All good things must come to an end. And as such, here is the end. Death Eaters attack Hogwarts, the castle crumbles to the ground, everyone dies as they're crushed under the rubble. Sort of like Romeo and Juliet with the mass destruction of an atom bomb in place of the poetic subtlety of poison and a dagger. Kidding ... completely kidding. But this is actually the final chapter of the story. Enjoy ...

- Chapter Fifteen -

The Serpent and the Lioness

The next morning's Daily Prophet reported a story to the entire wizarding world. It was a story that Harry previously had insisted to be true amidst the insults and smear campaigns set against him over the previous year. No longer could Cornelius Fudge trumpet on about wild conspiracies of Albus Dumbledore attempting to undermine and, essentially, usurp his position as the Minister of Magic. Now, the arrogant caitiff was forced to face the fear he had denied since the night Cedric Diggory was slain in the Riddle family cemetery, the night an entire world closed their eyes to reality for fear of what may come. And come it had … Lord Voldemort had returned!

The Dark Lord and his faithful Death Eaters had been foiled, however, in their attempt to obtain the prophecy that Voldemort so desperately yearned to acquire. This was accomplished with the joint efforts of the Order of the Phoenix and the recently reformed DA. The small band was aided with a late assist by Dumbledore himself, whose duel with Voldemort nearly shook the Ministry down to its very foundations.

Unfortunately, with every victory comes a price. The prophecy, although not obtained by Voldemort, was destroyed and existed now only in the minds and memories of those who heard it before it was filed away into the abyss of the Ministry's archives. A far greater loss, however, was the death of Sirius Black at the hands of his deranged cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry had only just begun to know his godfather before he, like Harry's parents, was violently taken away.

Members of DA had their share of casualties as well, though none proved to be fatal. Neville had broken his nose, greatly reducing his ability to cast an effective jinx during the chaotic melee. Luna had suffered minor injuries, but needed little more care than a simple bit of bandaging. Hermione, however, found herself laid up in the hospital wing at Hogwarts for a significant amount of time before she fully recovered from her injuries.

It was three days before the end of the term when Hermione was finally released. She had received many visitors during her extended stay. Ron, of course, visited often, offering her chocolates and candies while further offering to eat any of them she was disinterested in. Several professors, including Dumbledore and, oddly enough, Professor Snape, made appearances. Snape's visits, however, were far less cordial than the rest of the faculty. A simple "Just checking to see if you're still alive," summed up their conversations.

Even Harry, with everything that must have been going on inside his head, made numerous visits to see her. Still, Hermione felt empty and alone. He never came. Outside from the brief moment of awkwardness outside the Great Hall, there had been nothing between them since that night in the Room of Requirement. If she had only had a moment longer, a fraction of a second. She could see it in his eyes as she grasped his hand, he wished for it as much as she. But fear and uncertainty had built a wall between them. A wall she could not climb alone.

Every night as Hermione lay in bed, alone in the hospital wing, she agonized over the last few weeks since that fateful night in the Room of Requirement. How each day they would sit at their respective tables, their eyes meeting for a fraction of a second, hoping that maybe she would catch a hint of the devilish grin that infuriated her so often before. But it never happened. It never happened, and he never came.

Hermione gathered up her things from the hospital bed and was escorted by Madame Pomfrey back to the Gryffindor Tower. Once there, her peers greeted her with open arms and questions about how she was feeling, what it was like to face off against a Death Eater, and other such questions of which she simply did not care to respond. She went along with it as best as she could, though. After all, it was not their fault. They were curious. How could they not be? How could they know that all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for the rest of her life, so that she would not have to feel the pain that was eating away at her?

Harry must have seen it in her face. He came and rescued Hermione from the incessant inquiries that were being thrust upon her. She could not begin to verbalize her appreciation for his gesture. Even with everything that Harry was going through, he was still there for her when she needed him. But then, Harry knew. Harry was clever. Harry was observant. He knew why Hermione was upset. Even Ron, who was neither clever nor observant for the most part, had his suspicions. It simply was not something they would talk about.

That night, the skies rained with a ferocity that mirrored the tempest of emotions swirling about in Hermione's head. As the lightning crashed throughout the heavens, she lay in bed, restless, staring at the canopy of her four-poster bed, hoping for sleep to find her. But sleep would not come. Not that night.

As she lay there, Hermione heard an odd drumming amidst the pouring rains. She actually heard the sound several times before acknowledging it. It was a dull thumping against the glass. At first, she thought it to be nothing more than the torrents of rain pelting against the windowpanes. It was not until Hermione noticed several thumps in succession that she turned her head to investigate.

Outside her window, Hermione saw a fluttering image. Curious, she sat upright as her eyes adjusted to the distance and dim light. Several more tiny thumps came from the window as the fluttering shadow slapped up against the glass. Hermione got up from her bed and crossed the room to the window, carefully opening it so as to keep the rains at bay.

