Epilogue

by ElDarkoMarko

The epilogue that you dream JK Rowling will write. But she won’t. Warning for slight slash content. Very AU as of Rowling's sickening display in Nineteen Years Later from DH but we're assured you will adore this anyway.

2. Epilogue, Part Two

Our Epilogue, Part Two of Two

Much had changed since The War throughout the entire magical community, but gladly some things always remain the same. The Shrieking Shack continued to retain an eerie presence, which, years before, would have only added to the gloomy after-war atmosphere that shadowed over streets, but now stood in a new glory of sorts as an unlikely beacon for the future; a promise of hope, some sense of normality and a memory of an easier, more tolerant past.

This message was even more strong for two people in particular, who had found the Shrieking Shack to be one of the only places able to give them the one thing they both lacked and hoped for the most: acceptance. It was there, amongst a precautious postwar society situated in a secret world that was seeking return to its prior magnificence, that these lovers set up their home.

Remus Lupin, now considered a war hero amongst his peers, was pacing around the small front room of the Shrieking Shack, unconsciously running a finger over the surface of an old, antique drink cabinet.

"Home sweet home," he sighed to himself, glancing at his dust-covered finger in disgust. A pair of shapely arms wound themselves around the man's neck, their resident's head resting neatly at the top of his slim back.

"You complain too much, you know that?" Tonks teased, kissing the back of Lupin's neck softly.

For her, nothing could be more perfect. Not only had they won The War but she had also captured her man. It seemed all was in her favor and she knew this, appreciated this. Her feelings towards their new dwelling were a mixture of extreme giddiness and slight hesitation towards it, only because it had once been a symbol of pain and embarrassment to Lupin as a teenager.

They had been spending the last few weeks sprucing it up, beginning with the innards and they would hopefully be onto the outside by summertime. Before, it had been a complete shamble of tarnished antiques, shredded carpets (Lupin recently had a very "bad" night) and crumpling structures, paint and ceiling tiles peeling from their places. Now the house radiated warmth of a more hospitable environment.

It was not at all what they had pictured for themselves after their small, yet elegant, wedding. It had been a quick decision that at first registered as frightening and was now becoming, to them and Tonks especially, an adventure. Tonks knew how lucky she was but her insecurities still held strong and she feared losing Remus; she would do anything to have him feel happiness once again.

Returning the favor, Lupin embraced his wife, allowing his lips to brush into her shocking pink hair as he spoke soothing words of a better world and fresh chances.

Tonks smiled, her face bright. "I know," was all she said, her eyes sparkling into his.

Lupin waited no longer to allow his lips to meet hers, and then his hands were inside of her jumper, straying lower as their kiss deepened.

"Hey there!" Tonks exclaimed pulling away slightly, laughing, "Before we get into all that, you have a job to attend to, Mister Minister of Magic."

Lupin chuckled and shook his head at his wife, before picking up his battered, old briefcase and leaving the Shack with a flourishing pop.

Tonks rubbed her hands together smugly. "Now, to work!"

Lupin returned hours later looking gaunt and as troubled as ever. Glancing around he was puzzled to find himself in a gaily-lit dining room where a polished, oak table resided. Had he apparated to the wrong home? He saw a flash of neon pink flouncing around in the opposite room. Walking silently towards the familiar color, he was stunned to acknowledge that this was in fact the house he had left earlier in the morning.

"Tonks?" He tried, searching hopefully for her soft, delicate features to welcome him home.

"In here." A distracted voice replied from inside the bedroom.

Lupin walked hurriedly towards the doorway, now having too many questions to ask about the Shack's sudden beautification. Upon pushing open the freshly painted door he found himself in the most peculiar of situations: Tonks, hopping on one leg, balanced upon a tattered wooden box as she attempted to put up satin red curtains. As if in slow motion, the young pink-haired female fell and Lupin streaked towards her, catching her effortlessly in his outstretched arms.

"Well hullo there to you too, honey," Remus said sarcastically to the flushed Tonks in his hold. She scrambled out of his arms with a nervous laugh and "Thanks Love" before plopping on the bed and looking up to her husband expectantly. After several minutes of tongue-tied silence Tonks could not hold back any longer.

"So…" she prompted. Lupin looked startled at the sound of her voice.

"Erm, so what?" He asked, a little baffled.

"What do you think of the house, you idiot!" She laughed, hitting Remus half-heartedly with a pillow. Lupin's face broke into his natural grin, wolfish but sweet, one that Tonks would treasure always.

"It's beyond what I imagined darling, completely phenomenal," he answered in awe, remembering what he had felt upon first apparating into the revamped home. He worked his way over to his wife, meeting her with a slow, passionate kiss that dismissed all of Tonk's past misapprehensions.

"I love you so much, Mrs. Lupin," Remus whispered into his wife's ear.

"I love you too," Tonks returned, her voice gentle. "Want to know how much?" Her eyes gleamed wickedly.

Lupin began to kiss her hungrily once more, unfortunately realizing too late that he had his wires crossed as Tonks brought a hard pillow over his head. She giggled, "That's for leaving me to do all the cleaning up."

She scrambled over the bed sheets, trying to get away as her husband started after her, pillow raised threateningly. In the next several minutes the Shack was overtaken by a whirlwind of kissing, feathers, and pillow spankings, laughter bouncing off the fresh cream walls.

"Alright, alright. I give up," Lupin exclaimed, falling down on the soft mattress with his breaths coming in gasps.

Tonks cackled in victory. She leant forward to give Lupin a hug, loving how he no longer turned away from her affection. Unfortunately, he could not turn away from the opportunity to conquer, either.

"Rictumsempra!"

Tonks fell to the newly shined floor, clutching her sides in fits of giggles.

"Stop it! REMUS!" She begged amongst her bouts of laughter. Lupin surveyed his puppet teasingly, his eyes gleaming in a mischievous manner that he had not embraced so willingly since his years at Hogwarts surrounded by his best friends.

"What's the magic word?" he asked, finding this new game play most entertaining.

Tonks continued to roll around on the floor, squealing. "P-p-please…?" She managed to shriek.

"Promise to be a good girl if I stop?" Lupin asked, grinning to himself in pleasure.

"Yes. Gods, yes!" Tonks squirmed, trying hard to fight the spell. Slowly, it began to wear off and Lupin plucked her up off the floor in one clean motion. He kissed her instantly, wanting to thank her for loving him, for accepting him for what, or rather, who he was.

"Thank you Nymphadora, for everything. This, you, us… all means so much to me. I've never been more fulfilled in my life and it's you who has helped me get to this place, " he explained, gently stroking her pale stomach.

"Mmm," Tonks sighed happily, adoring the attention. "But Remus, don't call me Nymphadora," she purred.

As the two newlyweds took advantage of their lovely new home and especially their bed within their own room, Lupin noted the clear curve that was Tonk's usually taut stomach. Without words, he smiled to himself in hope for the months and years to come. A future he could make sure the demons of past would never interfere with, for he had something worth fighting for now. He had a family.

Talk of The War had left the two somber but most of all it had left Luna hungry.

"Do you by any chance know the time, Professor?" Luna asked, flicking some of the stray hair away from her face and letting her left hand massage her sore neck.

The question had been of the utmost simplicity, but the way in which she said it made Snape's skin tingle heatedly as his worn frame of mind processed it to be a whiney hint that she had grown somewhat tired of his presence.

"You sound fairly bored Miss. Lovegood, does my droning on about the concept of war disinterest you so?" She opened her mouth slightly but his next words silenced her again, "If it is so, perhaps then it is time for us to part and hopefully you've learned just enough about the wicked ex-Potions master to convince your daddy to add an extra sickle on your payroll." His face had become pinched and spots of color dotted his cheekbones in a signal of pending enmity.

Luna was taken aback; she thought Snape had changed towards her since their conversation had moved smoothly over difficult things that they had been able to address in an almost agreeable way. Speaking to her in the manner he just had told her that he was either having a circumstantial outburst (in which case she fretfully hoped for it to end soon) or was just as famished as she was, which is why she had brought up the time in the first place.

Her mouth twisted in confusion. "Er… no. I was just trying to ask if you –"

"How about your love life Miss. Lovegood? The most contact that I have personally, and unfortunately, witnessed you have with a member of the opposite sex was at the Yule Ball when you spilled punch all over Mr. Longbottom and he had to be escorted from his date for a quarter of an hour so Madam Pomfrey could halt an allergic reaction. Has it been more electrifying since?"

Luna could only stare as Snape flicked his wand at a buzzing fly that had been circling him, the small insect dropping from midair whereupon it twitched and dragged itself about an inch on the floor before becoming still.

"Professor, I think you have the wrong idea, what I was –" Luna was stopped short again.

"What of your friends Miss. Lovegood, though I am most likely wrong in assuming you somehow scrounged up at least a few during seven years at Hogwarts, have you talked to your classmates since you fought alongside them in battle? The conversations now must be all the more riveting after such death and chaos, much more appealing than what's been said here today."

