Author's Note - Sorry about the delay. I'm the worst.

Chapter 36

Dumbledore Didn't Do Smug

Sunday, May 2

Draco

Draco wished he'd just stayed in Azkaban. But really, this time.

It was the anniversary.

Truthfully, that day didn't even rank in the top 5 worst days of his life, but that didn't really mean it was any less shitty. It wasn't a testament to how horrible that day had been. It was more that other events had affected him more on a personal level – a thought that didn't make him feel any better about himself.

He supposed he had almost died that day. But how was that different than any of the other days he'd been cooped up in the Manor with Greyback, Bellatrix, and the Dark Lord?

He'd been able to settle into a nice denial. Yeah, he still had to look at the tattoo on his arm every day. Yeah, he still had to deal with all the guilt and the grief. But, on a day-to-day basis, he could pretend most of the time.

But today? It seemed like even the castle remembered. It was draftier and darker than usual, despite the perfect spring day. It was quiet in the castle, even for a Sunday. He felt like he could hear a pin drop all the way up in the Headmistress's office from down here in his bed.

Breakfast was a subdued affair. Most were already in their robes, awaiting the memorial ceremony that afternoon.

He met Granger in the Entrance Hall. He swore he could see a faint outline of blood. But, logically, he knew that had all been vanished after the battle.

They settled in the grass, near the spot he'd found her that day before their date. They sat quietly. Granger had her knees pulled up to her chest, chin resting on them. She was brushing her fingers through the grass, seemingly lost in space.

He didn't know how to quantify her energy today. It was normally warm and chaotic. Today… it was just lackluster.

"Have you decided if you're going to go?" she asked softly.

He shrugged. "Yes, I think so. I… I just don't want to take up any attention or… make it worse."

He saw her nod out of his peripheral vision. "I don't think anyone will really be paying attention to anything but themselves." She started ripping little blades of grass with her fingers, a habit of hers he'd identified as one of anxiety. "I'm sorry I won't be with you," she whispered.

He scooted closer to her and put his arm around her to show that he wasn't upset.

She'd offered to sit with him during the memorial to make him feel more comfortable. He'd tried, to the best of his ability without hurting her feelings, to tell her that it would have just made him feel more uncomfortable. That was hardly how he wanted to make their "debut" as a couple. Plus, he knew the Weasleys were coming. She should be with them.

"You know it's not that I'm ashamed right?" she practically begged. "It's just… Today isn't about me. And I wouldn't want to add any stress to Molly and Arthur. It will be difficult enough as it is. I just want to be there to support them."

He hummed in agreement. He understood.

He tried to remember that "it will be difficult enough as it is" referred to the anniversary of their son's death and not to the fact that they'd have to accept him as her boyfriend.

No, it wasn't about either of them.

"It's fine, Granger. Theo and I will be in the back, silently atoning for our sins."

She glared at him. They'd been bickering the last few days about his apparent inability to forgive himself. She maintained he'd done plenty of apologizing. He hardly agreed.

"I don't want to fight today, Draco."

He sighed but didn't apologize.

They sat in silence for a while.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her after a bit.

She shrugged. "It's just hard to believe it's been a year, you know?"

"Yeah."

"It's also hard to believe that this is the occasion we're commemorating. It just feels like there was so much more than one day. We should have been having a memorial practically every day this year." She sighed.

It was true. But the memorial would honor everyone who had died since the Triwizard Tournament due to Dark Magic.

"When are you meeting Potter?"

She checked her watch. "About an hour. We'll say hi to Aberforth and then meet the Weasleys at the apparition point."

Draco nodded. He just didn't really have a lot to say.

"He's staying in Hogsmeade until tomorrow night. He invited us to dinner."

"Oh."

He supposed it was Granger's turn now that they'd met his mother for tea.

"Ginny will be there," Granger added, smiling at him.

This helped. He did like the lone female Weasley sibling. A Slytherin missorted if he ever saw one.

"Okay, I'll be there."

They sat there silently for a while longer until it was time for her to walk down to Hogsmeade.

Hermione

"Hi Harry," Hermione said, embracing him at the bar.

He gave her a huge hug.

It was good to see him.

"How are you?" Harry asked.

She shrugged. "You know."

Harry nodded.

