Author's Note: Well, here is Chapter 2! Thank you for the kind words and follows/favourites on the first Chapter. Much appreciated! Quite a dialogue heavy chapter, hope you enjoy the interactions as much as I loved writing them.

Enjoy!

Chapter 2

"I might go crazy if I don't find out," I told Neville two weeks later, exasperated by my own silliness and unquenchable thirst for the truth.

It was Sunday and as I had missed the last two meet-ups Neville had scheduled with me, I had promised to spend double the regular amount of time with him. He told me I was doing him a favour by visiting, but I knew he mostly did it for my sake. When I'd informed him I had stopped going to the psychiatrist a few months ago, he became even more insistent regarding our lunches.

"You might not like the answer," he replied before taking a sip of his home made green tea.

I leaned forward on the small table in his teacher's quarters, "So she DID tell you something?"

Neville laughed, "Hermione, no, I've told you five times; Hannah would never betray someone's trust like that. Not even to me, I admire that about her."

"Hufflepuffs!" I exclaimed and slumped back in the comfortable bright orange chair. His whole room was Gryffindor themed.

I had tried to get Hannah to tell me what had happened in the West Wing, but to no avail. At first I had hoped she'd come out with it herself, but after having met her a dozen times in the cafeteria without a single peep, I had forced the issue. She hadn't been very happy about it.

She had become somber and easily irritable shortly after our first meeting and my questions had actually caused her to snap at me, telling me to learn to respect the rules like everyone else.

She'd apologized for it, but the damage had been done. Our late night tea times had grown quite awkward.

Neville rubbed the back of his neck, moving his head this way and that to stretch. After a moment he sighed, and said "What I can say is that she's been quite out of sorts since that night. Sometimes I feel she wants to tell me, that it's on the tip of her tongue, but the moment passes and she smiles, shakes her head and moves on."

"Doesn't that just kill you?"

"No. I've enough to think about with school and trying to get her the Matron's position here, plus there's a rampant case of Troll Pox afflicting the second years and I'm running out of ingredients for the new potion's master."

"Bet you're happy that's not Snape, he'd have your head for keeping him waiting."

We laughed, but only for a moment, before silence fell and the memory of the misunderstood, if twatish, professor came back to us.

"Do you still put flowers on his grave?" I asked.

"Every other day."

"Good, I'm happy someone can do it. It's not visited enough." I went by every time I was at Hogwarts, which was definitely much more often lately than the years before, making up for lost time.

"Hagrid brings the first years still, to his and Dumbledore's grave. And most of the Slytherins consider his grave some kind of holy ground. They commune there once in a while, doing their homework on the grass. Bet he'd hate that."

"I dunno, he was always so protective of them."

"Yeah, 'cause everyone else hated them."

"That's not true!"

"Oh come off it, Hermione. We were terrible to those kids. Not only us, but the teachers too. They looked at Draco the way someone looks at a dung beetle. And it's not gotten much better. But the new head is helping, Madam Király, she's nice and sensible, if still a real damned Slytherin at heart."

"From Hungary wasn't she?" I looked at my empty cup with some dismay, needing more caffeine to keep me going at these ungodly afternoon hours.

"Yup, studied in Asia. While we were at war and choosing sides, she was exploring the ancient magical communities of the Himalayas. She's a proper neutral party, that helps."

"That must have been nice...can you imagine? Not having been there, just reading it in the papers?"

Neville finished his glass and looked out the window overseeing the Forbidden Forest, "Nah. I mean, sure it would have been great to not fear for my life every other month. But I see it every time with the kids now, you know. They learn this stuff in history books now, all the glorified version of it. Lot of them come and ask me how it was, big eyes and all hope for great adventure stories."

"What do you tell them?"

He shrugged, looking suddenly a lot older and very, very tired. "I tell them to go do their homework. There's stuff I'd rather not discuss with anyone, let alone kids. I can't put a grandiose twist on what happened, the fear, the losses, the bitter-sweet victory. We were just kids, Hermione…"

I wondered if Neville would have profited from talking to someone, a professional, like I had. We all sort of just buried the pain after the final battle, because everyone had expected us to be overjoyed.

No time for mourning hun, you need to attend this Ministry gathering, this celebration, that one year anniversary ball, oh and could you sign this autograph please?

It's a wonder we hadn't gone insane.

