Erstwhile on TUB:

Teige came running to the scene within minutes, having been alerted by another soldier, and took her sister from the caring arms of Draco Malfoy. Draco couldn't help but be angry at first, though he showed no outward signs. Who was Teige Ackerly to console her sister on the loss of Neville Longbottom, whom she herself despised? It was only when Draco saw the tears rolling down her cheeks that he trusted Teige to be the one to stay with Janelle.

"It's my wedding ring- from you."

"Oh," he said flatly, and inspected the little piece of gold. "Why don't I have one?"

We didn't want to spend a lot of money on it... we thought it was more important to save up, for a real house, and a family. We bought this one at a pawn shop. You said you didn't need one, because you'd have me." Hermione sighed in contentment. "Blow out the candle, won't you, love?"

And Harry did, and the room was flushed with darkness.

Chapter Seventeen: Aftermath and Foreshadowing

"Dear Moses, I can't take this anymore," Harry exclaimed, sitting up in bed and grabbing fistfuls of hair in his hands. He took his glasses from the bedside table and affixed them to his face before untangling his legs from the covers. He stood up and surveyed his chamber of hell, the sheets of which showed ample evidence that he had had trouble sleeping. Harry sighed. "What do you bloody expect? It's not part of the human life cycle to sleep for thirty six hours at a time."

He dressed quickly in the closest thing he could find, which was actually some of his clothes that Hermione had worn on her day off and left in a pile on the floor. He wasn't used to wearing much except various forms of night clothes.

"I'm just going to go for a walk. What can possibly happen to me in my own bloody backyard? I don't even know what it looks like," he said, slipping on shoes and grabbing his coat from the hook. He paused. "I've gone mental," Harry acknowledged. "I'm bloody talking to myself."

Ignoring this realization, Harry left the cottage with flourish, making sure the door was unlocked so that he could again enter the house. He squinted against the sun, which was incredibly bright compared to the shadows of his bedroom, and paused only to adjust his eyesight before embarking on the journey to his unexplored property. A queer sound distracted him from his goal, however, and Harry turned sharply in surprise. A little orange owl was sitting on the mailbox next to the dirt road, looking at him intently and cooing as if to say "Well? What are you waiting for?".

"Well... this is odd," Harry said to himself as he cautiously approached the bird. Hermione had told him that there was a muggle village down the road, and Harry hadn't seen an owl post in a muggle village since he had been eleven years old. "Hello, there."

As Harry grew closer, the bird hopped along the mailbox to meet him at its end. Harry and his visitor stared at one another for an extended moment before the owl slowly held out its burden. Harry looked toward the cargo and lifted his eyebrows.

"The Daily Prophet?" he asked in surprise. "You've got to be kidding!" Harry untied the rolled newspaper from the foot of the bird and pet it gently on the head. "Thanks, mate." It cooed once and took to the sky, leaving Harry alone again. He sighed and unrolled the tabloid, feasting his eyes on the headlines. Hogwarts Heroes Defeat Murderous Morzmen the paper shouted proudly, just above a picture of Draco, Ron, and Justin bringing chicken to a group of withered teenagers.

Harry began to hyperventilate.

xxx

Draco stayed on the field for about fifteen hours. At that point, he hadn't slept in almost two days, and it was beginning to show in his work.

"Take him to tent two," he told his team. "Ready? On three-"

"Tent two?" asked Morag MacDougal as she wiped some sweat from her brow. "He's gone, Draco- looks like he has been for a while now. They won't be able to do anything for him." Draco blinked and focused his eyes on the face of the man on the stretcher, a burly Asian whose name he didn't know. One of them, one of the enemies.

"Yeah," he said. "Tent three it is."

By tent three, Draco had meant tent six. At some point in the middle of the night, the first three tents had been filled to capacity with the injured and deceased, and a row behind them had been erected to hold the surplus. When the team carrying the Asian man made it to the door of tent six, they were pointed toward a third row of tents, which had been put up sometime after they had last delivered a patient to the medics. Draco felt his sinuses beginning to fill with fluid, making the patch of skin between his eyes and nose begin to burn. "All right," he said, voice cracking slightly. "Tent nine it is."