They chatted with Aberforth for a while. Aberforth was complaining about the extra business. Many people were staying in Hogsmeade for the memorial. Not as many as for Dumbledore's funeral, but it was enough to make him emotional and extra crochety.

They waited on the edge of the town for Ron and the rest of the Weasleys.

"So… You and Malfoy?" Harry asked, elbowing her in the ribs with a shy but equally Fred and George grin.

Hermione blushed. "Today is hardly the time, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe it is. It's sort of poetic. Can you imagine how smug Dumbledore would be?"

Hermione scoffed. "I don't think Professor Dumbledore did 'smug,' Harry."

Harry laughed. "I don't think you ever saw him with Fudge. Besides, you know he'd be sitting up there at the staff table, whispering in Snape's ear about how beautiful it is, just to watch him squirm."

Hermione bit her cheek not to laugh.

"I doubt he'd approve."

"You saw the memories—" Harry said defensively.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ever the greasy git's defender. "Well, even if blood purity was all a show for him—" she silenced Harry's retort with a glare. "Even if, I think I offended him just with my base personality. I would never have been his favorite student."

Harry laughed and used his hand to smash his hair back onto his head and fashioned his face into a sneer. "Magnanimous godfather, please allow me to present my girlfriend."

Hermione glared at him. "That's not very nice."

"Oh, shut up. You know you've made fun of him just as much as the rest of us. Maybe I'll tell him about your impression of him from Fourth Year."

Hermione smacked his shoulder. "You wouldn't dare."

Harry continued to laugh quietly. "And can you just imagine the look—"

There was a pop behind them. They both whipped around. It was just a couple. The woman was dabbing at her eye with a handkerchief and had gorgeous honey toned wavy blonde hair. The man had wide, kind, brown eyes and a familiar button nose Hermione had always secretly been jealous of.

She noticed that the smile had faded from Harry's eyes but remained on his lips.

"Really, Harry, I don't think it's the time."

Harry sighed next to her and watched Lavender's parents make their way up the path.

"I dunno, Hermione. Isn't it what we fought for?" She looked over at him, to see his green eyes piercing her. "Two teenagers, having a fun, carefree romance instead of worrying about some evil plot? A pureblood falling for a muggle born? One friend making fun of another for her choice in a boyfriend? Wasn't that the point of it all? I think it is exactly the time. I think Dumbledore would appreciate that more than any of the speeches they're going to make about him tonight. I'd bet my invisibility cloak on it."

Hermione opened her mouth, but found she had no argument.

She, for not the first time, found herself wondering when Harry had become so wise.

One by one, the Weasleys apparated in front of them, accompanied by Angelina, Fleur, and what appeared to be some friend of Charlie's.

Hermione hugged each of them, already unable to contain her tears. Mrs. Weasley had scolded her for crying while leaking a steady stream of tears herself.

. . .

The memorial was lovely, Hermione ultimately thought. It had been set up on the grounds in a large semicircle, facing the lake and the castle in the background. Professor McGonagall and Kingsley had made some short speeches.

McGonagall had asked for volunteers to read the names of the deceased. Neville, alone, had volunteered. He did so without help, reading alphabetically through the names of the muggles, witches, wizards, creatures, and (to many attendees' dismay) Death Eaters who had died over the past few years. It took a long time. She, for the hundredth time, it seemed, was in awe of Neville's bravery. His voice didn't falter once, though she could see his hands shaking and eyes brimming with tears.

Harry had insisted last year during the reconstruction that the memorials include those whose minds had been poisoned to believe in Voldemort's cause. He said the only way to keep something like this from happening again was to stop treating each other like opposite sides. They'd all argued about it. Ron had yelled and yelled that people like Greyback had no business having their name share space with his brother, Tonks, and Lupin. Hermione had been conflicted. She felt there were plenty of people who had been coerced into servitude due to weakness or fear. They certainly weren't to blame for the actions of a madman. But, they had still allowed it when the rest of them had risked their lives. Harry had never wavered. He'd ultimately gotten his way but going directly to Rita Skeeter and telling her that he would publicly oppose the rebuilding efforts if they didn't. That had been the tipping of the scale.

Neville had called for an exceptionally long moment of silence to honor all named, as well as anyone who had perished anonymously.

So, she took a moment to think of everyone she knew who they'd lost over the years and what they meant to her.

How each of them had sacrificed so she could sit here so she could worry that people were judging her for not crying.

