Beta'd by Maddiechu.

It had been hours. Hours since the cold, bloodless body of Lord Voldemort hit the floor.

They'd come like a benevolent swarm. Aurors from the ministry, Healers from St Mungos. Soon unfamiliar uniforms had joined them, French, German and Spanish inscriptions on their robes, their broken English joining the cacophony of noise emanating from the school.

As Harry had left for his soft bed in Gryffindor tower, Hermione had found herself drifting straight back to the Great Hall. The school was in pieces. Large holes had been blasted through the stone walls of classrooms, and even in the outer walls themselves. The portraits were screaming and sobbing, some had huddled together in a random frame, to comfort one another. Other portraits had taken up their weapons, swords, polearms, wine glasses; anything they could brandish in a particularly threatening manner and were yelling insults at the foreign Auror teams as violently as they could. Great gashes and rips had become the focus point of many portraits, whilst some had clearly been blasted apart. White smoke complete with an acrid tang filled the air as Hermione sauntered past freshly extinguished paintings, as others outright blazed. There was little she could do for those. She was not an expert art restorer, she reasoned with herself as stone crunched like gravel under her feet.

She strode absently past suits of armour and statues that had been obliterated; some had been melted. A suit crawled towards its arm, lying several feet away. Hermione picked it up, placing it at the head of the armless victim. It gave a small salute, before attaching the lost limb to its breastplate and lying, motionless on the floor like a corpse; McGonagalls' magic evaporating. Again, Hermione could do nothing for the damage to the metal of one of Hogwarts brave defenders. Nor could she restore any of the statues that had been destroyed.

Nor could she stomach removing the red smears and ruby puddles that indicated a casualty.

Hermione swallowed heavily, turning the corner into a corridor that was the most direct route to the Great Hall to find a small team of Healers bent over a body, its legs twitching violently; Death Eater robes muddy and garnet at his ankles. A pair of Aurors, French if the inscription on their robes was anything to go by, stood guard. One of them held the chains of captivity in his hands, his olive skinned face a picture of distaste as he watched the Healers stabilise the wounded man.

"Madame," The other Auror said to Hermione, quietly, respectfully. His dark blue eyes indicated that he knew exactly who she was. She opened her mouth to reply, but discovered that words were failing her at that moment. He gave a small smile in reply to her unintentional silence, those dark blue eyes filled with understanding. She responded by throwing him a thankful glance, his arm gently reaching out to her elbow, guiding her around the body, away from the realities of a war. He let go of her the moment they'd passed the small huddle, respectful of her personal space. Hermione began to get the intense feeling he'd seen some people like her more than once. She dipped her head to him in thanks, realising for now, speaking was not going to be possible, and headed towards the stairs.

From her vantage point at the top of the stairs she could see the entrance hall below her, and the stream of people walking in and out of the front doors that had been left wide open. A fresh, startlingly cold breeze for the month of May was blowing in, the scent of grass sweet. Hermione hadn't noticed just how much the school had stunk of death until now. She grimaced a little, instead focusing her eyes on the steps, careful not to slip on odd slick puddles of various potions brought up from the potions classrooms below.

Everything had been a weapon.

The sounds of footsteps and hurried, worried words to one another pulled Hermione along, down the stairs and towards the Great Hall. Families were leaving, slowly but surely, either of their own accord or following their wounded to St. Mungos. Sometimes their dead. Hermione tiredly passed the distraught Patil twins, their arms wrapped around each other as their tears streamed down their identical faces, a healer quietly explaining to them that Lavender would not be allowed visitors for at least a month or two due to the nature of her injuries. She was sure they would understand.

A small huddle of people had gathered around something in particular and with a shock of alarm and disgust Hermione realised it was Voldemort's' corpse. She'd seen it moved earlier of course, before Harry had said to herself and Ron that he was behind them, and they'd left to see to things alone. This time however, it turned her stomach.

