I'll admit, I put the peddle to the metal to get this chapter up before y'all started to riot. Enjoy! :)

He hadn't expected to outlive her. Galahad expected to outlive everyone he met, as that was the nature of being immortal, but while Hermione hadn't been immortal in the classic sense, she'd seemed more bound to life than any immortal he'd ever known. He'd been told not long after meeting Hermione that she was a woman out of time, and would one day return to the distant future - to the here and now - and as he'd clung to the thrilling idea that hers would be a relationship he'd have that would span the ages, he'd all but forgotten the fact that despite all of that, she was still mortal.

Hermione Slytherin had done more for the world in her forty-seven years of life than he had in over a thousand, and the notion filled him with shame. Shame, and resolve to be more in the future. That in mind, he was wandering around the battle scarred castle now, checking in with those she'd been close to, trying to offer what little comfort there was to be had. Of all the ways to go, Hermione would have wanted to go out fighting, taking hordes of enemy combatants with her, and she'd done just that. As there was nothing left of the Death Eaters' remains to count, they'd had to guess how many of Voldemort's forces had stormed the castle yesterday, and their best guess was that there'd been at least twelve hundred.

By all accounts Hermione had taken out, between the Fiendfyre in the courtyard and the sacrifice she'd made to activate that violent reaction in the wards, more than two-thirds of the attackers.

"Galahad," a voice called to him.

"Rupert," he greeted, moving over to where the man had been sitting, hidden in an alcove of the corridor Galahad had been walking down just then. "Hiding?"

"Resting," the other man replied softly. "I managed to escape the battle with only minor injuries, but I was one of the few of the inner circle that did. Those of us not laid up have been pulling double duty trying to put things right. Not that anything could put things right, now."

Galahad sighed. "I know what you mean. She left some big shoes to fill. Who's taking over as Head of the Order?"

"For the moment, Severus is managing it, but with his duty as Lord Regent, he can't possibly keep it up in the long term. I think he means to speak with Remus, but Remus isn't coping with life very well at the moment, so I think he's waiting a bit," Rupert replied. "Severus is a real brick, you know? Hermione was like a sister to him, and this has got to be kicking him in the bollocks pretty hard, but he's standing strong anyway. I guess she was like a sister to a lot of us. She did tend to collect stray men."

"Ah," he said, cringing a bit. "While I am certainly deeply hurt by this loss, I was not among those who shared a familial type of bond with Hermione. Even if I was a stray that she, by your words, collected."

Rupert raised an eyebrow. "Because of knowing her back in the Founders Era?"

"Because we were once lovers," Galahad clarified. "And it's hard to think of Hermione as a sister when I've got vivid memories of being… intimate with her."

"Oh. Well. That would change things then," Rupert agreed readily, bug-eyed at the notion. "Does Minerva know?"

"Oh yes," he chuckled. "I had no idea Hermione was involved with anyone when I arrived at Hogwarts per her summons, so upon seeing the woman I'd missed and longed for over the centuries, I promptly snogged her. In front of the Headmistress."

Rupert laughed. "I'd have paid to see that."

"Severus' reaction was far more amusing than Minerva's," he said, remembering. "History recalls me as The Pure Knight, which was meant to be a title bestowed regarding my sense of honor, but in the modern age it's assumed I was celibate. Our dear friend promptly burst out laughing, saying 'so much for the pure knight.' Minerva just calmly requested an introduction."

"Oh, Merlin," the other man said, rolling his eyes. "What an arse. Typical Severus."

"Quite," Galahad agreed. "Now, what about you? Are you and Ronald still planning to go to Sunnydale together? Or has that changed?"

"The Slayer still needs a Watcher, and despite all that's happened, the Goblin still requires an Order representative to chaperone me. Ron, despite the death of not one, but both of his parents, and despite his own injury, is insistent that he will honor his agreement. He reasons that there's not enough time to train someone else to take his place, and as much as I would love to release him from this obligation, he's right on that end. We've spent weeks getting to know each other, and briefing him on all things Slayer, and getting his Watcher credentials secured… it's just too much to try and redo in the days we have before leaving. Not if we don't have to."

