As always, many hugs to you the readers and reviewers! You make me smile. This chapter goes fast so I hope you're with me when it's all done. It spans about two years of Hermione's life and ends the war which will set up for the Dramione reunion that is coming in the next chapter! I had hoped it would be this one, but it would have been way to long to put all that into one chapter, so... The wait is almost over guys! Enjoy.

LCailan

CHAPTER SIXTY

Cardiff, Wales

Over the next several months, Commander Blaise Zabini gathered forces for his last and final stand against Voldemort and the Ministry. He was not a fool; he knew he would need able bodied witches and wizards to finally accomplish his final and monumental goal. The airwaves of the WWN were ringing with his firm and impassioned voice, a voice full of strength; the voice of a leader.

"And if you believe that this war between the half-bloods, Muggle-borns and the Ministry can end without you then listen to me. It cannot! We must join together to become the force that we have not been."

Ginny and Seamus married in a small, low-key ceremony and after this she convinced her new husband that she would not stay in Wales. Though many who had opposed the Ministry quickly gave their support to Blaise and his Alliance, Ginny would not. Fearing that Wales was far too deeply in Blaise's military control, she begged Seamus that they flee to Ireland. He reluctantly agreed and the family said their tear-filled goodbyes, Ginny promising she would return when the war was over.

When the war was over…

It was like a song that Hermione believed would never end. Though she didn't want Ginny and the children to leave her she knew it was necessary and that she had to stay. The Clinic was busy and Neville needed the help. And because she loved Neville, Hermione and Leo stayed.

"We must join together to ensure that there will remain no remnants of oppression and prejudice. Together we will break the bonds that have bound us for so long! Join me and fight for your rights, for your freedom!"

There seemed to be so much and so little happening all at once. Ginny wrote letters to Hermione. Once settled in Ireland, Seamus reunited with his mother and she died a month later leaving him a large sum of money. He and Ginny opened a home for those refugees of the war. It became one of the first shelters in Ireland and would one day become the first post-war shelter and orphanage.

Shortly after the shelter opened its doors, Seamus went off to support the WERA. Ginny had refused to do so and Hermione's heart ached a bit less knowing that her best friend would not be in the fray. She had enough to worry about with Luna having gone to join the fighting. Because Neville couldn't, she kept busy with him and watching both her own son and Luna's twin boys.

"Fight for the least of what you deserve – the right to make your own choices. You shall not be judged by your blood status! You shall not be thwarted by a man who sees only one direction!"

Each week that passed brought more death, more injuries and often times Hermione was so exhausted when she returned to her flat that she could do nothing more than kiss her sleeping son and check on the twins before passing out on her own bed. The days that passed became innumerable, dawning with the morning son and waning with the moon at night. Hermione did not think; she did her duty.

Six months after Seamus had gone into the battle the Alliance made their first attempt to end Voldemort's life.

It was a failure.

Because all her friends had scattered once again, the days of dinners and get-togethers were over and Hermione had only a frazzled Neville and the Wireless to keep her company. And the night the news came of the failed attempt on Voldemort's life, Hermione felt her heart stop. The announcer seemed so cold and not invested in what had happened. Voldemort had survived and those who had led the attack had all perished. It was a victory for the Ministry. And a piece of Hermione's heart had died knowing that if Draco had been with them, he was dead too. The worst part was that she would never know; she had no way to contact anyone within the Ministry even if she had wanted to.

Neville had come to stay with her that night and she sobbed in his arms, unable to speak what was on her troubled heart, unable to express even closely how it felt to lose something you had hoped would happen for so long.

When the war was over…the cruel song echoed in her beleaguered heart.

"Do not doubt that if you allow him to do as he wishes that he will not stop until he destroys all of you. Fight for the wizarding world! Do not worry about the death and loss that will no doubt come with your choice for that is the way of war! Join with me!"

Hermione didn't know when she had begun to doubt Blaise Zabini's sanity. Perhaps it was during those last few months of fighting, when the Alliance was moving forward even though more and more casualties were being reported and more and more wounded were crowding Neville's Clinic. There seemed to be so much pain and loss and still the Commander would not give up, would not give his supporters a chance to breathe and to recoup. He was drunk with the desire to end it all, too persistent and not nearly merciful enough.

