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

How on earth are you ever going to explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as…love?

-Albert Einstein

Fred pulled up in front of the Granger's home with a reluctant smile on his face. He understood Hermione's need to go home after the tragedy; to escape the city and the streets where she had lived and loved Harry for so long, but he still wished she would let the Weasleys love her back into existence.

Taking her home to Molly would have felt less like helping her run away…whether it was from Harry's ghost or Draco Malfoy. Still, it was her decision and he needed to get back to his brother and find out what was going on. Run the shop, help with arrangements and generally make Hermione's transition as painless as possible- in as much as it could be painless. The little things, like speaking on her behalf when the ministry tried to get too ridiculous with plans and making sure her apartment was in order…those were the things he could help with. He knew his mum would help, too…and he could always take some time off from the shop.

He looked at her as she gathered her things from the back seat and lifted a now sleeping Viola into her arms. Fred swiftly exited the vehicle and opened her door so she could leave without jostling the girl too much; afterward he took the small bags she had left her flat with and placed them on the sidewalk.

"Let me just get the door for you-" he began, and she thanked him wearily, watching as he shut up the car and took her bags to the front door. He turned to her again. "Can I do anything else? Mum and I will help with your flat and other arrangements, as you need it…Gin won't be able to take too much time off anymore, but the shop manages itself…please, call us- any of us- if you need anything. Anything."

Then he gave them both a hug and stood back as Hermione rang the doorbell. The smile that rested upon her wan face from earlier no longer reached her eyes and her hair lay limp and frizzy about her shoulders. He was about to say as much, but realized that it was probably not only unnecessary, but also unwelcome. Instead, he turned to greet the woman who opened the door. In a move that would have astonished Hermione any other week in their history together, he pulled out a small business card and handed it to her.

"Mrs. Granger," he murmured. "Please don't hesitate to call me or my family anytime." He turned to go and the woman looked up from the card, stopping him.

"Thank you…would you like to come in?"

Hermione found her voice then. "Mum," she whispered, eyes full of tears. "I have something awful to tell you."

The woman glanced from her daughter and grandchild to Fred and back, before settling on Hermione. "Another time, perhaps," she called to Fred before leaning down to pick up the bags and usher her child into the house.

Fred watched to make sure they were in safe before he slid behind the wheel for what he hoped was the final time that day.

Weeks passed.

Hermione didn't spend the days exactly as she had planned. The first week she lay in bed for whole days, staring at the ceiling of her childhood bedroom- now painted a neutral tone. Her mother had been using it as a guest room for years now; she and Harry had even stayed there once or twice earlier in their marriage. Her cheeks were miraculously dry, but she knew that if she got up she would start crying again. It was almost harder to keep it together now that she was being taken care of then it had been back in the city. But she was glad it was her mother holding her and not Malfoy. She couldn't bear to bury Harry so quickly.

The funeral was scheduled for the weekend after that first week, though. She knew only because her mother had come upstairs to tell her. In a way, the rest was preparation. She had to get herself to as vegetative a state as possible before attending the funeral. Otherwise she wouldn't make it through. She was certain of that much.

Viola didn't spend much time with her mum that first week, either, but she didn't seem to mind too much. As long as she could run into the room and show her paintings and drawings to her mummy and give and receive kisses and hugs she was content to simply be in the same space as her mum once again. It was nice to have her mummy all to herself for once, she thought. Even though she would have far preferred to have her daddy there as well, she was satisfied for the moment. After all, although she was smart for her age, she was still only four and it wasn't that unusual to have her daddy gone for days at a time, with only mummy or Aunt Ginny for company.

Hermione wasn't accomplishing much lying in bed, but she was beginning to feel better about Viola's recovery. The girl was young and while it was hard at any age to lose a parent, she would heal and grow. Possibly more quickly than her mother would.

Mrs. Weasley had been in touch with her mother about the arrangements for burial and the memorial service. George had pulled several strings and the funeral was going to be a closed affair, open only to Harry's close friends, family and coworkers. Unfortunately that meant half the ministry would be attending, but it was better than the massive crowds which would have shown up if left open to the public. Hermione didn't want them all there, staring at her and her child…asking questions, shaking their heads, making assumptions… She didn't want their pity. And Viola would know, with or without them, that her father was a hero.

