A/N: Very little to do at work means two chapters in one day. At least I can say I've been productive somehow.

This chapter, especially the final scene, has been floating around in my head for a while, so I hope you all like it. My plot, JKR owns the rest. Please R&R, & enjoy! :)

After the Quidditch final, the eighth years had considerably less to distract them from their studying, and as usual, the Easter holidays looked to be far less relaxing than the Christmas ones. Hermione found herself facing the prospect of an empty dormitory, as Lisa and Susan had both elected to return home for the break, and she planned to use the time to get as much work done as she could. She retired to her room early that night, studied until eleven, and curled up on the window seat with a favorite book before crawling into bed.

"Where did you get this?"

"We found it, please!"

"Liar. CRUCIO!"

Hermione bolted upright, only just restraining herself from crying out. Taking in her surroundings, she relaxed slightly – she was still at Hogwarts. Bellatrix Lestrange was dead. It was just a dream – a very real dream, but a dream nonetheless. She rolled over to squint at the clock on her bedside table – it was just after two in the morning. Hermione did some math in her head and sighed – she should've known she wouldn't sleep through the night, not when exactly a year ago today, those dreams had been horrifying reality.

Hermione was contemplating going back to bed when a noise from the common room caught her attention. Curious, she pulled the entire duvet off her bed, wrapped herself in it, and slowly opened her bedroom door. As soon as the lock clicked open, she realized the noise she was hearing was music, and as she edged the door open further, her eyes caught the source – Draco sat at the piano, his slender fingers rapidly racing up and down the keys as he played. He looked so focused that Hermione decided to leave him alone, but the door squeaked on its hinges, and he jerked his hands away from the instrument and turned to face her.

"Granger? I thought you'd gone home – did I wake you?" Hermione shook her head.

"No, you didn't. I was already awake – couldn't sleep." She shuffled towards him as best she could with the duvet dragging behind her and took a seat on the floor near the piano bench.

"I…are you alright?" Draco asked a little awkwardly. Conversations like this were not his forte – personal questions weren't really a Slytherin thing, after all.

"Draco, what's today's date?" Hermione asked. He thought about it for a second, obviously counting mentally, and gave her the correct answer. She nodded, her expression wistful, and he wondered what the date had anything to do with her inability to sleep. When the answer finally hit him, he almost fell off the bench.

"Oh, sweet Salazar…I've been trying not to think about that, to be honest…I'm so sorry, Hermione." She looked up to see him staring at the floor a good three feet to her left, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

"Draco, look at me." He shook his head almost imperceptibly. She repeated the request, this time with a little more force, and he grudgingly obliged. His gray eyes were full of emotions the likes of which she'd never seen from him before, the most prominent being guilt and regret. The only other time she'd seen him so shaken had been in Harry's Pensieve memories.

"Draco, I've told you this before. There is nothing – nothing – you could have done that day. I don't blame you for what happened, you know that, so please don't blame yourself."

"That was one of the single worst days of my life," he replied quietly. "You were always so strong, so…you, and seeing you broken and bleeding, so helpless, went against everything I knew you were. You can keep telling me it wasn't my fault until the day I die, but for me, there will always be that 'what if'?"

"No, there won't." Her voice was soft but firm. "Living a life of 'what ifs' won't get you anywhere. I've told you before, and I'll tell you again – if you'd tried anything, we both would've died. We're both here, we're both alive, and I can't ask for anything else." She reached over and squeezed his hand, and that simple touch was enough to reassure him. He relaxed ever so slightly, and Hermione smiled softly.

"What were you playing just now?" she asked, gesturing towards the piano.

"Oh – nothing, really," he replied. "Just some exercises. I couldn't sleep either, and mindless repeating like that helps me clear my head."

"I'd bet you have something that's a little more enjoyable to play, though," Hermione countered. He nodded and turned towards the keys, and a soothing melody soon rang forth from the old instrument. It was short, sweet, and not nearly as elaborate as what he'd been playing before, but Hermione liked it much better.

"That was beautiful," she said quietly once he'd finished. "What was it?"

"It's a lullaby my mother used to sing to me when I was little," he answered. "I don't recall the name of it and I don't remember all the words, but I've always loved the tune. It's simple, but it's calming." Hermione nodded – she knew exactly what he meant.

