Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.


The next few days were some of the darkest Snape could remember in a long time. Now, though, it wasn't because of the ominous threat of Voldemort, which had been lingering over him for a good portion of his life. The days were dark because of the overwhelming despair he could see in Hermione – someone who had brought so much light to his own life as of late - and his helplessness at being unable to alleviate her pain.

Hermione was still asleep when Draco woke late Wednesday afternoon, rested, but still looking as though a heavy weight was bearing down on his shoulders; the weight of knowledge, Snape suspected. He knew it well.

They spoke of what had happened again, more coherently than earlier in the day, but when Snape mentioned Potter's quasi-apology for his behaviour in the Headmaster's office, Draco brushed it off, saying quietly he deserved every bit of ire from the remaining Weasleys or anyone close to them.

"I should have known," he said bitterly. "I should have asked what was planned. No one would have thought it odd that I was eager to know, given Father's eagerness for such things."

"And how would you have felt," Snape returned, "having known and still been unable to stop it?"

The boy was silent for a moment.

"I might have found a way," he finally said, though he didn't meet Snape's eyes.

"No, you couldn't," Snape said, shaking his head. "And believe me, Draco, knowing and being unable to stop something is far worse than not knowing until after the event."

Draco went back to the Slytherin common room at the conclusion of their conversation a short time later, determined to put on a brave face in front of the school and, behind closed dungeon doors, appear pleased with the success of his father and the elder Malfoy's comrades.

Snape knew it would be a long time before Draco would be able to forgive himself for not being able to help, though. In a way, though not so personally, the Slytherin had been just as affected by the events of Beltane Eve as Hermione and Potter. Unlike them, however, the Slytherin Head Boy wasn't able to show it. No one expected him to be upset over the attacks. Indeed, many of his fellow Slytherins probably expected him to be boasting of their success.

He might have suggested Draco do just that, for the purposes of illusion, if the boy could convincingly say he had enjoyed it. Now that it had all sunk in, though, and he had personally seen the effects such an attack had on those left behind, simply appearing pleased would be hard enough already.

As Snape turned from the fireplace after Draco's departure, his stomach rumbled loudly, and he realised that it was almost dinnertime and neither he nor Hermione had eaten since the previous night.

Striding into the bedroom, he found her still asleep, lying on her back with one outflung arm hanging over the edge of the bed. Watching her deep, even breathing for a moment, he reconsidered his intention to wake her. Who knew when she would next be able to sleep – without the aid of a potion, she would find it difficult to calm her mind enough to do so.

Instead, he went back into the sitting room, ordered some sandwiches for himself – and her, if she awoke later - then retrieved a book from his desk and returned to the bedroom. Setting the plate of food on the bedside cabinet, he toed off his shoes and sat on the bed beside her, stretching out with his back against the headboard.

Hermione slept on, though, and it was only just before eight o'clock, when Snape had long since finished his fill of sandwiches (though the plate kept refilling itself anyway) and set his book aside, that she finally began to stir.

Shifting onto her side and curling up, a grimace of some nightmare-induced pain or fear clouded her face. Raising himself up on one elbow from where he had lain down beside her, Snape contemplated waking her.

As much as she needed sleep, it would do nothing to relax her or recover her drained emotional strength if her slumber was filled with nightmares. When a soft whimper broke from her and her face creased further, he reached out laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Hermione," he murmured, squeezing her shoulder gently.

She woke with a startled cry and sat bolt upright, looking wildly around for a moment before realising where she was. Visibly relaxing as she met his eyes, she heaved a deep sigh and sank back beside him.

"I must have been dreaming."

"You were," he said. "I'm sorry, but I thought it best to wake you."

She furrowed her brow for a moment, as though trying to recall her dream, but then nodded and exhaled a shaky breath.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"A while," he replied. "I was going to wake you earlier. Are you hungry? You can't have eaten all day."

"I haven't," she admitted, "but I'm not hungry. I feel…" She paused, searching for the right word, then lowered her eyes and continued softly, "I feel strange, doing all these normal things – eating, drinking, sleeping – when they will never do those things again…"

She trailed off again and raised her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"I just…" she tried again, "How can anything ever be normal again?"

Hermione looked up at him searchingly… did she think he had the answer to such a question, that he knew anything about normality?

"Normal is an illusion," he said quietly. "An illusion that occurs when one becomes comfortable with a recurring situation. In a world such as ours, where so many things may happen by chance, and in times such as these, when life is more fragile than ever, normality simply does not exist."

She stared at him for a moment longer, and then turned her head away, twisting the edge of the duvet – which she lay under and he on top of – between her fingers.

"I just wish it could be like it was," she whispered, and in the semi-darkness he saw a single tear escape past her lowered lashes.

Like it was, he pondered. He knew what she meant; she wished the whole Weasley family was still alive, and that the Hogsmeade attack had never happened… but what about before that?

Did she wish for the relatively carefree life she had known prior to this school year? She most certainly wished her parents were still able to live in their home, and in their home country. Would she give up the few good things that had happened since then in exchange for a return to so-called normality?