Snape's assault upon Luna was like a steam engine gaining speed over a bridge that did not connect with the other side. They both knew, but neither could arrest its furor.

"What are you trying to say, Prof –" Again, Luna was cut off ruthlessly, Snape nearly spitting on her with his next barrage upon her being.

"How about work at The Quibbler alongside your father? I suppose I am the next best thing to farce evaluations of pus…"

"Really, I'm –" Luna was losing her breath, which was ironic because she had not strung a sentence together since Snape's tirade began. Sweat was beginning to glisten on her forehead, her hands clenching into fists as Snape continued to degrade her life in a casual way, reclining in his seat with a cruel sneer upon his lips.

"Your talent for being gratingly random, distastefully insensitive, and I'll put it bluntly, a damned annoyance to others around you are traits that I can only sum up to faulty in your parents' upbringing of you. Perhaps you should have spent more time around your mother instead of gallivanting with imaginary 'Blibbering Humdingers' and whatever other idiotically made-up creatures your father has ranted about in issues of such an utterly worthless magazine," Snape snapped. He seemed quite done and pleased, leaning forward in his seat, an action that urged her to respond.

It was only when his eyes alighted upon her face did he realize he had gone too far, perhaps even for return. And even later than that he remembered vaguely, many years ago, Dumbledore mentioning Luna's mother's death in a passing conversation with Professor Flitwick, the head of her house.

Tears had welled in her large blue eyes, her stare baffled and full of a tangent pain that gripped something inside of Snape, making him feel young and mortified.

There were no words between the two as he handed her a handkerchief from within his cloak and watched her dab at her eyes and honk loudly into the tissue.

"Fish and chips, Miss. Lovegood?" She looked up surprised, but seeing soft note in the man's gaze she nodded and allowed a gurgle of laughter to escape her lips as she thought over what had just happened in the course of five minutes. It was a good thing that The Hole was completely devoid of customers, for any onlooker would be mystified beyond belief at the cycles of their discourse.

"My thoughts exactly, Professor Snape."

A chilling wind tore violently through the bristling treetops as a cascading light blocked all forces of the outer world from the shadowed forest. Copious vines clung to the undergrowth that once existed only as trampling ground for mischievous students on detention or magical creatures scrounging for food. The forest no longer housed beasts of old, yet it remained an exemplar of power that allowed for it to thrive and exist at its own will.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry also continued to live. It now boasted Professor McGonagall as the Headmistress, who, although different in manner from Dumbledore in some ways, still held the school in high authority and strived to keep the Hogwarts spirit and history alive while it remained a symbol of safety and hope for the entire wizarding world. Not even The War had been able to stifle its protective walls.

While Hogwarts had flourished, in comparison the Forbidden Forest was a mixture of life and death. Existing only as a dark abyss that attempted to absorb the exalted school's light, the Forest itself was a tenuous fragment of darker times and thus it persevered as an afterthought no longer a concern to the dwellers of Hogwarts. Light no longer glossed its labyrinth of disheveled branches and no sound was audible, generating an almost ghostly presence of which no being had mustered the courage to defy for over two years.

Two very long years, all of which had taken their toll on a decomposed Lord Voldemort. Not yet dead, though many thought him so, but blissfully unaware of the world around him. Time had stopped for the wizard who had once fought for eternity, for he remained in an endless sleep, stricken by the toils of war and because of Harry Potter.

Immobile in his morass crypt, Voldemort survived without any knowledge of his existence nor any directive towards a future, his body now lacking the power that had enquired him such a youthful composition. His snake-like looks faded beneath the dim shade of the trees that housed his frail body. His skeletal, seared hands lay positioned as if in deep prayer and his gaunt body was no longer reminiscent of a shrine bearing power. Lord Voldemort's thin eyelids remained anchored shut, but it was his expression that imparted another tale. Red lips refused to part with the living as they clung recklessly to the drained man's weak features. They appeared to form a silken smile that could only be assumed to be a trick of the exposing light.

"You said he'd wake up by now!"

"We said there was a chance he'd wake up."

"Then why hasn't he woken up yet?"

"There was a chance he was to awaken Mr. Malfoy, but we also stated that the longer he stayed this way the less likelihood of him ever coming to again." The nurse nodded her head curtly before making her way down the hall.

Draco swore as he headed back into the hospital room furious, hating everything she had said yet knowing very well he had heard it all before. He just still refused for it to be the only answer he could receive.

"Bloody nurses know nothing in this fucking hospital." Breathing heavily, Draco slammed the door shut behind him, caring little for the amount of noise he made as the door crashed into position, the window shudders flapping against glass and walls shaking in reply.

For the past two years, he had found himself coming back, always coming back, night after night - and now during the day too. At first it was due to Snape's wishes but the older man had made little contact with him from the time his trials ended, probably still feeling as though he had wronged Dumbledore in protecting the young Malfoy. Draco knew Snape had come to see Harry with Granger but it had gradually become less often as the months grew more and Harry's eyes remained closed.

Everyone who knew Harry was moving on, bar himself. He was stuck in the hope of and disappointment of each passing day, used to his routine of watching over his past nemesis, attached to the moments when the light shone over Harry's face at just the right angle and made him look more alive. So now he had excuses. He said it was to cure his curiosity, or he just happened to be passing by, or maybe he wanted to gloat as he watched Harry Potter in the position he had told the boy he would end up in for years. Neither defense was true or even necessary since he alone knew them. All it did was cover up the truth from himself, and he preferred it stay that way. He would not want to admit it, not even if he could.

The hospital room was too bare and he hated the sight of it. It had an uninhabited feel to it; despite Harry lying in the bed, it still felt empty. There was a window on the far wall, a small table, a couch and a couple of chairs. The walls were bare, the window bordered with steel, everything so smooth and perfect it made him sick. Sterile and untouched, something he almost wished his heart to be.

Flopping down on the chair he had pulled up next to the bed, he ran his fingers through his pale, blonde hair. Groaning, he looked to Harry from the corner of his eye, taking in all he could about the young man who had so soon become an object of obsession and desires.

He had angered over everyone's fascination with the boy when younger but now he understood how it was possible, he just did not know why. Harry was pale from the sun not having touched his skin for so long, his closed mouth looked wan and dry. His hair used to have a sort of stubbornness of its own, poking from every which end it felt compelled to. Now the black tufts lay lifeless across the pillow, still messy but subdued. His breath was steady yet shallow, almost impossible to notice without eyes that sat anxiously waiting for every rise and fall, every subtle movement that assured his life still being present, even if by a thread that withered with each fleeting day.

"Harry."

Draco stared long and hard at Harry's unconscious form, the beginnings of a sneer appearing on his fine features.

"Always playing the hero. You really are an oaf, Potter. A bloody git to the end."

Draco laughed as he leaned back into the stiff chair he sat in. As his smirk lessened, so did his laughter, leaving the room silent once again, save for the slight sounds coming from outside. He sat there, unblinking and motionless, letting his thoughts settle as he watched Harry. The slow rise and fall of his breathing, the only signs, always the only signs, of his life. How tired he was of watching him breathe, just breathe day in and day out. Leaning forward, he clasped his hands in front of his face, closing his eyes for half a second before opening them once again; the grey had gone wide and livid.

"Forget you Potter. Fuck this fucking waste of my time. You don't think I've better things to do than come here and watch you breathe? We all fucking breathe to live and you're just not living properly!" Draco's voice rose as he grew angrier, though his rage was not entirely for Harry. It was more so towards himself, for coming this far for so long. Springing to his feet, Draco's eyes narrowed.

"This is the last time you'll get a look from Draco Malfoy."

Turning on his heel, he briskly made his way to the door, opening it and taking a single step out. He stopped. Still able to see Harry's form from the corner of his eye he turned his head slightly and regarded Harry uncomfortably, his gaze downwards as he remained in the doorway.

"May the gods help me," he muttered, sighing heavily. "See you soon, Harry."

With that, he marched away, shutting the door lightly behind him and apparating from St. Mungos with a loud crack.

Fifteen minutes later a nurse walked into Harry's room as scheduled, checking on him and taking the usual notes she was required to do. As she readied to leave something caught her eye, and turning back to Harry she bent down a bit and stared at his hand. There tightly in his grasp was something small and golden. Lifting his hand, she loosened his fingers hold and something flew out of his grip, fluttering around the room for a bit before falling to the ground near the window.

Startled, the perplexed nurse peered around the room not quite sure what had flown from his hand. Still searching, she caught sight of a shimmering light near the window and made her way towards it. Bending down she picked up the small object, and realizing what it was she smiled curiously at it.

There she held a golden snitch. Once it might have been flying around wildly in an Quidditch match, but now had a home in the bleak hospital room, wing broken, no longer able to fly in the skies just as the boy who once held it.

