Your continued support means the world to me. Thanks everyone! I appreciate those who will read in spite of not liking every bit of the plot. I'm glad you're still with me. In this chapter Draco meets with Blaise and Hermione begins to move on with her life. Enjoy!

LCailan

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

War is brutal. It is self-sufficient. It continues on long after the hills are blanketed in heavy darkness and the valleys are damp and crimson with blood. It does not offer mercy or compassion and it is always prejudiced, blind and selfish. Long after death reigns over the land, war continues so long as there are those willing to fight.

The morning Draco finally faced Blaise was bitterly cold, a frost having settled over the flatland where bodies were frozen against the cold hard ground. The sun had not yet peeked over the horizon to melt the glittering frost. The scene was a frozen portrait of devastation. Draco was all alone, the others having left him bit by bit. Some were terrified of Blaise. Others had deemed Draco insane for trying to reason with a madman. There were a few who had died along the way from disease and hunger for there was no more food and water. Even Theo had given up; he had wished Draco luck and disappeared into the wood that had flanked their left side. Only Pansy, always devoted, had remained but even she had succumbed to the lack of food and the bitterly cold nights that had weakened her already sick body to the point that she could no longer move. Draco had decided that it was for the better, if what Theo had said about Blaise was actually true.

For days there was nothing but abandoned battlefields and empty, flat horizons but on the fourteenth day Draco saw tents dotting the morning horizon and he knew he had reached his destination, for better or worse.

Blaise saw the glow coming from the tiny box that he kept amidst his meager personal belongings. There was not much next to his bedroll apart from a change of clothing, his wand and the small, wooden lockbox. Within it he kept only several items – his wedding ring which he never wore during battle, a photograph of his family and the small galleon that had once been used as the main form of communication between himself, Malfoy and the WERA.

For endless months, Blaise's focus had been the war. How to stop the Ministry. How to make all of them pay for the way they had treated Lavender. To hurt them the way they had hurt everyone else. There had been nothing else for Blaise, no other focus. It would have been enough to make any other man go mad.

But he was not just any other man.

And he wasn't insane, no matter what others said. He was only doing what he was destined to do.

Blaise had traveled up and down the border between England and Wales with determination that if any of them try to get past him and his lines of defense that they would die. He had promised the Alliance that he would do everything in his power to stop them and he had not lied. He knew himself to be fiercely loyal and he had shown this to the Alliance by keeping his promise.

The Ministry had not made headway into Wales in spite of their greatest efforts to do so. Blaise was serving his purpose but more than that, he was fulfilling his own personal desires.

They will all pay.

Unbeknownst to him, the war between the Ministry and the Alliance had long ago become much too personal for Blaise. He had lost focus and direction even though he did not see it as such.

So when the tiny, gold galleon began to glow, his dark brow furrowed for he realized that the others in the WERA still existed even though he had long ago stopped thinking about them.

What could they possibly want?

He was standing in front of his lockbox and picked up the coin with a mild if not irritated curiosity. But what he saw shocked him. It was a message from Malfoy. A flicker of emotion lit up Blaise's dark features for a split second before it died again but an uncomfortable ache had begun in the pit of his stomach – one that he desperately wanted to squelch.

Isn't he dead?

The coin was glowing brightly the message appearing slowly, letter by letter.

I need to talk to you. I am on my way, coming from the south.

Blaise stared at the glowing words with a sort of unattached curiosity knowing only one thing clearly. Malfoy should have been dead. The fighting had been fierce and the bodies of Death Eaters too numerous to count.

I've spared no one.

It was odd then, that the ache in his belly was spreading and the feeling it resonated was much like guilt, though Blaise hadn't felt guilt in years. His mind began to wander even though he knew that was dangerous. He hadn't thought about anything in a long time, let alone the things he had done to get to where he was.

Rabastan had deserved to die. He would have killed my Daisy.

But the others?

The first few captured had been examples to the Death Eaters that they weren't in control anymore.

Then what of the ones that followed?

Blaise swallowed his throat suddenly dry and he loathed the feeling that washed over him.

I have done nothing but deliver justice! They deserve to die!

Did they? There had been too many to count, too many that pleaded for their lives, too many that had nothing to do with-

No. That's my conscience speaking but I must remain focused! I won't let my weaknesses rule my decision. The Death Eaters must die.

Then what of Malfoy?

I told him to make a choice. And he chose the Ministry.

