the way so that Severus could be properly attended to. She sunk onto her knees, unaware of how badly her body quivered from head to toe, and waited out the next crucial moments with baited breath.

For as excruciating as it felt to Hermione, what transpired and felt like hours was mere minutes, and, slowly but surely, Severus started coming round, responding to Luna's potion remedies that had been stuffed into a bag and slung over one of her shoulders, as well as the two fighters' persistent, steady wand spells. Hermione recognised the incantations the two kept re-uttering with hushed, heavy concentration and, though she suspected that they were too basic for Severus's wounds, there was the potential that they might hold him over until he could be more thoroughly inspected back at the manor; or so Hermione hoped.

Eventually, Severus ceased bleeding and his breathing evened out, though not until after Luna was through administering Dittany to the slash markings that had practically ripped his chest open. Every muscle went taut at that healing practice, including Severus's tightly clenched mouth, as Luna hummed under her breath whilst applying the flesh-restorative liquid. Hermione instinctively inched closer and touched his leg, silently communicating that she was with him.

Once Severus was breathing normally and in nominally less pain, the two young male wizards hoisted him into a sitting position. Hermione didn't miss the acute flinch that crossed Severus's face before he managed to school his expression into one of composure again. She made a mental note to inform whichever competent person who checked on the spy back at the manor to not to be fooled by Severus's feigned mask of poise. He was most definitely still experiencing a great deal of pain.

It was then that the general buzz and excited chatter throughout the crowded room began filtering back into Hermione's consciousness. A peculiar mix of cries and cheers reverberated around them, and Hermione scooted closer to hug Severus around the neck.

Suddenly, someone else bombarded their space, practically knocking Luna sideways as he made to scramble to her side. He grasped her by the shoulder and hauled the blonde witch to her feet.

"Luna," Hermione vaguely heard the young man whisper close to her ear, "you - you gotta come see this!"

By the time Hermione had turned her head to see what was happening, Luna was nowhere to be found, having rushed into the crowd to pursue something—or someone—else. The two fighters who had been aiding Severus and were now helping him onto his feet found themselves, too, being yanked away to help other victims, though the one hurriedly instructed Hermione to get Severus back to Malfoy Manor "as quickly as possible!" before handing him off to her.

Hermione's eyes froze as they met Severus's, who was nursing his left side rather delicately with one arm; his other arm wound up roped around Hermione's shoulders. She instinctively wove one of her own around his waist to keep him steady, but her eyes couldn't break from his.

The dam of emotions flooding Hermione's senses nearly crumbled in that moment as she and Severus finally faced each other. With the dust from battle now settling, the bodies of the dead lay everywhere at their feet. People were battered and beaten, and many on the side of the Light were facing harrowing injuries that required the proper aid of Healers' magic.

The upsetting reality that, after everything she and Severus had been through these past many labour-intensive months, he might have died was all too tangible to bear. In Severus's eyes, Hermione could sense his mind reaching the same petrifying notion about her. The helpless cries that echoed from those around them, too, seemed to add fuel to the scorching fire that was life and loss.

Hermione leaned into Severus, resting her head near his somewhat improved injuries. The smell of dried blood and rotted flesh assaulted her nose, but she fought against the wont to break down. Long, nimble fingers twisted through her frizzed curls to caress her scalp and she shuddered, releasing a breath she wasn't aware of having held through these past several bone-chilling hours of war.

"Come," Severus whispered in her ear, that rich voice sieving through the terror and despair that wrenched at Hermione's emotions.

Hermione reared back to get a better look at their surroundings. Some of the injured were already in the midst of being transported back to their headquarters at Malfoy Manor. Death Eaters, both alive and dead, were being spat at and taunted by those who were unharmed and still itching for a fight. Their pent up anger and thirst for revenge ran high, but a couple group leaders were, at least, attempting to put a stop to what was heightening into another battle, regaining order and designating tasks to those who weren't in too much physical pain to be of use.

An unexpected, distraught call from feet away shook Hermione and Severus back into action. Although Severus was unable to walk without her assistance, he stumbled forward, tugging Hermione along with him. Together, they trailed after the alarming cries, which were escalating rather than dying down.

"Severus," Hermione tried to reason as they staggered closer to whoever was howling, "your wounds will surely get infected if we don't go back now—"

"I'll go along as soon as I'm able," Severus shot her suggestion down, though not abrasively. "There's too much...to be done right now."

Hermione was reluctantly forced to agree. As much as she desired that Severus return to the manor at once, the aftermath from battle was too chaotic. Their cause needed every able-body person to assist with at least a dozen tasks Hermione could think of off the top of her head, and, though Severus wasn't in top form, his expertise, like hers, would be essential at this time.