Some point in November, 1995

Luna Lovegood raised her hand, fingers wriggling in the air and her wide eyes batting innocently. With a wound up expression taking over his features, Snape sighed. Undoubtedly, he had come to expect this in a Potions lesson with the insufferable girl, who got under his nerves almost as much as Miss. Granger and her posse of imbeciles.

"This had better be important and correlated to the lesson, Miss. Lovegood."

"Oh, it is," Luna nodded as the radishes hanging from her earlobes rocked back and forth, trying not to look too pleased that he had gotten her name right. "You forgot to add lint of Unisock," she did not falter as snickers begin to circulate around the dungeon. "In the list of ingredients for the potion we're making."

More laughter from her classmates, and a wad of parchment thrown at her head from somewhere in the back. Snape had never looked closer to kneeling before his desk and bashing his head forward, over and over.

"Miss. Lovegood, how many years do you think I have been Potions master at this school-"

"Seventy-six and a half this May!" interrupted a grinning Michael Corner.

"Seventy-six and a half points from Ravenclaw Corner, if only for the complete lack of humor in your half-brained attempt for a laugh, of which you notably didn't get."

Snape continued to Luna without missing a beat. "- do you really think that such a thing as Unisock lint would ever exist in real life, and if it did, would it be included in such a sophisticated potion as the Wit-Sharpening Potion, which you clearly need?" He eyed Michael while saying this as well.

"Why, if such a 'creature' exists, may my nose grow larger." He sneered at his own joke.

Luna looked shocked, but her blue eyes sparkled mysteriously.

"Oh no, sir, you shouldn't have said that. The Unisock is fabled to make such things come true!"

Corner sniggered. "His nose is big enough already, Loony." He turned to Snape and bravely asked, "Can't you make a potion to fix that!"

Snape's dark eyes narrowed.

"Fifty more points, Corner, with detention for the rest of this month." And I've already tried...

The outer peace of Harry Potter's face was in sharp contrast to the happenings below the surface of his sealed eyelids. There was no sporadic tossing and turning; there were no beads of sweat dampening the sheets that covered him. No, none would have suspected the violent struggle brewing within him after glimpsing his calm body lying in a hospital bed. It was a strenuous battle fought for almost two years now: between good and evil, between light and dark. As always, the fate of the masses rested on the shoulders of Harry Potter.

Two Years Prior

His mind was surrounded by an empty space that continued to stretch on into the distance. There was no end to this all-encompassing nothingness; the blinding space was void of anything living and breathing, until now. Mysterious floating images flickered into view, as if levitated projector pictures, too dim for viewing. As one such image passed close to him, Harry's inner mind was awoken and reached out for it. The moment his mind made contact, the strange picture faltered and he grasped bare air. The faint image produced itself once more and it was as if Harry was watching a silent film in the cinema. There was he, and everyone else, fighting in the war. Another similar image drifted by and Harry touched this as well. This one showed him in his first year at Hogwarts saving the Philosopher's Stone. As Harry finished with one memory, another would come, and soon Harry was watching his life pass before of his eyes.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of red light exploded into the white emptiness. As it inched closer and closer to Harry's mind source it emanated a brutal force that caused him to flinch slightly. He could not know why but in an instant he knew it was his duty to push this light as far away as possible. Still, if he were to touch this with his bare hands he feared it might kill him, that it was meant to kill him. But there was no time to worry about that; the light was coming to him at breakneck speed. Thinking fast, he tried to force it away with his mind, focusing on the mind power to act as shield. With all of the mental strength that he could gather, he managed to keep it from coming any closer. Little by little, the light started reversing its direction and backtracking to wherever it came from. Sometimes, it would move back towards Harry just a little bit, but it never touched him.

Harry had realized at that very moment, the first of countless times this would occur, that he would have to fight the lethal red light ray, push it away, if he wanted any chance of surviving. He just was unsure of if he could do it by himself.

Luna frowned. "But how can the death of Dumbledore, the greatest wizard we have ever known, be equated to a sacrifice, especially since the wizarding world needed him during such a dangerous chapter of our history? And what about Harry Potter - he barely succeeded in destroying the Horcruxes without Dumbledore's help."

"You forget about the ancient magic Dumbledore and I employed when we preplanned his own death, Miss. Lovegood," Snape drawled, Luna recognizing the agitated tone that was lacing his words, "The magic was enacted when I..." Snape hesitated for only one second, "…killed him. It would then leave in me the ability to protect Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, even myself – us all - in ways that I am not sure you can possibly begin to comprehend fully."

"Try me."

Snape sighed but his tone had become much lighter when he finally responded, "I will, Miss. Lovegood."

"But first, to answer your other inquiry - we were fully confident in Potter's ability to find and demolish the remaining Horcruxes, all but for his own scar, and his ignorance was vital in Albus and I succeeding. Dumbledore felt that he had given Potter all the information he needed up to the certain point where I would be the one to help him destroy the Dark Lord without turning his wand upon himself. Again, our magic would be of assistance to his task."

Luna was watching him in rapt attention, too enthralled to even blink. Had Snape been this engaging in class she might have passed her Potions final her fourth year.

"It has all been said and said again at the first series of my trialing but for your sake, Miss. Lovegood, a daresay I will step into it once more. I had a premonition that sprung into my view from the moment Harry Potter stepped foot into Hogwarts and it grew as the years went on. As a spy," his lip curled in aversion to the word, "I had known about Voldemort's venture into the world of Horcruxes, and it seemed after everything symbolic he had chosen to be one, his thug of a snake Nagini was a little too obvious for me to take sincerely as the last. It was on a night of a Death Eater gathering following his immediate return that Voldemort let it slip to me alone that Harry's own scar held the key to 'our' victory. I made my guess from there. It was then that I started searching for something, for anything, which would help me save Potter from himself: taking his own life when he realised that he would have to call Voldemort's bluff to save our world."

"But it was more than that. I had made an Unbreakable Vow, I presume you know what that is, with Narcissa Malfoy to save her son Draco from Voldemort's clutches, and it was my bluff that put lives on the line as well. Finding the solution to this debacle became my obsession, my only reason for living..."

"That shan't have been easy," Luna prodded as Snape's words faded and he looked as though he were miles away.

He blinked once, and focused on her, settling back into his seat with arms folded. "Of course it wasn't. Of what time in my life I wasn't spending to teach brats or pulling a double agent act I was in a seemingly endless quest to find the source of magic, I knew there must be one, to save Harry Potter's life and defeat Voldemort in the same instance. And then I did, the summer before his sixth year. An obscure branch of ancient magic that would allow me to save Draco from Voldemort's order that he assassinate Dumbledore and allow Potter to kill Voldemort without harming himself, or so it should not have. But to this day I sometimes wish I had not found it."

"Because what you found needed a sacrifice."

"Yes."

"And Dumbledore was the only person powerful enough to encompass so many lives in one act."

"Yes."

"And he agreed willingly to do this, to die, off bat?"

"Yes."

Luna leaned back herself and eyed her former Potions master, feeling the weight of his past shift unnervingly around her shoulders.

"That was so selfless, for both of you."

"Apparently, Miss. Lovegood, was I not found innocent?"

"Yes, yes I know. Though Professor," she paused, searching for words, "Do you ever feel that the effort was wasted, considering Harry and Voldemort both fell? I mean, well, obviously the Dark side was defeated but in those last seconds both Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort fell comatose. I know Harry's in St. Mungo's, and I'm not quite sure what did happen with Voldemort's body… but it has been two years and Harry still hasn't woken. Perhaps Voldemort is not even defeated yet. Perhaps it was all a lost cause…" She glowered into her hands folded before her.

The reassuring tone of Snape's voice caused her to glance up.

"Miss. Lovegood, the fact stands that Harry Potter did not die. Things certainly did not pan out exactly the way I had thought it would originally, but the boy is still breathing and I for one have full faith that one day soon Mr. Potter will awake again, because I've never known a young man so determined to be a hero. And heroes live. Even Dumbledore, who lives on in his memory. So I am waiting, not in earnest but in expectance, for the day Harry Potter will walk the streets again. Aren't you?"

Luna thought for a long moment and then nodded, before noticing and swatting a fly off of her sleeve while muttering, "Damn Unisock is mucking about again!"

Snape rolled his eyes and reached for the Firewhiskey, snatches of a memory tugging at his concentration.

The night was serene and the sky had darkened. Stars glittered across the sky like guardians alit from a faraway world. A frail breeze wandered through the darkened forest as the trees groaned softly, their limbs rustling with echoing whispers that were nearly inaudible to the human ear.

"You are taking yourself for granted, Albus."

"You knew I would have to from the start, Severus."

"That was then, but you're expecting too much from me now. It's becoming more difficult to go on like this. Suspicions are running higher now than ever and that cannot be ignored."