Or maybe we had.

Neville jumped on another topic after a moment, announcing that he'd received an owl from Luna who was currently in northern Japan hunting a rare and most likely nonexistent water spirit. She'd sent a few photos and asked that Neville share them around. I was happy to hear from my friend.

Luna had not changed much over the years, she looked as young and naive as ever. I chuckled at once photo in particular, she was wearing heart shaped pink glasses and a bright orange kimono-style robe while posing next to a solemn monk. Behind them was a gorgeous temple with a few more monks walking up and down the steps.

"She looks happy," I said, handing the stack of photos and letter to Neville.

"She always did. I think Luna, more than any of us really, followed their calling in life. She never let anything get in her way."

"I suppose that's true," I said as I checked the time, "I should get going."

"Of course; you mind bringing these down?" Neville got up and moved to a dresser against the wall, on top of which was an elegant white vase with white lilies inside. He pulled up the bouquet, tied it expertly with a black ribbon, and handed me the package.

"It'd be a pleasure, I was planning on stopping by before leaving anyways. Thanks for the tea Neville," I hugged him before leaving, the heat of another person's body feeling terribly alien.

There was no way to leave Hogwarts without doing a round of sorts. Most of the teachers demanded to see me, and no one more than McGonagall, who was now the Headmistress of the school. I supposed I should consider myself lucky to have seen the interior of the Headmaster's office at all, let alone the one of three different people.

Dumbledore's had been crazy, whimsical and chaotic while keeping a sort of order. Snape's had been...bleak. Like my bedroom really, someone else's furniture, your stuff on top, no real reason to change anything since you weren't planning on staying.

McGonagall's was prim and proper. One thing I noticed immediately, which she had kept over the past decade, was the bowl of lemon pops on her desk. Always full to the brim. It was the most appropriate memorial of Dumbledore anyone could ever have made.

"I'll be with you in just a minute, Hermione dear," came McGonagall's voice, amplified by a sonorous charm, through an opening in the wall leading to her personal quarters.

I stood alone in the office, looking around at the faces of the Headmasters' portraits on the walls. It shouldn't have surprised me that they'd have something to say regarding my divorce. Most of them kept up with the Wizarding World news, and news of Ron's affair had definitely made the rounds.

"Did you see that girl! A shame to this school I say, a SHAME! How could he?" came the authoritative voice of Headmaster Dippet.

"He never did deserve Miss Granger," someone else behind me chimed in.

There was a quiet buzzing of voices as the portraits discussed between themselves. I heard mentioned of but the pregnancies, as well as well she is quite difficult, and even, they never should have married in the first place.

I thought of how much easier it must be for a dead person to judge on the living. How simple their existence, all decisions and consequences simply vanished from their consciousness.

"Perhaps it was Miss Granger who paved the road for his flamboyant, and so very public, escapade," the unmistakable voice of Professor Snape resonated loud enough in the room to hush the rest.

I turned to him, ready to fume, but something in the way his portrait smirked at me stopped my words. He shifted ever so slightly forward, the way Professor Snape never would have done, too eager, too emotional and open, giving his intention away.

I smiled back, "I suppose I did," I said, crossing my arms. It was true, I had told Ron he could do whatever he pleased when I'd stormed out of the house that night, weeks ago. Told him it was over and there was no reason to hide anything any longer. He'd listened, for once.

"Severus, don't be daft, you've been reading too many of this beetle's articles, Skeeter's insanity is rubbing off on you!" Headmistress Filumina chided, already waving her oversized wand at the young man's portrait.

Another woman's voice, from behind me, whispered, "You have to forgive poor Severus, Miss Granger. No portrait can ever truly be perfect, but his...well it's a tad on the slow side. Tell me dear, how is St-Mungo's doing?"

I turned around to find Headmistress Dilys Derwent leaning against her frame, smiling. If memory served, she had worked at St-Mungo's before joining Hogwarts. "It's going as well as it can; there isn't much for me to do really."

"Yes, night shifts wasn't it? Can be quiet. You should really consider joining the day staff, you'd make a fine healer."

"No! I mean, thank you. But I don't think it's my sort of work, not long term in any case."

Dilys appeared quite disappointed, and maybe somewhat irked by my lack of passion for healing, but she quickly regained her smile. "And are those for a certain greasy haired snarky professor?"

