III

Note: Any words that appear in italics are spoken in French. Sorry, I don't speak French but it was necessary for a realistic story.

Hermione had begun to doubt the attempt was working. It had been over a month since she had started trying to contact Neville, and surely if it had worked he would have come by now. She knew enough about his movements to know he was often in Europe, and the Neville she had known would never have ignored a direct plea from a friend. Five years couldn't have changed a person so much. Well it hadn't changed her anyway.

She sighed and considered her options as she typed in the details on the new assortment of books that had come in. Perhaps she could risk a trip into Paris' central wizarding district on the weekend? She would have to ask someone to look after April though and finding a muggle to trust with a young witch, especially if for some reason Hermione's return was delayed- but she refused to consider that. No, she would have to think of some other way.

At that moment Marguerite appeared beside her console. Hermione finished her sentence and glanced up inquiringly. "There's a young man arrived wanting to speak to you Hermione. Gave the name Neville Longbottom."

Hermione smiled brilliantly at the woman, momentarily startling her, Hermione did not often smile so. "Thank you, Marguerite. That's wonderful news." And then she did something Marguerite had never seen her do, she immediately stood up and walked away from her desk- ignoring the books stacked there, leaving the screen with a half filled out document and uttering no request about having it dealt with.

As Hermione walked toward the information desk in the Library foyer, she was filled with the pride of success, battling with feelings of uncertainty and eagerness. Much as she was looking forward to seeing Neville, one of her closest friends, for the first time in so long, she instinctively knew that the sight of him would trigger feelings and memories best left forgotten. Already she was fighting not to remember the circumstances surrounding their last meeting… and earlier, darker memories associated with those.

He had come to the pub she had specified at midday, wearing a long lilac coat and carrying a large cloth backpack. They had greeted each other fondly as old friends, but felt the long shadows of those who weren't present reaching out to embrace them.

Haltingly, Neville had told her of Ginny's death. Hermione had been devastated. Immediately shocked fully back into her raw grief for Ron, Harry and her parents, as well as everyone else they had lost, that she struggled to contain below the surface most of the time, she had caused quite a scene in the tavern before Neville had been able to help her leave. They had gone down to the park and sat on a bench. She had curled herself into his warm arms and they had cried together, there in that deserted place, with the late winter snow melting into mud around them. It was the first time she'd had close human contact in over a year.

When she'd had her release and been able to control herself- for the time being- he had opened the backpack and lifted from it a sleeping child. Hermione had sat there in renewed shock, unable to fathom why Neville would be carrying around a child, a child he had ensorcelled to remain asleep so that she had never even suspected its presence.

When he told her that it was Ginny's daughter, she had not been surprised at her existence- Ginny had been drawing toward the end of her pregnancy when Hermione left England- but that Neville should have her.

Uncertainly he had told her that the child's only remaining family was her three uncles, none of whom were in a position to care for her. Undoubtedly the Dark Lord's minions would be looking for her. He had begged Hermione to take her, claiming it was the only thing he could think of to keep the child safe and cared for. Hermione had refused. How could Neville think she could take this baby and look after her properly? She had barely been able to care for herself since… since that afternoon. The child belonged with her family, whoever was left.

Then Neville had told her that Harry and Ginny would have wanted it this way; that they would have regarded her as the child's family as much as Ginny's brothers were. That she owed it to them.

So Hermione, who had never gotten over the guilt of still living when they did not, and who always had, and always would, do anything for them, had accepted the responsibility Neville had given her. And from the moment she looked down into baby April's sleeping angel face, she rediscovered a meaning for her life, and even, sometimes, joy.