Fortunately for Hermione and Viola, Harry had written a will. Hermione already knew it left nearly everything to her, with a sizable trust in place for Viola and smaller ones for the older Weasley nieces and nephews. It also detailed where he was to be buried…another reason for a closed service. The memorial service, however, would take place before the funeral upon the grounds of Hogwarts, complete with a viewing and the unveiling of a monument to him. Then Harry's remains and the guests at the actual service would be transported by port key to the site of his burial. No massive funeral processions allowed. The procession and grandeur and tragedy everyone else was thirsting after would be supplied at the memorial service. Everything else was quiet and very, very personal.

It was the one thing Hermione voiced an opinion on that first week at home. The rest of the time she wasn't staring at the ceiling, she was smiling and hugging her daughter. She didn't even protest when her mother helped her dress for the services.

Elizabeth Granger didn't mind Hermione's behavior. She was glad she could help her only child at such a difficult moment in her life. She was glad they could share the grief. Hermione's father, Paul Granger, chose not to express an opinion. Although the way Hermione lay so very still in her bed concerned him, she seemed responsive enough to questioning and her daughter, so he chose to stay out of it, only offering his support and condolences.

Elizabeth and Paul had liked Harry. Although they had expressed some concern over Hermione's choice at first, knowing all the troubles the pair had faced as friends, they had grown to care for him. He was a good hearted man with a fierce temper. Paul had enjoyed hearty debates with him, but they had never had a bone to pick with one another, until now. Now, while Elizabeth comforted Hermione and strove to help her survive each day, Paul wished- only a little bit- that he could put the boy in a grave himself for leaving his daughter so soon. Six years? What was that, compared to the lifetime of hope and love he and his wife had known? It was nothing. And to leave not only his grieving widow, but a constant reminder of himself in the shape of a child…well. It didn't really matter. The man was dead and nothing would bring him back and his little girl was going to hurt for a very long time.

Hopefully not too long, though, if what Elizabeth had relayed to him was true. She thought Hermione was pregnant again. Such a touchy subject, that. It could swing either way for her recovery.

Either she would learn to get on with things for the sake of her children and Harry's memory; or she would collapse in the face of such great stress and change. Personally, Paul though his daughter was far more likely to favor the former solution. When he said as much to his wife, she only smiled sadly and nodded. Whether it brought hope or not, it was still a very difficult position to be in. After all, she would have to go back to work eventually, wouldn't she? And then in another six months at the latest she would be on leave once again, this time for the pregnancy…no, it was not an enviable situation. And did they even know if Harry had left enough for them to be taken care of without any trouble? No, they didn't, especially as the will hadn't been read yet.

Paul stayed fully out of things after that conversation, interfering only when Hermione sought him out for company. Even then, Elizabeth would watch him like a hawk from the kitchen doorway to make sure he wasn't saying anything deemed upsetting. After that, he took his granddaughter to the zoo and the park quite a bit.

Luckily for him, his willingness to stay right out of things spared him some of the hardest conversations of all.

Ginny came for a visit late in the week, determined to convince Hermione to behave herself once she saw the guest list for the funeral itself.

"Malfoy?" Hermione's eyes were big and watery as she looked up at Ginny from the scroll in her hands. Ginny anticipated the yelling to follow, but for once she was pleasantly surprised. "Well," Hermione continued, "he and Harry did work together closely from time to time." She glanced up at Ginny again, sniffling in an alarming manner.

"Did you know that Harry helped him get his job at the ministry? And saved him and P- Pansy?" She swallowed painfully and looked down at the list once more. "Yes, this is fine. Now, tell me how you are."

Ginny eyed her friend uncertainly before nodding and putting the list back into her bag. "I'm doing well- as much as any of us are. Our Quidditch field was damaged in the last apparation, but they've been repairing things pretty quickly since last week. Neville is good. He's having trouble concentrating on his work because of the neighbors' beast of a cat, which apparently enjoys tormenting the twins. And I'm…expecting again."

At that, Hermione perked up considerably. "Are you really? Ginny! I thought you said the twins-"

"Well, I said the same thing about their little sister, too, didn't I?"