"I look forward to watching Mister Weasley finish growing up," Galahad commented. "He's a hell of a lad, and he'll become a man I'm proud to know. Presuming he lives long enough to finish growing up."

"I'll look out for him," Rupert promised.

"And he'll look out for you," he replied. "Which concerns me in regard to both of your welfare, as both of you are equally willing to lay your lives down for the cause."

"A mindset we learned from Hermione," the other man commented.

"And thus," Galahad said pointedly, "my concern."

Later, he ran into Amelia Black, who reported that her husband, Sirius, was going to make a full recovery despite a rather gruesome battle wound. This led him to check in with Helen Magnus, who of the medical staff, was the least likely to bite his head off for inquiring on the status of various patients. Malcolm and Jacqueline McGonagall were both prone to tempers - he for the Scottish blood running through his veins and so far as his wife was concerned, he really hadn't a clue. He assumed it had something to do with spending too much time with said Scottish bloodline. Galahad really didn't know how the young Defense Professor, Patrick, had escaped the personality trait. One would be hard pressed to meet a more even tempered young man.

Janet Hammond was simply American. She was a tiny little redhead who was fiercely protective of her patients, and while outside of the hospital environment he found her to be good company, inside her ward he'd learned quickly to stay out of her way. Helen, who was supposedly muggle despite magical lineage and immortality, was someone with whom he could carry on a conversation. Yes, she was the one to seek out.

"Mister DuLac," Helen greeted.

"Doctor Magnus," he greeted in kind. Her Victorian era roots were a balm to his soul. Yes, that had been a well mannered era, not unlike the time he'd been born into, and he liked a well mannered individual more than he could express. Were she not Hermione's granddaughter, he might have even found her appealing in a sexual manner - Merlin knew she was a beautiful woman - but given the familial relation to Hermione, he could not bring himself to see her as anything other than a pleasant companion with whom he could relate deeply.

Immortality, for all its benefits, left one prone to egotism, which he could not abide. Helen, well past what would have been her natural lifespan, remained kind, considerate, and yes, very well mannered.

"What can I do for you?" she asked with a smile, turning her attention away from the pile of parchment under her fingertips and to himself.

"I've been doing the rounds, checking in on those most impacted by the battle," he confessed. "How are you managing?"

She sighed. "While yes, Hermione was a relation of mine, I hardly knew her so I'm doing well enough, I suppose. That, and in recent years I've had to watch a number of friends die of old age, so perhaps I'm just a bit numb to grief at this point. I'm sure you understand."

"I do," he agreed. "It's a sad truth, but the more loved ones you watch die, the easier it becomes to accept the event. Still, others are not so jaded as you and I, so there's a certain presentation of grief that must be adhered to. It's not that it's easy for us… just less hard."

"At the moment I'm a bit wrapped up in Annabeth's care," she allowed. "When Minerva sent her in, Jackie and Janet were both ready to amputate the leg, but I wouldn't hear of it. Jackie finally told me that if I wanted to work to save the leg, I'd be responsible for the physical therapy that came after. I do know she's Minerva's sister-in-law but I'm really having a difficult time resisting the urge to hit that woman. Speed does not always equate the best possible care, and yet she seems to think the faster she can tend to a patient, the better."

Galahad chuckled. "Do give her some grace. Most of what Jackie, and the rest of the staff here have been doing for the last year has been triage. In that instance, when there's dozens of patients coming in all at once with various levels of injury, speed is of the essence to save as many lives as possible. I'd be willing to bet it's become habitual at this point, to work quickly."

"Well, despite the therapy ahead, Annabeth still has both her legs, so I dare say she'll be thankful at least someone was thinking more long term," Helen replied tersely. "It's barbaric! And to think, Hermione wouldn't let me bring a gun to the castle because she found it barbaric!"

"Given your current feelings regarding Madam McGonagall, I would have to say Hermione was probably wise not to give you free reign with a muggle firearm," he teased.

"I may want to shoot her, but I am quite capable of restraint."

"I'm sure you are," he allowed, choking up a bit at how much this woman reminded him of his former lover. "Oh, Doctor Magnus, there is more of Hermione inside of you than you know."

In another part of the Medical Tower, Harry was walking into a private room where his boyfriend, Ron Weasley, was recovering from his own wounds. "Hey," he said.