Don't be stupid, he scolded himself. She'd give you up in a heartbeat to have her parents back in the country, to see the Weasleys alive and well.

Was it wrong of him to wish that wasn't so?

As trying as the past months had been, the frustration of his confinement and the threat of Voldemort looming ever closer, some good had come of the hand that chance and fate had dealt him. Though he would never admit it aloud, there had been times in the last few months when he had actually considered himself to be more or less content… even happy.

Normality for him previously meant teaching students who didn't care to listen, carrying out the orders of two masters, bound to one through obligation, another through stupidity, and constantly looking over his shoulder, wondering if this day, this attack, this meeting would be his last.

Now, though, his normality was simply Hermione. She was the constant, always there with him, or nearby, at least. Draco, the Headmaster and a few select others were still part of the equation, but Hermione was the one who could always be relied upon to be there when he needed her, to calm him, talk him down, or merely sit and listen while he ranted, raved and lamented.

She was someone to hold, and she could lean on him as he could her; she had seen him at his best and worst, laughing, crying, and been the object of both his affection and his rage. And most of all, she loved him as much as he loved her.

Would he give up their journey, go back to the way things were, in exchange for the lives that had been lost along the way?

It would be horribly selfish not to… yet he was thankful it was a hypothetical question.

If only they could have the best of both worlds.

Snape was drawn from his thoughts when Hermione sat up, wiped her eyes and climbed out of bed, padding across the room in her knickers and singlet to retrieve her clothes, neatly folded on the chair.

"What are you doing?" he questioned.

"I think I should go and check on everyone," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "I haven't seen them since this morning."

"I don't think you're in any shape to be wandering about the castle," he admonished.

"I'm fine," she said, pulling the still-buttoned robe over her head only to become tangled up in the garment because one of the sleeves was inside out.

"You most certainly are not fine, Hermione," he countered, getting up and crossing to where she stood wrestling with the robe from within.

He drew it back up over her head and set about unbuttoning it. She watched in silence, and when he was done, he held it out for her to slip her arms into. Turning her around to face him again, he buttoned the robe, his gaze not leaving hers.

"I just want to see that they're all right," she tried to explain. "Well, perhaps not all right – how could they be? But that they're… there's nothing I can do for them… please?"

He sighed. "You don't need my permission to go. Am I not simply allowed to be concerned for you?"

She lowered her head again, a faint blush staining her cheeks.

Snape finished the final button, just above her breastbone, and laid both hands on her shoulders for a moment.

"Go," he said. "I'm sure they'll be grateful for your company; stay with them if they need you, and if not, you know you're most welcome to return here."

She managed a small smile and embraced him briefly, a soft word of thanks muffled against his shirt.

"I'll Floo to my room, I think," she said quietly as he followed her out into the sitting room. "It's closer to the Room of Requirement; I know I'll still have to go through the common room, but hopefully I won't run into too many people."

He nodded sympathetically and saw Hermione take a deep breath and set her shoulders before disappearing in the green flames.


An hour later, though it was still relatively early, the long, emotionally draining day was finally starting to catch up to Snape, too. Assuming Hermione would be spending the night with her friends, Snape stripped out of his clothes and crawled into bed, waving a tired hand towards the window to open the curtains slightly. The night sky was cloudy, the darkness heavy, but at least the light would wake him in the morning. Though he rarely slept longer than a few hours, tonight he felt he could sleep for days.

He roused groggily a while later when he heard the Floo beyond the bedroom door, and then Hermione calling out softly as she entered the room and closed it quietly behind her.

"Hmm?" He rolled over as she sat on the edge of the bed, toed off her shoes and pulled her robe over her head.

"Did I wake you?" she whispered, pulling back the edge of the duvet and climbing in beside him.

"No, I was just dozing."

She scooted closer to him and let out a soft gasp of surprise, and it was only then he woke up fully and realised he was without a stitch of clothing.

"I didn't think you'd be coming back," he started to apologise, pulling away from her. "Let me-"

"No, don't be silly," she said, halting his move to get up.

He stared at her for a moment, and she blushed and looked away.

"That is, if you want to…?" She trailed off, looking at him questioning, but he simply swallowed and nodded.

"Of course."

At that, she pushed aside the duvet again and climbed out of bed. He followed her movement across the room, his confusion disappearing as he saw her slip out of the rest of her clothes, drop them on the chair and turned back. There was barely a moment to take in the sight of her padding softly across the floor before she reached the bed and crawled in next to him again.

She snuggled close, and her skin was cold as she hooked one leg around his and pillowed her head on his shoulder, resting against him with a sigh.

It was a mark of how tired he was that his body failed to react to her pressed up against him in such a way. Not that she would welcome such a thing tonight… she wanted to be close for comfort, and if his presence brought that to her, he would give whatever small measure he could.

"'s better," she murmured, though he noticed she was trembling slightly; it wasn't cold tonight.