Hermione's eyes suddenly watered again and Ginny frowned. "Hermione, you can't still be upset about your…news, can you? Isn't it a blessing?"

"I'm tired of people saying those things." she replied matter-of-factly. Then she looked up at her friend, chagrined. "Yes, it is, Ginny. I don't mean to sound awful. And of course, everyone and their uncles will be helping me. But that doesn't make it any easier. It won't bring Harry back or help me feel whole again. In fact, once the child is born I imagine I'll feel quite the opposite." She smiled at Ginny and shook her head. "Don't worry, Gin. I'm fine. I'll be fine, eventually. I just need this time to…exist for a while. And no, I haven't been ignoring what I need to do, I've been doing nothing but thinking about the future and Harry and Viola and this little one." She placed a hand over her abdomen momentarily and looked back to Ginny.

Ginny smiled in return and reached her hands out, taking Hermione's and squeezing them tightly. "We'll get through it together, love. I know it's hard for you. It's hard for all of us. Harry meant so much to so many people. But you're handling things- oh, far better than I could, I think. Although," she paused, eyes sparkling, "I do believe you've gotten rather emotional in your old age."

The tears came spilling over onto Hermione's cheeks then, but her mouth was in a wide smile and she leaned forward, embracing her best friend. "Ginny Weasley, if you weren't pregnant I'd have to toss you one!"

The two witches continued to chatter both aimlessly and with purpose until Viola ran into the room and insisted they inspect her latest creation. Elizabeth Granger listened outside the room, smiling softly at their conversation. So. Things would turn out alright, eventually. It was good to know Hermione was staying positive. That was something, at least.

In the meantime, across the city at St. Mungo's, Draco was also learning to stay positive. In that first week he, too, was existing. He spent his nights at the townhouse and his days almost entirely at the hospital, although Ornella and George had insisted he get back to work at the ministry at least a few hours a day. For now, two seemed to be about enough to maintain job security and Draco took full advantage of the fact. He couldn't leave Barclay for too long right now, anyway. The boy had developed a separation anxiety rivaling that of his own when he was a boy; and since his son was staying awake for longer and longer periods everyday, Draco had barely any time to himself. Even Ornella could see that it was going to be a problem in another week or so, unless she moved in- which Draco knew she would gladly do. She'd even offered to home school the boy for a while, if it would help. Draco had almost taken her up on it, but decided to hold off on a decision for a while longer. After all, even the healers didn't know everything about the situation yet, so there might be a solution that didn't involve moving the cottage and home schooling- they just weren't sure yet.

But oh, how Draco wished things could be tied up neatly into a bow. He wasn't even sure if Barclay would be healthy enough to go to the funeral at the weekend…if he even wanted his son there. He still hadn't explained to him yet about what had happened to the auror who had saved his life.

How did one say everything that needed to be said without frightening the boy further? What was particularly disturbing was that Barclay spoke of Harry constantly- not that he knew it was Harry- as if he was still alive and sometimes, even as though he was with him at that very instant.

The healers had no explanation for that yet, either. Still, Draco ultimately felt that it would be disrespectful to the man who had died to save his son's life if Barclay didn't attend the funeral. So, a few days after arriving at his decision, he was in Diagon Alley to shop for appropriate mourning robes for a young boy. He stopped at Madam Malkin's first and was immediately assaulted by a young witch who was clearly the hired help.

"How may I help you?" she simpered up at him, here eyes lined with a heavy black and her hair clearly struggling to appear fashionable. He smiled weakly at her and looked about.

"I'd really rather speak to Madam Malkin," he replied. "It's a delicate matter, you see."

The witch's eyes grew even larger, if possible, and she nodded profusely in an attempt to be sympathetic. He sighed as she patted his arm. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy. I'll go get her right away." Then, casting many a doe-eyed glances over her shoulder at him, she hurried off to the back of the store.

He frowned. So, it appeared that news of all the deaths had traveled quickly and he was once again one of the most eligible bachelors- well, widower, he supposed.

How unseemly, he thought. Doesn't the fact that I nearly bore the Dark Mark mean anything anymore? It used to buy me some privacy. He rolled his eyes and snorted. Imagine that. He'd certainly never dreamed there'd be a day when he'd long for the shunning that such a past had previously brought him. Oh well. At least the ministry won't treat me any different. Except that they'll probably pay a bit more attention to what I have to say now. That will be nice.