The weight of one of Severus's sturdy arms lacing around her was comforting, but it wasn't enough to stop the sickening dread that was mounting in the pit of Hermione's stomach. The amplifying, distressed cries seemed to be coming feet from where Lord Voldemort's lifeless stiff was sprawled.

All of a sudden, Hermione spotted the shaggy platinum head that belonged to Draco Malfoy, the shocking source of the loudest cries of all. He was crouched over a perished body that was almost entirely covered by black drapery. As Severus and Hermione shakily drew closer, they realised it wasn't a sheet at all but, rather, a body bag. Dean Thomas stood over his one-time Hogwarts peer, stone-faced but grieving, nonetheless, as Draco bawled openly, his gut-wrenching howls enough to bring Hermione to her knees. The grave crowd around them was increasing in size, too, though seemingly in slow motion.

From where she found herself barely able to stand, Hermione identified familiar ginger locks peaking from underneath the stark fabric that covered her face. A clawing at the back of her throat began, and Hermione crippled under the gravity of what—who—she was looking at.

"Oh, please, God! NO!" she blurted out.

With that, Hermione collapsed. Severus was there to catch her fall, grimacing unbeknownst to the affected witch at the lack of strength he possessed; but Hermione couldn't see anything anymore besides what was staring her straight in the face: Death. All she could gaze upon were the few bits of unmistakable red hair she knew to belong to her good friend, and the last of a Wizarding family she had prided on as being nearest and dearest to her as her own kin.

Ginny... Oh, God, Ginny...

Hermione choked back a sob and flung herself into Severus's arms. The whimpers that came forth from her small frame turned to strained, powerful cries and then full-blown wails as she unloaded her grief into his chest. Severus embraced Hermione tightly, staring on at the gloomy, darkened scene before their eyes as she, in turn, burrowed her face from the world.

The fallen witch's Potter disguise had evidently disintegrated when she perished, but, even in death, her identity was being kept hidden from the public. As those around them proceeded to mourn the death of their beloved saviour, the Boy Who Lived, Hermione and only a selection of others, including the woman's weeping lover who had draped himself over her lifeless body, grieved the loss of her true identity: Ginevra Weasley.


Hermione scrubbed her weary, bloodshot eyes, dragging her feet through the massive fireplace that lead to the Malfoy Manor's rowdy sitting area. The noise level would have been irksome were it not for how drained Hermione was; she was simply too knackered to be annoyed.

The place was flooded with people, with every piece of furniture—as well as most of the floor—presently occupied. Although it was far from the only hot spot in the estate that, to Hermione, was too cramped for comfort, she wilfully ignored her anxieties when it came to being enclosed in such a tight space.

Tired. Hungry. So much to do.

Hermione let forth a weary sigh as she looked about, eyes half open. The atmosphere was charged with activity, with energetic discussions from the hopeful prospects that awaited their newly reforming government that, at present, Hermione, herself, was overseeing (and was only hours old) to recounting the Dark Lord's wicked downfall to a couple glum mentions of how best to honour the late Harry Potter and their fallen dead.

Not wishing to overhear much more on the latter, for the lump forming in Hermione's throat was near all-consuming, she quickly noted a queue across the hall and bolted in that direction, hoping other conversations might drown out the most depressing she had overheard so far.

The mouth-watering aroma of food soon inundated her senses, her rumbling stomach reminding the absentminded witch that she hadn't eaten a scrap of food since yesterday afternoon. To her credence, Hermione had hardly been able to gulp down a cup of tea at the time, let alone much else the Malfoys' few house-elves had cooked up. With the onslaught of battle looming heavily over everyone's minds, it was an understandable slip.

Now, people were scarfing down fry-ups at rapid consumption, conversing eagerly in compact, huddled groups as they chewed and appreciated delectable meals they most likely—at least, the Muggle-borns—hadn't tasted in ages. Virtually no one paid Hermione's presence any mind as she slipped into the back of the breakfast queue, and she was grateful to not have unwanted attention thrust upon her. She was mentally and physically exhausted, her mind and body running on overdrive, and there was too much to digest from the past several hours.

Unsurprisingly, Hermione's time at the Ministry turned into an all-night affair, with still far too many itinerary items on her plate to accomplish before she could consider laying her head on a pillow and catching a few hours of rest. That was all she desired at the moment, along with a hearty meal to fill the emptiness in her stomach (not to mention numb the pain in her heart), but her overly active brain fought her body's want for rest—at least, for now.

So much to do.