The grey shell of a man was being relentlessly prodded, poked, tapped and kicked. His robes were being levitated by those with a wand, or flowers were being summoned out of his gaping mouth. His body had become a toy of sorts. She understood why. People had believed him dead before. Then he'd returned. The same, insidious tactics employed causing terror and death wherever he looked.

This time, people would want some sort of proof of his death. Some kind of validation. What better way than to openly disrespect his body. It was behaviour that was definitely going to have earnt them a death penalty had he been alive. It was beyond disrespectful, but it was effective. It was going to be hard to argue with the pictures of someone attempting to pull his ear off.

Hermione made her way into the Great Hall, quiet sniffs ahead of her caught her attention. Madam Pomfrey sat with her head in her hands, deep breaths rolling her shoulders up and down in a slow rhythmic manner. She shook quietly, her skin a deathly white pallor, exhaustion scrawled on to the lines in her face.

"Healer," A woman in the healing robes of Mungo's said, crouching down below Madam Pomfrey, her blonde haired head peering up at her; a potion in her hand. "Healer, please, take this and rest. Let us do the rest you have done enough; more than what was asked of you I am sure." She soothed, pressing the bubbling vial into Pomfrey's hands.

"So many of them," gasped Pomfrey as she brought the vial to her lips, a shudder of grief escaped as tear slid down her pale cheek. "Just so many."

"You did what you could Sister, we are proud of you. Your school will be proud of you. I am sure." The Healer cooed, warm eyes settling on Madam Pomfrey, as her compassionate hand squeezed the school Nurses. Madam Pomfrey swallowed the vial and relaxed. Closing her eyes and letting the tears run free.

Hermione swallowed, wishing she could find the Weasley family or… or… or…

"Hermione?" Ginny's soft voice asked, taking hold of her hand gently. She turned, looking to the sound of her voice.

"Ginny," Hermione heard herself answer; "How… how are…" she trailed off, exhaustion creating clouds in her usually clear mind.

"The rest of the family are leaving, they're going to come back tomorrow. Shacklebolt wants to speak to us all, and he wants to do it here. Hogwarts is going to act as a hub of sorts for a little while. Mum and Dad want to go with Fred's body. They say I can go find…" Ginny looked drained herself, the lines of emotional strain beginning to carve themselves across the soft plane of her forehead.

"In his bed in Gryffindor tower," Hermione told her immediately, letting go of Ginny's hand, and taking her face in her fingers. Ginny let a half amused laugh slip past her lips, but the tiredness cut it short, and sorrow turned it to a sob. Ginny's hands took a gentle hold of Hermione's head in return, as the older girl pressed a small kiss to her forehead. Ginny returned the affection unthinkingly.

"Tomorrow," she promised as they released one another.

"Tomorrow," Hermione agreed, letting Ginny leave.

As the first girl in the Weasley family to be born in seven generations left, the rest of the family walked towards the entrance. They gave Hermione expressions of apology as they walked away, following a Healer and a levitated stretcher. A wand placed on top respectfully. Hermione shook their apologies away; placing her hand over her heart in a show of her love for them, her lip trembling as tears threatened to spill.

She'd sat with them earlier, grieving with Ron. She'd kissed the hands of both Lupin and Tonks, distraught in their leaving her. Now, both their bodies had gone, where; she didn't know. She looked for Ron, not knowing why. She knew he wasn't with them. He'd gone his own way for a little bit.

They'd shared a passionate kiss hours ago, but she didn't want to be in a relationship with him. She didn't want to be with him. She couldn't. It wasn't what was right for her. Now that the last screams had died and the last soul to slip through the skin had gone from Hogwarts hallowed halls, she could see it for what it was. Her feelings for Ron had come from realising that her friendship with Harry ran the real risk of her dying young. She loved Harry like a brother, but in the back of her mind was a constant worry. She wanted to have the normal, teenage flings where emotions and hormones ran high, but Harry obviously wasn't an option, and her brain intimidated other prospects. A wave of sickness rolled over her like the moon pulling the ocean to a shore. She was in a hall full of grieving, distraught, ruined people; thinking about her relationship prospects.

What had happened to her?

A war. A war had happened.

