You are all the best readers ever – I appreciate every kind word. And so begins Hermione's new life! There's much in store and this chapter is sort of a bridge plus it fleshes out several characters that will become prominent in the near future. I'm at fifty chapters and nearly a thousand reviews; help me get there guys! I'd like a lovely even number so if you love this leave a message! :D And as always, enjoy!
LCailan
CHAPTER FIFTY
Hermione was numb; there simply was no other word to describe the way she felt. The train zipped along its shiny track passing fields and valleys decorated with a layer of sparkling ice and skies as blue as those of deep summer. But she noticed none of those things even though she was staring out of her window, unmoving.
All she could think about was what she had left behind. Draco's eyes still burned into her memory, the sadness in them and the resignation that he was doing this for them…for her.
So that I can be safe and happy.
Happiness wasn't something Hermione could force right then; the thought of trying made her ill. For how could she be happy if she had left the most important part of her, the part dearest to her heart, behind?
Fear caused her to tremble for a few moments. Perhaps the thought of seeing Draco once more after the war had been a cold comfort but the more she thought about it the less of a balm it was. Was she truly supposed to believe that in a world as cruel as the one in which she lived that she would be blessed enough to see him survive that long? What if he died on the way back to London? What if the Ministry chose to send him to Azkaban, or worse?
What if those few moments at the train station were our very last ones together?
The tears, when they came, were burning and painful. Hermione blinked vehemently against them.
I promised Draco. I promised him I'd be happy; it's what he wants more than anything in the world.
As if that thought awakened her, Hermione shifted in her seat and then finally was able to take in the glittering, snowy landscape that rushed by her as the train sped along the Welsh countryside.
No more tears. Not right now; you've cried enough Hermione.
Her inner thoughts did little to help her achieve such a goal but she tried anyhow, focusing on the positives. She wasn't cold or hungry for Draco had given her food and a coat to wear. He had given her enough money for some new clothing and soon she would be amongst friends. Never in her wildest dreams had Hermione believed she would have ever been able to flee London, England.
A sigh escaped her.
No, things could have been much, much worse. In fact, they had been. She realized the last ten months had been the worst of her life.
The worst time in my life and it figures that amidst all that horror I found love.
Hermione sat up straighter, clearing her throat and forcing a smile she didn't feel. She would have to survive, she knew. It was what Draco had wanted and everything he had done for her would be wasted if she didn't try to fight. Draco had given her the ultimate gift, a chance at freedom, and she wasn't going to allow herself to waste it!
In spite of the fledgling hope that took root in her heart, Hermione knew that fear would remain. The tiniest things made her jump – the sound of the food cart, a sneeze or a cough, the slamming of a compartment door – all those things caused her heart to race and sometimes her blood to freeze. She knew that the feeling would eventually pass as her time under the thumb of the Ministry became nothing more than a plethora of horrid memories and bad dreams. But until that time came, she closed her eyes and willed herself to push through it.
Wales was a whole new world! She would be able to flourish, find her friends and family, and perhaps hold down a job.
I'll be a normal person! Not something to look down upon because of my blood status!
Sighing, Hermione pressed her face against the cool window pane in her compartment and closed her eyes. She didn't know when she had dozed off but her dreams were disturbing images of Bellatrix, Marcus Flint and Fenrir tormenting Draco in the dark recesses of the Ministry while she stood to the side unable to help him as he screamed…
She was startled awake by the sound of a thump and for a few moments her heart began to race for sure she had been found! Surely it was Fenrir standing on the other side of her compartment looking in at her with those dark, insane eyes and a strange grimace on his face-
But no, it was just the supper cart coming through and Hermione's stomach curdled at the thought of food so instead of taking her supper she curled into herself once more and tried to sleep the rest of the trip. But sleep was an elusive thing that early evening and after awhile, Hermione gave up and spent the remainder of the ride listening to the sound of the click-clack and praying that she would get through what was coming.
But most importantly she prayed that she not cry.
The sun was setting brilliantly in the early evening as Hermione was ushered from the train onto the platform. Her feet moved her steadily in the right direction for the throng of people pushed her ahead gently. She was the only traveler with no luggage to speak of but in one deep pocket of her long coat she clutched her wand tightly against her for it provided a small measure of comfort. As if in a daze, Hermione moved her head back and forth looking through the nameless faces that milled about, some hugging, some laughing others talking and crying. Still others were traveling on business, men in black suits and long coats and women in sharp, pressed suits.