Working alongside Dean Thomas and a handful of Muggle-born recruits Hermione had handpicked to assist her, she and her team worked around the clock over the next many crucial hours to get the Ministry back into some semblance of working order. Following certain checks and balances by other designated parties within the group, whose job it was to double-check the trustworthiness of Ministry employees who hadn't taken part in the battle, Hermione, her crew, and 'approved' government officials put their heads together and went straight to work. Getting the Ministry up and running again was of the utmost importance, and Hermione found herself unwittingly leading that burdensome task, though she was hardly aware of being put in charge, so to speak.

Their whole team had worked through the night and into the wee hours of the morning, but such gruelling, long hours weren't anything the rest of those in their organisation weren't experiencing as well. As Hermione piled food onto her platter, others were returning to the Ministry to help with the rebuilding and reorganisation process, the injured were being attended to, funerals were being arranged, wrongdoers were being transported to Azkaban, and too many of the Dark—and the Light—remained unaccounted for, with teams taking shifts in hunting down their whereabouts.

And nothing is close to being resolved, Hermione fleetingly reflected, letting out a groan of fatigue she could no longer withhold. Still, we've made progress... Ginny, Harry, Ron... They'd be so proud of all we've accomplished in a matter of hours...

Hermione swallowed hard as she stepped out of the queue in search of somewhere to sit and eat. There would be time to mourn the dead, but, for now, she needed to focus all her efforts on the assignments appointed to her. She hadn't realised hours ago how desperately she needed such distractions until just this moment, when she found herself with unwanted time on her hands to reflect and grieve, should she choose.

No, Hermione. Eat. Quickly. Then return to the Ministry, she instructed herself, shuffling around people in search of a quiet spot where she might be alone.

In truth, Hermione had never felt more like her old self then she had over the past couple hours when she had been rushing about the Ministry, making influential decisions that would impact so many like herself, who had been so brutally suppressed under the Dark Lord's regime. Brainstorming ideas and coming up with a handful of quick-activating solutions to make the necessary transitions within their government run smoothly had sparked a flare inside her that she had nearly forgotten was there, sleeping, waiting. Hermione had felt charged, high, and exhilarated at the time, but, now, the bleak realisation of all they had lost—in addition to what they had gained—was just as hard-hitting.

Don't think. Just eat.

As Hermione fished for an isolated spot to herself, she kept hoping to glimpse a certain familiar, inky-haired wizard somewhere in the mix. Alas, he was nowhere to be found. It wasn't surprising that Severus was missing in action, but his absence was acutely felt by one woman in particular, festering a hole wider in the centre of Hermione's chest. She felt deflated, not to mention a tad worried for him.

His injuries... He promised to come back and have those checked out.

Hermione frowned and turned a corner, ready to scrounge a series of doors to her left and right in her hunt for some solitude, when she collided with someone she hadn't expected. Those steely blue eyes and wavy, blond tresses flooded her sight, but the splotches of blood that ran the length of the front of the man's expensive robes were a stunning visual, not to mention uncharacteristic.

"Mr Malfoy!" Hermione exclaimed, grateful for the wizard's quick reflexes; he reached out to catch her from tripping right into the wall.

"Steady on there, Miss Granger," he answered, with a twinge of mirth to his tone of voice. "Where are you off to?"

"Erm, I was just looking for somewhere I might..."

"Ahhh," said Lucius at Hermione's uncompleted thought, understanding her wish to be alone; he nodded towards the farthest door on the right. "I believe you'll find my study comfortable and entirely deserted at this time."

"Thank you, sir."

Hermione gave the Malfoy patriarch a look of soft appreciation, but her eyes were unable to keep from making a closer study of the red stains on his front. Lucius followed her concerned gaze and smiled, though the result was slim, overtaxed.

"None of it is Severus's, if that comforts you." Hermione blinked, eyes lighting up with relief. "My wife and I are doing all we can, but, I'm afraid, not everyone whose fallen under our care has been...fortunate..."

At this guilt-ridden confession, Hermione didn't hesitate to reach out and grasp Lucius's arm, something she wouldn't have dared to consider attempting only months ago. That was, until she met him; until she witnessed Lucius's relentless pursuit in saving Severus's life. He may have been little more than a pathetic drunkard to most, but, to Hermione, Lucius Malfoy was far more of a hero than most would ever know; or than the man himself would ever admit.

The blood splattered across his robes was further indication of the strides the once pretentious Malfoy was making to atone for past sins. For Hermione, it was both remarkable, and yet, not shocking to see Lucius Malfoy playing the role of Mediwizard in his own home, especially given her recollection of how Lucius had worked over Severus's bedside without break, refusing to leave his dear friend's side until he had done all he possibly could.