As soon as Hermione opened the window, a rain soaked paper hummingbird, whose beak and face had been mashed flat from its repetitive attempts to tap on the window, greeted her enthusiastically. It fluttered in through the window, spraying water from its wings before turning and folding on itself until it was a soaking wet paper flower. This time, however, the flower failed to waft gently in the wind, instead falling like a stone and slapping down on the windowsill.

Hermione picked up the flower, immediately knowing the significance. She stuck her head out the window and saw Killian standing at the base of Gryffindor Tower in the pouring rain. Hermione's heart nearly burst from her chest as she haphazardly tossed on whatever clothes were nearby.

"What are you doing?" Parvati asked groggily from her bed, her eyes squinted and sleep-ridden.

"Nothing," Hermione dismissed. "I have to get something."

"Now?" Parvati asked.

Hermione raced out of the dorms without answer. Unfortunately, as luck would have it—and poor luck at that—Hermione had the unwelcome pleasure of crossing paths with Professor Snape as she made her way down the steps towards the exit to the courtyard.

"Going somewhere?" he questioned, looking spitefully down his nose at Hermione.

"I was just," Hermione began. "I was…" she began again. No excuse could come to her. Her mind was already past the Potion's master and in the courtyard.

Snape's eyes then found the rain soaked flower in Hermione's hand. His glare danced between the flower and Hermione's lost expression several times as she babbled through some form of lie or another.

"On your way to the library, perhaps?" he suggested dismissively.

Hermione was taken aback. She thought for certain the next words from Snape's mouth would involve the deduction of points from Gryffindor, although it was quite possible there were no points left to spare. Hermione stared at Snape for a moment, wondering whether it was some form of deception on his part.

"Yes," she finally agreed, cautiously.

Snape cast another quick glance at the flower before sweeping past Hermione and continuing on his way.

"Mind the time," he warned curtly.

What had just happened? Hermione was certain she did not care at the moment. Still, though, how odd? But now was not the time. There would be other times to ponder the significance of the odd occurrence. Hermione mentally shrugged off her encounter with Professor Snape and raced toward the exit to the courtyard.

Outside, the rains were still pounding the grounds of Hogwarts. As Hermione stood gazing out into the darkness, she saw Killian emerge from the shadows, looking like a drowned rat in a neat ponytail. He raced to her without saying a word, lifting her in a silent embrace. No words could have expressed it any better. Hermione's clothes began to swell from the rain, but she hardly noticed as she buried her face in his shoulder, refusing to allow for an inch of space between them.

"You never came," she cried, her emotions getting the best of her. "Why didn't you come?"

"I wanted to," Killian said as he kissed her on the forehead, holding her tight. "Professor Snape..." he tried to explain, but lost his words. "Please believe I wanted to."

"I thought…" Hermione began, her voice cracking, "… you were angry… I thought that you hated—"

"Never think that," Killian insisted, looking Hermione in the eyes, his forehead pressed against hers. "Never, ever think that. Every moment that went by… Every excruciating second since…" He paused, his brilliant green eyes piercing Hermione's.

"Killian—"

Before Hermione could utter another sound, Killian cupped her face in his hands, pulling her close, pressing his lips to hers. In an instant, the entire universe fell away.

The pressure of his flesh was overwhelmingly inviting. The taste, the scent, enveloping her senses, washing away a year of angst, doubt, and disbelief. Hermione reached up, her fingers in his hair, on his face, cascading down his chest. She should have felt so uncomfortable, insecure she was doing it improper, unsure of where to put her hands, how to tilt her head. Yet, somehow in this moment of unfamiliar familiarity, nothing had ever felt more natural, nor pure, more right. Like odd pieces found in a long forgotten puzzle box, they fit together perfectly within their embrace. The world around them had gone silent, save for his whisper as his lips grazed her ear.

"My life is as death without you."

Hermione made no attempt to hold back the tears, although they were well hidden amongst the rains that pelted the two of them. Relentless rains... Cleansing rains... Rains that Hermione suddenly became aware of.

"My God!" she laughed as she placed her hand on Killian's cheek. "We're soaked!"

"I don't care," Killian said as he pulled her close again.

"Come out of the rain," Hermione persuaded as she led Killian under the stone canopy.

Shaking the water from their hair and clothes as best they could, Hermione sat on the stone banister. Killian stood in front of her, looking Hermione over as if he had not seen her in years, rememorizing every feature of her face and curve of her body.

"What were you thinking?" he asked. "You could have been killed. All of you."

"We weren't thinking," Hermione admitted. "It all happened so fast, we didn't know what to do. It seemed right at the time."

"Why didn't you come to me?" Killian went on.

"We hadn't spoken in so long," Hermione answered, her eyes swelling once again as her words reminded her of the awful emptiness she had felt. "You were avoiding me. I just… I didn't know what to think."

Killian took Hermione's hand, interlacing his fingers through hers.

"I'm sorry," he began, only the second time Hermione had ever heard him apologize for anything. "I was a fool… I was afraid…"

"Afraid?" Hermione asked, thrown off by Killian's admission of weakness. "Afraid of what?"