He wrapped an arm around her back and pulled the duvet more securely around them both, right up to her chin.

"How are your friends?" he asked quietly.

"Sleeping," she said, her voice muffled by her hair, which had fallen forwards across her face and his chest. "Madam Pomfrey saw them earlier today, so the Headmaster said, and insisted they all take sleeping potions tonight, even Charlie. He didn't look too happy being bossed around, but I think he was too tired to protest."

"It's a sound idea," he reasoned. "I doubt any of them would have slept without it, and certainly not restfully. Another day without sleep wouldn't help, either."

She nodded against him.

"I know. I'm actually glad they're asleep… it's the only peace they'll get for a long time now."

He didn't say anything immediately, because he couldn't bring himself to contradict the truth. The three remaining Weasleys – each bubbly and well-liked in their own ways – would be changed people now that the war had hit them personally. It left none whom it touched so closely unscarred.

"It will be easier once the funeral is over, I would imagine," he said eventually. "It will be a closure, of sorts. As doubtful as it seems at the moment, you will all be able to move on from this."

She was silent, and he sighed. Perhaps it was too early to try to bring reason into the equation yet. There was no reason, after all, to what had happened to the Weasleys the previous night.

"Do you need another sleeping draught?" he asked.

"No, it's all right. I think I might be able to sleep for a bit. I still feel like I haven't slept for days."

Hermione yawned and shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position where she could put her head on the pillow beside his.

Turning on his side to face her, he pulled her close and tucked her head under his chin. It was a poor attempt to shield her from the pain of the outside world, but it was the best he could do… all he could do.

"Don't ever leave me, Severus."

The word were mumbled, perhaps not even intended aloud as sleep took hold of her, but they brought a sudden, sharp ache to his chest, and he didn't trust his voice to answer.

Eventually, he followed her into restless sleep, both of them waking several times in the darkness with no knowledge of the dream – or nightmare – which had pulled them from their sleep. Still, Hermione's presence had always managed to keep away the worst of the dreams for him, and tonight it seemed he was able to at least do the same for her.


The Weasleys' funeral took place on the Saturday following their deaths, and unlike many of the other funerals occurring that weekend for the victims of the Hogsmeade attack, theirs wasn't announced in the Daily Prophet. Nonetheless, over a hundred witches and wizards turned out to mourn the members of the well-loved family and support those left behind.

A sweeping hill overlooking rugged moors and the windswept north-west coast of Wales was to be the final resting place of the family, joining their matriarch's ancestors. The burial site of Mr Weasley's ancestors, Charlie explained in a hollow tone that morning, had been ransacked when their great-grandfather lost much of the family fortune a hundred and fifty years ago.

So it came to pass that Molly Weasley and her family would be buried alongside her brothers, Gideon and Fabian, who had died in the first war against Voldemort, and the last six generations of the Prewett family before them.

Hermione, wearing plain black dress robes, arrived at the bottom of the hillside burial site with the three remaining Weasleys, Harry and Professor McGonagall. The Ministry had arranged warding spells around the area, and Portkeys for all those who wished to attend, so no one uninvited could come within a good mile of the site. It was unthinkable that anyone would dishonour a burial… but Voldemort and his servants had sunk far below that already, and even with the protective spells, there was an air of unease about the place.

The sheer volume of people who turned out to farewell the well-loved family astounded Hermione; the entire Order was there, as well as a good portion of the Ministry; as many of the Hogwarts teachers who were able to leave the school also came, and Hermione recognised many past students, too, particularly those who had been in the same years as Fred and George or Percy.

Never having been to a wizard burial before, Hermione had no idea what to expect. It was one of the few topics she hadn't studied, either; one of the downfalls of the Hogwarts curriculum was, while it offered Muggle Studies to teach witches and wizards about the other lifestyle, no such class was offered to acclimatise Muggleborn students to the rituals and practices of the wizarding world, simple things which purebloods and half-bloods took for granted.

Hermione stood between Harry and Ginny, watching the crowd gather around them, and McGonagall stepped away to stand with some Order members who had gathered nearby. Last to arrive was Dumbledore, who was wearing soft, cream-coloured robes, his long white beard blowing slightly to one side in the soft breeze.

The waiting crowd quieted as Dumbledore approached the tight-knit group of Charlie, Ron, Ginny, Harry and Hermione. The three Weasleys moved wordlessly, turning to face the hill.

"Harry, Hermione," Dumbledore said quietly as he came to a stop in front of the group, "will you join your friends, please?"

Hermione looked to Harry in confusion, but he shrugged and took her arm, and they both stepped up beside Charlie, forming a row of five.

There was movement behind them, and Hermione looked over her shoulder to see the crowd gathering closer behind them.

"Let us begin," Dumbledore said.

Seemingly from nowhere, he was suddenly holding a tall pillar candle, unlit and pure white. He handed it to Ron, standing at the opposite end of the line to Hermione. The red-haired boy accepted it solemnly, bowing his head. Procuring another identical candle, Dumbledore handed it to Ginny, who also bowed her head upon taking it.