"Have you seen Severus?" Hermione inquired, finding her nerves for the man had swiftly returned.

Lucius shook his head. "I haven't seen him since leaving Azkaban at... What time is it now?" Lucius eyed an enormous, elaborate Wizarding clock hanging at the far end of the hall. "Ahhh, has it been four hours already? My, my..."

Hermione jolted. "Azkaban?" Her heart began thumping furiously. "Severus was there?"

"Yes," Lucius replied matter-of-factly; he paused to roll back his sleeves to hide a couple of the heavier blood stains. "He sent me an urgent Patronus requesting my assistance, so Cissy was left in charge of the injured whilst I was away. It was a good thing, too, that Severus sent for me."

Hermione's body went rigid. "Wh - Why's that?"

"The Dementors wouldn't leave the premises willingly; not surprising, given how long they've been left in charge of that godforsaken place. We had more than a couple dozen Death Eaters to lock up and, naturally, many were gnawing at the bit by the time we arrived at Azkaban. Several tried to overrun us. Imbeciles. We ended up needing all the capable fighters we had to send the Dementors away and to ensure that the Death Eaters we had in our custody got locked up good and proper."

Hermione felt her blood running cold at the relation of this news. Severus hadn't told her he would be escorting the Death Eaters to prison, only interrogating them before they were sent away.

"Wh - Why wasn't I summoned?"

Lucius eyebrows came together, unsure. "You've been helping out at the Ministry, haven't you?"

"Yes, but...!"

A slow, knowing smile crept across Lucius's mouth. "None to worry, Miss Granger. Severus is perfectly fine. Well, overworked and knackered like the rest of us, and I told him to have those injuries looked over once he gets back, but it's nothing a little sleep and some pain potions won't set to right."

Embarrassed by her outburst, Hermione tried to keep her face from flushing too brightly. "So...everything was sorted?"

"As 'sorted' as putting the corrupt behind bars whilst the innocent are left locked away can be. We have officials working on their releases, but it's going to take a lot of unnecessary paperwork to ensure their freedom. Their screams were...intolerable." Lucius's eyes shifted, haunted by the reminder of where he had been hours ago.

"I'll make it my top priority when I return to the Ministry," Hermione assured him, trying not to groan once more at the prospect of yet another task being added to her already exceptionally long list.

Lucius nodded, appreciative to hear that, and measured Hermione with a long stare. "I believe Severus was cross-examining a couple of the guards when I left. I'm sure he'll be along shortly. Even us mere mortals need a moment or two to recharge.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Lucius switched topics, sweeping pieces of straight hair off his shoulders, "I should grab Cissy something to eat before our food's completely ransacked."

Hermione smiled, quietly stepped aside, and watched Lucius Malfoy stroll past her and disappear around a corner. She leaned into the wall once she was alone, her mind racing over recent events she hadn't been made privy to until just now; but she was relieved that matters seemed be in good hands, most of all Severus's. She ached for his presence, though, particularly right now. Despite having craved privacy, Hermione needed the man's wiry arms around her, heartening her in their own silent, secure way that all would be well. She wanted to burrow her face in his pale chest and feel the consoling beating of his heart against her ear. They had almost lost their lives last night, and the weight of that truth was beginning to take its toll.

Wiping at the tears that threatened to fall, Hermione darted into Lucius Malfoy's study at the end of the extended corridor, slipping from view as noiselessly as possible. Closing the door behind her, she collapsed against its wooden frame and inhaled several deep breaths, wishing to get her fickle emotions in check.

Not now. Not now.

Watery, soft brown eyes tried to admire the cosy, darkened space in which she found herself. A few fine furnishings adorned the room, including shelves upon shelves of thick-looking tomes placed behind glass, most likely to prevent unfamiliar hands from snatching them up to peruse. Hermione suspected their contents were probably Dark Arts material. A half-empty bar against the adjoining wall, along with a huge, intimidating portrait of some unknown wizard hanging above a mantle and an unlit fireplace, made up the rest.

Curious, Hermione inched closer to gain a better study of the face within the portrait's frame. She cast the hearth to life with a flick of her wand, surveying the portrait at length. Whoever he was, he was strikingly similar in facial features to Lucius and Draco, with the same ghostly colouring, blinding blond hair, and regal stance. He didn't spur to life upon Hermione's intrusion, though, allowing her to relax and sink into the leather-bound desk chair in front of him without an opposing word.