The team set the man down on the ground inside the tent and exited immediately, leaving Draco to search out a place for the Asian. When he found an empty spot, he levitated the corpse onto the third level of the bunk-like structures that had been constructed there. He exhaled and watched his breath swirl around him in the chilly, freezer-like atmosphere of the building his mind referred to as a "human filing cabinet".

When Draco exited the tent, he did not expect to see Morag standing in the almost-dawn, rubbing her arms and waiting for him. She looked up when she heard him leave the freezer and Draco stopped short in his surprise.

"What are you doing? I know there are more bodies, we have to-" he started, but Morag took a step forward and wrapped her thin, freckled arms around his neck. He was taken off guard, but she was warm and he returned her embrace to take advantage of it.

As they stood there, locked in arms, Draco considered reasons that Morag may have shown such affection so suddenly. His first thought was that their work had simply gotten to her, and that she needed something like this to keep her going. He held her a bit tighter at the possibility, but soon realized that it did not seem entirely logical- Morag was probably a better man than he was. It was this thought (although somewhat of a joke in his head) that allowed her true intentions to strike him. He needed this to keep him going.

Morag kissed his cheek and pulled back.

"You've been so wonderful through all of this, Draco, but you're not doing yourself any favors. You have to take a break, get some sleep soon or you're going to just quit on us," she said, and smiled sadly. "We already have enough people in tent one. We don't need you in there with a concussion as well."

"You're sweet," he said, smiling at her and gently removing her hands from where they rested near his shoulders. "But I'm fine- you don't have to worry about me."

"I'm not the only one that thinks so, Draco," she said, stepping in front of him as he made to walk away. He looked surprised.

"No one else has said anything."

"They know what a stubborn prick you are," Morag teased, crossing her arms. Draco stared. "I'm not letting you go until you promise you'll go in the castle and get some sleep. We'll still be here in a few hours, you know. You won't miss much." Draco seemed to be considering her offer.

"I'll make you a deal," he said and she looked incredibly surprised that he was folding so easily. Draco thought he may have been doing it to disprove her theory of his stubborn prickiness. "I'll do as you say... but you have to promise you'll come and get me if something happens or you find someone and you know I'd want to know about it." She considered him.

"And you'll go willingly?" He gave a nod. "Deal." They shook hands and Draco kissed her cheek before starting toward the castle. Morag watched him until he disappeared through the main doors, then sighed and followed after her team.

Despite his promise, Draco did not go to sleep immediately. It took him almost an hour to find a room with a fireplace that hadn't been blocked. Evidently, someone had triggered the alarm by flooing out when news of the attack had reached them. After an extensive and tiring search, he cursed his own stupidity and made his way to Maruiz' quarters. As expected, the grand fireplace that had once belonged to Albus Dumbledore was completely unblocked and crackling merrily, as if the carnage outside were merely rumor. He helped himself to the large sack of floo powder beside the hearth and made a quick call to St. Mungo's to check in with Teige and Janelle. The receptionist told him to hold, but he distinctively heard her page the morgue while he waited. Teige answered the call, looking puffy-eyed and shaky. She told him that Janelle was, by all physical means, perfectly fine, but refused to leave Neville. They had given her an hour, and after being evacuated from his room, she had followed the doctors to the morgue and was currently sitting outside the door, being consoled by her parents. This bit of information startled Draco and he asked immediately about Apria. Teige assured him that they hadn't allowed her to see Neville, and that she was currently being entertained by the playroom of the children's ward.

When he had finished being updated on the condition of his only true muggle friend, Draco sat in the firelight, connection closed, and started thinking. Neville was dead. He could hardly believe it; he had spoken with him no more than two days ago. Despite all attempts to remain unbelieving, Draco knew it to not be some sort of nightmare. He had seen the ghost-white face of his comrade, glistening slightly with tears from a golden-haired widow. He remembered, now, a conversation he had had with Neville when plans for the attack were starting to evolve. When Apria had been born, Draco was entrusted with the title of godfather. Neville had wanted to make absolutely sure that they had made the right choice in doing so, and had forced Draco to swear by the very blood in his veins that if anything were to happen to Neville, he would take care of both the baby and Janelle.