Moving past Charlie, the Headmaster went to Hermione next, and handed the third candle to her. She looked at him in confusion for a moment before accepting it, lowering her eyes to the ground as she had seen the others do.

Dumbledore repeated the process again with Harry, and finally Charlie, who, as the head of the family now, was given two. Retreating three or four steps, Dumbledore drew his wand and the candles suddenly sprang to life. Eerily, though the day was still quite bright, a shadowy veil suddenly seemed to obscure the sun, and Hermione looked across at her friends to see their faces illuminated by the bright light of the candles.

Turning his back to them, the Headmaster began chanting, a low, droning of repetitive words Hermione could hear but not understand. Raising his arms in a gesture of welcome or perhaps invocation, he began the long climb up the gentle slope towards the burial site. After a moment's pause, Charlie started off after him, and the others followed with slow, measured steps.

The crowd of mourners kept close behind them as they walked, but all was silent but for the Headmaster's voice carrying back to them, the soft rustle of the long grass rippling in the breeze, and the occasional crackle of the tiny flames, unhindered by the wind. Hermione stumbled on an unseen rock in the long grass, and felt a hand briefly grip her arm, disappearing when she had regained her footing.

Turning her head, she saw Malfoy just behind her and off to one side, tucking his arm back within the folds of his cloak.

Severus had been frustrated and angry he wasn't able to attend the funeral, both to support Hermione and to farewell the Weasleys himself. He knew it would be foolish to attend, even disguised by perhaps Polyjuice or Harry's cloak again, and Hermione didn't think the Ministry wards would admit anyone seeking to conceal themselves, anyway.

As a compromise, the Headmaster had decided Malfoy should attend, as Head Boy and a representative of the whole student body. It was a sound idea; if his father or Voldemort heard of it, he could merely say he was forced to attend, and he would be there to lend a carefully concealed hand to Hermione where Severus could not.

She gave the Head Boy a small smile, and then turned her attention back ahead of her to where the Headmaster had reached the top of the slope and turned, waiting for them to join him.

As they drew near, Hermione looked beyond the waiting Headmaster and focused on six, dark wood coffins sitting in the grass before six grey, engraved headstones. Any thought that she had mentally prepared herself sufficiently for the occasion vanished as the reality of the situation fully hit her for the first time.

Each coffin had a round indentation near the head and, following Charlie's lead, they set a candle atop each of them.

Now silent, Dumbledore moved and stood behind the headstones as Hermione and the others returned to the front of the crowd of people; so large was the gathering that it extended some way down the slope and around to form a rough semi-circle facing the coffins.

Hermione stood on one side of Ron, her arm linked in his to support him even as Charlie was doing the same on the other side. The oldest Weasley's other arm was clasped around Ginny's back and his shoulders were hunched over with grief. The once-outgoing young man seemed to have aged ten years since Wednesday, and Hermione wondered who would hold him up if he could no longer manage it himself. Harry stood at the opposite end of the line, clasping one of Ginny's hands tightly in his own.

Dumbledore raised his arms again and began to speak.

"My friends," he began. "We are gathered here today to farewell six of our number, stolen from us in the most arduous of circumstances. They are not the first we have lost in our fight against evil, nor, sadly, will they be the last, but none here today will deny that they were all wonderful, caring people who will be greatly missed by all whose paths they crossed."

The crowd behind them murmured in soft agreement, and Hermione looked sideways at Ron to see her friend holding his chin high, uncaring of who saw the tears on his face.

"Molly and Arthur were tireless workers and loving parents." Dumbledore's voice, though soft, carried across the crowd effortlessly. "They cared deeply for their children and welcomed others into their home like family. Bill, their oldest, was a highly intelligent young man, committed to his work and always eager to spend what time he could with his younger siblings on his rare visits home."

"Percy was a brilliant scholar, always striving academically for the best, his colleagues at the Ministry can vouch for his eagerness to continuously learn and improve. And what to say about Fred and George? The twins spent their lives making everyone around them laugh; they could bring humour to the gloomiest situation, even in dark times such as these. For all their wit, though, they loved their family and were seriously committed to defending our right to live freely, just as their parents and siblings were."

Dumbledore paused, glancing around the crowd of silent mourners.

"Indeed, the loss of one of them would have been a great tragedy; having all of them taken from us is indescribable, and our hearts ache for those who have been left behind."

He looked at each of the Weasleys in turn as he spoke, then at Hermione and Harry as well. Hermione could feel the watching eyes of the crowd on them, too.

"While the coming days seem dark for those closest to our dearly deceased," Dumbledore went on, "let it be known they have the love and support of a great many people. I take it upon myself to bid all of you to help and support them in any way you can, as I know Molly, Arthur and their children would have done for any of you in need."

Another murmur went through the crowd behind them, affirming the Headmaster's bidding.