Hermione peered down at her platter of unconsumed food, no longer with the appetite she had originally had. She forced herself to take up her fork and press little bits of egg and sausage into her mouth, all the while reliving the disturbing events of the past day. It felt odd to be sitting here now, alone, breathing, in a grand study enjoying a full breakfast whilst, only hours ago, Hermione hadn't been sure she would live through the night.

Don't think on it, she urged herself, finding her eggs suddenly difficult to swallow. Eat. Then go back.

"You're that Granger girl," came a rich, haughty voice from behind, causing the hairs on the back of Hermione's neck to rise to attention. She whirled around in her chair, eyes darting about, until a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye brought them back to the stately portrait of the Malfoy relative.

"How - How do you know my name?"

"Here and there," came the portrait's undefined answered; a self-satisfied smirk painted across his lips.

Being overly tired made Hermione more prickly than the norm. She scowled at the man and turned back to her food, gathering the remnants of her platter and utensils together and heading for the door.

"Well, I don't know who you are, so, if you'll excuse me—"

"No need to get prissy with me, girl," the elderly portrait huffed, aggravated and affronted at the same time. "I wish to inquire after my grandson."

Hermione, having swung about to face him, raised both eyebrows. "Draco?"

"Well, yes, who else?" he snarled, showcasing perfect pearly white teeth.

"I - I'm afraid I haven't seen him."

"He was crying last he was in here," the portrait grumbled, evidently displeased with the young man's emotional display. "When was that? This morning...before dawn. Sobbing over that Weasley girl, I tell you. A Weasley! What in the devil has become of that silly, pathetic chap? I knew Lucius and Narcissa were raising the boy to be too soft, but Merlin's beard—"

"If you'll excuse me," Hermione interrupted the portrait's unwanted tirade none-too-kindly, and the Malfoy wizard had the imprudence to shoot her an offended look as though she had insulted his ancestors.

Hermione shuffled out of the room at all speed, face flushed and with a mangling hurt over the unneeded reminder that one of her friends was now dead. It made her lack of appetite all the stronger as she tried to make her way back to the main hall to dispose of her food and silverware.

Hermione hadn't been shocked to learn that Draco had been cooped up somewhere in his home crying, but it had been an amazement earlier to discover that he and Ginny had supposedly been involved with each other. For how long or how serious the relationship had gotten was anyone's guess, but, considering how intensely Draco had sobbed over Ginny's lifeless body—Severus eventually had to forcefully remove his godson from the scene, for he wouldn't desist or leave her side willingly—left Hermione with the presumption that they had, at the very least, been lovers.

Apparently, she and Severus weren't the only two who had been carrying on something that, to their friends, would have been a shock to discover. A terrible pain shot through Hermione's heart at the unfortunate notion that she and Ginny would never get to have that giddy conversation between girlfriends; of finding love in such a horrible times as these; of discovering solace in the most unlikely of places.

Of falling in love with Slytherins...

Hermione lost her composure. She hadn't reached the end of the hallway before she was forced to cease walking. Unable to hold back her tears, she let them fall freely, snivelling and with her hands trembling.

Someone unexpectedly crashed into her, knocking Hermione off balance. Distressed and a weepy mess, she wanted to unleash all her pent-up grief on whoever had been too clumsy to watch where they were going; but, when she stared up into the person's eyes, rage fuelling hers, the hostile words on the tip of her tongue dissipated. Her plate dropped out of her quaking hands and shattered. She didn't care; she would repay the Malfoys later if the set was too precious to part with. She stepped over the shards of glass and flung herself into Severus's arms.

"Se - Severus!" she exclaimed between sobs, her arms latching around his neck, holding on for dear life.

In silent comprehension, Severus pulled Hermione into his fold and wrapped his cloak around her much tinier frame. He breathed in the scent of her curls but they were covered in dust and sulphur from battle, desolate reminders of what he had come so close to losing.

"It's over, Hermione," he murmured to her in comfort, repeating those two precious words she had shared with him hours before; one of his hands came to rest on her quivering upper back, patting her softly again and again. "It's over now..."


"Luna?"

Luna provided Hermione with a blank, uninterested stare. Her usually whimsical blue eyes were hazier than the norm, and her voice was considerably quiet and unemotional once she spoke.

"Oh, hi, Hermione."

"May I join you?"

"Of course."

As nonchalant an invitation as ever, Luna turned her attention back to the notebook that was cradled in her lap and resumed scribbling with her quill. Hermione hadn't the heart to ask what she was writing about or to hover too closely. She did take a seat at her friend's side, however, against the wall and waited, a certain silence lingering between them for some time.