Draco felt a surge in his chest as he sat in the firelight and he knew that, if he were a better man, he would have cried.

Despite the heavy weight in his stomach, Draco did not go to sleep. Neither did he apparate to St. Mungo's and hold his new family to him as he wanted so desperately to do. He settled himself, instead, in the light of Dumbledore's fire and connected himself to Emory Swardstine's Parlor of Funereal Services, Ottery St. Catchpole, England.

He didn't know the exact numbers, but the sympathetic receptionist had been incredibly patient with him. He figured an approximation of deceased, including all Morzmen, Hogwarts Alliance members, and the brave women who had fought at their sides with cutlery and fireplace fanners filled with washing powder. The receptionist herself had used his estimate to make one of her own; exactly how long it would take to prepare all those dead for burial. For some reason, it surprised Draco that two thousand dead would take nearly three months to set at rest.

"Unfortunately," the receptionist said, catching his attention. "It will be too cold for a burial then. You'll have to wait until spring."

"That's fine," Draco said, nodding softly. "We'll need time to identify them and inform immediate family."

"Would you like me to send a few people to you? To start removal?"

"Yeah," he said solemnly. "Have them ask for tent three. And tell anyone that Draco Malfoy sent them." She nodded softly.

"I am very sorry for your incredibly loss, Mr. Malfoy."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Me too."

Draco closed the connection and made a blazing path to the quarters he had known as a secret agent. He kicked off his shoes, peeled some of the excess layers from his uniform, and fell into the plush arms of the mattress. As he tried to welcome sleep, a thousand thoughts raced through his mind. He thought about Appy, and her little chubby Longbottom face. He thought about Janelle and the fact that he had never seen her so discomposed. The faces of a hundred dead strangers flashed in his mind. Sounds from the battle bit at him, calls from Fletchley muffled by screams of terror and pain.

He thought about Harry, and wondered if he would ever see him again.

And, just before drifting into sleep, he thought about Hermione and how the sheets still smelt like her.

XXX

"Harry!" Hermione called in excitement as she entered their home. "Harry, you'll never guess what wonderful news I have!"

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Harry said bitingly, appearing in the doorway to the bedroom, freshly clothed and showered. Hermione was struck by this fact alone.

"Harry," she said, searching his appearance and attempting to ignore the feeling of uneasiness his piercing stare was giving her. "What are you doing up? And dressed? And... what on earth do you need shoes for?"

"I'm leaving," he said, as if it were as commonplace for him as anyone else.

"Harry..." Hermione repeated, lifting a shaky hand to run through her hair. "I... I don't understand."

"Well, you see," Harry started, almost before she was finished. "I read this brilliant article today, and it got me thinking... about us. It seems we're not as happily married as we think we are." He disappeared into the bedroom and returned with a suitcase in his left hand and rolled up tabloid in his right. "Would you like to see? It's on the front page. Very persuasive." Hermione fought tears as she stared up at him. "Go on, take it." He urged her. She did, with shaking fingers, and unrolled the crinkled bit of parchment. The headline was like a stab in the heart.

"Harry," she whispered. "Harry let me explain..."

"What can there possibly be to explain, Hermione? You lied to me. You told me Ron was dead—my very best friend in the entire world. You told me he was dead and that I couldn't even remember how he died! You told me Mauriz didn't exist! And the establishments! You made me think I was crazy. And maybe I am, because I just don't understand why. Why, Hermione? Why would you do that?"

"I just... I just wanted..."

"What? I know a lot happened to you- a lot happened to me too. Maybe I was crazy for a while. I loved you. All those years, I loved you. And for what? For this? What could you have possibly thought to gain from this, Hermione? Did you really think this would win you a happily ever after?"