"Afraid … " Killian paused uncomfortably. The tension and emotion in his face was so evident and foreign. "I was afraid I'd ruined you," he finally answered as he gently smoothed what could have been a tear or simply droplet of water from Hermione's cheek. "That night, in the Room of Requirement… The look in your eyes… I should never have…" He cut off, having great difficulty completing his thought.

But it did not matter. Hermione knew what he was trying to say. She remembered the burning rage that had pulsed through her as she stood above Killian's crumpled body in the Room of Requirement. She remembered the overwhelming desire to hurt him, to destroy him. She remembered, even more vividly, the horrible aftermath as the realization of what she had done set in. She remembered her desperate desire to erase what had happened and the helplessness she felt knowing it would be impossible to do so. Killian knew the demons that Hermione now carried with her. He had tried to protect her from that. She just would not listen.

For several moments, they remained there, listening to the rain as it drummed the grounds around them, content with the simple sounds nature so graciously provided. But Hermione still had something pressing on her mind. She wrestled back and forth with it before coming to the conclusion that it was not something that could be avoided or prolonged.

"Can I ask you something?" Hermione finally asked.

"Anything," Killian conceded.

"Will you promise not to lie?"

Killian laughed, his devilish grin returning. "Ask me something else."

His normally infuriating grin brought such a familiar sense of relief to Hermione that she disregarded his avoidance of her question. She merely put her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest, wanting to feel his warmth. Even as Hermione felt his arms tighten around her and his breath trickle down the back of her neck, she knew could not let it go.

"Is it true that your father is an affiliate of Lucius Malfoy?" she asked, feeling Killian tense in her embrace.

"Where did you hear that?" he asked.

"Draco," Hermione answered.

"Weaselly little ferret," Killian grumbled, shaking his head with a heavy sigh.

"Is it true?"

There was a moment's pause as Killian laughed under his breath. Hermione knew him far too well to mistake it for humor over frustration. She could almost feel the strain.

"Yes," he admitted, his arms holding Hermione ever firmly.

"For how long?" she asked on, almost feeling guilty now for her continued persistence.

"I've never known them not to be," Killian answered. "The ties between the Finns and the Malfoys go back generations. All politics and proper social mingling."

One more question. If the Malfoys and the Finns were so deeply connected, there was still one more question that needed to be asked. Hermione closed her eyes, her hands clenching the sides of Killian's shirt as if this simple act could somehow guide his next answer.

"Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater," Hermione went on, cringing as she contemplated what Killian's response to her insinuation might be.

As before, Killian did not respond immediately. This did not seem like a promising indication to Hermione, whose eyes remained closed, waiting. She kept her cheek pressed firmly against his chest, trying to convince herself it would not matter one way or the other.

"My father has done many questionable things," Killian explained, his muscles contracting beneath Hermione's fingers as he struggled through his words. "But that is not one of them."

Killian placed his hand on Hermione's cheek, directing her gaze upwards, connecting with her in the way they always had before.

"And I'm not my father," he assured. "I promise you."

Hermione stared into Killian's eyes. They smiled at her. They did not lie. She trusted him. With a sigh that felt as though it were a lifetime in the making, Hermione released all of the tension and frustration that had embedded itself within her as she replaced her head upon Killian's chest. Nothing more would come between them. Not that night. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor; the Serpent and the Lioness. She knew neither what they were nor what they were becoming. All that matter was they were together once again. As far as she was concerned, time could stand still forever.

the end ...

... to be continued in Sins of the Father

This concludes this chapter in Hermione and Killian's story. Thank you to everyone who has read thus far. This story actually began as a very short story, only 6 chapters, more of a spotfest of moments than an actual complete story. It has since been flushed out and written more completely. For those who read the original version, I hope you have enjoyed the additional 9 chapters.

The next story will be starting up in a little while. I do have to take a short break to finish up another project. Oddly enough, it's a bizarre, nonsensical, scifi comedy of sorts. It actually started off because of a dream I had where I was in a movie theater and someone said they were playing the movie that was based off a book I had written. I went in just in time to see the credits roll, seeing the names of several characters. Weird thing was that in my dream I knew exactly what this story was. When I woke up, however, I was completely lost. So I wrote down the names I saw on the screen: Narrator, Drake Mandrick, Mina Helling, Quentin Chagrin, Chance Sephen, Molotov, and Panda P. Panda and the words "weird Sci-fi comedy, Earth is being repossessed by Fomsticor Incorporated, looking for Pure Blue" because that was the only thing I could remember about the plot of this book/movie in my dream. That morning, I literally started to write it off the top of my head the best I could. Not exactly a sound writing practice, but it has been fun because absolutely none of it has to make sense ... sort of.

So if anyone is interested, It's called "Another Fine Product Brought to You by Fomsticor Incorporated" ... I know. Weird title. I honestly did not put much thought into it. The story, like this one, is written from the perspective of the female lead, Mina Helling. I am posting it on the Facebook page, Another Fine Product Brought to You by Fomsticor Incorporated" chapter by chapter as I complete them because ... I don't know ... Why not post it on Facebook? So it's there for anyone who would like to read it. For everyone else, Sins of the Father should begin in a week or two.