No one seemed to see this, however. The people who remained in Cardiff touted Blaise as one of the great wizards of his time, just like Harry had been. They supported him without question and Hermione found it madness that they did not see his growing list of faults.

Perhaps it was that in times of war people were desperate for strong leadership. Or perhaps it was that hell was paved with the greatest of intentions. Whatever it was, Hermione grew to resent living in Wales, fearing that when the war ended they would feel no less oppression than they did now.

So when Neville shyly proposed marriage the winter after Leo turned three, she expressed her desire to leave Wales. He was too thrilled with her acceptance of his sincere albeit stumbling proposal that he agreed to her request.

Hermione and Neville married that March, three months after his proposal.

Although Hermione had convinced herself that Draco was gone and that even when the war was over she would have to move on, the reality that she had didn't sink in until the her wedding night when Neville had emerged from the bathroom of their honeymoon hotel wearing a nightshirt and a shy smile of anticipation. That was when she realized that all her seductive dreams of Draco would have to end, that her life was different now and she was married.

But still she pulled the blankets up to her chin, her brown eyes terrified.

"If you step any nearer to me I'll hex you, Neville Longbottom," she had rasped from beneath the covers.

Neville, bewildered and hurt, had chalked up her reaction to fear and the memory of her abusive past. He had reluctantly spent his wedding night sleeping on an uncomfortable chair while his new wife slept in the bed haunted by dreams of another man.

The following night, Neville had prepared himself for the same fate as he got ready for bed while Hermione sat atop the covers watching him with wide, glittering eyes. When he turned out the light, he saw his bride still sitting up stiffly in the bed and he sighed from his place on the hard-backed chair.

"Is it Draco?"

Hermione hated herself because she could hear the disappointment in Neville's voice.

"No."

It would be the first of many lies to the face of a man who didn't deserve them. Who had done nothing but love her. It was unfair. Hermione knew it and it broke her heart. She thought of God and of hell and wondered if perhaps that's where she would end up. Sometimes it didn't even matter; her heart hurt so much both from loss and from the guilt of her lie.

But how was she supposed to have told him how trapped she felt, how terrified? How was she supposed to explain her inability to let go of the past? Was it even possible?

She had done the only thing she could; Hermione had allowed him in their bed.

Being with Neville was different in every single way she could have imagined. There was no dark desire, no feeling of wanting someone so much it hurt. No dark swirling of passion in the pit of her belly. He was shy and fumbling; he was innocent. She loved him and she knew that he loved her but it wasn't the way she had loved Draco.

Perhaps it wasn't supposed to be.

Neville, Hermione and Leo moved to Ireland in April, a month after their quick nuptials, and settled into a cottage near to Ginny and Seamus' place. Hermione was quick to jump in with helping at the shelter and within weeks had convinced Neville to add on to the building, opening up a modest medical clinic. Although he was not opposed, Neville had been enflamed with the desire to fight in the war and shortly after Leo's fourth birthday, only three months after his marriage to Hermione, he set off for the Alliance headquarters, vowing he would fight until the war was over.

And that was how Hermione Longbottom found herself alone in Ireland, with a four year old son and her husband fighting against the Ministry.

She busied herself helping Ginny and grew adjusted to being a wife and a mother. The world was changing; she had no clue how life would be once the war was over…

"Magic is our birth right! We were born with it and to it we have a right! I will see myself destroyed before I surrender my rights! You should too! Magic is your right! Fight for yourself; fight for is a part of you and they say they can take away!"

War was everywhere. It seemed colder and a bit lonelier without Neville. Though Hermione knew that there were other women in her shoes and even worse than that, a growing number of children without either parent to care for them, still she missed him in a way she didn't believe she would when he had been at her side. Sometimes she would spend hours locked in their bedroom listening to Myron Wagtail's album and thinking about how horrible she was to not love Neville the way he deserved. So she vowed that when he returned (because there wouldn't be an 'if', she decided) she would love him as best as she could.