With a start, Draco realized that not only had his status in the wizarding world of available singles had changed, but so had Hermione's. Not that she had expressed any interest in moving on quite yet, but still…Draco couldn't help but wonder how many blokes would be after her now for her fame and fortune. As the last of the Golden Trio, reporters and gold-diggers alike were bound to be all over her. He frowned suddenly and caught a growl bubbling up in the back of his throat. Well, let them try to bother her. They'd all have to face him, first. Draco Malfoy would see to her guaranteed privacy personally for many years to come, that was certain.

It was the least he could do for Harry.

Madam Malkin emerged from the back of the store and greeted him. "Mr. Malfoy," she murmured, "how may I serve you this morning? May I assume you are here for mourning robes as well?"

He nodded. "Yes, but not for myself. I was unfortunate enough to acquire some a few years ago. It's my son that I need them for, but he's in the hospital at the moment and cannot come in for a fitting. I did the best I could with measurements, if you need them…"

She nodded and took the folded parchment from his hands. "Yes, these will do. How old is he?"

"Nearly six," Draco replied.

"Very good. I am truly sorry for your loss, Mr. Malfoy. Please pass my condolences along to Ornella, as well. And I will have the robes for you to pick up tomorrow, if that is adequate."

Draco agreed and shook her hand, then nodded his farewell and walked from the shop. Well, that had been relatively painless. He'd almost forgotten how often Ornella must have visited Malkin for mourning robes. It must be truly painful for our parents' generation to be alive at this time. We'd all assumed we'd reached the golden age of peace. No more death except natural and expected…no more destruction- only to have those assumptions ripped from the bosoms of our happy homes. It must be truly, truly terrible for those that have lived with this kind of pain thrice in their lifetimes.

Draco sighed and then squared his shoulders as he walked from the alley. Now it was back to the hospital and his family. There would be time for reflection later. Wasn't that what every generation told itself after tragedy?

There is time enough to mourn; but later, when we aren't so busy. Later, when our lives have slowed. When our children are done growing; when we have retired from our work; when there isn't a meal to cook or a blanket to mend or a room to paint.

Later.

Draco was rather tired of waiting for later. Sick of it, actually. What was that muggle saying? "No time like the present…" Well, that was certainly true. And if his son could handle Pansy's passing as well as he had been, then he deserved to know the truth about Harry.

When Draco reached the hospital he went directly to Barclay's room. The boy was awake and sitting up in his bed. Ornella was helping him with his exercises and Barclay tried to leap from his place when his father walked in the door. Draco smiled and went around to the other side, catching his son in his arms and giving him a fierce hug. Ornella smiled at them both.

"I'll just go and get your lunch for you, darling. Have a nice chat with your father while I'm away. Why don't you tell him about what you did already today?" Then she landed a kiss upon Barclay's forehead and left the two of them alone.

"Dad, Dad, I walked some this morning! It was on this machine that the one healer got me, but I was still walking. Maybe, I can visit Viola soon and you can take us to the park! Please, Daddy?" the boy spout off all at once.

Draco smiled at him and set his son away from him, but kept a firm grip on the boy's hands. "If that is what you would like to do, then perhaps in another week we could do that, yes." Then he tousled Barclay's hair very gently. "But you will have to ask Viola's mum if that would be alright. Okay?"

Barclay nodded and then sat back against his pillows, watching his father as he grew very, very quiet. "Dad, what's the matter? Are you missing Mummy?"

Draco looked up at him and squeezed his hands. "All the time, Barclay. I wish she could help me with all of this," he said quietly, gesturing about them at the hospital room. "But right now, I need to say a few things to you. It's about that nice auror you keep asking about. Do you think you can listen very closely to me?"

Barclay watched his father, his eyes wide, but calm. He nodded his small head and held onto his father's hands tightly. Draco smiled at him, hoping desperately that it was reassuring. Then he gathered his courage and began to tell Barclay the story of Harry Potter, a boy whose mother had also died for the love of her son.

AN: Wow, so sorry for the huge delay in updates. I haven't forgotten about my stories, though. Just been very, very busy. Very. Thanks for your continued support and patience!