"Are you – are you going to be alright?" Draco asked uncertainly.

"Yes, I will be, thank you. The nightmares are awful, and I'm not surprised that they came tonight, but that's all they are." Hermione snuggled deeper into her blanket until she was no more than a cocoon of fluff on the floor. "Will you play the song again, Draco?" she asked.

"Sure."

Draco did as Hermione requested, coaxing the comforting melody from the keys once more. He ran through it several times, embellishing the main notes a little differently each time before returning to the base tune the final run through. As he played, a sense of calm washed over him – the horrors of the previous year would never fully fade, but they were over, and he wasn't alone. Hermione had been there through every moment of this rollercoaster final year, and he knew she'd be there till the end. The thought of having anyone as a friend was great, yes, but the thought of having Hermione Granger as his friend was not only miraculous, but also nothing short of wonderful. He owed her so much, and while he doubted he'd ever be able to repay her, he was beyond grateful for everything she'd done for him.

As the final chord faded into nothing, Draco glanced down with the intention of voicing his thoughts, only to find that Hermione had fallen asleep. He knew he wouldn't be able to get into her room – the enchantments on the girls' dormitory here was the same as that in the house dormitories – but he knew she'd be incredibly sore if she spent the night on the floor, so he scooped her up, taking care not to wake her, and relocated her to the couch. She shifted slightly and mumbled something in her sleep but didn't wake, and Draco smiled slightly as he brushed a stray curl away from her face. Just before vanishing into his own dormitory, Draco turned back to look at the young woman curled up on the sofa.

"Goodnight, Granger," he said quietly. "The dreams are just dreams – they can't hurt you here. Sleep well."

A little over two weeks later, Draco, Hermione, and the others found themselves facing another anniversary – that of the Battle of Hogwarts. A formal memorial dinner was planned, and the students were expected to dress accordingly. The night of found the boys in the common room, straightening their ties and chatting aimlessly as they waited for the girls. As the occasion was exclusively for the students, Harry wouldn't be in attendance, so Neville had offered to escort Ginny in his place – Blaise was obviously with Lisa, and Justin and Draco had paired off with Susan and Hermione, respectively, to round out the group. Draco had tried to suggest that Hermione might be better off with a different escort, but she'd scoffed at him and told him no.

"On the contrary, it couldn't be a better match, given what the evening represents," she'd said. "After all, what did we fight this war for, anyway?" He'd finally relented, knowing she was right, and now he and the other boys were waiting for the girls to come out of their room. Finally, Lisa, Susan, Hermione, and Ginny emerged. All four of them, Draco noted, had forgone dress robes for Muggle dresses, and he had to admit they cleaned up rather nicely.

Hermione approached him slowly, a nervous smile on her face. She'd chosen a simple, three-quarter-sleeved wrap dress in royal blue, the hem falling just below her knees, and a pair of low-heeled Mary Janes. She'd pulled her front pieces back with bobby pins but left the rest of her hair in its natural loose curls, and her brown eyes bore only the slightest traces of makeup. The only jewelry she'd chosen for the evening was a simple sapphire pendant on a fine gold chain, a gift from her parents on her seventeenth birthday. The look was far different from the elegant ensemble she'd worn to the Yule Ball – it was as if she'd deliberately tried to make herself seem unassuming – but she looked just as beautiful now as she'd done that night four years ago.

"Well, don't you ladies look lovely tonight," Blaise said as the girls made their way over. The other boys nodded their agreement, and the girls flushed prettily as they mumbled their thanks and accepted their escorts' offered arms. With all the solemnity of a processional, the eight friends made their way through the castle to the Great Hall.

The feast was an extravagant one, the food rivaling that served at the Yule Ball, but the atmosphere was subdued as the students dined – the Hall had never been so full, yet so quiet. It seemed as if they were afraid to disturb the memories of those they'd lost by talking, so very little commentary was exchanged throughout the meal. Finally, Hermione decided she could eat no more and quietly excused herself.

"Just going to get some air," she murmured, and her friends nodded, understanding her need. Hermione left the Hall and made her way out onto the lawn, where she sought something she hadn't really looked at extensively before now – the war memorial.