"I don't know... I wasn't thinking. I wanted to get away- from everyone... and be with you."

"Don't you miss them? God, sometimes I don't want to get out of bed because it hurts so much," he laughed dryly. "Lucky for me you kept me there."

"God, Harry, I'm so sorry- I don't even know what to say."

"That's fine, Hermione, because there's nothing you can say. Even yesterday I loved you with all of my being. I was so grateful that you'd stayed with me through this episode I was going through. I knew that as confusing as it was for me to be told something exactly the opposite of what I remember, it must have been a thousand times as difficult for you, knowing that I didn't remember anything. And then this morning, I got the paper and... God, I don't even remember what it was I saw in you!" He was yelling, and Hermione cowered over her rapidly crumpling newspaper. Harry sighed and shook his head, taking a step away from her to be less intimidating. "This is finished, Hermione. I hope you realize what you've done. I'm going to go home, to the farmhouse. I'm going to hug Ron, and I'm going to tell him exactly where I've been. Then I'm going to tell Draco, and everyone else." He paused, picking up his bag. "I sincerely hope that, if you know what's good for you, you won't follow me."

And in an instant, he was gone.

x x x

Harry entered the farmhouse from the main doors and dropped his suitcase in the grate room with a resounding 'plop'.

"Hello!" he called, walking toward the kitchen. "Anyone? It's Harry!" It was unusual to see such an absence of people in the farmhouse. On an average day, there were half a dozen people running about and doing things- in the kitchen, outside, in the drawing room. Planning and cooking and farming.

Today, it was deserted. Harry wracked his brain for a reason for such a phenomenon as he passed through doorways. In the kitchen, he noted an array of dirty dishes littering the table, looking to have been sitting there for well over twenty-four hours. Some were rotting where bits of food had been left and others were covered with flies. He did a quick spell to clean up the place, a feeling of unease settling into his stomach.

"Thanks, mate," said a sleepy voice from the next room, punctuated by a yawn. "I've been meaning to do that, but I was just so tired that I-" Justin appeared in the kitchen in his night-things, smiling and talking animatedly until his drooping eyes landed on Harry's face. "Potter," he spat and it hurt. Justin had been one of his good friends for many years, and he had never used his surname- much less used it so spitefully. "Fancy meeting you after all the work's been done. Off on honeymoon, have you? I suggest you and your dime-store, heart-breaking bint leave the premises before Draco gets back or both your necks will be wrung. If not by him, then by me."

"What do you mean, Draco? What's Draco got to do with anything?"

"Ha, so she didn't tell you. Like her, really. Slept with him, didn't you know? Seduced him. Made him fall in love with her... and then she runs off with you a day after he risks his very life to save whatever's left of hers. Makes me sick to think about it," Justin shared and visibly shuttered.

"I left her," Harry said, trying to hold in the emotion he felt at this newfound knowledge. Justin looked somewhat surprised.

"Good on you. That doesn't give you any right to show your face here, after all you've done. Or all you haven't done, as the case may be- especially right now."

Harry stopped him from continuing, despite how much of a burden the ranting seemed to ease. He explained to Justin the actual terms of his dismissal of Hermione and nearly broke down in tears at the thought. Justin's attitude toward Harry changed almost as quickly as Harry's had for Hermione the previous morning.

"It's all right, mate. You'll be all right," he said, patting Harry on the back and frowning as the raven-haired boy rubbed his emerald eyes.

"I still can't believe she did it, you know? She told me... so many lies. I really did love her."

"I know you did."

"Did she really sleep with Draco? Is he in love with her?" Harry asked earnestly, and Justin looked away in shame of his tattling.

"Look, don't be angry with Malfoy, all right? He's been through nearly as much as you have. You have no idea what he was like when you disappeared- how depressed he was. If it weren't for this war to keep his mind off of it, I don't know what would have happened to him."

"Oh, God, the war- I can't believe I missed it. I can't believe I wasn't there... to help you," Harry lamented, covering his face with his hands. Justin laughed.

"You may be Harry Potter, oh wonderous boy-who-lived... but we managed without you. We won the whole thing pretty quickly... but we lost so many."