Dumbledore's white eyebrows furrowed as he stared into Snape's bottomless black eyes. Not an ounce of his usual gentle nature could be seen upon his aging face, it was as though this were the mask he could only wear when dealing with souls that refused to yield to only his kindness. Snape stared right back into the Headmaster's own eyes, noticing that despite the man's age and the dark of the night they still glistened with the same twinkle they harbored since his youth. So much knowledge beyond lifetimes could be seen in those eyes.

Breathing out in frustration, Snape turned away. The burdens he chose for himself were wearing at him like waves mauling over rocks until they are nothing more than grains of sand.

"You must and you will do this for me, Severus. You are the only one I can trust to do it well and I had hoped you would have understood that. Do not make me regret my assumption now."

Dumbledore's words sliced into the worn Professor, each one weighing on him heavily, and his own guilt adding more to its furor upon his conscience.

"I understand Headmaster, but you know as well as I that this has gone far beyond what I, what we, had expected and agreed to." Snape's voice was low, tired.

Dumbledore responded, much warmer in tone, allowing his hand to grasp Snape's shoulder and squeeze. "You agreed to it Severus, because you know how necessary it is to Voldemort's defeat as I do, and that is all there is to it."

Snape began to reply but his words were interrupted when a loud snap of twigs was heard not too far from where they stood. Snape's head turned abruptly toward the sound, his dark hair whipping around his face as he scanned the area. Narrowing his eyes, Snape strained his ears for any other noise, his heart pounding and body tense. The Headmaster stared into the darkness too, before looking at the sky and then returning his gaze to his younger friend once more.

"I implore you Severus, I need you to do this for me and it needs to be tonight. The stars are aligned exactly for our task." The urgency in his voice was quite clear and although Snape felt torn, he knew the likely result of this night would be in time to Dumbledore's wishes.

He was silent for long minutes before: "Very well. But first let me search this perimeter, who knows what unwelcome eyes and ears are present."

He was recalling the sound of twigs snapping in the background. Dumbledore had no choice but to agree to this request, secrecy was critical no matter how much time would be wasted. It was all they could do.

"Take haste Severus, once dawn is upon us it will be months yet until we have occasion for this magic again, and then who knows if that might be too late."

Nodding tersely, Snape held his wand at the ready and strode out of the small grove, circling the area for any signs of unwanted guests. Gazing up, his sight lingered for a second on the school. A majority of the lights were off, darkened rooms shielding ignorant students, teachers, even elves. All of them sleeping either in peace or haunted by their daily fears elaborated into nightly visions, unaware that their Headmaster has been quite literal when he had promised his life to them at taking the head position of the castle so long ago. Either way it did not matter, it was to be done and no more time or effort could be thrown out to postpone it. Turning back, he made his way to the Headmaster, who presently paced earnestly.

"Anyone?"

"It seems as if all is clear. Perhaps it was some creature, a heavy one at that. If it was anyone he or she is no longer here," Snape said with certainty.

"Good, good, and remember it could always have been Hagrid making his nightly rounds, and that is hardly leave for worry. Time is of the essence and that we have little of now."

Sometime before the breeze had all but died, leaving everything still and kept in place, frozen in the moment as if the forest itself understood the significance of what was about to happen.

"Are you ready, Severus?"

"As much as I can allow myself to be Albus. Give the word and I shall begin."

Placing his hand once more upon Snape's shoulder, Dumbledore made Snape meet his eyes as he spoke his next words: "I thank you dearly, Severus. You have always proven to be honorable in all that you do and for this I owe you my life and more."

Snape looked at him but said nothing. The Headmaster's soft expression had since changed as he stepped away, giving his signal for the Snape to begin.

Snape shut his eyes, allowing himself to settle whatever nerves were rattled within, letting his breath slow as he concentrated on the texture of the air, the earth beneath his feet, the stars above in a constellation that formed a distinct triangle through the black expanse of sky. A single blunder would cost more than a lost chance to finish the mission, it would cost countless lives. But a wind had picked up again and assured him as he parted his lips and began:

Sepemtrium Ildusiestus momituri efiltra morfus dimina.

With every word spoken, Snape's baritone voice reverberated throughout the forest. Not in sound but in power, circling the area and weaving around himself a spell of immense force as Dumbledore proceeded to circle him in precise movements to Snape's chanting. Were a naive spectator to come about, they would think the scene to be nothing more than a drunken lunatic swaying madly under the moonlight.

Esfime siria cursus geninta ferli ostus dena.

With gaining verve Dumbledore proceeded around Snape, his arms flailing about his lean form and his steps light and quick. Spinning and dunking every so often as if to emphasize the meaning or purpose of the particular movement, his long violet robes swooshed along to the chanting as if they too were a part of the scheme. The vanished breeze had just as quietly returned, growing stealthily with every line that was uttered by Snape.

Carcas no sumileme quentim.

A light, which had begun as a miniscule glimmer, had steadily grown from the triangular outline of stars above, its glow playing faintly with the shadows of the Headmaster's movements, defining every arc, line, and shift his undulating body made.

Venimu fodos gimteus animus faleti. Sircas ahinas jinius leipami resirus.

The light strengthened, fading for just a single second before resurfacing with a pulsating white glow that marked a path in the air surrounding Dumbledore and Snape as it continued on with what it had been summoned to do, the finishing touches of the spell coming into full effect. Bending his middle, Dumbledore bounced left and right with a litheness that was unthinkable for a man of his age, before with one last exaggerated leap away from Snape, he fell forward to the ground, his forehead nestled in dead leaves and soil.

When Snape opened his eyes the air had become chilly, the light he had sensed was no longer visible, and the breeze that he had felt caressing his chanting lips had long since died. Feeling himself weaken he stumbled a bit, only held up by the Headmaster's sturdy grip around his thin waist. Guided towards a slanted tree, Snape gladly rested upon it knowing that he had done his part and from what he could perceive, he had done it right.

The Headmaster smiled faintly, looking at the man before him with care in his expression, as he brushed some limp black hair away from Snape's face. "You did well Severus. So very well. All is ready and now we wait. I pray things will not stray from the path we have lain out tonight."

Snape, who had closed his eyes as soon as he knew the support of the tree was behind him, opened them once more and stared at the Headmaster. "It would seem that so far straying from the path is the only way to arrive before the right direction."

Dumbledore pondered for a moment and then nodded, the twinkle once again in his eyes. "And," he smiled broadly, "who would have ever thought belly-dancing could be so pleasurable?"

Snape's choked laughter resembled a sob as he leant his head back, shaking it slightly. He was as devastated as he was amused, and could no longer meet eyes with the smiling old man if he wished to keep his forever in restraint emotions under their usual control.

Dumbledore spoke again as he put his arms around Snape and helped his colleague up, a little taken aback at how easily Snape obliged.

"Indeed Severus, you should try it sometime. Of course without the whole ancient magic to save our world bit…"

Snape cocked a brow, though a faint smile still played on his thin lips. "Perhaps you are more out of it than I, old man. We should return to the castle."

"Oh yes, of course. And I could go for a bit of tea right about now. Care to join me, Severus?"

Dumbledore turned back as he waited for Snape to walk with him, knowing the Professor had become as drained in the last hour as Dumbledore had become old.

"Another day perhaps."

"Very well then, it shall just be Fawkes and myself. " He smiled as he assisted Snape back to the castle, feeling less strained and pressed for time now that they had completed the last of their plan.

At the entrance to Hogwarts Snape stilled and turned to Dumbledore once more, and his posture had become rigid again, his face lined and serious.

"I will probably hate you as I finish with you, Albus."

"And I will love you more for it, Severus."

Ginny Weasley walked briskly up to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for what would be her sixteenth visit of the month. The large bedraggled building made the young woman appear very small, towering over her as she neared the entrance. She stopped just short of the glass windows, behind which a particularly dowdy mannequin stood.

Not that she was an icon of style today, with plain black robes over a brown pencil skirt and white collared blouse. Work attire that she had always hated and felt stifling that was now almost all she wore. The only inkling to her more buoyant fashion past was a glittering jade clip that held her bright red hair together in a loose updo. She now ran her hands over that ginger mass of hair, collecting her thoughts and preparing for the sight she had been subjected to for the past two years since Harry... went away.

However, before she could utter a word to the doll behind the glass, a tall dark man caught her eye in the reflection of the window. He was standing to her side and a step behind her, an obvious smirk on his lips as he deftly swept a stray piece of hair from her face to the safety of behind an earlobe. The young man was black and handsome, with smooth dark skin and high cheekbones that complimented his wide, pearly white grin.

"Well, look who we have here," his voice matched his manner, slick and deep, and sent a slight shiver down her spine, "Miss. Ginny Weasley. I've known witches prettier than you, but none with such... memorable... hair," he finished, letting his slanted hazel eyes rake over more than just her orange locks.