She sighed, taking a seat at the Gryffindor table; food was appearing slowly, cold cut meats, cheeses, fruits; bread rolls and butters – all things that required no cooking she noted wryly. With a deep breath, she took an apple, admiring the freshness of it in a melancholy manner. It had been a long while since she'd eaten something of good substance.

A clatter in the corner caused Hermione to look up hopefully; for what, she wasn't quite sure. Another wand had been thrown into a pile by the doors. Some were in pieces, snapped and spitting sparks as another length of magic infused wood was tossed onto it. A few upset and worried people had gathered by it, searching through it hopefully. Once in a while someone would be reunited with their wand, and a celebratory burst of magic would explode from that end of the room; the owner with an expression of sheer elation as they earned a part of them back.

A pang stabbed at her heart as she watched Ernie McMillian pick up his wand from the pile of abandoned ones and leave with a fresh expression of ecstasy. She missed her wand dreadfully. She still had Bellatrix's wand, which resisted her and felt thick under her command, as if she were willing her magic through a river of crude oil.

She knew why she'd come back to the hall, but part of her thought it was futile, chances were slim that her wand had made it through the war in one piece. So many lay shattered or in pieces, or snapped, or hissing and spitting sparks.

Her wand was going to be by Bellatrix's corpse if it was here at all, here and not in the pile of wands. She pocketed her apple, standing once more and feeling as if the last of her energy was being sapped by the floor she stood upon. She had no desire to ever encounter Bellatrix Lestrange again; dead or alive. But… her wand.

She cast her eyes over the room, praying to herself that the Death Eater's body hadn't been removed yet, the Hall was emptying more and more as healer teams continued to travel in and out, carrying corpses and the injured away. To her luck and dismay, Bellatrix's body was still there. The sheet that covered her barely covered her wild hair, her claw like hand peaked out from beneath, but the rest of her was shielded from view by the Malfoy family.

Narcissa was sobbing quietly to herself, her ice white hand holding a handkerchief delicately as she dabbed at her cheeks, as Lucius attempted to comfort her, although it was clear her son was doing a better a job. They looked much like they had a few hours ago, unsure if they were meant to be there, but no one had asked them to leave yet. They looked very much like they had nowhere to go. It also looked as if they were not going to leave the dead body of Narcissa's blood relative alone. If Hermione wanted her wand, she was going to have to look with all of the Malfoy's present.

A hand rested on Hermione's shoulder suddenly, the grip was gentle, yet firm. She turned, looking into the warm eyes of Minerva McGonagall.

"Why?" Hermione said, looking pointedly at the Malfoy family.

"Foolishness." Minerva answered with a sigh, "It's got them this far, but I believe Shacklebolt will be getting to them soon. It's better he rounds up the ones who chose to run first I think." Her hand left Hermione's shoulder, as the older woman stepped forward, making motions to leave. Hermione turned her eyes to her mentor to look at her properly, and swallowed, seeing the elderly woman drenched in blood and dust. Her wiry grey hair was loose, wild about her shoulders, matted with blood and the slightest hint of her severe bun sagged at the top of her head. Her tartan robes were torn, several patches of dust were indicative of a fall she had taken about her knees, and a rip in her sleeve revealed a sparkling patch of ruby. Her blood had trickled down her arm to the back of her hand, and a garnet stain was now there like a tattoo.

"Of course," Hermione agreed, thoughtlessly.

"I hope to see you tomorrow Miss Granger," McGonagall said quietly before striding away, with dedication. She passed a group of Aurors and Shacklebolt, who were making a beeline for the Malfoy family, their faces drawn and serious. The Aurors all had fresh, clean robes on They'd clearly reached Hogwarts the moment the battle had finished, or were simply recruits. Shacklebolt however, wore the efforts of battle. His face was blood splattered; a graze gracing his left cheek; as though he had not been able to look away from an explosion fast enough, the tracks of shrapnel had left little paths of blood down his face. It gave any little motion of his mouth a grim shadow, an odd sense of foreboding that did not belong to him. Shacklebolt's deep red robes were missing a sleeve, and the lapels had been roughly removed at some point in the night, but it was the way he favoured putting his weight on his right foot that told Hermione he'd be needing to see a Healer at some point soon.