Since the end of the battle, Hermione had sought Luna for a total of three days without running into her. Whenever their paths came close to crossing, Luna always seemed to be just out of reach. It was no surprise, however; everyone was insanely busy doing their part. For the thoughtful Ravenclaw, she spent most of her time visiting (and entertaining) the bedsides of the injured, helping in the rebuilding process at the Ministry, or aiding Muggle-borns in getting set up with housing and government job positions.

"How are you holding up?" Hermione inquired after a considerable pause, watching Luna continue to write in her journal.

Luna shrugged but didn't peer up as she answered, her features composed, "Well enough. And you?"

"I'm all right." Hermione inclined closer, wishing to catch a glance of Luna's expression, but her long, pretty blonde locks hid much of her from view. "Has... Has everything been arranged...for Snow's funeral?"

"Yes," was all Luna said by way of an answer; Hermione couldn't tell if the witch was emotionally shutting her out or being her usual collected self.

"I... I'm so sorry, Luna."

At last, Luna's countenance came out of hiding. She turned to Hermione, but there was no sadness or pent up anger on display, which Hermione would have understood; only admirable acceptance for what had become of her girlfriend.

"Oh, don't be," Luna insisted in a soft, soothing tone. "Romilda wouldn't want you to pity her. She embraced life for as long as she had it; she'd want that for all of us. Hooch, Ginny, they'd all want us to embrace life again now that we've got it. Wouldn't you agree?"

Struck by her words, Hermione bit her lower lip to keep from crying. "Yes, I... I'm sure they would." She paused to gaze at Luna more thoughtfully. "I didn't know Snow well, but I wish we all could've had the opportunity to... Well..."

"Yes, I know," Luna replied slowly, understanding. "That would've been nice. You'd have liked her, I think. She had such a spark about her; a very fun-loving personality. She never let anything get her down."

"Severus has mentioned as much..."

"Oh, yes," Luna's demeanour brightened a little. "How's he doing?"

"He's recouping. I can't seem to get him to slow down but..."

"Oh, I have something that might do just the trick!" Luna put down her quill to rummage through a flimsy bag at her side, eventually pulling out a pink phial Hermione didn't recognise. "This is a tonic of my own making," she boasted lightly, not catching the misgiving that flashed across Hermione's face. "It's not quite as potent as Draught of the Living Dead, but it will knock a person out for at least a day or two."

Hermione snorted. "Thank you, Luna, but I think I'll pass. Severus wouldn't take too kindly to finding out I'd snuck a tonic into his drink."

Luna shrugged, unaffected. "Suit yourself." She tossed the tonic back into her bag and recommenced writing as though there had been no disruption, her quill making furious scratches across the blue-toned parchment of her notebook.

Realising she probably wasn't going to get any further with this conversation, Hermione decided to leave Luna to her own devices. Perhaps she had said enough to provide Luna the comfort she required, though it seemed a rather fragmented end to the topic of grief.

Slowly, Hermione rose to her feet but felt compelled to reiterate her earlier sentiments. "Luna?" she addressed her friend again and the distracted witch glanced up, blinking a couple times but appearing as casual as before. "I really am...sorry. If you need anything...or there's anything I can do..."

"Thank you, Hermione."

Her words sounded appreciative, at least. A sweet smile drew across Luna's impassive face for the briefest moment and then vanished. She kept on writing, and Hermione thought she caught the witch scratching her lover's name into her journal before she turned away.


Severus halted before a closed door, debating in his head whether to knock or simply see himself in. He decided on the latter.

Although he felt uneasy about disturbing his grief-stricken godson, he suspected it was probably for the best. No one had seen much of Draco Malfoy since the distraught young man had first departed for Hogwood's Interment Services, Great Britain's only Wizarding funeral business of note located in central London, three days prior. Severus knew his godson was preoccupied with making arrangements for Miss Weasley's body and burial service, as well as assisting others in making their own arrangements for friends and family members; but Severus felt compelled to check in on him, nonetheless, despite his own lack of experience when it came to dealing with heart to heart matters such as the death of a loved one.

In this case, that loss was a woman whom Draco had fallen in love with, and Severus figured he should have some wisdom in that department worth passing along to the boy, hopefully with enough decorum to address the sensitive matter appropriately.

After entering the torch-lit, ghoulish parlour of Hogwood's in search of Draco, Severus was quickly informed by staff that Draco had yet to depart the premises. Evidently, he had been there since early that morning, cooped up in a closed-off room where Miss Weasley's body was being prepared for her funeral service the following day. He had refused to leave when politely requested by the staff, and now it was nearing nightfall.