But nowhere did she see anyone she recognized and at that realization she felt a strange tug of fear on her heart. What if no one had come? What if she was all alone with no one to turn to? She couldn't find Draco again, and how would she reach Charlie? Could she contact Bernie-
"Hermione!"
The voice had come from somewhere behind her, a deep, musical bass. Hermione whirled around as she caught and held a breath of anticipation.
"Merlin on high, it is you!"
Hermione looked through the faces and finally saw him. She didn't even realize when she had started breathing again or when she had begun to smile so hard her face hurt. For those first few moments it was almost possible to forget the poignant pain of her previous loss.
"Charlie!"
Pushing through the crowd was a nearly impossible feat but finally she reached him and threw herself into his arms without thought of the fact that she hardly knew him. In fact, she had only met him once, at Bill and Fleur's wedding, and that seemed ages ago. If he had felt strangely, Charlie didn't show it, instead wrapping Hermione up in a huge hug and holding her fast for a few moments.
Breathlessly, she pulled away and looked up at his face. His resemblance to the twins was uncanny, but all the same, Hermione saw hints of her late husband in the way Charlie's amber-brown eyes shone and his nose crinkled when he smiled. Though time had aged him a bit, it had not dimmed the color of his hair which looked afire in the setting rays of the sun. He wasn't as lanky as the twins and hadn't been as tall as Ron, but build as sturdily as a house with freckles that were liberally sprinkled across a face lined by time and worldly worries. She could see a profound sadness as she took a closer look at him.
"Charlie, you…"
"Awful," he interrupted quickly, shaking his head. "Bloody hell, Hermione, you look awful!"
Hermione felt a bit self-conscious; it had been a while since the last time she had considered her appearance. Flashes of that first afternoon in Draco's bedroom made her catch her breath. She had wanted so much for him to want her!
"I-"
"Don't fret about it! We'll have you fixed up soon enough."
In a charmingly debonair fashion, Charlie offered her his arm.
"Come on, then. Let's get out of this bloody cold and home where you can get warm and have a proper meal."
Hermione said nothing about not being hungry and simply allowed Charlie's exuberant pace lead her along for awhile. There was something vital about him; there had always been something vital about each of the Weasleys.
"D-do you cook?" she asked as they moved through the crowd that was leaving the station.
"Holy hell, Hermione! A man doesn't cook!" he exclaimed pointedly, his eyes sparkling in a teasing fashion. For a few moments the sadness was gone. "I've got Angelina to do the lot of cooking and keeping house. She's the one that helps maintain this girlish figure," he finished with a coquettish wink, rubbing his belly.
Hermione, still overwhelmed by what was happening blinked but was unable to laugh at his obvious attempts to make her do so.
"A-angelina lives with you?"
Charlie laughed and then steered Hermione into town towards a tall, brick building.
"Indeed she does. Although she's not the only one, as you'll find out soon enough. We have people come through all the time. Sometimes St Davids cottage becomes Hotel Charlie."
They walked in between the brick building and one made of some sort of limestone with a brightly colored awning in the front.
"Here we are," Charlie said with an upbeat tone that didn't match the sadness that had once again replaced the twinkling in his eyes.
Hermione watched as he pulled out a rather odd looking sock.
"It's a sock?"
"It's a rather hideous one at that," replied the red-headed rogue. "Sort of like the mess mum used to knit us for Christmas. You remember?"
Hermione's heart swelled at those memories of Christmas time at the Burrow back when life had been simpler and significantly more joyful.
"Yes," she whispered.
Charlie reached for her hand and then hesitated when he saw she was not moving.
"It's a Portkey. Should get us back to the cottage in record time," he joked with a wink.
Hermione realized how silly she must have looked in that moment but she had forgotten what it was like to be a witch and use simple things like the Floo Network and Portkeys.
Charlie shrugged.
"I suppose we could Apparate or Floo but I think sometimes the British Ministry has less control over what Portkey goes where and all that. I'd rather stay one step ahead of them, thank you very much. Although I imagine things in London were much, much worse."
This time there was no mistaking the sympathy that shone in Charlie's eyes. Hermione swallowed once and then twice, for there was a lump in her throat that made it impossible to speak. When she did, the words came out as croaks.