I looked down at the bouquet in my arms, "Yes, he'd think it stupid and frivolous, but I guess he doesn't really have a say in it anymore. Still, he deserves something, and this is the best I can give."

Something in the portrait's dark brown eyes changed then, she turned left and right as if making sure no one was overhearing her, then she got as close to me as she could. "Seen the West Wing yet, dear?" she asked, "It's a beauty of construction, nothing like it at St-Mungo's. They've recently rebuilt it, the house-elves carved the marble walls themselves with never before seen cultural art."

I blinked, my heart skipping a beat, the mere mention of that accursed secret place making my brain abuzz with excitement. But before I could ask anything further, Dilys suddenly turned her back to me.

"Ah, Hermione! Terribly sorry to make you wait, I had a Hufflepuff to deal with. Pregnant, can you believe it? Muggle-born of course, never thought of using a contraceptive charm. I really need to consider adding this to the curriculum some day…"

As she spoke, McGonagall busied herself with preparing tea and setting up two cups in front of the fireplace where only embers glowed. I seated myself, assuring her that I was fine and it was no problem at all. We fell into comfortable and casual talk about the weather, her work and a few mentions of my current occupation at the hospital. The older witch did not pry about Ron or my personal state of affairs.

Once again she offered me a position at Hogwarts: Transfiguration still needed a replacement, and Charms might be open soon. Once again I politely refused, though I had to admit I hesitated longer than the previous times. I used to have this grand plan, to change the magical world from the top; I'd even considered running for Ministry of Magic. But now...I had a hard time getting out of bed most days. The idea of running an entire nation seemed absurd.

But a classroom? Maybe...to return to Hogwarts, where so many painful memories lingered, that was the hard part. Not only the memories of the battle, but of Ron as well. And Harry, Ginny...funny how divorce was so much more than two people separating. It was separating friends circle and living space, attempting never to visit establishments where you might run into the other person or memories of them.

I managed to escape from McGonagall's grasp barely an hour later.

I skipped visiting Hagrid. I knew it was terribly impolite and downright mean, but I couldn't face the gentle giant at this time. Unlike the rest of the staff or people I still talked to, he never had been able to avoid all the difficult topics. He tried, but the conversations grew so awkward and heavy that at some point I would bring up Ron myself just to ease the tension.

And so, after leaving McGonagall, I went straight to Professor Snape's grave. I never visited Dumbledore's; others did it often enough and the famous Headmaster had left me with an extremely ambivalent feeling about his person. The last thing I'd done for him was translate and publish the children's book he'd given me, and I felt that repaid any debt I might have had towards him. Thus ending our nearly non existent relationship.

Harry loved him enough for all of us.

But few people loved Professor Snape.

As I approached the mound overseeing the Great Lake where they'd buried him, I noticed a dark figure looming over the obsidian grave stone. I didn't recognize the woman, and only once I got close enough for her to hear my approaching footsteps, did I realize it must be the new Head of Slytherin.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you," I said, "I'll be gone in a moment."

The woman smiled, "Not at all, please. I daresay you have more right to be here than I do. I never actually spoke to him."

She was an elegant woman, with bright red hair pulled back in intricate braids, no makeup save for light lip gloss, and no taller than I was. Her robes were dark green, so dark in fact that in the growing darkness of the late afternoon they seemed black, but when she moved I noticed the shimmering of colour.

I placed the bouquet on the ground and flicked a preservation spell over them so that they might last a few days longer. Normally I'd say hello and speak a few words to the dead man, but it felt awkward with a stranger around. And so instead I ran my fingers over his name, engraved in silver in the obsidian tombstone.

"I'm Hermione Granger by the way," I said, stopping the woman in her tracks as she was about to leave. "We've haven't properly met."

She took my extended hand, "Ursula Király, Defense against the Dark Arts Professor, and Head of Slytherin."

Her eyes were green, like Harry's, and her smile warm. She appeared only slightly older than me, with a few wrinkles gathered at the corner of both eyes. Someone who liked to laugh. It was hard to imagine her in the dungeons of Hogwarts.

"Do you come here often? Neville mentioned it was some sort of gathering point for your House."

Ursula chuckled, "I suppose it is. I come as often as needed, he is a most patient listener."

"That he is indeed, more so in death than in life. Though to the right people I suppose he always had an open ear."