"We have come a long way from home today, to lay our friends to rest with those who have gone before them…" He paused, turning for a moment to gesture towards the scattered graves about the top of the hill behind him. "…but let it be known that, while their bodies may rest on this silent hill, their souls shall go on to another place, and their spirits will be free to soar far on the wind, or linger close to those who knew them best, guiding them as they continue to live and fight for the freedom we all so desperately crave."

Hermione eyes blurred with sudden tears, and she tried to blink them away as Dumbledore raised his wand.

The strange veiled effect which still hung about the hill seemed to grow dimmer, the candles atop the coffins brighter. A mist of pearly grey sprang forth from the tip of the Headmaster's wand, swirling about him.

"Let their bodies return to the earth from whence they came." His voice rang out clear and the mist curled about the coffins. The candles rose of their own accord, floating above the wooden boxes as they began to sink slowly into the earth.

"Let their souls move on to the other place, where they might begin their next great adventure."

He swept his wand in a wide arc, and the swirling mist turned blue, gathering above the coffins and rising in a high spiral which faded into the blueness of the sky beyond the veiled haze.

Hermione's eyes were transfixed on the Headmaster and the magic he was weaving, unable to look away. She felt Ron sway slightly beside her, and she tightened her grip on his arm.

"Let their spirits linger close to those left behind, to comfort them in their times of need. And when their work here is done, let them be free."

Dumbledore raised his wand again, and another mist appeared, brilliant white and hovering just above the ground. As the tops of the wooden boxes vanished, sinking slowly into the ground, a sudden wind sprang up, and the mist rose and swirled outwards from the new graves, moving towards where Hermione stood with the others.

As the mist enveloped them, she could hear soft whispering, and although she strained to hear the words, it was as if they were just out of reach of her understanding. Nevertheless, she felt a strange comfort wash over her. Beside her, she heard Ron whisper almost inaudibly, "Goodbye."

On Ron's other side, Charlie was looking upwards, the rising mist illuminating the tears on his face. Ginny had her eyes closed, leaning heavily against her brother. Harry met Hermione's eyes, and she saw both the confusion and strange sense of peace she felt mirrored in his expression.

Dumbledore lowered his wand, the mist faded and the breeze stilled.

"May they rest in peace. Ar dheis Dé go raibh a leat."

The veil which had seemed to obscure the sun vanished at those strange words and the hovering candles lowered to sit atop the grey stone markers of the graves.

Hermione looked around, almost as if waking from a dream, and realised the crowd was turning to quietly move back down the hillside. She felt a brief squeeze of her arm as Malfoy moved from where he had been standing close behind her; she tried to smile gratefully, but managed little more than a grimace.

Dumbledore approached them, and laid a wrinkled hand on Charlie's shoulder.

"There will be a Portkey for you at the base of the hill when all is complete," he said quietly.

Charlie nodded silently, and the Headmaster continued on down the hill with the rest of the mourners.

Hermione wiped her eyes and looked to Ron in askance for what they were to do now.

"The farewell rite," he said softly, his voice thick. "The family of the deceased stay at the burial site until sundown."

She didn't ask any more, and they stood for a while longer, until all the people at the bottom of the hill had vanished. There was no sign of the Ministry presence, though Hermione suspected the wards would remain in place until they returned to Hogwarts.

Her attention was drawn back to others as they stepped up towards the graves together. She and Harry hung back as Ron and Ginny took the candle from each of the twin's graves, and Charlie took those from his parents'.

Charlie beckoned towards Hermione and Harry, then, inclining his head to the remaining candles.

"It's supposed to be family," she said softly.

"You are family," Charlie said. "In all but blood. They would have wanted you here."

Still uncertain, Hermione looked to Ron and Ginny, who both nodded their agreement. Harry took Bill's candle, she reached out to take Percy's candle and they both joined the others, standing in a row, facing west.

They stood silently, the soft breeze coming up from the far-off, sparkling ocean, rippling their robes yet not touching the tiny flames of the candles.

Hermione reflected that she hadn't known Percy well at all, despite spending four years at school with him. And yet, he was the most like her out of all the brothers – studious and dedicated, eager to learn and sometimes too firm in his own opinion. Perhaps it was fitting, then, that she was the one to hold his candle and bid him farewell.


It was late that evening, after the farewell rites had been completed, when Hermione returned to Hogwarts with the remaining Weasleys, Harry and also Malfoy.

None of them had realised, while taking part in the silent, afternoon-long vigil, that the Head Boy had remained nearby at the Headmaster's request.

When the sun set, sinking into the sea on the western horizon, the candles had abruptly extinguished, marking the completion of their task. After a further moment of silence standing before the graves, they all linked arms and left the lonely, windswept hill for the growing shadows of the valley below.

Malfoy had appeared silently from the grove of trees at the base of the hill, holding a non-descript, broken china bowl - their Portkey back to Hogwarts.

No words were spoken, and when they all had a firm grasp, he tapped it with his wand, activating the spell, and the darkening green fields of Wales gave way to the sweeping lawns of the Hogwarts grounds and the castle looming nearby.