Their approach had clearly been spotted by the Malfoy's, who exchanged a briefly panicked glance between each other, and made to meet Shacklebolt in the middle. To Hermione's surprise, both Narcissa and Lucius stopped Draco from following, their faces drawn painfully thin. The Malfoy heir looked irritated, yet fell back at his parents' orders.

If there was any time for her to retrieve her wand, it was going to be now. She may not be able to face the entire Malfoy family, but Draco, Draco the boy who had desperately wished to look away when his aunt had stabbed and clawed at her on the floor of her home. Dredging up her resolve, she strode over, determination drawing colour to the absolute mess she was.

Her hair was ragged; blood, dust and grime from months on the run had matted it. Her skin had a developed sheen of filth that most definitely wasn't helping the healing of her multiple wounds. She was even more of a mess than others in the hall. Her clothes were ripped, and scorched from multiple sources of flame. More embarrassing, if she could muster the energy to care was that she was aware she owned a rather pungent scent.

She neared the body of Bellatrix, and as she did so, she threw a furtive glance towards Lucius and Narcissa. Shacklebolt was speaking talking in a deliberately low voice with Lucius Malfoy, who was currently paling fast, his lips drawn together in a furious line. Defeat scrawled on to his posture. A sliver of blood had smeared its way into his blond locks, and his Death Eater robes were missing a rather large chunk of fabric from the cloak. Narcissa was crying openly, there was a pair of black streaks down her cheeks where her tears had caused her make up to run, her hair was a mess as if she'd been running earlier in the day. She most likely had been. The bottom of her robes held a halo of mud, due to her emerging from the forbidden forest with the Death Eaters when Harry had let himself be killed.

"Leniency!" Lucius was hissing, practically begging Shacklebolt, his hand trembling with what could have been interpreted as anger, but it became evident it was fear.

"I will grant you this, Mr Potter has spoken of your wife's intervention, and your son's… unwillingness to comply at a previous date; but you Lucius," Shacklebolt seethed his distaste bright in his eyes. "You shall face the full punishment of the law. This is not something you can escape from this time." Lucius was nodding, as Narcissa struggled to compose herself. The Malfoy's aristocratic airs were slipping, and slipping hard.

Bellatrix lay at her feet. Cold and lost to the afterlife. Hermione stopped listening to the continued conversation of the Malfoy's and Shacklebolt as her eyes fell to the mad woman's chest.

No wand lay there.

Panic swelled inside of her, bubbling uncontrollably under her skin, her vision blurring.

"Oi, Granger." She recognised the voice. "Granger." It repeated, impatient. Worn. As exhausted as she felt.

"What." She sighed, finding volume to be a struggle; even forcing the word from her lips had been a monumental effort.

"Looking for this?" The voice asked, thrusting a wand in front of her face.

Her wand.

Her wand. The wand that had chosen her. The wand that had confirmed she was in fact, part of the wizarding world. The wand that had completed her for so many years. It had earnt itself a couple of fresh scratches that would need to be repaired, and was simply covered in scuffs; but it was hers. It was hers.

"Yes!" She laughed, reaching out to grab it with both hands. Her eyes filled with delighted tears immediately, as her body burnt at the reunion. Her skin burst out in goose-bumps, as she flicked it familiarly. A bird was released from its tip as easily as breathing. It hadn't resisted her.

"Merlin you look happy." The voice continued drolly, the sad notes unmissable. She turned, her eyes meeting the silver eyes of Draco Malfoy. She gasped, feeling foolish. She should have expected this; she'd watched his parents banish him from the conversation she'd just walked past. She allowed herself a moment to look at him, truly look at him. Hermione's heart suddenly began to beat harder in her chest. He seemed taller, Hermione considered, he was wearing a suit that was mottled in dust, blood stains, and several scuffs. One impressive rip was over his knee, but it didn't diminish from his graceful stature. He stood in the hall as if he owned the school, bruises were starting to bloom on his alabaster skin, his hair was darker than usual; a light coating of dust had faded his platinum locks to sunshine like gold, contrasting with the silver pools that were his eyes.