"Get over yourself, Zabini," Ginny replied coldly, eyeing him with suspicion, as any former Gryffindor would treat a former Slytherin. "Is there a real reason that you're keeping me from my business or was the beauty salon too full this afternoon?"

"Keep those Jimmy Choo's on, Weaslette," Blaise shot back, borrowing Draco's favorite name for the Weasley daughter and grinning as he saw her confusion to his reference. Years before he despised her for associating with Muggles and now he knew them probably better than she. "But does this mean you think I'm beautiful?"

Ginny closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her voice becoming pieced and annoyed, "Why are you here, Zabini?"

He put a finger to his lips and tapped as if in thought. "Is this not the hospital? Am I not free to come before this public building?" Blaise asked finally, his slanted eyes glinting with laughter unvoiced.

"Right..." muttered Ginny, trailing off, her expression softening in the slightest. She cocked her head and looked up to him with an eyebrow raised. Blaise made no comment but continued to stand and gaze at Ginny in silence for a few moments until he appeared to suddenly remember why he was there.

"Have you seen Draco Malfoy, in or around here?" Blaise asked simply.

"No and I wouldn't give a rat's arse if I did," Ginny answered fiercely, remembering a day not too long ago when she had seen a glimpse of a blonde male exiting Harry's room and disapparating before she had a chance to approach. She had questioned a nearby nurse about it but the woman had assured her there was no one scheduled to visit Harry so early in the morning and suggested she get some rest if she was seeing things of the sort.

"What's it matter to you anyway?" She asked.

"Well, considering he's my flatmate and I –" he began, but stopped as he changed his mind against explaining himself. Instead, Blaise turned the tables. "What are you doing here, Ginny Weasley?"

Ginny appeared rather taken aback by the question, having nearly forgotten where she was and the reason in the presence of Blaise. Regaining composure, she snapped, "If you can't deduce the obvious, I won't be bothered to let you know."

"I've never been one to immediately assume the obvious true," he replied, shrugging. He took a step closer to her, so they were half an arm's length apart. He looked as though he were going to run a hand through her hair again; she looked as though she would not have minded. Ginny's facial expression became unreadable as she focused her eyes to a point just beyond Blaise's shoulder.

Finally, "I'm here to visit my boyfriend," her voice cracked on the word and she blinked a few times, feeling her face get hot, "Harry Potter." The words had sounded ridiculous even to her. Too embarrassed to look Blaise in the face now, she looked instead towards the ground, finding interest in the coiling patterns of the beige cobblestones.

Ginny was too surprised to move when she felt strong arms wrap themselves around her petite body frame, and she still made no objection as she felt a cheek rest over her head, two bodies rocking gently on the sidewalk as if they were the only two people in the world. These years had made her weak, and she was suddenly aware now that had made Blaise Zabini change.

In school he had slithered behind Draco Malfoy all day long (even farther back than Crabbe and Goyle) and only lent kind words towards Slytherin females he desired to bed. It was no secret how absurdly narcissistic he was, and it had been a joke around the Gryffindor common room for a long time after the Yule Ball how Blaise had arrived two hours late to the dance because the two Slytherin second years he had hired to style his hair had gotten panicked and accidentally spelled a chunk off. He had a cold manner and an untouchable quality, not letting it go unknown that he fully respected Voldemort and his beliefs, perhaps even more so than Malfoy had.

She had realised he hated her in her fifth year, as she walked down the hallway to Charms hand-in-hand with Dean Thomas. Blaise Zabini was heading the opposite direction and their eyes locked before Ginny stepped into Flitwick's classroom. His sneer became more pronounced with eyes narrowed into serpent-like slits, his repulsion to her presence palpable in the air as they passed each other within a second gone by. She had cared in the least what he thought of her then, and had forgotten the instance until now.

Now that he held her, or rather supported her because she knew if he let go her legs would buckle and she would fall to the ground and not even desire to be pulled up again. She was weak; he had changed.

"I'm not letting you go in there I hope you realize," he said into her hair, his chuckle tickling her scalp. "You need space, time to think, a moment of rest." She did not disagree, but burrowed her head farther into his sturdy chest.

Blaise glanced briefly at the building by which they stood, and turned his head back to her, a little smile on his lips. "Would a little lunch hurt us?"

Now it was Ginny's turn to laugh lightly and she still spoke into his chest, "Didn't you just say I needed space?"

Blaise put a hand to her forehead and stroked her side-fringe back, causing her to tilt her head and look up at him once more. "Did I say that? I must have meant space to eat, time to think about wine, a moment of rest in each other's company…" he said, still grinning.

Ginny sucked in a long breath, without thought running her hands up and down Blaise's back as she mulled over a decision she knew she had been heading towards for months. She looked from Blaise, to the entrance of the hospital, and back to Blaise again feeling hopelessly torn. Her cinnamon-hued eyes shone with anxiety, but suddenly, after a few long moments, a peace fell over them and she shook her head, smiling to herself.

"If that's a no I won't say I'm not a little hurt it makes you smile…" Blaise started uncertainly, pulling away.

Ginny's eyes widened and she held on to the retreating young man. "Wait, no!" She paused, confused, screwing up her forehead in a way that made Blaise strongly desire to press his lips to it. "I meant yes!" She finally got it out, "You know I meant yes."

He smirked.

"But hear this," Ginny continued breathlessly, "Act like a bastard and you'll find yourself at the wrong end of a bat-bogey hex!" Blaise flashed a smile, putting his arm around Ginny once more, steering her down the busy London street.

"Me, a bastard? How could you ever relate the two," he returned with a laugh. "But now, tell me all about yourself, Ginny Weasley. What have you been up to since I graduated from Hogwarts? Oh yes, and where would you like to eat, The Three Broomsticks, Madame Puddifoots?" He chuckled at Ginny's expression at the mention of the latter.

Ginny looked back only one last time.

Neville Longbottom sat on the edge of his bed, and though he appeared to be gazing out of a half-opened window his mind was elsewhere. Not a single thought of his remained in the room he sat in, all of them pouring over a time that had long past. Blinking every so often, he lowered his head to gaze at his knees as every event flashed in his mind as it had so many times before.

The room was adequately furnished. A comfortable bed with simple sheets, a good many shelves whose rich wood covered two whole walls, most of them brimmed to capacity with books on plants. There was a single window at the far end of the room, across from the door, though it was large and let in a good amount of light. A slight breeze danced into the room, allowing fresh air to pair up with the old and then waltz out as quickly as it came.

By the window was an old mahogany desk. A few books lay scattered on it, as well as random notes he had written, all of them holding some reference to the battle from two years ago. Placed near the center of the desk was Neville's most beloved treasure, his Mimbulus Mimbletonia. The grey plant had been with him for some time now and Neville now considered it his dearest friend. It even had a name.

"It's been so long Mimby," he said softly, dragging it closer to him and careful to avoid touching the greyish boils as he did so.

"Too long, everything's changed, and I don't really think it can over return back to how it was… you know? Harry hasn't awakened yet, and Ron's gone. Seamus is dead, and Hermione is off somewhere, I've no idea where, or with who... Everyone has scattered. I have just you Mimby, only you."

The war had wrought havoc upon poor Neville's already fragile mental stamina but the full effects would only be quite clear to one who spent time with him in this bedroom of his grandmother's house that he resided in. After his own short trials had ended the boy had become a shell of a person, and it was plain to his grandmother that if she wanted to save him from ending up in the same position as his parents she would need to take him in, nurture him back to strength, physically and emotionally. The woman had been strict with her grandson all through his life, until she knew what he did in The War, and then she thought herself to have housed a stranger for seventeen years. All she could do now was love him and wait, though she was unsure if that was enough.

Neville stroked at Mimby's pot as he spoke, eyes gazing to a faraway place.

"You wouldn't leave me, right Mimby? After all that's happened, you're the only one who understands. What I did that day and why I can't move on. I've tried so hard but I still remember it as if each day I step again into battle," he ended in a whisper, "Every time I try to sleep I see her."

Neville looked at the plant quizzically.

"It's not easy to forget the dreams, Mimby. I've tried, I've tried not to dream but I can't. I've given up sleeping. You've seen me."

Again, Neville looked at the plant and nodded, rolling his eyes and sighing.

"Yes, I know, I know, reading does help, but I'm starting to run out of room. I've already filled the shelf Gran got me last week! I don't know where to put them all..."

Sighing again, Neville let his fingers keep tracing the contours of Mimby's pot. Tilting his head up so he looked out the window, he blinked as a few rays of sunlight washed over him. Smiling at the warmth, he closed his eyes and breathed in. For a second he felt as if nothing had ever happened, as if everything was unchanged. Then the warmth slowly crept away. A dark cloud had covered the sun, instantly reminding Neville of the day he so longed to forget.