Blaise blinked. He thought of the Granger girl and wondered exactly what Malfoy had chosen.

We used to be the same. Not anymore.

The flap of his tent was pushed aside.

"Commander, shall we set off?"

Blaise turned to the messenger that stood at the ready for his command. He was tempted to move forward, away from Malfoy, to ignore his message. Instead, he shook his head.

"No. We stay here. I have a visitor coming. We will move on afterwards."

"A visitor?"

"I will see him alone."

"Very well."

The two men met as the sun rose in the glorious sky, melting away the frost that glittered all around them.

Draco saw Blaise approaching, walking slowly but with purpose, his back straight and his wand aloft. He reached for his own in the depths of his tattered, dirty robes because something about the other man's stature ordered him to be ready.

"Malfoy."

The greeting was suspicious, his dark eyes narrowing a fraction.

"Zabini."

Draco's own was spoken carefully.

There was a long silence as light continued to rise above them in the gray sky. It was Blaise that broke the quiet.

"I thought you dead."

"Indeed, many did."

"But clearly, you are not."

"No."

Blaise cocked his head and Draco felt himself being studied closely. Strangely, he had a sudden recollection about his years at Hogwarts, in Care of Magical Creatures, watching the blast-ended skrewts with distaste. That's how he felt, anyway.

"Where have you been?"

Draco's eyes narrowed in a calculated fashion.

"You mean to ask why I am not dead."

Blaise laughed but the sound was cold.

"You're quite right, actually."

Draco swallowed, hiding his growing unease.

"I have been in Azkaban."

Blaise offered a nearly imperceptible nod. He lowered his wand but his posture did not relax any.

"For?"

Draco studied Blaise for a moment or two before replying.

"Aiding and abetting the escape of a Muggle-born."

Something flickered in the depths of Blaise's black eyes.

"And for that you found yourself in Azkaban? If you managed the escape, how could they possibly have caught you?"

Draco swallowed past the thickness in his throat noting that one corner of Blaise's mouth began to twitch.

"I turned myself in."

The tic continued.

"Did you?"

"There was no other choice."

"Or perhaps you are lying to me. Could it be that you returned to the Ministry because in spite of your love for that Muggle-born, your loyalties lie with Voldemort?"

Draco felt a ghostly anvil burden his soul.

"I returned to the Ministry because had I gone with her, they would have found me. I did it to protect her."

The words were calm and measured and Blaise seemed to be considering them with some length though Draco noted that the black man's fingers had begun to twitch erratically.

"They have not caught me."

"Then you should count your blessings, mate."

Blaise offered Draco a scathing look.

"Had you not been so cowardly and escaped with her we would have been fighting this war along side one another! You would be fighting for my cause!"

"How do you know that?"

Zabini's lip twitched erratically and for a moment he looked lost and uncertain before the wall of determination fell over him once again. His face grew worn and grim.

"T-there is no other…you are with me or you are against me. And those against me are no longer living."

Draco's lips whitened as he pressed them together before taking a breath.

"What kind of cause sees dozens upon dozens of men and women dead at your behest, Zabini?"

Zabini's lips turned down into an ugly scowl.

"Not men and women, Malfoy. Death Eaters."

"Indeed. Death Eaters just like you."

In a swift and violent move, Zabini raised his wand to point it at Draco.

"Do not dare to speak of what I was," he whispered, his eyes narrowed into tiny, glittering slits.

"What you still are, Zabini. What you still are. What we all are and what we are paying for being."

Blaise began to shake his head, the cool demeanor gone just like the frost on the ground.

"No, no. You're wrong. I will never be that again, Malfoy. Never, ever, ever again."

As he shook his head, Draco pushed up the sleeve of his robe to show Zabini the glaring Dark Mark. He pressed his finger against it emphatically as he spoke, hating himself for ever having taken the Mark, for ever having believed in Voldemort's ideals. His eyes watered with frustration.

"This, Zabini. This is what defines us. This is what we will be paying for the rest of our lives, war or no war. This."

Blaise gazed down at the Mark and then shook his head over and over again as if that single repetitive movement would make it all go away.

"Not me, Malfoy. Not me. Not me."

Draco watched with fascination and horror as Blaise pushed up his own long sleeve to reveal his forearm where the Mark had been scratched and burned off, leaving behind an angry, red scar still obviously sensitive and bloody.