"To his House you mean, yes I've heard of that. I saw him a few times over the years, but never had the nerve to actually address him."

I raised an eyebrow; it was hard to imagine an occasion where the two could have met.

"My family is an old pure blood line from Hungary and Austria; Snape attended quite a few events there with his former...friends. We supported Voldemort from mainland Europe via financing and a few dark wizards of our own making."

It was hard to resist not taking a step back, harder still not to reach for my wand or throw a stunning hex out right. This woman was basically admitting to being a Death Eater, so much for unassuming looks.

"This was during Voldemort's first reign, after his first defeat my family underwent quite a few changes. And though we kept in touch with our past associates due to family relations and traditions, we never took up arms when he returned."

Something Neville had said came back to me, "But you never did anything actively to defeat him either? You went away, ignored the problem."

She smirked, "I may not have attended Hogwarts, Hermione, but I do believe the saying is: well I am a Slytherin."

I was not much appeased, but the woman was so relaxed, so non-threatening, that I couldn't help but lower my guards. I forced out a chuckle and nodded. "Yeah, something like that. You two might have gotten along actually."

"I very much doubt it. I would have considered him a fool for putting himself in his position. Spying on one, lying to the other, saving the world...how ridiculous. Yet here he is, his name forever in history. Though no lineage to remember him."

"We remember him. And so will every student that comes to Hogwarts for centuries to come."

"Yes, a tough act to follow. I am but a mere mortal in comparison. Well, I dare say I should get back to my students now. Bedtime stories don't tell themselves!"

I frowned. "Bedtime stories?" My mind conjured an image of mother snake with her little snakes, in their den, gathered together to hear about other snakes and their adventures.

"Why yes! Old Hungarian tradition, the students have taken to it quite well. It helps create a bond between the different years in my House, a quiet hour where everyone is equal and focused only on listening."

I told her it sounded grand, but still had a hard time picturing Draco Malfoy sitting down in his nighties to listen to a story.

I watched her leave, left oddly on edge after our talk.

"Did you read to your students?" I asked Snape as I turned back to his grave. "I don't think you were ridiculous by the way. Just...misguided. Trying to do the best with what life had thrown at you."

I sat down for a while, leaning against the side of the tombstone, staring at setting sun. The colour reminded me of Ron's hair. I'd always enjoyed teasing him about being a ginger, his nearly transparent chest hair, how dark his leg hair were in comparison, how his beard was a strange mix of brown, blond and red. And then gray. He hadn't enjoyed getting older, the first time he'd seen a gray hair he'd gotten so angry at me for spotting it. Denying its existence for six months until one transformed into dozens.

That's when he'd let himself go somewhat, as if the proof of aging was permission to not pay attention to his health or body anymore. I tried to get him to keep in shape, but my gentle nudges were taken as accusations and caused him to pull away. Maybe that's why he'd gone running to another woman's open arms. Someone who saw him only as a rich and famous war hero, ignoring his faults for the privilege of being chosen by him.

Stop it, I chided myself, you did not make him cheat on you!

Standing up, I gave the grave one last look before moving away and into the Forbidden Forest, until I felt myself leaving the anti-apparition wards. With the memory of a screaming Umbridge being carried off, I turned on myself and apparated home.

I landed with my wand at the ready, the buzzing sensation of my security wards having been breached reaching me as I stopped spinning. I sensed the intruder before my eyes were adjusted to the shockingly bright flat and I hissed some threat or another before realizing that I was face to face with Ginny Weasley.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, then asked further, "How are you here?"

Ginny straightened and finished folding what I realized were my pants, "You might think you're brilliant at magic Hermione, but I grew up with six older brothers, ward breaking is a particular specialty of mine."

I looked around and my jaw dropped. My disgusting little flat had been turned into a cozy, clean and liveable space. She must have cast some sort of extension charm on the living room, because it felt three times as big. The walls seemed brighter, the ceiling was no longer stained by decades of water leak stains, the floor had been stripped of its ash coloured carpet and the wooden planks underneath varnished.

"Bloody hell..."

"You're welcome," she said, waving her wand at the neatly stacked pile of freshly washed clothing so that it floated into a drawer that hadn't been there this morning.

"Welcome? Ginny Weasley, how dare you? This is my home!"