To Severus, Draco's anguish—and this dreary place—felt eerily comforting. He remembered being desperate, and morbidly determined, to view Lily's lifeless body the night after she was killed by the Dark Lord. He had spent the past twenty-something years since regretting that choice.

At the time, with only some twenty-four hours having passed since her death, Lily Potter was surprisingly unrecognisable to him. All her vibrancy—even her bright, painted freckles—had been washed out in the aftermath at Godric's Hollow, her liveliness snuffed to ruin in the wake of Death. Severus didn't want to remember his childhood friend in such a harsh, unforgiving manner, but, that day, with Lily's form covered by a sheet save for her tranquil, immobile face, he would sorely recount her as ashen as snow and virtually unidentifiable from the resilient witch he had once known.

The pale young woman lying beneath the sheet wasn't his Lily; that was a deflated, defeated woman devoid of her energy and spirits—her very soul.

Severus swallowed hard, discomforted by the reminder. A far more wrenching depiction of a departed Hermione was suddenly wrestling her way into his doleful memory and he was forced to rid himself of it with a violent shaking of his head. He shuddered, too, reminding himself as to why he was here.

Severus stood before the closed door a staff member had escorted him to for nearly half a minute. Understanding all too well the dangers in grieving for too long, and with only one's self for company, Severus, at last, soundlessly pushed the door forward. It creaked as it gave way, revealing a quiet and somber scene within that momentarily robbed him of breath.

Feet away stood the fair-haired wizard he sought, with his back turned and his tousled head bowed low. He didn't so much as turn or raise his head when Severus entered the silent, dour-appearing space, but Severus sensed that Draco knew he was present. In front of the lad lay Ginny Weasley, strewn within a casket made of white stone that was open at the top. She wore a simple black dress, from what Severus could see, with her red hair drawn over her pasty, slim shoulders. She looked serene, at peace...

All any of us could ever want.

"Draco," Severus addressed his godson softly as he shut the door and took several muted steps closer.

Draco remained steadfastly still, giving only a marginal tilt of his dead. "Uncle," he greeted after a considerable pause; his vocals sounded shattered from overuse.

"Your mother's been worried about you," Severus enlightened the young man, making sure to keep any trace of emotion out of his voice. "Your father, too."

"I'm a grown man."

"That won't stop your parents from rightfully worrying about their only son."

Draco gave a strained sort of snort. "Yes, I suppose it wouldn't..."

After a moment, Severus thoughtfully approached the casket, keeping a respectful distance from Draco for the time being. He eyed Ginny Weasley more closely. Her makeup palette had been tastefully executed, no doubt stamped with Draco's approval, and only the sharpness of her cheeks reminded Severus of the terrible strains the youngest Weasley had been under in recent months.

Portraying Potter wouldn't have been an easy task for any in their organisation, but, for her, it must have been mentally torturous. There was some comfort in knowing she and Draco had found a certain solace in each other, at the very least, though, looking upon his godson now—purpose and clarity drained from his eyes—he wrestled with a different determination.

"She loved me...for me," Draco murmured to him, though he didn't meet Severus's eyes at first; he stared on at Ginny's casket, at her. "There were no expectations; no favours ever asked of her... She didn't love me for my family's wealth or the prestige we once held or what she might benefit from associating with someone like me. I don't think she would have minded if I hadn't loved her back..." Light blue irises, woeful and desperate, flickered towards Severus. "How could I not?"

It was a rhetorical question—asked from the deepest recesses of a man's suffering—so Severus didn't answer. He drew closer to Draco, though, allowing him to press on with his thoughts, uninterrupted.

"She was everything, Uncle," said Draco, hitching a quivering breath that shook his entire frame. "Everything... I wasn't meant for her, and she wasn't meant for me, and yet, she was everything that was right and good and best for me. How's that possible?"

"You're asking me about love and attraction?" Severus tried to deride from his own discomfort with the conversation, finding his uncommon effort at humour somewhat effective.

Draco sniggered under his breath and then wiped at his nose, not caring about the emotional mess he had become. When he surveyed Severus again, his eyes were pensive, sorely attentive.

"I know you love her... Granger."

"Hermione," Severus corrected without missing a beat, and a thin smile morphed its way across Draco's lips.

"First name basis?" he made to quip in return, sniffing away the lump at the back of his throat. "That's good."

Severus kept his expression vacant and unemotional but reached out a hand to grasp Draco's shoulder. He squeezed it lightly.

"Time to go."

Draco's regard returned to the fallen witch he loved. He snivelled a few times, trying to gather his composure to depart. It was painfully obvious, though, that he had no desire to leave his late lover's side.

"She'll be well looked after," Severus made to assure him as he dropped his hand, his gaze staying firmly honed on Draco's quiet, distressed features.