"It was awful."
Charlie nodded, that same sad look in his eyes seemingly amplified.
"That's what they all say."
"W-who?"
Behind them a truck roared by and then the laughter of a woman could be heard before it melted into the rest of the sounds beyond the empty alley.
"The others," he explained. "We hear the same thing from all the Muggle-borns that are rescued and brought to Wales. Many of them stay with us. That's why I called it Hotel Charlie, remember?"
Mutely, the younger witch nodded although she looked rather dazed. Charlie was patient, however.
"Mine is a safe house, Hermione. It's a place where Muggle-borns can find succor, if only for a few days or a couple of weeks. There are wizards and witches just like me offering their homes as refuges for those who have no other place to go. More and more of those are springing up along the coast, you know. Gives them some hope."
Hermione took a breath.
"And-and then?"
She suddenly heard the echoes of Draco's voice in her mind.
Then…then you'll be safe.
Charlie shrugged. A gust of wind ruffled his longish hair against the white collar of his dress shirt. He shivered.
"Then they move on. There's loads of work in Wales. Besides some voracious support in Scotland and a few strongholds there, Voldemort hasn't gotten control of much beyond England. Thank Merlin for that. There are hospitals, pubs…"
He sighed.
"It's not like it was since the Ministry fell to those sodding wankers but at least it's a start."
There was a heavily silence as Hermione swallowed hard and tried to push the bitterness from her mind. Yes, she knew all too well how it would never be the same. The only thing that she had to cling to was the love and loyalty of one Death Eater. The irony! She wondered if any of them, if Charlie or Angelina, Ginny, Neville – would understand why she had done what she had done and why she loved Draco Malfoy.
Her fear was that she'd never find out. But at least her love for Draco would keep her strong and for right now, that was enough.
"You and Angelina…?"
Charlie looked startled for a second and as Hermione gazed up into his overly freckled, troubled face she saw once more that deep-seated sadness in the depths of his eyes.
"G-George."
It was the first time since her arrival that Hermione could both feel and hear his pain. She knew without asking, knew out of instinct, that George was dead.
Lord knows I've had my share of pain but…
Charlie had lost both of his parents to the cause. He had lost his younger twin brothers, Ron and…perhaps his older brother as well. He had lost more family than Hermione wanted to admit. And yet still somehow he found it in his heart to be joyful. He still wanted to help.
There's still life in him! He won't stop fighting and I have to learn how to do that!
Hit with this realization, Hermione's eyes filled with hot tears of emotion and gratefulness. Charlie's actions spoke for themselves; he was selfless and stubborn in the face of pain and loss.
It's how I ought to be!
"Charlie."
She reached to offer some sort of comfort though she knew there was little to spare. The Ministry had not only tried to destroy those who didn't belong in their new world but also those just like they were who happened to think differently. They simply didn't care about the worth of a human being, of the fact that fundamentally every person was the same. They didn't value life at all.
Charlie leaned against the wall, unable to look at Hermione, his face moving against the pain that he wanted desperately to hide.
"George thought that…he'd come to Romania, you know, to find me. He thought I could help gather foreign forces against Voldemort and I immediately jumped at the chance. Watching my whole family sacrifice themselves to oppose the Ministry, well, I wasn't going to let them fight it alone. Every hand helps."
His eyes were solemn when they finally met Hermione's.
"I admired Fred and George. They never shirked responsibility no matter what mum said. They fought a good fight, until the end. I only wish-"
Hermione watched Charlie as he broke down for a few seconds, lowering his head so that she wouldn't have to see. When he looked up again his eyes were dry and his jaw trembled slightly.
"I only wish I had been with them to the very end."
Hermione took a breath.
"I know how that feels," she whispered thinking first of Ron and the horrible fire that had taken his life. Then she thought of Draco and what she had given up.
Charlie and Hermione stood in reverent silence for a few moments before he spoke again.
"George never made it to Romania. He…died along the way. There's danger out there if you're alone and for the longest time it was only him and Angelina. She…she came alone. When she made it to St Davids I couldn't…"
His rugged face took on a softer, more wistful expression.
"I couldn't turn her away. She was only doing what George had wanted. She told me what the WERA wanted and why George had fled England to come find me. And I knew then what I was supposed to do."
Charlie paused, taking a breath.