"Who?" he demanded, looking up in alarm. "Ron?"

"No, no... Ron's fine. We lost a lot of the rookies we never really knew in Hogwarts- the ones with no real battle training. And, tragically, Neville Longbottom."

"God, no. Doesn't he have a son? A little one? And what about Janelle- she must be shattered!"

"A daughter, actually, but you're right- they're both pretty broken up. Last I knew, Draco had made arrangements for body removal and had gone off to see them at St. Mungo's. They won't let Janelle in to see Neville anymore- she's devastated."

"Where is everyone else?"

"They're still at the scene- cleaning up. It's taken almost three days to make it through all the dead and dying, and to get all the girls to physicians for proper check ups. I've just gotten back here about an hour ago. I just couldn't sleep properly in the establishment. It's nothing like Hogwarts used to be. I had to get out."

"Can I go? Will they let me help them?" Harry asked and Justin chuckled a little, squeezing his shoulder.

"They need all the help they can get."

x x x

"Janelle?" Draco called as he rushed out of the elevator and into pediatrics. A small, crumpled girl with long blonde hair looked up from her hawk-eye watch on her daughter and smiled sadly. Draco's first thought was that she looked horrible. Her hair was dry and frizzy-looking, gathered into a lopsided bun at the top of her head that could be considered half pony-tail. Her entire frame, dressed in day-old clothing, was contained in one of the cramped plastic hospital chairs, making her look very much like the nut in a walnut shell.

"Draco," she said, her voice husky and filled with something akin to relief. It seemed she was generally happy to see him. He hurried toward her and she unfolded herself from the chair, allowing him to meet her standing and embrace her in his thick white arms.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," he said, sounding greatly eased as if a physical burden had been lifted from him. She smiled against his sweater and her lip began to quiver.

"Draco," she whispered, barely audible. "Draco, Neville's dead... he died, right in front of me."

"I know, love. I'm so- so sorry," he whispered to her, holding her tighter against him, and she lifted her sleeves to her eyes and wiped away the offending tears that leaked there.

"I'm sorry," Janelle said, trying to apologize for her behavior, but Draco sat her down on a sofa in the corner that was built for two and much softer than her shell had been. He told her that she wouldn't feel better until she had cried, and let everything out. Janelle didn't need to be told twice, and fell into wracking sobs in his arms.

"It just hurts," she said. "It hurts so much. I feel... broken. I can't remember how to be happy. I don't know what I'm going to do, Draco."

"It'll be all right," he told her. "I promise you. I promised Neville, and I plan to keep it. I'll take care of you."

"Draco," Janelle said, kissing him softly on the corner of the mouth. "You're my best friend."

It was a simple declaration, and nothing the pair of them didn't already know, but it struck something in Draco that nearly forced him to accept his own advice and take advantage of the thin, pale-skinned shoulder that was clothed in wrinkles and entirely at his disposal. He held himself back and missed his opportunity, but was not regretful that he had done so. Janelle rested her face on his shoulder, eyes watching the pediatric play-area where Apria was playing happily with three leukemia patents two years her senior and a little black boy who was about her age, and looked to have been badly burned in the recent past. Apria seemed to see nothing wrong with her three playmates and shared with them as she would any healthy child.

"She looks just like him, doesn't she?" Janelle said, sniffling and bunching bits of his sweater in her hands. "She looks just like him."

"She does," Draco said, although he knew very well that Apria looked entirely like her mother, down to the bone thin extremities which garnished her petite torso. The only features she seemed to have gotten from her father was her button-like nose and dark locks. That, of course, and her ability to see people and not skin and blood and handicaps. "Such an amazing thing for such a small child," Draco said aloud and Janelle nodded, though it was very unlikely that she could possibly know the true meaning of his words.

"Draco," she said, after a moment of silence and he answered with the very same quiet. "What's going to happen?" Her question was indirect, but Draco knew exactly the answer she was hoping he wouldn't give.

"Everything..." he began. "Is going to change."