When Hermione opened her eyes, she felt blinded by the bright sunlight. It was a beautiful day. It seemed fitting. She didn't remember what the weather had been like a year ago. Ginny was crying into Harry's shoulder and he had his hand clasped tighly around Hermione's. Ron sat next to her, stiff as a board and glancing continuously over to George whose facial expression was unreadable. Bill and Charlie were crying. Mrs. Weasley had obviously silenced herself and Mr. Weasley sniffed loudly. Hermione looked around. Most people were crying.

Some, like her, were not. Sometimes, tears just didn't come when it was socially expected.

She had a feeling they'd strike soon. Without notice. They usually did. Something innocuous like reading the paper or folding her laundry or walking with friends to class. When you spent all your mental effort ensuring nothing big or dangerous cracked through the strong emotional dam you'd built, the slightest chip or mosquito would break through the brittle wall.

Like the mouse and the elephant, she supposed.

Like the sudden and crippling sensation of despair when you read a fascinating article about werewolf paramours in the paper and can't wait to ask your professor about it, only to be confronted with the sinking realization that they're gone and you can't. Like the sinking reality when you're folding laundry and you remember the way your roommate used to good naturedly make fun of your "granny panties" only to realize that the perfect retort you just came up with was now useless. Like the heart stopping shock when you're walking to class, and you see the light perfectly hitting the school crest in the entrance hall and you want to tip off that annoying younger student that it would be a great picture to send his dad.

But then you remember. And you have no one to debate the article with. No one on whom to use the witty retort. No one to give photography tips.

But no. Hermione certainly wouldn't know about anything like that.

She snuck a look to the back where she found Draco and Theo, looking solemn. He caught her eye. She sent him a little half smile and he nodded at her.

She sighed. No one knew more about an emotional damn than him.

She'd find him later.

She hoped she'd find him later.

She hoped she'd find her Draco under… everything. The layers of guilt and defense and helplessness she could identify in his posture.

Monday, May 3

Hermione

She held Draco's hand the entire walk down to Hogsmeade. He had been unusually quiet.

She squeezed his hand as they approached the Three Broomsticks.

He sighed.

"It'll be okay, you know," she said quietly.

Draco sighed again.

"Harry already… upfronted it with Madam Rosmerta."

Draco glanced at her with an expression she couldn't read.

They stopped in front of the door and Draco looked up at the sign.

Hermione tried to figure out what to say. She wanted to tell him he'd already apologized and that it would be alright. That she and Harry carried a lot of weight, and she wouldn't let anyone make him feel inferior. That he was allowed to be forgiven.

But something stopped her.

The door flung open, and an old man started to stumble out. He apologized to them, slurring and holding the door for them.

Draco sighed. "Yeah, okay." He led her through.

The tavern was bustling with the dinner crowd and the people staying in town from yesterday. She bounced up and down, looking for their friends. She spotted bright red hair at the far corner of the bar and led Draco towards it, ignoring the way he dragged his feet and grumbled about Potter trying to kill him again.

"Hey!" she said, clearing her throat.

Harry and Ginny both smiled at them, scooting further down so they could pull up stools.

Harry and Draco exchanged awkward hellos.

Ginny greeted him in French. From the look on her face, she didn't think it was particularly polite. But Draco huffed and she recognized the way his lips stretched over his teeth when he was trying to contain a smile.

"Enchante madame," he said. He muttered something else that made Ginny snort. Hermione wished she'd gone with her mother to the French classes at the local community center.

Awkward silence.

Chairs scraped.

Leather seats groaned.

Madame Rosmerta approached them and narrowed her eyes at Harry, barely even acknowledging Draco's existence.

Harry hummed the Hogwarts anthem.

Draco drummed his fingers on the bar top.

Hermione picked at her cuticles.

Madam Rosmerta sighed and sauntered away.

Glasses thudded in front of them.

Hermione clambered for hers and took several large gulps.

More silence.

A snort from Ginny.

Everyone was looking at her.

"What?" she asked defensively.

"Well, you've drained your glass," Ginny quipped.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but caught sight of her practically empty mug.

Oh.

Draco snorted.

"We used to debate what would make Granger loosen up and expel that stick up her ass. Who knew it just was an awkward silence all along?"

Silence.

A ringing in Hermione's ears.