"He was a lucky chap, my brother. Angelina's a great girl and she loved him immensely. Even though she had responsibilities to the WERA, she would have followed him anywhere. And she did. That sort of love is rare."
Hermione listened her heart thumping anxiously. Yes, that sort of love was rare. And so was the kind that made a Death Eater give up all he had believed in to protect a Mudblood and keep her safe from harm even though it caused him pain to do so.
Oh, Draco!
Her gut reaction was so deeply emotional even Charlie noticed.
"You look peaky, Hermione...?"
She shook her head, feeling a bit strange.
"No, I just…I'm just thinking."
He sighed and nodded.
"I'm sorry; I keep thinking about what I'm going through but everyone's got it rough, I reckon."
Charlie reached over to touch her hand for a second so that she looked up. His face had lost the hard lines from before and he offered a smile.
"You were good to Ron. Lord knows I knew too much about you long before I knew you."
There was a laugh and Hermione thought back on those innocent, long-ago days.
"You were his first and only love, Hermione."
"And it took him ages to realize that. At first, he acted like a stubborn, daft prat."
Charlie laughed.
"Part of a man's charm, I say."
In spite of her grief, she let out a strange giggle.
"But I loved him anyway," she finished in a choked whisper.
Charlie's laugh died and he offered another sigh.
"He was lucky."
"We never had a life together. I don't call that luck, Charlie. We ran for our lives, we never had a moment to think of our future, of a family…of anything."
The resentment was evident in her tone and the set of her jaw. Charlie watched her.
"True. But at least he died knowing someone loved him as much as he loved her. And nothing, not even the God damned Ministry could ever…or will ever take that from either of you."
Hermione stared, too choked to speak. Her eyes burned.
"Come on then, no time for tears," he said nodding towards the ugly blue and purple sock that lay between them.
Charlie's voice was not harsh but neither was it gentle. She was reminded again of the staunch determination necessary in the face of the oppressive life that they had been forced to live and she blinked her tears away angrily.
No more tears.
Hermione leaned down and took a huge breath. The familiar and yet alien feeling of being sucked up into nothing overcame her and she shut her eyes tightly just as Charlie clasped his large hand over her small one.
Then, they were gone.
One week later
Memorial Magical Clinic, Cardiff, Wales
Healer Neville Longbottom's private quarters were located on the top floor of the Clinic, quite close to the tea and waiting lounges designated for hospital visitors. Very few people ventured down that part of the corridor for Neville spent little time in his quarters and because he kept a close watch on who came and went.
The rooms were quite large (in fact, too large for Neville's rather modest tastes) and contained high bookshelves full of medical tomes and books on botany of a large variety, both wizarding and Muggle alike. The Muggle volumes were tucked discreetly in the nooks and crannies of his overstuffed shelves. It wasn't that Neville was ashamed of his interest in Muggle medicine; he wasn't. It was simply a protective tactic for, if he got in trouble, there would be one less person to fight against the cause.
The opposite wall behind his massive desk was occupied by three windows, covering floor to ceiling and adorned with thick, velvet draperies in a deep maroon color. The color brought out the dark woodwork all around and the whole effect was calming to Neville. The name of the healing game was calmness. The door to the corridor beyond was on the eastern side of the room and the western wall held a large stone fireplace with an ornate, iron grate. It was the only one in the whole of the building created especially as a connection to the Floo Network of wizarding Wales. All the fireplaces in the kitchens were just that – ordinary, everyday fireplaces.
Neville hardly used the Floo because he feared the influence of the Ministry even though its fingers had not yet found a strong purchase outside of England. Plus, he preferred face to face interaction because he had always felt himself inadequate and too bloody shy in social situations. Such was life and he had come to terms with that being just one of several faults he would have to live with.
When not with patients, Neville preferred the seclusion of his private rooms, spending most of his time catching up with the Alliance and offering whatever help he could. Most mornings were spent in his office and the free afternoons in large room adjacent- his laboratory.