"Are you mad, Zabini? Do you think an attempt at removing that Mark will clean you of all guilt?" he whispered in disgust, staring at the unsightly mess on Blaise's forearm. "That it gives you the right to do what you're doing now?"

Blaise looked up at Draco with strange, bright eyes.

"The Mark is gone! I am doing the right thing! I am eradicating the wizarding world of the stain that is the Dark Mark! Justice is being served one person at a time!"

Draco stepped back, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Are you that blind? Do you not see what you're doing?"

Blaise looked at Draco with a blank, emotionless expression.

"The right thing, I think. The right thing. Defending my family. Fighting for equality."

"Murdering those who are begging you to spare them! You can't possibly believe that is going to help end this war!"

Blaise's face was a mask of nothingness.

"If we eradicate one side it will!"

Draco let out a wheezy sound.

"You're just like him, don't you see? Like Voldemort! Like the man you claim to hate!"

The whisper died on the still morning air. For a few seconds, Draco was rooted to the spot unable to breathe, to think and to speak. He watched Blaise launch himself forward like in some horrid slow-motion and raise his wand. The jet of light exploded from the tip, and Draco threw himself forward to avoid getting hit. He collided with the ground hard, rolling forward to try to knock Blaise out of balance.

Blaise lost his footing and also fell forward so that in the end both men lay on the cold, hard ground, adding to the painting of death around them. They watched each other then, breathing heavily, their eyes snapping as if they were two feral wolves and not merely men.

Draco winced at the pain in his side where he had hit the ground as he spoke.

"You have to give us a chance, Blaise. Voldemort has abandoned those that followed him. We're floundering out there alone and we want to help!"

Blaise stared at Draco as if he had seen something truly terrifying.

"You mean, Theodore Nott and all those who travel with him?" he sneered. "They're not on my side!"

Draco thought quickly, wondering if perhaps Theo had been right the entire time and that there would be no way to get through to the madman that had taken the place of his once good mate.

"Look," he said emphatically. "They have the same goal, they no longer support Voldemort. Join forces with them and you'll be stronger than before. Surely, together we can find Voldemort and end this once and for all!"

Blaise was silent but he lowered his wand, a look of calculation twisting his features.

"Prove it," he said.

Draco gaped.

"How?"

"Where is Voldemort? Give me his location and I spare you. Perhaps I spare Nott and his weak group of followers."

Draco took in a painful breath.

"I'd tell you if I knew."

Blaise's features darkened.

"What of Bella? She'd know where Voldemort was. She's not with him but I'd bet my last galleon…"

Then his features lit up.

"That cow, Parkinson. Is she dead?"

There was a gleam in Blaise's eyes that made Draco leery of speaking another word. Pansy had saved him, after all. He owned her much more than any man would be capable of repaying but at least he could offer her loyalty. The truth was that Pansy probably knew more about Bellatrix Lestrange than any other Ministry official and Blaise knew that.

If there was a chance that giving up the information would ensure that Blaise stop coming after the Ministry she would do it.

But Draco found he could not so easily put Pansy's life in the hands of a very unstable Blaise. He spoke carefully.

"What if she were?"

Blaise was silent, thinking about this and Draco took another pained breath. The morning around them had dawned in its entire glory although new storm clouds were swirling on the distant horizon.

Quickly, Draco leapt to his feet, brandishing his wand at Blaise who remained prostrate on the ground grinning strangely up at Draco.

"You would threaten me? Do you not know I have power over you that you haven't even begun to imagine?"

Draco sneered.

"You have no power over me."

"I've heard those words spoken from the lips of dead men," replied Blaise.

There was a long silence interrupted by the distant rumbling of thunder which heralded the coming new storm. Feeling helpless, Draco swallowed past his disgust.

"If you promise not to hurt her, I'll take you to Pansy."

Blaise offered a smile that was not truly a smile.

Hermione was laughing. The sound melted into the cacophony of noises around her – the clinking of glasses, the clatter of forks and knives against fine china and the buzz of conversation going on at the linen-covered tables around her.

"And you should have seen the look on Lysander's face!" she exclaimed with an affectionate head shake. "I think they underestimate Leo just because he's only a year old."

She was smiling now and her cheeks were flushed rosy with color and the glass of wine she had consumed. She was wearing a proper black evening dress, the first fancy dress she had worn since the Lestrange's anniversary party a few years before. The glorious red dress that Hermione had believed existed only in fairy tales. That time was over though and she never wanted to wear a red dress again. Oddly enough the idea made her heart hurt.