"Hey, Harry," Ron greeted quietly. "How are you doing? And Dudley, Emma, and Helena? And Vala and Minerva?"

"Dudley is clinging to Luna like his life depends on it, and she's helping, I think," Harry answered, taking a seat. "Helena is much the same with Draco, and surprisingly he's being really sensitive. I can't believe I'm saying this about Malfoy, but I think he really loves her."

Ron chuckled lightly at that. "Who'd have thought the guy we thought was the Heir of Slytherin would end up marrying your sister?"

"Hey now, they aren't married yet," Harry groaned. "Don't rush it. Anyhow, Emma is… I think she's in denial. She's staying busy, helping anywhere she can, especially with Vala, because Mother is… well, she's not well."

"Hermione's dead," the redhead said sadly. "Can you blame her?"

"No," the other teen choked. "And I'm not much better than she is. Just better at hiding it, I guess. It's weird, but we sorta already mourned Hermione once, so maybe that's why it's easier this time."

"She wasn't your mum then," Ron said pointedly. "Don't try and pretend this is the same. You have to process."

"Pot, meet kettle," Harry commented. "How are you holding up?"

"Not sure why the bloody hell I'm still stuck in this bed," he muttered. "But otherwise, how do you expect, mate? My parents are dead. Hermione's dead. Never in my life have I felt like I needed to be there for you as much as I feel it right now, but I also know I have a duty to the war, my family, and Rupert, to follow through on my commitment to go to America."

"I figured you'd still be going."

"I'm sorry," Ron whispered. "I'm so sorry, Harry. Worse, with the Room of Requirement being off the option list, we have to leave even sooner than planned. Three days from now."

"Damn," Harry cursed. "Stupid Death Eaters."

As everyone had heard by now, the Death Eaters that had attacked Hogwarts yesterday had managed to attack and take both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons before using their connections in the Room of Requirement to gain entry here. Headmaster Karkaroff and Headmistress Maxime's actual heads had been found in the hall outside the Room in the aftermath of the battle, sending a clear message to the leadership here. Bill and Fleur had survived the onslaught at Beauxbatons and come through to report the French school's status, and Victor Krum had gotten word to Severus that things were much the same at Durmstrang. Naturally, the events of the battle had left both the American and Japanese schools rattled, and at least for the time being, they were shutting down their connection to Hogwarts as well. Once again, they were isolated and alone.

Bill, Ron had reported earlier, was stepping up to take his father's seat on the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and Harry wasn't sure who would take over as Head of the Order with Hermione gone. Of the major positions of power, those had been the two fatalities that required replacements in short order, and while the logical part of Harry knew why things had to move along like that, a part of him knew he'd hate whoever took his Mum's place on sheer principle.

It was just so overwhelming, and everyone was so busy dealing with important business that none of his living parental figures - Minerva and Severus, that was - were available for him now. Harry hated how used to it he was. He hated how second nature it was for him to bottle up his own feelings and just deal with harsh realities, because it was what he'd known for most of his life. Still, at least he had Ron. Rather, he had Ron for three more days. The thought of losing Ron, even if it was just because he'd be moving to California, was enough to make him sick when laid on top of the existing sense of loss he was feeling.

Without another word, Harry crawled into bed next to Ron, cuddled up next to him and let himself begin to cry for the first time since the battle. "Hold me…" he begged.

"Shhh," Ron whispered. "I've got you. It's going to be okay."

Harry didn't know how anything, ever, was going to be okay after what had happened yesterday, but something in Ron's voice soothed him, so for a while, he was content to just let it all out, dwelling in the little comfort he could have.

She knew this place, though it was cleaner than she'd ever seen it. It was where her journey had begun, all those years ago, and so it was fitting that this would be where it would end. While bright, and white, and sterile, there was no mistaking the corridor in Hogwarts where she'd long ago tripped and fallen, and been launched into the far past. Hermione wandered the corridor alone for a time, which despite it only being some two hundred meters long in reality, seemed to go on and on, here.

"You look lost, Guardian," a voice called from behind her.

At first she thought it was Galahad, and cringed at the thought that perhaps he had also fallen in the battle, but when she turned around she saw another man who, a long time ago, had called her by that title. "Joseph," she greeted. "Librarian."

