"Good evening Miss Granger."

Hermione's head shot up and her eyes narrowed dangerously on the man seated across from her.

"Hello, Dumbledore."

"Not 'Professor Dumbledore', Miss Granger?" he asked, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "That's not very polite."

She put her elbows on the hard wood table. "You'll have to forgive me," she said. "I'm not feeling terribly polite."

"Consider yourself forgiven," he said magnanimously.

Hermione studied him critically for a minute. He looked very much the same as she remembered him; all white beard and pointy hat, easy smile and gleaming eyes. Eyes that believed themselves to be much more clever than they actually were.

"You look good, Dumbledore," she said. "For a dead guy."

He smiled and conjured a tray of tea and biscuits between them. She also noted, without much surprise, that there was a small crystal dish of lemon drops on the tray beside the biscuits.

"Tea?" he offered.

"No."

His smile didn't waver at her abrupt refusal. He poured himself a cup, added cream and sugar, and sipped.

"What do you want, Dumbledore?" she demanded.

"Miss Granger, do try not to be rude."

She glared at him and gripped the table so hard that her fingertips turned white. "Dumbledore, I'm not in the mood for your shit," she snapped. He didn't even flinch. "In fact, I am restraining myself, just barely, from coming over that table. I think a little rudeness on my part is excusable, and quite frankly, the least of your concerns."

"You have no idea what concerns me, Miss Granger," he said. He calmly set his teacup down on its saucer. "None whatsoever."

They stared at each other across the table. His kindly façade did not even crack.

"What do you want?" she asked again. "I have to assume you want something, or you wouldn't be in my head."

Dumbledore blinked.

Hermione smiled faintly. "Oh yes, I know that I'm dreaming."

What she did not tell him was that she had been forced to learn how to distinguish her dreams from reality to keep from losing her mind. When Voldemort was still alive, when every moment had the potential to be her last, reality had easily been confused with nightmares.

"You seem angry with me, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. He picked up his teacup again and sipped.

She laughed softly. "Do I? I wonder why that would be, Dumbledore?"

"And so cynical," he said, shaking his head sadly.

Cynical? Yes, she supposed so. Angry; most definitely. Bitter, resentful, and outraged wouldn't have been too much of a stretch either. She was all of those things, and a great deal of her hostility was directed at the man sitting with her at that table.

"You had no right," she said fiercely.

He put his teacup down and arched a fluffy white eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"You had no right to use us the way you did," she said. "None. You didn't even ask."

"It was your destiny," he replied calmly. "You were destined to fight the Dark Lord. And in the end, you were destined to triumph."

"Good triumphs over Evil?" she said sarcastically. "Some triumph."

"It was your destiny," he said again simply. As if that made everything all right.

"I don't believe in destiny."

He smiled. "Your duty then."

She slammed her fist down on the top of the table. The plate of biscuits bounced and the tea things rattled. "No," she said. "You weren't there, you conniving old fuck, so you can spare me your bullshit about destiny, duty, and honor."

"Miss Granger—"

But she wasn't listening. "You weren't there. You didn't see what we saw. You didn't smell the blood, or the burning flesh, or hear the screams of your dying friends. You didn't have to comfort people when they lost hope, or hold the hands of the dying because there was no one else to do it."

"I know, Miss Granger."

"No you don't. You don't know, that's what I'm saying," she said. "How can you. You're dead, and safely beyond the reach of it all."

"Miss Granger—"

"They all think I'm mad, you know," she said conversationally.

He smiled faintly. "Yes, they had quite the same opinion of me when I was alive."

She narrowed her eyes at him, then sat back and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "I never said I wasn't mad, Dumbledore," she said, "only that they think it."

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said patiently, "I really don't think—"

"You don't get to control this conversation," she snapped. "You're in my head. Best you remember that next time you get the urge to mind-fuck someone."

"Granger!"

Hermione looked up at the sound of that voice as though she expected to see Draco Malfoy floating in the air above her head. There was nothing but swirling white and blue sky.

"Granger, wake up!"

"That would be Mister Malfoy, I believe," Dumbledore said. He calmly took a lemon drop from the dish and put it in his mouth. "You've become quite friendly with him, so I've heard."

"I guess that answers the question about whether or not dead men tell tales," she said, eyeing him with distaste. "I killed his father, you know. In the war."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"You mourn for him?" Dumbledore sounded skeptical.

She smiled sadly. "No," she said. "Not him. But when I killed him, I lost my innocence, and I mourn for that."

"You blame yourself too much for things that were always beyond your control, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said.

"What right did you—any of you—have to expect such things from us?" she whispered. "We were children, Dumbledore, not warriors."

"In times of war it is often necessary for children to become warriors, Miss Granger."

Hermione shoved back from the table and angrily got to her feet. She turned away from him, then abruptly turned back. "You know, one of my only regrets is that Snape killed you before I could," she told him.

She had the satisfaction of seeing his shining blue eyes widen in shock before she heard Draco calling her again.

"God Damn you, Granger, wake up!"

"Goodbye Dumbledore," she said. "And stay the fuck out of my head."

"Goodbye, Miss Granger," he said. "And try not to be too hard on yourself about . . ."

But she wasn't listening anymore. She opened her eyes and he was gone.

"Granger? Granger, are you alright?"

She got up and stretched. "I'm fine."

He sighed, sounding relieved. "Damn but you can be shrill," he said. "No wonder Weasley was so keen on you. You sound just like his blessed mother when you're angry."

"Do I really?" she asked, amused.

"Yes," he said. He was quiet for a few minutes, then asked, "So Dumbledore, huh?"

"What?"

"You were screaming about Dumbledore," he clarified. "In your sleep."

"Oh."

"So tell me; would you really stuff his balls down his throat if you had the chance?"

"Yes," she said. She was completely serious. "But I'd peel them with a dull knife first."

Draco cringed. "That's disgusting, Granger. I never would have taken you for a sadist."

She pressed her hands to the middle of her back and arched. There was a satisfying crackle. "Shows what you know, then, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Mother! Mother, where are you!"

"Shut the fuck up you whining momma's boy!" Draco shouted back at the Mother Crier.

"Mother?" the Mother Crier shouted back, sounding hopeful. "Is that you, Mother?"

"No, I aint your fucking mother, you twit!"

"Mother, I'm sorry! Mother, help me!"

"I skull-fucked your mother!" Draco screamed back. "And she liked it!"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Malfoy, your only encouraging him," Hermione said.

He snorted.

"Mother, please!"

"I'd give just about anything for my wand right about now," Draco muttered. "He's been doing that for hours."

"Just ignore him," she suggested.

Draco grumbled something under his breath.

"Mother!"

"Why don't you try being his mother for an hour or two, Granger?"

"You know, if you weren't so stuck up, Malfoy, you could have a lot of fun with him."

"What are you babbling about, Granger?"

"He thinks you're his mother," she reminded him.

"Yeah?"

"And he'd do anything to please his mother."

"Mother!" the Mother Crier screamed as if to confirm this. "Please talk to me Mother!"

"What the hell could I possibly want from him?" Draco demanded.

"You could always tell him how happy it would make you if he were to bash his brains out on his cell wall."

Draco was silent for a long time.

"Mother! Oh God, Mother, please help me!"

"You are evil, Granger," Draco said at last.

"Why, for suggesting something so vile?"

"No," he said. "Because I'm seriously considering it."