"Home?! Hermione you need glasses, or some sort of medication, this was a rat's nest. Or rather, a bat's nest considering the two I found sleeping in your ceiling. And I'm not sorry. You've ignored me for the past three months; did you expect we'd just forget about you and move on? Honestly, where's that brain of yours gone to?"

I was fuming. But so was she. And if there was one thing I knew, it was that facing an angry female Weasley was potentially the worst idea in the world. And so I took a step back, crossed my arms, and sulked.

It didn't help that the place smelled amazing, "Are you baking?"

"Oh, blimey!"

Ginny moved past me and into the kitchen. I followed, taking note of how my bed had fresh sheets and new pillows. My bookshelf was no longer leaning to one side and pictures which I had not seen in years had been hung on the walls. None of them showing Ron, at least.

This fact allowed to calm myself slightly, maybe she wasn't here to try to fix the marriage between me and her brother.

The kitchen had undergone much of the same change as the rest of my living space, and was now twice as large, painted a vivid shade of red and the old molded wooden cupboards had been torn out, replaced with new white ones.

I found Ginny pulling a tray of biscuits from a new modern stove I also did not remember owning, and placing them on a small dinner table.

"Did you seriously buy all this stuff for me?"

"Well, yeah. Harry and I did."

"But how? I mean, how did you get this done in a single day?"

"I'm a witch, Hermione. And household spells kind of run in my blood, have you met my mother?"

"Alright, fine. But why?"

Ginny sighed, "Sit, drink, eat something. By the looks of you, you're living off self pity and strong drinks."

I could hardly argue this point. I sat across my once closest friend and did as I was told. She refused to let me talk until I had eaten at least four of the biscuits and drank a whole cup of strong black tea.

As I ate I realized that she had lost weight, and there were bags under her eyes which even after three kids I could not remember being there.

"I'm fine, you know," I said finally.

"Of course you are. The filth, abandoning of your best friends and job quitting are all regular side effects of being fine."

I groaned, "I needed time away."

"How has that helped so far? Do you feel better? Are you happily pursuing your new life?"

"No, but…"

"Hermione, you need help. Neville told me you'd stop seeing your shrink or whatever it's called. He said he worried about you, that you missed like four meetings with him."

"It was two, and it seems I overestimated Neville's ability to keep things private."

Ginny slammed her fist on the table, making me jump. "Damn it, Hermione! This is not O.K.! I know you're hurting, and Neville knows it too. He cares about you, but between Hannah and his job there isn't much time for him to help as much as he wishes. Trust me, he didn't betray your trust. He used it in order to make sure you get back up on your feet."

"I don't need a bloody babysitter. I'm a grown woman."

"Really? Cause this place looked worse than my son's bedroom." She took a deep breath and leaned back on her chair. "Hermione, we love you. A lot. You've always been an integral part of our lives. And I get that sometimes it's hard to come back, so here I am, making it easier. We don't want you to leave us."

There were no words to describe the feeling gripping at my throat. I opened my mouth, but choked. The tears, held back for weeks, months...years, bulged out of my eyes. An instant later I was in Ginny's arms, my head cradled against her chest as I cried.

She made nondescript noises of comfort as she stroked my hair. Tightening her grip every once in a while, the feeling of being touched, hugged, loved. It had been too long.

After what might have been a good couple of hours she backed away and crouched in front of me. "There was never any condition on our friendship to you, Hermione. You're family, not because you married my brother, but because you're you! Mum has been worried sick, Bill and Fleur keep asking if you'll still come for Christmas. And to be honest they're pissed at Ron, not you."

"But they know…"

"Know what? That after years of being cheated on, you got sick of it? That your husband was a prat who didn't deserve you, and made you feel like turd?"

"That night."

"Was completely understandable, you don't need to feel sorry for it! Hermione, come on! Even Harry said it was a wonder you hadn't gone looking before."

"I wasn't looking! I just...it was late, and I was drunk. That man, he just, he was nice. I shouldn't have."

"Maybe not. And it says a lot about your morals that you feel so badly about it, but that is for you to come to terms for yourself. Just want you to know, that no one thinks any less of you because of it. Truly."

She hugged me once again. "Now, I have something terribly important to ask and you have to say yes."

There was a dramatic pause as she took on a serious expression and squeezed my hands.

"Come to our place for Christmas?"