He looked lost.

He looked terrified.

"It's my wand," She answered him dumbly. It seemed intelligent answers were also beyond what she could muster at the moment, along with appropriate volume. He looked at her expressionless, before turning away, facing his parents who were still locked in a verbal battle with Kingsley Shacklebolt. The Aurors that were flanking him seemed to be listening intently, and the chains she'd seen earlier in the hands of another Auror, ready to be put to use as restraints were casually slung over the shoulder of a scowling female Auror.

Taking the moment Draco Malfoy was immersed in his parents' struggle, Hermione pulled out the wand she had been using for the past months. Bellatrix's. She tossed the foul looking wood uncaringly onto the dead woman's chest. The moment she did so, a huge weight removed itself from her shoulders, as if the wand had been a sort of horcrux for the late Lestrange. She shuddered, relieved to be free of a wand that had felt like forcing her magic through a crude oil slick.

"You don't…" Malfoy was speaking to her again. She looked up slowly to see him looking at his aunts wand with a look of jealously she imagined he must have been wearing when he watched her be reunited with her own sliver of magically infused wood. He cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning his withdrawn, desperate gaze towards her properly. Hermione's breath caught in her throat for reasons she just couldn't fathom.

"You don't happen to have-"

"Your wand?" She interrupted her voice still quiet. He nodded, hope worming its way to the forefront of his expression.

"Harry gave it to Shacklebolt," she answered, as Draco looked as though he'd been caught up with Crabbe in the fiendfyre. He curled his lip, whether in anger or sadness Hermione couldn't work out.

"Lucius…" Narcissa bawled suddenly, a fresh wave of sobs released from her body. Draco spun on his heel so fast that Hermione did a double take. In front of them, Narcissa was being held not roughly, but certainly not gently either by two of the Aurors, as both Shacklebolt and the unsmiling Auror with the chains attached them to Lucius Malfoy's wrists and ankles, binding him tightly.

"Let me say good bye to my wife at least." Lucius said to Shacklebolt, a hint of disbelief colouring his tone. Kingsley looked mildly amused as the two Aurors that were holding Narcissa back took an unknown clue. The harsh faced woman took a firm grip of Lucius's forearm, her hand slowly turning snow white with the force of her hold. Narcissa had been dragged back a couple of steps as with a sharp crack, Lucius and the Auror vanished.

Narcissa wailed tears spilling onto her robes as Shacklebolt walked towards her, his wand outstretched. He tapped her three times, and a faint neon blue glow settled into her skin as if she'd applied a layer of moisturiser. He nodded to the two who had taken hold of her, and another sharp crack pierced their ears. She vanished.

Hermione looked towards Draco, her eyes wide with alarm. He'd taken half a step towards where his parents had been, his arm outstretched as if he was going to solve all the problems with his family, before he'd witness Shacklebolt tear them apart. His mouth was open, eyes unfocused, and it was the closest Hermione had ever seen him look like he was an actual person with genuine emotions.

"Mr Malfoy." Shacklebolt said sternly, closing the gap between them effortlessly despite his wounded side.

"Minister." Draco replied in the same way Hermione was managing to talk that morning.

"I assume you heard all of what just transpired?" Shacklebolt asked, barely paying attention to the fact Hermione was stood just a few feet from them.

"Some of it…" Draco began, trailing off as he began to pale. If Shacklebolt could be so cold as to separate the family without goodbyes, what was going to happen to him? Then she blinked, understanding that Shacklebolt was never cruel for the sake of cruelty. There would have been a lesson in there somewhere.

"In which case you'll be aware that your parents have begged for leniency for you. The only reason I agreed Mr Malfoy is-"

"Because of my age," Draco croaked, not meaning to interrupt.