So she had chosen black, something understated and simple that matched the black pumps that Ginny had let her borrow. A classic up do and simple earrings had completed her look even though her rat's nest head of hair stubbornly refused to do what she wanted it to do, as usual. She had realized that evening as she had sat in front of her tiny vanity that the way she looked mattered to her because she cared what Neville thought.

Neville. Of all people, it was Neville.

Hermione had known, of course, how he felt about her. He was an honest, simple man and his feelings were always painted in the depths of his brown eyes. Only a fool would have missed the way he gazed on her with such devotion. The idea of moving on had been completely revolting to Hermione at first. The thought that someone else might care for her, hold her hand, touch her affectionately had seemed utterly impossible.

But wasn't that what Draco had wanted? Hadn't he left her so that she would have freedom, a better life?

Neville was a good man, humble and hardworking. He was willing to understand and even more willing to listen. He hadn't judged her like some of the others. But most importantly, he made Hermione feel wanted and cared for and Leo adored him. In her darkest hours, right after Leo's birth, Hermione had wondered if she could raise the tiny baby by herself, praying desperately that a man come along to help her. The feelings had seemed wrong, blasphemous somehow, because beautiful Leo already had a father – and a great one at that. But now the possibility that she might not be alone was within reach.

It wasn't Neville's fault, after all, that he had come along when he had. He had simply been Hermione's friend, someone she could lean on and learn to trust in. Feelings had come after, certainly. And it wasn't Hermione's fault that Neville was so kind, so gentle, and so…hopeful. And so wonderful with her son.

How can I deny Leo a father and myself a future?

The whole thing seemed to be an impossible dream, really.

Neville had arrived at Hermione's flat only three hours before, wearing a smile and his cheeks flushed pink from nervousness. He had been clutching the most beautiful flower Hermione had ever seen – a pink and white rose – which he had grown in his personal greenhouse. He had looked dashing in his own way – wearing black trousers, a starched white shirt, a handsome waistcoat and a deep green necktie. He had clearly taken time with his appearance and much to Hermione's shock she had felt warmth fill her at the sight of him on her stoop.

He had bashfully handed her the flower and proceeded to trip rather awkwardly on her top step which had broken the ice between them, making Hermione laugh in spite of her uncertainty as to where their relationship was going.

Then Neville had helped her with her woolen coat and held her hand in gentlemanly fashion as they had apparated downtown to the restaurant that he had painstakingly chosen (unbeknownst to Hermione).

They had spent many afternoons together before, but she knew that this night was different. Neville had mad sure of that and it made Hermione look forward to the future. And that's how they had found themselves sitting at the fancy table and laughing about Leo and Luna's twins.

Hermione's laugh melted into a fond smile.

"I can't believe he's mine sometimes," she marveled. "He's brilliant."

"He's quite the little boy," Neville agreed, his brown eyes shining. "And he's brilliant just like his mother."

The smile faltered just slightly.

And his father.

But Hermione said nothing, swallowing down a twinge of pain and beaming a smile towards Neville as she removed the napkin she had placed on her lap during the meal. She held his gaze for a few moments and then looked down, flustered and unsure of what to say or do. She didn't want to think of the past; she didn't want to mar the lovely evening Neville had provided the both of them. When she glanced back up she felt almost…shy. There wasn't a reason in the world for it. Neville was her best friend; he was even more than that, she was certain.

"I'm sorry," she began with hesitation. "I keep talking about…well, certainly there are things you'd rather chat about besides my son?" she finally said.

Neville nodded towards the cart of luscious looking desserts that was rolling towards them.

"How about dessert?" he joked as Hermione's eyes lit up at the glorious display of sweets. Once she had chosen what she wanted, Neville grew a bit more serious.

"The truth is everything you do and everything you are matters to me, Hermione."

Her fork stopped still above the clotted cream that covered her chocolate pastry. She looked up at him a rush of affection washing over her like a wave.

"Really?"

Their hands lay in the middle of the linen covered table, fingers brushing.

"You know it's true," replied Neville, his face blooming with new color. "I can't imagine that I hide my feelings very well."

Hermione offered him a smile and then put her hand in his, running her thumb along his.

"I had an inkling," she admitted making Neville grin a bit. There was a bit of a pause and then he dared to look up at her.

"So…?"

Hermione smiled.

"So…"

Neville took the leap, biting his lip for a moment.