Harry doubled over on the bar top next to her, giggling uncontrollably.

Ginny stared at Draco with an open mouth.

Draco knocked back his drink and raised an eyebrow at her.

Ginny laughed and made a quip about snakes.

Draco let out a bark, but Hermione recognized the little lines at in the corners of his eyes that signified a real smile.

Harry hiccupped.

He wasn't a heavy drinker. He only hiccupped when he laughed too hard.

What had her life come to?

Madam Rosmerta set another Butterbeer in front of her. Hermione dedicated herself to twisting the mug and methodically wiping the condensation off each flat edge.

Ginny was conversing with Madam Rosmerta and the woman next to her at the bar. Apparently, she was a waitress at the Hog's Head. They were lovingly complaining about Aberforth's frosty tendencies. Debating about eligible bachelors for the two women. Gossiping about the affair of a magical musician.

Harry and Draco were talking over her. Debating Robard's qualifications as the head of the auror's office. Complaining about the state of the Prophet. Laughing about Terry Boot.

Hermione sipped her drink, trying to figure out where she, her best friend and Draco Malfoy had gone. Where was the boy who followed Draco for an entire year, losing sleep trying to figure out his motives? Where was the boy who had stayed up half the night figuring out how to transfigure "Potter Stinks" badges that required magic far beyond their Fourth Year knowledge? Where was the girl who had glared at him over her breakfast, cursing his existence?

She looked in the mirror across from them, seeking out her reflection between the bottles of liquor and taps.

But she didn't recognize herself.

She saw a girl with brown bushy hair with a spark in her eyes and a blush on her cheeks.

A girl laughing at whatever the blonde boy next to her had just said. He had his arm draped over her shoulder. Her left hand was playing with his fingers where his hand rested. There was a lightness in this girl's face.

The freckles on her nose stood out, promising happiness. Her posture was straight, but not rigid. As she turned to laugh at something the raven-haired boy next to her said, her cheeks scrunched up her eyes.

The blonde boy was leaning around the brunette girl, with his free arm resting on the bar, peering around her. His hair was disheveled. His cheeks were flushed, with laughter or booze, she wasn't sure which. He undid the second button on his immaculately pressed button down and threw his head back slightly in a laugh. He caught the brunette staring at him and winked at her with a sinful handsomeness.

The raven-haired boy's eyes were dancing in the light of the dimly lit bar. His smile was so white. He ruffled his hair with the cockiness of a popular boy who knew no hardships.

Where was the girl whose bronzed skin had turned ashy? Who had a constant crick in her neck from looking over her shoulder at any slight sound from the forest? Who had cried herself to sleep for three nights straight after learning what "Mudblood" meant?

Where was the boy who had sneered at her for raising her hand in class? Who had yellow bags under his eyes their whole Sixth Year? Who had jerked and covered his mouth with his hand while she twitched on the blinding white tiled floor of his childhood home?

Where was the boy whose eyes had turned black when he was frustrated or annoyed their Fifth Year? Who had stared blankly out the window of the Hogwarts Express on the way back after Sixth Year? Who had looked resigned from practically the first day she'd met him? Who'd defeated Voldemort and brought peace to wizarding Britain?

Where was the fiery redhead who had been seduced, possessed, and kidnapped by the darkest wizard to ever exist? Who had quietly shouldered the responsibilities of a large family who had no idea what they were doing? Who had seen her greatest fear realized at 17, when she saw the love of her life's lifeless body dangled in front of her like an "I told you so?"

Where were they?

Draco made a quip about Slughorn and the brunette in the mirror crinkled her face with laughter.

And, not for the first time, it dawned on Hermione that she was the last to move on.

Hermione watched Madam Rosmerta take Draco's order and ask him what she remembered about his grandfather. She asked Hermione about her plans for after graduation. She congratulated Draco on his apprenticeship. She remarked that she'd been surprised to hear about their relationship, since Skeeter was no longer sulking about.

Aberforth bumbled in, asking about spare Gillywater. He raised an eyebrow at Draco's arm around her shoulders and rolled his eyes.

But she could swear his eyes sparkled.

Judgmental and smug.

Just like someone else.

Maybe Harry was right.

Maybe this is what it was about all along.

I've gotten over the big hump of writer's block that delayed things. I hope I'll be able to provide more regular updates now. As always, thanks.