"How you been, Hermione?" he asked with a grin. "Since you killed me and all that?"

"You were already all but dead, Joe," she responded. "And I did what I had to do."

"The duty of a Guardian is to look first to the well being of the Librarian's soul, and second to the well being of his body. Yes, you did the right thing, but I still wish there'd been another way," he replied. "It's not as if I meant to go and get corrupted. How did you know, by the way? That my soul had been fractured?"

"I had a life before you," she responded. "And unfortunately that wasn't the first time I'd seen magic tear a soul asunder. I could sense it."

"Ah, well," the former Librarian sighed. "What's done is done. Tell me, Hermione, have you been happy? Have you had a good life?"

Hermione thought about it for a moment. "While my life has been lived greatly in the midst of one war or another, I have few regrets, save for the hurt of those I leave behind. I've been a wife, a lover, a mother, and a friend. I've led men and women into battle, and I've helped reform a government fallen under tyranny. Not bad for the daughter of a pair of dentists."

"Dentists?"

"They tend to people's teeth," she explained. "Or used to. My father is already dead, and my mother's life has been uprooted in the wake of the war."

"She'll be alright," Joseph assured. "I mean, she's your mother, so she's got the blood of a fighter."

"I'm not worried about her," Hermione whispered. "I'm worried about Minerva, and my children."

"You know, you once told me you weren't going to have kids," the Librarian teased. "What changed?"

Hermione chuckled. "I had a child. And the joy of being a mother is something nothing else can replace. One child, and I was hooked. Nobody lives forever; even an Immortal like Galahad will one day meet his end, but neverending life can be achieved by leaving behind children to carry on your legacy. Then, it becomes their legacy to carry on with their own children, and while those children won't belong to you in the strictest sense, they are still a part of you."

"Damn," Joseph muttered. "Makes me wish I'd made the time, and had a few of my own. You make it sound so romantic."

"You were a Librarian, my friend," she said. "Your legacy is already everlasting. So long as the Library endures, so shall you."

"I like that," he commented. "That said, Hermione, it's time for me to go."

"What?" she cried out. "No! We haven't even begun to truly catch up! I'm coming with you, aren't I?"

"Eventually," he promised. "But not yet. You're in the in-between place, now, and there are others you need to see."

Hermione didn't get a chance to say another word before he was gone, and she was alone again. Once more, she wandered along the seemingly endless corridor, reflecting on her life, and wondering what she might have done differently. A part of her bitterly regretted even being here - she still had so much to do, and to live for - but the other part of her was glad that she could finally, at long last, rest.

"It's hardly rest if you're restlessly pacing like that," a new voice called to her. This one she knew nearly as well as her own, as it had often haunted her dreams in the last few years.

"Albus," she said, turning. "Oh, Albus, I'm so sorry."

"For what, my dear?"

"You died!"

"Not at your hand, nor by your making," he replied. "So why do you carry the burden of guilt?"

"Minerva wasn't ready for you to die, and neither was I!" she said, exasperated. "We needed you, and we let you die!"

"You seem to have done fairly well without me, Miss Granger."

Her eyes narrowed. "I haven't been Miss Granger in a very long time, Albus. I'd thank you not to call me that."

His eyes twinkled. "There is more of Miss Granger inside of you than you know. I suppose you reason that the little girl who started school with Harry Potter died when she stumbled into the past, in this very corridor, but that's not true. Not unlike the Longbottoms, she was simply hidden away behind a mask, because she didn't belong in the Founders' time anymore than they would belong in this time. But Hermione, you made it back, safe and sound, and still kept who you are hidden from the world. Practical, for certain, but was it right?"

"I did what I did to protect everyone around me," Hermione ground out. "What good would have come from my being shuffled off to Azkaban, and those who knew the truth with me?"

"I do not suggest that you reclaim your name, but rather your heart," he said patiently. "There's a muggle song which talks about physically being a place, but your heart not being there, and how empty you feel as a result. I left my heart in San Francisco. You, Hermione, left your heart in this corridor, didn't take it with you, or into your relationships with Salazar and Rowena, or even young Lucy. Then, you came back to your proper time, and you didn't pick your heart back up. You're still closed off, still making the logical choice and treating every relationship you have as a task to manage or a duty to uphold. There are people who love you with their whole hearts, and they deserve yours in return."