"Exactly." Shacklebolt answered, looking Malfoy in the eyes, his unsympathetic gaze stern. "So here is your punishment. You will serve two weeks in Azkaban. I dread to think of the backlash I will receive should you not do any time there at all. Who knows, the time to contemplate may do you some good. A one million galleon fine to each Hogwarts, St. Mungo's and the Ministry, you will also make a public apology to Madam Rosmerta." If Draco Malfoy had paled before, it was nothing to what was his colour now. His skin was greying, as his eyes glazed over, a thin sheen of sweat covering him. "You will also be under a trace like your mother until you serve time in Azkaban, it will be removed when you leave. The only real issue is where to house you. You cannot stay at Azkaban, I need the space for convicted criminals, and the cells at the ministry are reserved for those on trial. I can't put you under house-arrest at home because Voldemort blew it up in a rage didn't he Mr Malfoy?" Shacklebolt asked rhetorically.

Malfoy nodded as Hermione looked at him in shock, she'd not heard that the Malfoy Manor had been destroyed, with a sickening taste in her mouth, she realised that Draco was losing just as much as she had.

"In which case, you could consider yourself lucky. You will be staying here at Hogwarts, until your two week stay in Azkaban. Plenty of eyes on you."

"Mother?" He asked quietly.

"Your mother has been placed under a trace for two years; she will also be living with her last remaining relative under house arrest for those two years while your family home is being rebuilt." Shacklebolt answered as Hermione blanched in shock.

"Andromeda!" Hermione exclaimed as both Draco and Kingsley turned to look at her.

"This is not without the consent of everyone involved Hermione," Shacklebolt said gently, she found herself nodding as Draco looked at her with curious eyes.

"My-"

"The ministry holding cells for as long as he needs to be there. Visitors are not allowed." Shacklebolt answered, correctly guessing the next line of Malfoy's inquiry.

"After Azkaban… will I be able to come back to Hogwarts?" Draco asked quietly, afraid once more.

"That will be seen to depending on your behaviour, the results of your trace, and if the new Head of Hogwarts agrees to it." Shacklebolt answered, this time sympathetically. It appeared a desire for an education he could understand and support. He tapped Draco on the shoulder with his wand quickly, and a faint blue glow settled into his skin. He shuddered, accepting the trace with a grace Hermione recognised. Placing his hand into his pocket he withdrew a familiar looking wand.

"I believe this is yours," Shacklebolt announced, offering him his wand handle first. Hermione had no doubt that it was under the same trace that he had been placed under. His long pointed fingers wrapped about the handle as a euphoric smile split across his face, and Hermione bit back another gasp as she realised it was the first real smile she had ever seen him wear. He looked carefree and… attractive.

A silver tabby cat started to slink about the ankles of Shacklebolt, its mouth opening as if to speak. Kingsley looked down, and sighed, the all too familiar expression of exhaustion slipping on to features.

"I must take my leave. Mr Malfoy, you are to sleep in your common room." Shacklebolt said in parting, turning on his heel and sweeping out the ever emptying great hall the tabby cat shimmering into nothingness as he left.

Draco turned carefully back to where Hermione stood, his wand held loosely in his elegant hand, his eyes glimmering.

"Can we go?" he asked her, clearly unaware of what he was doing, and who he was asking.

She nodded, he looked broken.

The pair of them began to walk out the hall, noting it was empty save the pair of them. They walked in silence in their broken school, heading towards the entrance hall. Together they reached the hall that led them to their respective common rooms, but the corridor to the dungeons was blocked by a sickly green puddle of... something, which was hissing and giving off some rather noxious fumes. They came to a stop, but it became apparent that it was where Malfoy intended to leave.

"People got imaginative," Malfoy said drolly as he stepped over the puddle, taking care to step around the rubble on the floor. Hermione didn't reply but was instead staring at the puddle with distaste. He gave Hermione an uneasy look, before nodding to her.

"I guess I'll be seeing you around Granger," he said awkwardly as she nodded back just as unsure of herself. He turned, walking down the hall in an odd, careful manner, and she watched him go, her heart beating wildly.