It seemed like hours later, though it was still was before midnight, when Hermione left her friends in the Room of Requirement, where they were still staying together as a family.

Though they had expressed no discomfort with her presence or Harry's, she still felt this was a time when they needed to be together – just the three of them. No matter how close to family Hermione and Harry had seemed, in the end, they were simply very good friends.

Like the night after the Weasleys' deaths, Harry had again expressed a desire to spend some time alone. It occurred to Hermione, after they had parted ways, that Harry was wondering what his own parents' funeral had been like… and who had stayed until sundown to complete the farewell ritual for them.

So, for want of anywhere else to go, Hermione found herself again walking down to the first floor and Severus' quarters. She knew she could go to him and let everything out… cry, scream, throw things… or simply curl up next to him and shut out the rest of the world for a few hours.

The long afternoon spent standing silently on the hillside had exhausted her; not physically, though her feet were tired, but the emotional drain and taking such an important and unexpected part in the afternoon had worn her down. She could only imagine how drained her friends were; Ginny had barely been able to stumble up the long staircases to the seventh floor when they had returned to the castle.

When she reached his quarters, though, only Malfoy was present, pacing in front of the window, and she stopped after closing the door, uncertain of what to do.

"Hermione?"

Somewhere in the course of the last few days, he'd stopped calling her Granger. Oddly enough, it didn't bother her in the slightest.

"Is… is Severus here?"

Malfoy shook his head.

"You just missed him. He's taken something he was working on up to Dumbledore. He said he wouldn't be long, though."

She bit her lip, trying to hold back the flood of tears she knew was imminent. She'd been expecting Severus to be here when she arrived, expecting to be able to throw herself into his arms and just let everything out.

Now, she would have to hold it back a while longer. Malfoy might have seen her crying on Wednesday morning, and at the funeral today, but she wouldn't break down in front of him alone; she was stronger than that.

"Hermione?"

Her name spoken again jolted her from her thoughts, and she realised Malfoy was standing in front of her, watching the warring emotions on her face with a strange expression.

"I think…" She paused and drew a shaky breath. "I'll just wait… until he gets back."

She made to step around Malfoy, intending to take up residence in one of the armchairs while she waited for Severus to return, but he grasped her arm gently. She stopped and looked up at him, startled.

"You're allowed to cry, you know," he said matter-of-factly, watching her carefully. "Merlin knows I would be, in your shoes."

She stared at him; the look of concern was foreign on his face, but somehow she knew it was nothing but genuine. He released her arm and took a step back, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"I, uh… I wish I'd been able to do something on Tuesday night to stop this," he said quietly. "I know it's too late now, but if there's anything… well, you can ask, anyway."

For some reasons, his combined apology and offer of a shoulder to lean on upset her even more. She tried to thank him and reaffirm that it hadn't been his fault, but nothing came out and she simply shook her head.

Thinking it was a refusal of his offer, he set his jaw and nodded, turning away from her and walking back to the window.

"Draco, I-" she started to say.

"What?" He continued staring out the window, though only the reflection of the room was visible in the absolute darkness outside.

"I'm… I… it doesn't matter," she said weakly, moving the few steps to the couch and sinking down into the corner of it, curling herself up tightly with her knees drawn up.

Unable to hold herself together any longer, she let her tears fall. The room was silent but for the soft crackling of the flames in the fireplace and her occasional hiccupping sobs. Malfoy didn't acknowledge her distress; facing away from the window where he stood, she began to wonder whether he was even still there. The thought of being completely alone and having alienated him when he was only trying to help made her cry even more.

By the time the Floo flared green and Severus arrived, her nose was blocked, her head was pounding and she could barely see. The more she tried to control the tears, the more they flowed; she knew it was ridiculous, that she was bordering on hysterical, but the rational side of her brain couldn't pull the rest of her together enough to calm down and stop.

"Hermione?"

She heard Severus' sharp inhalation and felt his presence beside her, bending over and brushing her hair out of her tear-stained face, but he was speaking to Malfoy.

"Draco, what happened?"

"Aside from the obvious fact that six people she almost considered family were buried this afternoon?" came the sarcastic reply from across the room.

Hermione let out a hiccupping sob at the bland description, and the next thing she knew, arms were lifting her from the tight ball she had formed on the couch and she was nestled tightly against Severus' chest as he sat down with her in his lap. It was only then she realised she was shaking, and that she couldn't seem to stop it.

"Draco, if you can't use some tact, make yourself useful," he snapped over the top of her head. "A phial of Calming Draught from the lab, if you please."

Hermione didn't hear what the Slytherin said in reply, but she did hear the lab door open as he went to retrieve the potion.

Severus was speaking softly - to her, she realised belatedly - and she tried to focus on his words.

"Hermione, calm down; take a breath," he murmured; one of his hands was rubbing soft, familiar circles on her back and the other was resting on her head, holding her carefully against him.

She tried to do as he instructed, but only ended up hiccupping again, and then coughing.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't be there with you," he said, his tone coloured with regret. "I just couldn't see how…"

She shook her head against him, though she didn't trust her voice to reassure him she knew he would have been there if they could have found a way.