"Look, Hermione. I'm not asking for much. I know how you felt before, and I know that you loved…him."

A frisson of ice washed over her, making Hermione shiver a bit.

"He's my past," she whispered. "I held onto it with hope for a long time, it's true."

"I know. That's why I can't expect more than you're willing to offer. Which means I'm happy if you choose to spend time with me or if you tell me now that…that you need more time. I'll give you the time you want. I'll give you ages, if that's what you ask for."

Hermione felt herself growing warm, her cheeks hot with color.

"I couldn't ask you for ages, Neville. That wouldn't be fair to anyone."

He leaned across the table every ounce of his feelings for the woman across from him evident in the honesty of his face.

"I know what I feel. If it takes time for you to understand that, I'm willing to wait."

She felt her eyes watering and then smiled at him.

"I can't truly believe I'm worth that," she said with a small, shameful laugh.

Neville reached to stroke her cheek for the briefest of moments, his fingers soft against her skin. Hermione wanted to close her eyes and lean into the caress; she had missed this sort of touch too much, she realized.

"I guess I can't really make you believe that but I'm sure going to bloody try."

This made her laugh and Neville squeezed her fingers firmly in his hand, not letting go.

"Dance with me," he suggested.

Hermione allowed him to help her to her feet and found herself pressed against him as they moved a bit clumsily on the dance floor. This wasn't the way she had danced with Draco; this wasn't like being with Draco at all.

But that's the point. It's time to move on, isn't it? He would want me to. He wanted me to be happy.

Realizing that thinking about Draco would no longer do, Hermione looked up at Neville in the dimness of the dance floor.

"Next time we do this, I'll cook for you," she suggested with a small smile. He raised an eyebrow.

"I thought the food her was rather delicious myself."

"It was," she said her grin widening. "But my mother always said the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

Neville's smile would have outshined the sun itself.

"Hermione, if you didn't know it already, you don't need to cook me dinner to win my heart. You already have it."

There was a moment in which the two stopped moving and her heart began to pound a bit unsteadily within her chest. She closed her eyes just as he leaned down to close the distance between them. Their lips touched in a gentle first kiss.

And so it began.

The rain had begun to fall steadily by the time Draco led Blaise to the thickly wooded area where Pansy had taken shelter. The scent of rain worked to wash away that of the lingering corruption but not even the earthy, musky scent of fresh rainfall could entirely erase the scent of death.

Pansy lay where Draco had left her; she was a wraith-like form on the bed of foliage, coughing when she saw them, her violet eyes widening. He knelt down next to her on the wet earth and reached to press his fingers against her forehead, pushing aside her lank, dark hair and finding her to be burning with fever.

"Pans," he said leaning in so she could hear him better. "He's agreed to help so long as you tell him if you know anything about Bella."

Pansy blinked a few times and for a horrible moment Draco believed that he had found her in her last few moments of life. Her eyes fluttered closed and she moaned something unintelligible. Her face looked deathly white against the thick black hair that framed it.

"Pans," he said again, reaching to squeeze her impossibly icy hand. "Can you hear me?"

Blaise stood behind them watching like a dark sentinel, saying nothing. The rain was the only sound for a few moments and finally she opened her eyes.

"The Ministry…"

She paused and broke into a coughing fit while Draco held her hand. Her eyes were watery when once more they opened.

"We had…contacts with the European Ministry of Magic," she managed to choke out. Draco's brow furrowed.

"Within the Department of International Magical Cooperation?"

Pansy offered a weak nod.

"B-Bella mentioned that there are Apparition points directly to points in Euro-"

She stopped when Blaise swooped down in a graceful motion, startling her.

"He can't apparate; we'd know about it. I've made sure of that."

Both Draco and Pansy gazed up at Blaise. It was odd how the tables had turned.

Pansy's coughs sounded dry and painful.

"There is a way…through Scotland and the North Sea for him to get away."

Her face had paled in spite of the coughing fit. Blaise watched her with glittering eyes.

"So if we head north quickly, we might be able to stop him."

Pansy swallowed, wincing.

"If what Bella…said was true. Yes. She wanted to escape with him, to run when she could but he would not allow that. She spoke of Europe…of Albania."

Draco let go of Pansy hand and stood to face his former mate.

"Will you let us help you?"