The morning he received his first Floo message in over a week dawned frigid but beautiful. Dappled sunshine came in through the wide windows of his office bringing with it a heart-lightening joy. Mornings were often Neville's favorite time of the day for only then could he study his books and drink a soothing cup of ginger and mandrake root tea (his own special concoction, which helped awaken and rejuvenate and so he equated it with Muggle caffeine, only healthier). Sometimes he sat in the silence only broken by the large, ticking clock on the fall in front of him. Other times he read to the mellow voice of Myron Wagtail. Neville had been personally upset when the Weird Sisters had broken up shortly after fall of the Ministry. He had always been a fan of their eclectic, rock sound. It was rather surprising for normally, he preferred order and structure in everything, including his musical choices. However, there had been something about the Weird Sisters. Fortunately for him, and most other appreciators of fine music, Myron had gone on to release several records of solo music which Neville had purchased with much anticipation.
The morning of the Floo message, he had just finished his second cup of tea and had chosen to listen to something by Mozart instead of his usual fix of Wagtail's strange, crooning voice. For the life of him concentrating on the textbook lying open on his desk was impossible. Just down the hall, his strawberry plants had matured to their peak and not only were they glorious to look at, he had just finished making a potion that he would add the berries to which would help with treatment of several different skin rashes. It was the last of his research for that particular project and if it went well, he was to receive his second publication in The Practical Potioneer. Though strawberries were not unknown to rash treatment, Neville had been the first Healer to combine both the berry and a drinkable potion into one, hoping to heal rashes from the inside out. He had already begun to add it to a simple boil cure potion to determine its possible effects.
Though the strawberry project had seemed rather successful, Neville was not a man taken to being idle, and already he had begun research on something new- namely the beautiful, white-flowered Black Haw bush. He eventually intended to add mature flowers to calming draught in hopes of creating a treatment to alleviate stress and pain for pregnant women. But before that could happen he preferred to do research and make sure that he did not leave any corner unsearched. It was his way; he was a man who valued order.
Neville looked into his teacup and sighed.
Maybe that's why Luna and I never got on. She's got this…strange outlook on life. No order at all. Could I have handled it?
He didn't know. But one thing he did know was that in spite of the ginger, he was having trouble concentrating on his research. Unfortunately, this project happened to be quite personal to him, for it was Angelina Johnson who had inspired his interest in all things pregnancy related and he hoped to create something useful for all women who chose to have children. He was her Healer but that didn't mean he couldn't help anyone he could along the way.
In the end, Neville gave up and he stood turning to face the windows. He winced as a shot of pain ran through his body and made his bad leg ache tremendously. He hoped that the research on black haw would yield something beneficial for body pain because his typical charms and potions weren't helping much and if the pain got worse he wouldn't be able to help out at his own hospital much longer.
I'll die before I let that happen.
Neville closed his eyes against the pain and stretched once more, taking a huge breath. That was when he heard the stirring from the massive fireplace behind him and saw the brilliant, emerald flames licking along the handsome, iron grating.
"Neville?"
Angelina's head appeared in the flames and he limped across the room towards the fireplace.
"Bad morning?"
"Never bad enough to not keep going."
It had been his standard answer to anyone who questioned the pain he went through. Then he peered more closely into the emerald fire.
"Is everything all right?"
The girl in the flames smiled up at him.
"Charlie and I have some news. A visitor that I'm sure you're going to want to know about."
Neville knew that news was nearly always bad these days. Yes, the Alliance was gaining momentum but alongside that were always those bitter, aching losses that caused the heart to suffer. He sat down and as Angelina began to speak, he was glad he had.
It had not been bad news after all, but it made Neville wonder if Luna had been right when she had told him that something was coming. Something good.
WERA hideout – unknown location
Blaise Zabini clutched the small missive in his hand staring at the neat, even printing with horror and some shock. The short communication was written on paper that had once been a part of the Daily Prophet, a simple scrap from what looked like the advertising section and it was smeared with dirt and grease. He stared at it as if offended for the condition of the letter itself and the message by the sender reminded him in a sudden, painful way what one stood to lose and what one had given up when opposing the Ministry.
I haven't given up a bloody, damned thing, that's what! I chose my family; I chose my life! Fuck them and their egotistic, bigoted thinking!
It had been months. The WERA had become his safe haven; it had become the only haven he knew for Lavender and Daisy, too. Though reluctantly, Blaise had joined the forces of the resistance as they battled against the outbreaks of the Ministry's wrath. Though the Ministry had tightened their control of the Floo, of using Portkeys, of Apparition points and even sources of communication, those who resisted had begun to find ways to thwart the growing efforts of Voldemort and his minions.