A door closed across the room, and Malfoy's quiet footfalls indicated his return with the potion. Hermione raised her head just enough to see him hand Severus a phial of the light-blue potion and then retreat to one of the armchairs opposite the couch.

"I didn't upset her," Hermione heard him say defensively. "At least, I didn't mean to. I was just trying to… I don't know… trying to help and doing a pathetic job of it, I suppose."

Severus sighed.

"Even I cannot help her at the moment, as much as it pains me to admit it."

At any other time, having them speak about her as though she wasn't there would have annoyed her greatly. Now, though, all that mattered was having Severus with her. Hermione felt his hand under her chin, and then the cool glass of the phial against her bottom lip.

"Drink," Severus instructed quietly. "Trust me; it will help."

She considered refusing it for a moment, the idea crossing her mind that he was trying to drug her into a false state of relaxation… but she knew his aversion to using potions as a means to suppress dreams and emotions. Only as a last resort, and being convinced it would genuinely help, would he offer it to her.

She drank and then settled back against him, closed her eyes as the potion took effect and a deep feeling of lethargy overcame her.

The room was quiet for some time; Hermione could feel Severus' chest rising and falling with each breath, lulling her almost to the point of sleep. The two men might have assumed she was asleep, too, because when Draco spoke again, it was almost in a whisper.

"I should go."

Even in such a quiet tone, Hermione could hear the reluctance in his voice. Severus, it seemed, caught it, too.

"You're welcome to stay here if you wish."

"No, I should leave you two, and I… she needs you."

"And you don't?" she heard Severus counter. "I thought you might have wished to talk over some things tonight?"

"I can talk down in the common room."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Severus said reproachfully.

Malfoy was quiet for a moment.

"How did you do it, cut yourself off from everyone for all those years?" he asked suddenly.

Severus sighed.

"I believed what I was doing was right."

"I think I'm doing the right thing, too," Malfoy replied. "That doesn't make doing it alone any easier, though."

"No," Severus agreed. "It doesn't make the yearning for companionship go away, but I believe it does made it somewhat easier to bear."

Hermione, still feigning sleep though she was more awake now than when their conversation had begun, resisted the urge to tighten her arms around Severus' waist.

Malfoy was silent again, and then Severus said, "I don't doubt you shall find companionship, Draco."

"With who?" he asked bitterly. "By the end of this war, I'll have alienated myself from almost everyone I grew up with, and those on 'our' side now will hardly trust me, even if we do win."

"You have your whole life ahead of you."

"I know," he sighed. "It would just be nice to have someone to… share the burden with now, I suppose. You know what I mean?"

Hermione felt Severus brush a lock of hair back from her face, and she could feel his eyes watching her, gauging whether she was asleep or not.

"Yes, I do," he finally said.

Malfoy exhaled a breath, which may have been a huff of amusement or annoyance – Hermione couldn't tell without opening her eyes and giving herself away – but she heard his robes rustle as he stood up.

"You really love her, don't you?"

His tone wasn't accusing, but merely held a mild disbelief upon finally seeing proof of what he had already been told.

"I do," Severus said after a moment, and she felt him exhale a breath, too, as thought a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Very much."

It was strange, hearing the two men speak so frankly to one another. Severus was an extremely private person; she had learnt that quickly, and even now she didn't pretend to know everything about him. To hear him admit his love for her to another person was heartening; it was an affirmation that he truly did care and wasn't ashamed to admit to it, either.

Despite her sorrow for everything else that had happened these past few days, at that moment she was finding it difficult to keep from smiling and giving away her knowledge of the conversation.

Malfoy huffed out another breath, this time one of clear amusement. "I suppose I'm not the first person to say I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it?"

Severus chuckled softly.

"Those two menaces Hermione calls friends haven't seen it, as you say, but she's had a hard time convincing them all this time spent around noxious potions fumes hasn't addled her brain."

She felt him brush at the hair hanging down across her face again, and he added fondly and a little perplexedly, "I really don't know quite how it came about myself."

This time Hermione couldn't hold back a smile, and she shifted, burying her head further into Severus' shirt to hide it as she pretended to slumber on.

"I better go," Malfoy said again. "I should write to Father and tell him Dumbledore made me go to funeral. No doubt he will have heard, but I think it's wiser to tell him before he has to ask."

"A good thought," Severus replied approvingly. "I daresay he will not be pleased."

"No one saw me stay behind with the Portkey, at least," the Slytherin said, and Hermione heard his footsteps move towards the fireplace. "I'll simply tell him my status as Head Boy required me to attend, and I was informed too late to send word."

"That should satisfy him adequately. Only tell him what you must."

Malfoy must have nodded his agreement of Severus' instruction, because the next sound Hermione heard was the whoosh of the Floo as the Head Boy left the room, followed by Severus' heavy sigh.

"Well," Severus said after a while. "We can't stay here all night; I'm getting uncomfortable, at any rate. Are you awake?"