The memorial sat just to the right of the main steps to the school. It was just over three feet tall and two or three inches thick, ovular in shape, and made of crystal – Hermione had seen it sending rainbows across the grounds on sunny afternoons, and it glittered softly in the evening's moonlight. The surface scrolled through the war's casualties one by one, giving each name a moment to register in the viewer's eyes before shifting fluidly into the next engraving. It was beautiful in its simplicity, and every single person killed during the war was represented in the perpetually flowing list, whether they were a prominent Auror or an anonymous Muggle unfortunate enough to be in the way of one of Voldemort's mass catastrophes. However, Hermione had yet to see a familiar name cross the crystal's surface, so when it shimmered and a name she knew well appeared, she found herself choking back a sob.

Nymphadora 'Tonks' Lupin

Compared to some of the other people they'd lost, Hermione hadn't known Tonks for all that long, but the spunky young Auror had become her instant friend, treating her almost like a sister, and her death had been hard to take.

Hermione suddenly sensed that she wasn't alone, and she knew before he'd even spoken who her companion was.

"Tell me something about her." The memorial shifted into the name Remus John Lupin, eliciting a fresh wave of tears from Hermione, who turned to meet Draco's gaze.

"About…Tonks?" she asked with a slight sniff. Draco nodded.

"She was my cousin, you know." Hermione had quite honestly forgotten that Draco and Tonks' mothers were sisters.

"Well…she was an Auror, a Hufflepuff…"

"No, Granger," Draco interrupted, "I don't want to know mundane facts about her. Who was she, as a person?" Hermione smiled slightly through her tears.

"She was an absolute klutz," she replied. "She was a Hufflepuff, like I said, but one of the most courageous Aurors there was – almost nothing fazed her. She was funny, she couldn't cook to save her life, and her preferred hair color was bubblegum pink. She adored her husband and son and treated everyone in the Order like family, even when Professor Moody was chastising her for tripping over the umbrella stand at Headquarters like she always did. She loved Charms but was rubbish at cleaning spells, she was a Metamorphmagus, she was a troublemaker…and she was my friend. I miss them so much," she finished in barely a whisper, a few more tears slipping down her cheeks. She laughed quietly as she wiped away the offending droplets.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be," Draco replied. "She obviously meant something to you – they all did. You're allowed to be upset." He moved to stand behind her and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist, pulling her against him in a tentative embrace. Hermione rested her hands on top of his and sighed, relaxing ever so slightly into his touch, and even though he'd never had much of it before, Draco had to agree that the physical contact was the exact comfort they both needed right then. The two stood in silence for several long minutes, watching the crystal's engraving flicker from name to name. No other names they recognized appeared on the memorial's surface, but they stayed there all the same, each reflecting on that night exactly one year ago and everything the world they loved had experienced and lost to reach that point.

"Ginny gave me some good news earlier – Fleur had her baby today," Hermione said suddenly.

"Fleur?"

"Yes, Fleur Delacour – she represented Beauxbatons in the Triwizard Tournament, do you remember her?" When Draco nodded, Hermione continued, "She's married to Ginny's eldest brother, Bill, and their first child was born earlier today. It's a girl – I think they originally had a different name in mind, but given her birthday, I'd say their ultimate choice is perfect."

"What's her name?" Draco asked. Hermione smiled and sighed a little.

"Her name is Victoire."

"'Victory' – a perfect choice indeed."

A soft breeze ruffled their clothing, and Draco marginally tightened his hold on the witch in his arms as they fell into silence once more. If anyone had told him just two short years ago that he'd one day willingly hug Hermione Granger, he would've thought the informant insane, but so much had changed since then. Being thrust into the thick of a war had changed them both, and although they'd never be who they once were, he knew that, especially in his case, that wasn't exactly a bad thing. As he reflected on everything that had happened in the past year, Draco realized he had unfinished business to attend to. Turning Hermione to face him, he wiped away her tears with his thumb before leaning forward and brushing his lips gently against her forehead. It was a completely platonic gesture, but it spoke volumes about the gratitude he felt towards her. He could only hope she'd gotten the message.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said softly.

"For what?"

"Everything."