"Until tomorrow." Draco paused, forcing back the tears that were forming in his eyes and gathering strength. "Uncle, take care of Hermione, won't you? You'll never realise just how much you needed her...until you're forced to live on in a world where she no longer exists."

Slowly, Draco's wet eyes met his stone-faced uncle, but that man was no longer entirely reserved. A flash of emotions were racing across those dark, clouded irises, and, though Draco wasn't sure what Severus was thinking at that delicate moment, he knew the message had gotten through the thorny exterior straight to the heart. He nodded and bravely turned away from Ginny's casket, bowing his head as he stalked out of the room.

It took Severus a couple more seconds to collect himself. He inhaled one or two deep breaths and took off after Draco, trailing faithfully but silently behind him for the short journey back to Malfoy Manor.


"You all right?"

Hermione's eyes fluttered back into focus and searched out Severus's in the dark, finding them unreadable in such gloom. Situated comfortably in bed and snuggled up to his side, Hermione curled her arm tighter around his waist and nuzzled her cheek into his chest, heartened by the warm fingertips that had been stoking circles over her back for some time.

"I'm not sure," she confessed, frowning against his skin.

In the four days since the Dark Lord's demise, Hermione and Severus hadn't spent much time at all together. She had managed to get the wizard to have his injuries thoroughly checked out by Lucius, who insisted on putting him on bed rest, but that had lasted merely a day. Otherwise, they might catch one another in passing, when one was coming and the other was going. Although they spent late nights together, sometimes only for an hour or two at a time, allowing their sex drive to speak for what they hadn't found the words yet to express, they hadn't conversed much at all on what they had been through.

Tonight, both had been considerably quiet for some time, finding themselves sharing a bed together for more time than had been the norm. After much needed, desperate lovemaking between the sheets, Hermione thought Severus had dozed off to sleep. Evidently, he hadn't and sensed an hour or so later that Hermione wasn't sleeping either and began stroking her back.

Hermione raised her head and placed her chin on Severus's chest. "How are you?" she whispered, staring at him fondly; or as much of him as she could see in the shadows.

"Better."

"Better?"

"Than before."

"Yes..."

A short pause later, "I wish you didn't have to go through this."

Hermione's response was accompanied by a sad sigh. "We all knew the risks... I just wish I understood why."

"You're not meant to know."

Hermione frowned. "I like answers. I like to have a valid reason for why I'm here and others are not..."

"I know," he murmured understandingly, gentle finger tips moving in a different direction across his flesh, "but there are no 'valid' reasons for why some of us live and others don't."

"I want... I want to make it better. For us."

"And you will."

"You truly believe that?"

"I do," Severus didn't hesitate in answering, and Hermione felt momentarily bereft of words.

"I wanted her to know...about us. Ginny, I mean. I wanted everyone to know."

"I'm sure Draco felt the same about him and Miss Weasley."

Hermione tried to ignore the tears that now stung her eyes. "It's so unfair."

"If you insist on scrutinising loss through a lens, my dear, then none of it will ever make sense to you. You'll only drive yourself mad."

"That may be so..." She peered into her lover's eyes, deep and enigmatic, but compassionate and even a touch hopeful; she had rarely glimpsed that in all the months they had spent together. "I love you," she found herself whispering with ease.

Severus angled his head on the pillow. A gradual, diminutive smile graced his lips a moment later.

"And I, you."

Hermione craned her neck, as did Severus, so that their lips might meet. The kiss they shared was slow, grateful, utterly and completely devoted. It was consoling to be so open after being suppressed and subdued for so long.

When their mouths drifted apart, Severus breathed softly into the gloom, "For the first time in all my life, I can see a future."

"Really?"

"Yes..." A hand reached around Hermione's back to affectionately capture the left side of her face; his thumb gratefully traced her mouth. "With you."

Another tear slid down Hermione's cheek. She turned her face towards Severus's hand to lovingly peck the inside of his palm. She stole her fingers through his and grasped them securely.

There were still funeral services to attend, a special upcoming memorial for 'Harry', a private service for Ginny that Draco was finalising, and so many uncertainties blended with questions that lay ahead of them.

For tonight, though, Hermione forced acceptance for what was and for what had been, contented to drape herself over her lover's warm body and listen to the stable beat of his heart a few more times—For the rest of our lives...—and be wilfully pulled into the throes of a dream land. So long as these valuable moments were to be spent in Severus's arms, Hermione wouldn't question the ifs or whys any longer.

At least, not on this night.


A/N #2: Next up - funerals, memorials, and future planning for our heroes...