More and more had joined the Alliance; small groups had risen up within the countryside and along the borders of England and even more on the outside -in Wales, Scotland and Ireland. The growing numbers being added to the Alliance meant only one thing to Blaise.
The heartbeat of the Ministry would begin to weaken and slow. In time its evil heart would cease to beat, but the waiting was agonizing.
In the uncertain meantime the Alliance worked hard to increase their numbers. Witches and wizards, including Filius and Minerva, were working on new forms of communication. Others were gathering stores of supplies to use for food and medicinal purposes. There were efforts being made to create means of travel, including makeshift brooms charmed to fly for short periods of time and even training classes for the Muggle borns who had not been able to retrieve their wands. Many of them were not choosing to flee after escaping the Ministry, instead training and facing what was to come.
After all, some of them will die anyway and what cause could be nobler than to fight on the side of the Alliance?
Soon enough, the Ministry would have to face the resistance and Blaise had a feeing it would not be pretty.
That is no less than what they deserve.
The neat penmanship seemed strange against the dirty, smeared scrap of paper and Blaise read it again with a growing anxiousness.
It has been awhile, my friend. I will not know if this letter has reached you but if there is a God perhaps you are reading this wherever you are. She is safe; I know you will understand what I'm saying. The Ministry can't find her now for I have chosen to return to London on my own. It is for the best. I ask only one thing of you. She will come to find Potter and the children. I imagine not right away but eventually. Before she does I implore you to tell Potter I am dead. I cannot have Potter associating me with her; I want her safe and that is paramount. What was between us is in the past; even if I wanted to be with her it is impossible. It is better if they believe I have fallen. Perhaps it will be the truth eventually for I no longer know how much time I have left. How much time anyone here has left.
~D
Blaise stared down at the missive unblinkingly, his eyes burning the effort. A shiver of foreboding danced down his spine and he trembled visibly. Something about those last few words seemed too dire for words. Perhaps some people could not be saved. But he had hoped that Malfoy wouldn't be amongst them.
Several hours later
Bright sunlight streamed in through the filmy curtained windows as Ginny stared out along the back of the house where they had all taken refuge. Being a part of the Alliance meant that a house was never a home; she valued her freedom (however constricting it seemed) but she pitied having to watch her children grow up in such an environment. She feared that James, Albus and Lily would never know what it was like to feel stability and would never find a place where they could create roots.
Someday…
Ginny gripped the poorly painted parapet for a few moments and then sighed. She truly wanted to believe in the silver lining of her proverbial black cloud. Each morning she awakened amongst those she called friends and loved professors, each time that the Alliance won a small victory against the mounting Ministry forces, every smile from her healthy, whole children served to keep the glimmer of hope inside of her alive.
There would never be complete happiness; she would always feel the poignant loss of her husband and all those that had come after him. She had lost many friends. She had watched much of her family perish. Hermione, the only person in the whole world that Ginny felt knew her, was gone as well.
When this cruelty is finally over, how will I be able to pick up the pieces? Will there even be enough to recreate a semblance of life?
She knew that there was no time to think on the sad, heavy thoughts that plagued her waking hours; there was always something to do, someone to help and plans to make. And that was what Ginny had been focusing on for months.
The door behind her announced that someone had entered the room by its ominous, annoying creak. When Ginny turned it was Seamus that stood uncertainly in the doorframe.
"Howya, Gin?"
"All right, I suppose."
Ginny could tell from the change in his expression that he sensed her sadness.
"Bad time, is it?"
Ginny took a breath and shook her head, red hair glinting nearly gold in the sunlight.
"No. The children are with Luna this afternoon and I just…needed to think."
Seamus walked in after finding Ginny unopposed to company and joined her by the large window. Ginny offered him a weary smile and Seamus returned the gesture. It was strange how much kindness could be found in just a smile; it had taken Ginny the loss of her husband to learn such appreciation. She recalled times in her life when smiles had meant so little, when just the company of a friend hadn't been enough. Now everything was different. The problems of the past seemed so…petty in the face of everything she had gone through since then.
"Nasty battle, to be sure."
Seamus nodded towards Ginny's left hand which was wrapped in a clean bandage. She looked down at her arm without much emotion, shrugging it away. She was touched at his concern nevertheless.
"It was. The battles along the borders are always the toughest."