"It looks just like that day right now. As if the weather could predict death's location because it was quite sunny until the first curse was said. Then all just went shady and dim." Neville was no longer talking to Mimby. "The day I killed them. Well she killed Mr. Malfoy but I made her, my fault… The sun went away that day too, just dark clouds that seemed to doom us all."

His fingers tapped on the plant's pot slightly, a nervous habit he had developed over the past couple years.

"They were both killing everything in sight, smiling in the midst of battle, it was terrible. It was Snape who got Mr. Malfoy first but that didn't kill him… I don't think Snape was aiming to kill him anyway - just to get him out of the way. But then she came and it happened. I had… I had no choice." Neville looked away from Mimby, she knew his lies well. "Alright, I'll be truthful," he said in a low voice. "I meant to kill her… but that was before I knew that it is not ghosts that haunt, it's death. Before I could think about Draco and his mother or anyone else who might have cared about them, even as unworthy of life as I thought they were. I meant to kill her. And that's why I hate myself now."

Neville's voice quivered slightly. He had hoped to never have to utter the events of that day to anyone, even a plant. He closed his eyes.

"I could have avoided it, I could have run away. I should have but I wanted to help. I wanted to be brave. No… above it all I wanted revenge. I wanted my parents to outlive the woman who cut their lives short. I put my wand to her head, she was at my knees you know, and I…I…" His voice trailed as he shook his head in agony.

"I killed her," he whispered through clenched teeth. Looking up slowly, he stared at Mimby as if he expected the plant to hate him now that he revealed his secret, thinking he had violated Mimby's trust by it. Sighing to the Mimbulus Mimbletonia, he rose up higher.

"I don't regret her dying, Mr. Malfoy that much either, but I'll never get over taking part in it. Never."

He stared up at the ceiling, losing himself in his thoughts once more.

"Neville dear, are you in there?"

Snapping back to reality, Neville turned his head to the door, which had now opened, his grandmother peering inside.

"Yes Gran."

She smiled at him warmly before stepping into the room.

"This came for you today. I believe it's what you have been waiting for."

The elderly woman placed a small package on his desk before slipping out of the room. Odd. Placing the package in his lap, he read the small note attached to it.

It's been a while Neville. I was out one day when I bumped into Professor Sprout. She somehow managed to convince me I would enjoy this very much, and since she had an extra, it would be no problem for her to part with it. I remembered how you were always fascinated by Herbology so I figured you would enjoy this more than I would.

Best wishes,

Hermione

Now Neville's surprise was laced with intense curiosity as he pulled the strings off the paper wrapping revealing the components to grow a rare Yew tree. In awe he grabbed the seed and raised it up, a huge smile spreading over his lips.

"Look, Mimby! These are so uncommon and extremely remarkable once grown. A Yew! The tree of death and resurrection, of long living bark that sees into centuries what we won't ever…" His breath was becoming rapid and he got up to pace around the room, the cool seed protected in the heart of his palm.

Finally placing the seed and other growing contents down by Mimby, he smiled broadly feeling better than he had in a long while. "I think it's high time I go out and find the perfect place to plant my Yew."

He nodded to himself, still grinning like a madman, though he was saner than he had been in years. He folded the note from Hermione and lay it carefully next to Mimby, looking forward to writing a most sincere letter of thanks, or maybe he could find her now… ask around to see where she lived so he could catch up with her in person. But first he needed to find the place where he would grow his Yew, and he eagerly grabbed his coat and stepped across the room to the door.

It was high time he started on with his life, and it was apparent now was his best chance to greet high time. Neville left the house as the wind swerved slightly and blew in his direction.

The sky was beginning to grow darker as grey clouds rolled in, seeming to gain speed as they drew nearer to each other, each one bleaker than the last. The sun was out of sight and yet an ominous beam seemed to glow from above, no clear point visible from anywhere.

Wizards and witches slowly passed each other by, none paying mind to the other as they walked along engaged within their own lives. The scene was a continuance that seemed to keep them occupied as the street beneath their shoes coaxed them forward day after day.

No one seemed to notice the snow - a cold mysterious white that blurred the surroundings into a pale haze. It moved so slowly it seemed to be frozen to the air particles, forcing itself from the clouds' strong grasp to make a long journey to the waiting ground, where it stuck leaving everything in a heavenly cover, as if it were guarding a well-kept secret from the unseeing eyes above it.

Signs creaked, swaying lazily in the chilled breeze. Too soft to move more than a centimeter either way, they created a halted song of mourning as their shop windows glowed with a dispirited light, too cold to welcome anyone inside, but alluring enough to cause the thought to spring inside a few reluctant passersby's minds.

"Where am I?" A whisper in the atmosphere, turbid with silence. "I know this place."

All around everything lulled to a bone chilling pace, so slow and passive it seemed as if it were nothing more than a self-created world inside of glass bauble, shaken for nothing more than a giant's very own entertainment. The Leaky Cauldron lay ahead, its walls untouched by the sluggish snow and uninhabited by the blasé passersby. A lone shadowy figure stood in front of its cracked door, the windows giving off a fiery light, threatening to engulf whoever dared approach it.

"Who are you?"

Upon closer inspection, a familiar scar was seen glowing with a malicious aura of jade, as the shadowy figure seemed to have drawn nearer without moving at all and without the normal smile playing across his lips. His eyes were not visible. In his hands, he held the Time Turner.

Closer still Harry Potter drew as the device began to spin, at first unrushed whilst he held it kindly, almost lovingly. Farther back, a voice was heard, low and tapered at first, until a deafening scream echoed down the streets, the magical time traveling device now spinning wildly, forwards and then backwards. The glow from the windows increasing, releasing its red light as everything around reacted violently to Harry. Speeding up, everything in this compact world drew closer, threatening to collide into each other, until Harry looked up and time slowed. His eyes were glowing red and a devilish smirk spread over his lips.

"He's mine." It was a loud hiss, in a voice all too familiar.

"Harry, no!"

Draco Malfoy thrashed in the air as he shot up, terror-stricken, his breath spastic and eyes fluttering. Panting heavily he looked around, trying to decipher what had happened but only to see a few nurses looking at him oddly. Realizing it was only a dream, no more than a vivid nightmare, he took a deep breath to calm himself down. He was in public, and would not allow others to see him like this, unnerved and shaken. He blinked and cleared his throat as he recalled the night vision all again, the memory sending shivers down his spine.

How could something so unreal feel like it really happened, he wondered.

"It was just a dream. Get off it," he scolded himself, willing the trembles to cease, the nightmare replaying before his eyes like a broken record in an abandoned study. A chilling voice echoed in his mind, "He's mine." Feeling his heart pounding against his chest, Draco jumped from his seat in the cafeteria as he sprinted back to the room he should have never left in the first place.

Sliding past the door, Draco reached out to the wall to hold himself upright, reveling in the room that he become so accustomed to over the past two years. It at first had felt like a burden and then a second home. It had now become an alternative life.

There Harry lay, still upon the hospital cot, lost in a prolonged slumber and to the lives he had left behind. Blissfully unaware to a world that he had changed forever. A hero had fallen in hopes of a better time, for the good of a people, ignoring the pain his actions could, and had, cause those around him.

Draco at last settled his breathing, entering the hospital room, allowing the door to close behind him. Pulling out the same metal chair he had sat in day after day, long nights beyond long nights, Draco sat down and glared at Harry.

For a long week he had avoided coming, only to find himself back again, unable to forsake those blazing green eyes that had once looked at him with hate and suspicion. They now seemed to be closed to him forever.

Reaching out, almost hesitantly, Draco brushed his fingers against Harry's hand, feeling the soft, cool skin beneath his fingertips. Before, he dared to hope for the slightest reaction but now he knew better than to dwell on hope. Harry was gone, forever lost in this coma, a sacrifice he had chosen without vacillation or remorse.

"You know, I once read somewhere that a hero is a man who is afraid to run away," Draco paused and exhaled, rubbing his palms over his eyes before peering at the silent figure in front of him again. "Gods, I wish you would have fucking run away Potter!" Draco spat, feeling anger boiling inside his belly.

His eyes flashed as the hurt and frustration of many months danced within his pupils. Staring down at Harry, feeling such a loathing inside of him, he was not sure if he wanted to punch him, vomit, or cry - perhaps all three.

Looking away in disgust, Draco squeezed his eyes shut, his long blonde lashes making shadows over the slight purple discoloration under his eyes, the only sign on his outer being that showed how physically and mentally exhausted he had become, stemming back from the summer before his sixth year at Hogwarts.

It was no use.

No matter how many times he grew infuriated towards Harry it never lasted longer than his eyes could stay open. His heart would not have it. Glancing back at the Harry's pale form, Draco placed the young man's limp hand into his own giving it a slight squeeze and murmured, "Come back to us, Potter... come back to me, Harry."