Hermione hated it, but he was right. She'd come back, and remained as emotionally closed off as she'd always been. Yes, she cared deeply for Minerva, and loved her to the moon and back, but she'd never once offered her heart to Minerva. She'd given trust, and she'd given respect, but if Minerva had been the one to fall in battle rather than her, Hermione guiltily realized that her own mourning process would be proceeding far easier than she knew Minerva was doing now. Oh, what a fool she'd been!

"A bit late for this realization," she said bitterly. "I can't make it right, not now."

"Perhaps you can," he said suggestively, before he vanished from view, once again leaving her alone.

Once Albus was gone, the brightness of the corridor seemed to dim a bit, and she discovered that the corridor she'd been deposited in was no longer endless. She wandered away from there, exploring the castle as if it was just another day. That said, there were very few people, and when she did see someone they appeared as a blur, and obviously couldn't see her. She came across Cuthbert Binns, who stared intently in her direction for a moment before shaking his head and muttering something about how he hadn't felt a magical pulse like that since the end of the last war.

Was she a ghost? Or on the verge of becoming one? Hermione had conversed with Helena a bit on the subject of being a ghost, and how somebody became one, though she'd never gotten a solid answer from her daughter. Since Helena had become flesh and bone again, Hermione hadn't thought to bring up the subject anew, feeling like it would be a sensitive topic. Not that she had much time for Helena in recent weeks. Her, or Emma, or Harry, or Dudley, or even Minerva.

At the thought of Minerva, Hermione found her feet carrying her to their quarters in the Head Tower, where she saw her lover curled up in the bed, sobbing. "Why can I still feel you here?" the Scottish witch cried out to the otherwise empty room. "Damnit, Hermione, where are you?"

"I'm here!" Hermione tried to call out, but no sound came out of her mouth. She moved forward, and tried to lay a hand on the heaving shoulder, and after a minute, Minerva stilled and fell into a fitful slumber. Hermione stayed there for a while, before deciding that being there was probably causing more harm than good. Even if Minerva could sense her lingering here in the castle, it wouldn't last. At some point, she would move on, and be really and truly gone. That was just the facts of life, and of death.

Still, knowing that didn't stop her from seeking out the children one by one. Emma was just in the other room, caring for baby Vala, making Hermione's stomach lurch at the implication. Molly and Arthur had fallen in the battle. Helena she found in the Slytherin Common Room, curled up on a sofa with Draco Malfoy, and she smiled a bit at that. The two were taking things slow, as was appropriate, and Hermione had been meaning to speak with Lucius and Narcissa about the match. Draco came from a pureblood line that still adhered to arranged marriages, and Helena was from an era where that was the expectation as well. While she knew the other children would not appreciate their marriages being pre-arranged by their parents, it was something that Draco and Helena would welcome. She supposed Minerva would have to handle that now.

She began to regret seeking out the children when she found her grief stricken elder son drowning his pain in a decidedly compromising manner. Dudley and Luna were in the Ravenclaw dorms together, making love with all abandonment of good reason. Could she ground her son from beyond the grave? Hermione didn't think so, and with an annoyed huff, went to find Lucy.

She found her firstborn in a similar position as Dudley, though with Remus Lupin. At least the two of them were consenting adults, and more than old enough to choose their partners without parental interference. She did wonder how long that had been going on, or if their coupling now was the first time.

Harry, thankfully, was not having sex with Ron or anyone else when she found him a while later. He was alone, sitting by the lake, seemingly lost in his own thoughts as he watched ripples form and dissipate around the rocks he was skipping across the surface of the water.

"Was it entirely necessary for Harry to have to lose another mum for the greater good?" a new voice asked, this time a woman.

This, however, was not someone Hermione had ever met in life. "Lily Potter," she identified. "Interesting people one meets, when dead."

Lily's head tilted to the side. "Technically, you're not."

"Not what?" the brunette asked, confused. Granted, she hadn't expected death to be easy to understand.

"You're not technically dead."

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