The simple phrase hardly encompassed Ginny's weariness and the fear she often felt when facing the Ministry in battle. It was as if no matter how many times the Alliance took a stand there were always more Death Eaters to fight against. Sometimes the opposition was weak but the most recent face-off had been a tough one.
"How is Lee?"
Ginny had taken a rather nasty fall whilst casting several defensive charms to protect Lee who had fallen in battle. Death had seemed the likely outcome after the fight but somehow the sturdy man had survived.
"Taking all of Poppy's attention, he is," replied Seamus with a slight twinkle in his eyes. "But never was there a tougher bloke."
Ginny nodded and heaved another quiet sigh as the silence fell between them again.
"I might be thick as brick, Gin, but it's sure I am something's wrong."
Ginny turned her head.
"What do you think happened to all those that we haven't heard from in ages?"
"I haven't got a baldy."
"There was another group of Muggle-borns leaving London a week ago. I heard Dean whispering about it," she muttered.
Her eyes shone a bit from unshed tears of frustration.
"It's just that-"
She swallowed.
"I just keep wondering about Hermione! Where she is now and if she's alive!"
The words tumbled for in her growing agitation as her eyes searched Seamus'.
"Each time I hear about what's going on in London, I swear! I just…I don't understand why she had the chance and didn't take it!"
The silence seemed much heavier than normal.
"He was after taking care of her, so he was."
Seamus' voice was thoughtful. Ginny's head shot up and her face was a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.
"Who? Malfoy?"
"Sure, he's a right gobshite, but Gin, I talked to her."
Ginny pressed her lips together feeing a flood of resentment against Malfoy and everything that had happened. Somehow it was impossible to believe that Hermione loved him, no matter what he had done for her. How could anyone love a man who had sided with such evil? Who had willingly been branded with the sign of the devil himself if such a thing existed? She trembled.
Not Hermione. Not the woman who had loved and married Ron. It just wasn't possible. Still the memory of that fiery, windy night rushed back to Ginny. She saw the tears in Hermione's eyes and her determination to stay behind while the others escaped just so she could stay with-
"I know," she whispered turning her burning face away. "I know what she said. I know that youtalked to her. But that doesn't make things any different and-"
Seamus' touch was gentle, his fingers lingering on her bandaged arm for a few moments.
"She asked would I look after you. Would I check on the children? She loves you, she does."
Ginny's lips were a thin white line now as were the fingers that had clamped down on the parapet in front of her. When she spoke the words were tearful.
"I hate bloody feeling this way!"
Her utterance was nothing short of a plea for help. Tears finally came, hot and shameful.
"I hate feeling like she abandoned us when all I wanted for her was safety! I miss her! I want her in my life and I feel like she tossed us aside for-"
Seamus gathered Ginny into his arms so that the words she used to describe and belittle Draco Malfoy were muffled against his jumper. He had often wondered what had happened to the fiery, determined girl he recalled from their school years. Sure, life had been cruel, snatching away her husband and all her joy but she was still alive and often times Seamus felt like the hope had died in her a long time ago.
He fought to try and bring it back.
"But you're not alone, are ya? We've all had to do everything in our power to survive, sure. It's no more or less for Hermione."
Ginny wiped tears away with vehement swipes.
"You don't understand! I saw the way they treated her at the alienage, the way Malfoy-"
She was interrupted by Blaise Zabini's abrupt entrance. The door had been flung open and he stood there watching the two of them, a perturbed expression on his dark, exotic features.
"Funny that you should be talking about him."
"Who?"
Malfoy."
There was a heavy silence.
"He's dead."
The words were simple, the announcement lacking the heaviness that it should have had under normal circumstances. A gasp issued from Ginny.
"A-and…what about-"
Somehow it was impossible to mention Hermione. Ginny did not want to know if the impossible had happened.
Hermione can't be dead!
Blaise's face was an infuriating, unemotional mask.
"They found him in London and they suspect the Ministry. He was alone."
Then his eyes flickered towards Ginny with something like sympathy.
"She wasn't with him; she hasn't been with him in a long time. Some have said she escaped a long time ago. Others don't know what's become of her. Right now, no one can hazard a guess."
Blaise watched as Ginny Potter paled so that the freckles dusted along her nose and cheeks stood out almost garishly. Next to her the Irish chap wore a similar expression. It was just as well; shock was preferable to them knowing the truth. Draco hadn't wanted them to, and until Blaise could speak with the other man, he would keep the secret.