A darkness swirled all around, hints of a metallic light flashing for moments and then waning once more. All was dim, as though a grey film had been lain across of the area. With one blink, and then again, the obscure surroundings began to gain focus, revealing nothing more than what appeared to be an enclosed room. A dungeon, hidden deep underground, lost to those who knew not of its existence.

Harry winced in pain, his head feeling like it harbored a hoard of angry wasps, each giving him a piece of their tiny minds. It had been this way for longer than he could remember. Squinting up into the dimly lit room, he tried to get up only to be forced back to the ground flat. Glancing at his wrists, he noticed large shackles tying his whole body down, before realizing he was also currently on a large pedestal in the middle of the unfamiliar room. Harry thrashed against the chains, though the effort was less than futile. Sighing in defeat, he tried to reach into his pockets for his faithful wand, his fingertips stretching in desperation.

"You'll not find your wand there, Harry Potter."

Tensing, Harry's eyes widened. His head snapped from side to side in search of who spoke, the voice having an all too familiar chill.

"I've waited too long for this. Too long to have my plans foiled by you. First it was your mother's protection, a formidable barrier, but not enough to keep me from reaching my ultimate goal. You are mine now, Harry Potter."

"Voldemort."

Harry had known it was him. For the last two years since this new struggle began, using his mind strength to push light over evil, he knew it would have been too easy for it to be just that - forcing beads of energy from one end to another in a tug-of-war for life and death. The collision had only been a matter of time. And now here he was.

An eerie laugh rang out in the room.

"The end has drawn near for you, Harry Potter. This is your last stand."

Harry strained against his chains, hatred akin to the day of the last battle surging inside of him, as Voldemort's malicious whispers became less words but more shrill noises of vicious taunting. Every shameful memory Harry could have imaged, every moment he spent hours erasing from his mind thrown back at him, one after another, as Voldemort worked his way to weaken Harry for his true final battle, the final battle that would lead to the Dark Lord's ultimate victory. He could taste it.

Harry shut his eyes as he worked on blocking out Voldemort's incessant whispers. Yet no matter how he tried, Harry found himself reliving every agonizing memory, even ones he no longer recalled, as it throbbed into his being and demanded his attention.

Every recollection stabbed him deep: they were miniature daggers, long and sharp, having been shaped by the emotion of each occurrence. Feeling an exhaustion overtake him, Harry's effort to free himself lessened with every blow, his arms barely lifted, the chains rattling meekly in his measly attempts for escape. Again the laughter rang out, the same heinously melodious laughter that mocked Harry as he felt himself drained of his last vital life force.

"You were a fool to ever believe that I could be defeated by what immature powers you possess, Harry Potter. Your friends," Voldemort spat out the words as if it were a spoiled apple, "were smarter than you when they abandoned you. Now here you are steps away from your very end."

The whispering grew lower, almost as if Voldemort was speaking into his ear, getting a hold onto the his new power as he prepared to crush the last ounces of Harry's strength.

"Lily Potter wasted her last moments with you, and now you'll join her in yours."

Rage made his line of vision go white. Biting his lip until he taste blood, Harry threw himself upward, pulling against his shackles in rage.

"You know nothing!" Harry could hardly muster anything else as anger blinded him. But he felt a momentum. A building ball of elemental power exploding within his chest and slipping into his veins.

Pulling tightly at one end, Voldemort's laughter rang out again, but Harry ignored it as he let his newfound energy take over his being and a shackle snapped, freeing his right arm.

"You will never win, Voldemort. Or should I say Tom Riddle? You never had friends, love, or protection as either so I reckon it doesn't matter," Harry snarled as he remembered Ron and Hermione and all the others. "They have done more for me than I ever have for them. And that's why you're losing as I speak."

The left shackle broke off, clattering to the ground. Now upright, Harry jumped to his feet, looking around the shaded dungeon for any signs of Voldemort, heart thudding fiercely against his chest.

"Dumbledore gave his life to make sure I lived. And Albus Dumbledore always made sure his efforts went unwasted. If you want me, come and get me."

Harry's voice boomed throughout the dungeon, drowning out Voldemort's laughter and whispers, the last of his chains breaking off freeing him from the pedestal. Jumping down Harry spotted two rays of light at a far end. One golden and blaring, the other fading and silver.

Harry could feel Voldemort's blood boiling as he ran towards the two illuminating rays of color, breathing heavily, yet not loud enough to block his enemy's final words, "YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE FROM ME, HARRY POTTER. IT IS NOT AN OPTION THIS TIME."

"Not on your life, Tom. There is an option and it's for you to die." Harry turned swiftly and allowed his full attention to rest on the choice before him. The striking gold was welcoming and called to his mind as if it were his very aura, yet there was something so familiar about the glinting silver...

"Come back to me, Harry."

Harry heard the words and as if in a trance spun towards his left, the silver, knowing in the pit of his stomach that it was the one he must choose if he desired to live. Jetting towards it, Harry thrust himself through the glittering grey as a surge of blinding light burst around his being, causing him to shield his face.

Voldemort's screams echoed loudly as he cried out in ultimate defeat.

Back in Voldemort's mind, he continued to scream as his very own shackles pinned him down, his body beginning to wither away, his very flesh disintegrating from his resting place. Every last bit of the villain known as Voldemort slipping away as a nightmare would once morning light has broken to a new day liberated from past fears.

Harry slowly stirred, opening his eyes slightly, shrinking away from the light that was shining down on him. He lay for long minutes with his eyes closed trying to understand what was happening. The light burned and he was painfully aware of the glare on his skin, making his forehead wrinkle and mouth dry.

It was longer still before he opened his eyes again; finally able to face brightness he had not known since two years before. He sluggishly gazed around long enough to register the hospital. It had to be, as it was the only place he knew of that depended so heavily on white for décor.

He noticed that someone was holding his hand. A light grip that was warm and secure over his own stiff fingers. He stared in a stupor at the slim, pale hand over his own before letting his eyes crawl their way up to an arm, then a shoulder, and then the white, drawn face of a dozing Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy?" Harry croaked. For someone who had in essence just come back to life he was slightly peeved his cheeks so quickly had the ability to flush.

Draco remained still, not having heard Harry. No more wanting to believe he may actually have heard him speak, knowing that it was all in his mind from lack of rest and wishful thinking.

"Malfoy," Harry breathed, "...Draco, was it you?"

Draco eyes flipped open and he looked towards Harry in shock, only to see two emerald eyes staring intently back at him. Tensing, Draco was unsure as to whether he was hallucinating or not. He dropped Harry's hand as if burned and stiffened. His eyes became icy, regarding the man before him, so real and alive now, not wanting to let himself believe he had awakened, that he was truly back.

"Draco." It was not a question, but a statement that let Draco know he had answered his own question.

Hearing his voice once again, it was husky and unsteady from lack of use but most certainly Harry's, Draco could not let himself doubt any longer, and even if it was a dream he would rather live in this dream with Harry than go back to the nightmare of being helplessly alone before. His eyes softened, unaware of the tears that began to trickle over his thin cheeks.

Harry looked at him in bewilderment, and without thought raised his hand and lightly swept a thumb over the trail of wetness.

"He's gone and I'm back... thanks to you," Harry said softly, his gaze penetrating the man next to him, the one who had stayed next to him even when he had not been himself.

Draco's mouth broke into an unclouded smile. It was a grin Harry had never seen on the boy's face before, one of pure bliss and nothing else.

Draco tentatively reached a hand out to Harry's forehead and brushed some of the untidy hair away from his eyes. Noting Harry's facial muscles relax at his touch, a smile of his own ghosting over his expression, Draco allowed his fingers to graze over Harry's cheek and then trace over his lips. He was sure now, as he felt Harry's warm breath over his fingertips, that this was no illusion.

The hospital room felt warmer than it had ever been in the entire time Draco had come to see Harry over the past twenty-six months. Now everything seemed more complete than they ever had in his entire life.

A peace had fallen over the two occupants of the small table, the silence not uncomfortable but more thoughtful: Luna with her chin resting upon a hand, tracing shapes over the bumpy wood of the table's surface as she pondered over Snape and today; Snape reclining, his features a drawing of meditation. It seemed far shorter than three hours ago that Luna had made a rather fumbling entrance and Snape had given her a temperamental homework assignment to practice the way she held her face.

Kneazle was polishing liquor bottles and humming quietly to himself, looking up every so often to the only customers of the day with a grin under his mass of long facial whiskers. It had been somewhat dizzying to register every change of mood in their long conversation but near the end he noticed a lighter air around them both, the girl less fidgety and the man less tense.

Luna broke the silence.

"You know," she paused and made eye contact with him, "I was just wondering Professor Snape, what are trials for really? Your own ate up a year of your life and now it is mostly a forgotten affair, even maybe you, everyone thinking what they will despite the official judgment on courtroom documents. It seems futile in the end if you think about it."

Snape put a finger to his thin lips and rubbed over them lightly as he considered the girl before him.