Something prevented her from answering and, after a moment, he murmured, "Obviously not."

Hooking one arm under her knees and the other more firmly behind her back, he stood up, lifting her with him, and carried her into the bedroom. He sat her up on the edge of the bed, unbuttoning and removing her robe with some difficultly while trying to prop her up as well.

She opened her eyes, watching as he cursed quietly at a particularly difficult button, and sat up straighter to alert him she had 'woken up' and could assist him.

"You are awake," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "How long have you been pretending?"

"Not long." She blushed and looked away.

"In that case," he said, finally undoing the robe and pulling it out from under her, "you can manage to undress yourself."

She sighed and reached for the buttons on her blouse – she was still wearing the same formal robes in which she had attended the funeral. Her fingers were clumsy after the potion's relaxing effects, though, and she gave up and flopped back on the bed, her legs still hanging over the side.

"I give up," she murmured. "Isn't there a spell for this?"

"There is," he said after a pause. "Unfortunately, it is not selective in the garment it removes; everything goes."

"Is that a problem?"

A bone-deep weariness was beginning to creep over her, different to the tranquillity brought on by the potion; she could think of nothing more than crawling into bed with Severus and falling into a deep sleep next to his warmth.

"Very well," he said slowly. "Can you stand up for a minute? It's easier if you do."

Yawning, she complied, and he stood toe to toe with her, his dark eyes gazing down into her tired, red-rimmed ones.

"All right?" he asked.

She nodded, but then reached out and took the wrist of his wand hand before he could speak the spell.

"Severus, I just…" She broke off, closed her eyes for a moment, and then continued, looking up at him again. "I wasn't asleep earlier… at all."

The corner of his mouth twitched again, and she could sense a jibe about Slytherin tactics in a Gryffindor on the tip of his tongue. Forestalling it, though, she spoke again, her heart pounding.

"You already know it, but after… after what has happened lately, it seems even more important to say it again."

She held her breath for a moment, and he held her gaze. She could see the pulse point in his neck, beating in the shadow of his jaw.

"I love you, Severus."

Her words hung in the air for a moment, before he closed his eyes and pulled her tightly against him, letting out a long breath as he did so.

"I know, Hermione," he murmured, "and I love you."

She'd known it for weeks… months, even, and heard him admit it to Malfoy tonight, but not until that moment had he spoken those three exact words to her. She wrapped her own arms around his back, feeling suddenly breathless and overwhelmed.

They stood together silently, both unwilling to be the first to let go, but at length, Snape said quietly, "Are you ready for bed?"

Hermione nodded.

She'd almost forgotten why they were standing beside the bed in the first place, and she didn't hear him speak another word, but there was a slight rush of cool air around her and she found herself naked, pressed up against Severus with her arms still around his now-bare back.

The sudden contrast of cool air on her back and the warmth of his body against her front made her shiver, and he released his embrace to pull back the covers and guide her into bed.

When they were settled together, Hermione facing away from his with her back against his chest, she yawned again and asked, "Why didn't you use that spell the other night? It's so much quicker."

"It is," he conceded. She could hear a smile in his voice. "But taking longer in those circumstances is half the fun."

She smacked his arm playfully where it was draped loosely around her waist, but he simply chuckled softly and tightened his grasp, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"It sounds an awful thing to say only the night they've been buried," she said hesitantly, "but even now, I think you were right… we will get over this. Life does go on. It has to."

"It will take time," he reminded her, his breath whispering across her neck as he spoke, "but you'll be all right. You all will… and it's what they would have wanted."

It's what they would have wanted.

That sentiment echoed in Hermione's head as she drifted off to sleep. Severus was right; Molly and Arthur would want them all to try to move on – not to forget them, but to live as fully as they could. Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the Calming Draught, or the comfort of Severus' body beside her, which was lulling her into a false sense of acceptance… but at that moment, just before she fell asleep, moving on almost seemed possible.


To be continued

Author's Notes:

Ar dheis Dé go raibh a leat is Gaelic and means may they rest in peace

The title of this chapter, Keayney, is also Gaelic, and means crying, weeping or mourning.

It's over a year ago now since I posted the first chapter of this crazy tale. Of course, I didn't know at that stage quite what a beast I was unleashing (mainly on myself – lol), but it's been an amazing ride so far, and it's not quite over yet. Thanks to everyone who has followed me along the way!

Thanks also to everyone who voted for this story in the 2005 OWL Awards, where it won Best Fire & Ice and Best Romance – thank you all so much! Speaking of awards, Before the Dawn has also been nominated in the Aphrodisia and Intelligence categories of the Multifaceted Awards! Voting closes on March 10th over at the Multifaceted website. :P

And finally, eternal gratitude, chocolate and a voodoo doll in the likeness of her choice to Potion Mistress, beta extraordinaire, who saves me from the embarrassment of corny lines, crappy phrasing and dodgy typos. Anything wrong with the chapter now is a result of my having had a few days to tinker with it after she sent it back.