Blaise considered the offer in silence. He knew that Draco's offer of help meant an assured victory for the Alliance, even if he had intended the rest of the Death Eaters to die. But sometimes life was strange and offered sudden changes in direction and who was he to deny that this way it would be easier?

Slowly he stuck out his hand in solidarity.

"Very well. We go north together. All of us."

Draco nearly collapsed with relief. At least now he wouldn't have to worry about Blaise coming after him anyway. There was only Bellatrix and Voldemort and a few of their closest officials to worry about. Take them down and the Ministry would fall completely. It was a very attainable goal and one Draco wanted to reach as quickly as possible. He put his hand firmly into Blaise's, white against black.

"It will be a victory for the Alliance. We'll have Voldemort cornered and this time he won't get away."

The two men shook on a promise that Draco believed would end the war and Blaise had no intention of keeping.

Lily climbed into Hermione's lap a few days later, smiling towards the small living room where Neville was helping Leo build a tower of blocks.

"I gave him my wand, Hermione. Leo's gonna be a great wizard!"

Albus had been reading a book in the corner nearest to the furnace and Lily's voice caused him to look up.

"Just like my dad!"

Seamus had been sitting by the window waiting for Dean to contact him about another shipment of supplies. The orders had been coming more and more lately as more able-bodied men and women were joining the fight against Voldemort.

"Aye, and just like you," he said with a grin which made Albus sit up proudly. He and James had begun to practice along with Lorcan and Lysander on the weeks that Luna was home.

Hermione was smiling.

"You'll all be great wizards, I'm sure of it. Even you," she finished kissing the top of Lily's wavy-haired head. "And when you get old like me and have kids you can tell them about all the great things their uncles and their grandfather did when they were younger."

Lily was thoughtful, her green eyes luminous as they gazed around the room. Hermione felt warmth settle on her heart at the blessing of having such a glorious reminder of Harry. She hoped that Leo would grow to be a memory of Draco too.

"Hermione, will you have more babies? I miss babies."

"I don't know, darling. Maybe someday," Hermione dared to say.

"Is it because Leo's daddy is gone like mine?"

Hermione hugged Lily for a moment, resting her chin atop the child's head.

"That's a part of it, Lily. But sometimes it takes time," she explained softly the pain of losing Draco always residing in some part of Hermione's slowly healing heart.

Lily turned in the circle of Hermione's arms, her green eyes glowing happily.

"Mama said that too. But guess what?" she asked lowering her voice. "I'm getting a new daddy!"

"Lily Luna Potter!"

Ginny's voice rang loudly through the room just as Hermione gasped and looked up. The red-haired woman's rosy blush put her red hair to shame.

"That wasn't your secret to share!"

Lily jumped off Hermione's lap and put her small hands on her hips.

"It's true though!" she replied defiantly, staring up at her mother. "Seamus is gonna be my new daddy!"

Hermione jumped up with a huge smile and even Neville looked up from where he had been quietly sitting with Leo.

Ginny was blushing as Lily ran over to grab Seamus' hand.

"Tell them! Tell them you gonna be my new daddy!"

Seamus was laughing at Lily's antics and the sound of his laughter had drawn the others into the room like bees to honey. Though neither confirmed it, Hermione could see the truth in the way Seamus and Ginny gazed at each other for a brief moment. Love shone between them, strong even though it had been mostly unspoken.

Hermione quickly pulled Ginny into a hug, feeling joy and excitement, a bit of sadness and even a touch of envy.

"I'm so happy for you, Gin," she whispered to her friend. Ginny squeezed her more tightly.

"I would have told you. We were going to. I guess Lily thought it should have happened sooner," she said when they pulled apart. There were tears shining in Ginny's honey-brown eyes.

The women remained joined by their hands.

"I never thought I'd let Harry go."

"But you did. Seamus is a great man."

"I know it."

She paused.

"Hermione, I know that I'm never going to…see things the same as you. You've been through hell."

"So have you!"

"It's different. I just want you to know that…you can move on. It's possible even if you think you can't."

She turned her head towards the place where Seamus was talking to Lily and Neville. Hermione didn't have to ask Ginny to know what she had meant by her words.

It was about Neville. It was about moving on. Ginny sighed.

"When this war is over…."

So many people had said that phrase over and over again. So many times Hermione had recalled thinking about how life would be after the fighting was over and there was peace in the wizarding world once more. They were closer and closer to that time and she knew without a doubt that life would be different from all her imaginings.

She would have to let go of the past.

She would have to move on.