"In my life, Miss. Lovegood, I have discovered trials to be designed to prove their subject guilty, and perhaps that is why when the innocent are delivered they are quickly forgotten or discarded as objects forever labeled with suspicion." He smiled wryly.

"In fact, I could say one of the reasons I'm here with you right now, among others, is because Hermione wanted everyone to have a more personal record of my account, not just a short remembrance of a dusting file proving my innocence, lain in that garbage disposal of an organization we call the Ministry of Magic."

Luna nearly laughed. "So are we trashing the government now, then? Though I hardly think our newest Minister of Magic would allow such records dealing with The War to waste away. Lupin is a good man…"

Snape stopped her from going on. "Hard as it proves for me to admit, Remus Lupin is as 'good' as they get, and will probably ever get, Miss. Lovegood, but the Ministry he runs still holds most of the minds that molded it before The War."

"So do you believe your trial and its opinion from the Ministry was ultimately a waste?"

"Certainly not. A legal mark of innocence against charges of murder, rape of a minor, and allegiance to the Dark Lord is always a helpful place to start when trying to get one's past erased of the murky underbelly that it does not fully deserve," he replied smoothly, raising an eyebrow, "Yet I can see your point in the sense that instead of mulling over the deeds of Severus Snape in trial they could have been catering to a society in tatters from a war. I believe this world of ours is coming back together fairly well, but the process could have started even sooner. Most of Diagon Alley still holds the air of ruin, even with the repairs to shops and rebuilding of the streets. In years to come I'm sure it will find itself back in normalcy, but for now we wait."

Luna nodded and stared towards the window, as if she could see past its dirty exterior to Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, Hogwarts castle, and the small towns and villages beyond, each recovering just a little bit more with every passing day.

"And how much time is the wait, Professor?" Her eyes were suddenly sullen, and she appeared much older than her nineteen years.

"Wait has no age Miss. Lovegood, and neither does time. Eventually the two commodities merge, when least expected, but we will know when it happens."

"I believe that the wait gets harder with time."

"I believe that the wait it makes all the more sweet when the time comes."

Luna halted herself from giggling at hearing the word "sweet" slip from Snape, but she still smiled up to him, a little shocked but then jolted with thrill when she saw something akin to a smile of his own twist the ends of his mouth upwards.

"A lot of your story has ties with redemption," Luna said quietly, almost speaking to herself. "I wonder if you are redeemed because of the public or if it's something inside of you, far from anyone to witness."

She focused on the former Professor again as she sensed his interest in her words, his head cocking inwards to hear her.

Snape sighed, a sound that had become countless during their meeting and one that Luna now associated with him stalling to prepare his thoughts. But she never had to wait long.

"Miss. Lovegood, if I had given up on the idea of my own redemption sooner rather than later, do you think I would be seated before you now? Redemption is something the public can give you but only fulfilled when found within yourself. Only fools wait for their own redemption rather than seek it."

Luna voiced her perplexity, "So then is everyone allowed to seek redemption from wrongs of the past? Could, say, Lord Voldemort seek his redemption were he to arise from, well, wherever… he is now?"

"Miss. Lovegood, everyone has a right to seek their own redemption, but I also assure you that if the Dark Lord were to stumble upon it, redemption would hex his slithering arse right back into damnation."

Luna's mouth dropped and Snape smirked as she blinked at him, astonished. Regaining composure, she nodded vigorously only saying, "Well, cheers to that!"

"Indeed," he added, taking a swig of Firewhiskey.

There was very little left, and he offered the last sip to her. They drank to redemption rejecting Lord Voldemort.

When the subject was brought up again, it was by Snape.

"If you keep this off record Miss. Lovegood, perhaps I won't regret confiding it to you later."

His tone was strange, but Luna felt compelled to his words and knew she would never repeat what she was about to hear, to anyone, ever.

"When Draco Malfoy and I escaped Hogwarts that night, I made him make a pledge to me and himself. I knew he had rethought his promise to Lord Voldemort, and I knew he was learning just how real the fight between Light and Dark had become, had always been. Most of all I knew he wanted nothing to do The War, and that he wanted forgiveness.

"At that point he still thought I was on the Dark Lord's side and that my murder of Dumbledore was just as much a strike against him as it was a mark in my favor to Voldemort. To ease his panic I had to let him know the truth about my allegiances and myself. I told him that if he wanted any chance of redemption for himself he would have to do everything in his power to aid Harry Potter through The War and after; that is, if Draco survived, because I also made him aware it was very likely he would die. His nemesis was a prime key to him seeking redemption from himself, a fact that I had discovered in a most unfortunate way over the death of Lily and James Potter over a decade and a half before," Snape looked away, his expression suddenly haggard.

"I do hope that Draco listened to me that night, and that he is doing well by himself and the comatose Mr. Potter."

Luna was not sure if there was a response she could make to that, but her attempt seemed to work as Snape's face unwound itself at her words.

"You know that feeling you have that Harry will awake, Professor? I have just as much trust in Draco Malfoy being alongside him when that happens, and that he will have his own redemption once Harry opens his eyes, if not before."

She smiled. "I feel as though it's written in the stars."

"Perhaps it is Miss. Lovegood, perhaps it is." Snape responded in a tone that showed he at least somewhat valued her optimism.

Their farewell happened naturally. Soon after this last sentiment the sense of closure became apparent to them both and chairs scraped loudly against the floor (nearly causing Kneazle to topple from the stool he had been dozing upon) as they stood and stretched and breathed out sighs of relief.

Luna thanked him profusely and he mumbled that it had not been as much of a disgrace to an afternoon as he originally thought it would be. He put out a hand and they had shook.

Snape left and it was only after did Luna notice she had not recorded any of the afternoon down on parchment and far before, months before, her written thoughts of that day were presented to the world - but not through The Quibbler. The piece appeared in her own small pamphlet started with a roll of galleons earned by selling one of her father's kilts, embroidered with violet Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, to an odd fellow named Benny Giberson. Severus Snape would become a reluctant, but redeemed, hero figure and Luna Lovegood the most reputable reporter of her time.

But before all of that came about, she stood by her seat in The Hole and watched flabbergasted as Snape reappeared through its opening, minutes after his initial leave, slightly breathless as strode up to her in a manner that reminded Luna of herself just a few hours before.

He towered over the girl and looked as if he were struggling not to escape back into daylight once more; instead, with a resolute determination, he asked, "Would you care to join Hermione and I for tea sometime? Or perhaps a drink, bid you please not order Firewhiskey."

"Oh, I would absolutely love that, Professor." Luna beamed, ignoring his jibe at her low capacity to hold her alcohol. Her eyes flickered around quickly before in an exaggerated whisper, "But you can pick the place next time!"

"There was never a doubt in my mind that I would do so, Miss. Lovegood."

Writing Credits

Hogwarts A.K.A Team Captain for Challenge 4 A.K.A prime editoress of Epilogue- From the very beginning up until the end of Snape and Luna's discussion over Ron. Snape and Luna's discussion over The War and The War scene itself. The end scene, where the discussion between Snape and Luna wraps up with the mention of tea and more Firewhiskey.

Mel, who second bested Hogwarts by taking on four parts to work her magic with- The second actual Draco and Harry scene in which Draco somewhat overuses the term "fuck," but it works. Neville's scene, though Mimby was the star. Snape and Dumbledore performing "ancient magic" out in the Forbidden Forest scene. The second to last scene, in which Draco dreams, Harry meets Voldemort once again, and then he wakes up and Draco escapes his living nightmare.

Jen, who was Hogwarts' therapist and eager to help in any way- Ron's scene as he leaves for the states. Harry's scene where we see what has been going on inside his mind since two years before.

Pixie, who plays a mean game of golf and molds great writing at the side- The scene in which Blaise and Ginny encounter each other.

Angela, who makes quick time with her writing while managing to keep it first-class- When Luna gets pissed on Snape's Firewhiskey and talks of Nifflers and Giant Squids.

Rachel, who understands a character's mind frame better than we know our own- The scene where Ginny visits Harry and then in the same bit Draco comes along later.

Stacey, who likes it long and rough and so damn good (her writing, that is!)- The scene in which Ron and Hermione have their last confrontation at her home.

Stevan, who writes twelve-minute speeches for eight-minute timeslots- When Snape gets overwhelmed with Luna and begins to degrade her life before apologizing and ordering fish and chips.

Tiger, who wanted Voldemort to belly dance because anything is better than it being Dan Rad- The scene in which we look into Tonks and Lupin's married life. Voldemort's scene in the Forbidden Forrest.

Nines, who includes The Unisock perfectly and effortlessly into a fanfiction of Harry Potter- Flashback to November of 1995, in which we see Luna and Snape interact as teacher and student.

Acara, who like Nines, came back from an absence and took on a part with no hesitation; bless them- In which Snape and Luna discuss how Dumbledore's death was preplanned to save many, many lives.