Her Neville.

All around her the hate that had been growing towards the Ministry and the Death Eaters had mounted to a fever pitch. Those that had once been feared were now the ones that were hated. It seemed that every other person had nothing but venom to spit when it came to the Ministry. Experiencing what she had, Hermione would not blame them.

But she remained silent.

She knew she owed her life to a Death Eater and more than that, he was in her heart.

"The war is nearly over," stated Ginny one late September afternoon.

She was poring over papers for the orphanage while Hermione was working on a list of necessary supplies to get them through the next month. Leo was 'helping' his mother by coloring at the other side of the table and the older children were outside playing.

Hermione smiled to herself.

"You always say that."

"And one day, it'll be true."

Ginny bit her lip.

"I wonder if I made the right choice by staying behind from the fighting."

Hermione's heart constricted at the thought that Ginny might leave her to fend for the children while she joined in a fight that would not guarantee her a safe return home.

"You've done enough," was all she said, however.

"Seamus sends letters. The first attack against Voldemort was bad, I admit, but this time they'll get it right. The Ministry can't fight forever. There aren't enough Death Eaters."

Leo looked up, his gray eyes shining brightly.

"No good deaf eadder bassars."

The phrase and the vehemence with which the four year old had stated it still made Hermione's blood run cold even though it wasn't the first time he had said it. She had deduced that her son learned the phrase from some of the older children at the shelter. That's what the war had begun to do; it was breeding hate. Leo was saying things he didn't understand.

Hermione put down her quill.

"What did Mama tell you about that phrase?"

"I'm not supposta say it."

Hermione gave him a stern look that made Leo's lips tremble.

"I'm sorry, Mama. You still love me?"

"With all my heart, baby."

Ginny knelt down near Leo.

"Tell you what. You've helped your Mama with her papers so much today I think you ought to go outside and see if James will show you how to fly on his broomstick. How would you like that, Little Leo?"

Leo looked perturbed.

"I'm not little!" he exclaimed but dashed from the room towards the backdoor leaving the two women alone in a tense silence.

Hermione looked down at her strewn papers and discarded quill.

"I need to teach him not to say those things," she whispered more to herself than to anyone but Ginny let out a snort.

"Lock him away from the rest of the world, then. That's how it is," she said. "The Death Eaters are everything evil in the eyes of the rest of the world. It's just that now they have no power. How do you expect people to act?"

Hermione shook her head, feeling silently torn.

"Is this the kind of world we're going to raise our children in, Gin? The only thing they'll learn is hate and prejudice!"

The truth hung in the air around them for a few moments but neither woman could deny the truths that lay between them.

"Will you tell Leo about his father?" Ginny wondered a moment later.

Hermione's head snapped up from where she had been unable to concentrate on her work.

"You mean that his father is a no good Death Eater bastard?"

The words were sarcastic but heavy with sadness. She took a shaking breath.

"How could I ever do that?" she asked not expecting an answer.

There was none.

"Neville is his father; he's the only father Leo has ever known. I can't tell him. Not with the way things are. You heard what they were saying happened in Cardiff!"

Both women grew uncomfortable, thinking of the news they had heard over the Wireless the week before, where a woman living outside of the city had been captured by a mob of townspeople and her son beaten to death for being a product of the union between a Muggle-born and a Death Eater. It had been both shocking and saddening.

"Draco is my past," Hermione stated firmly, trying to convince herself again that it was true.

She knew that realistically it was but her stubborn heart had yet to fully accept it.

"I know," Ginny replied thoughtfully.

Then she reached to touch Hermione's hand.

"When I first found out you were pregnant and had escaped from London, Blaise told me that Malfoy was dead."

Hermione searched Ginny's face for a moment and then the red-headed woman continued.

"Have you…I didn't really have any reason not to believe him."

Hermione sighed.

"I haven't heard from him if that's what you were going to ask. All I know is when he helped me escape he was alive. What's happened to him after that I couldn't hazard a guess."

And it broke her heart, she knew.

"If it makes you feel better, I just…I wanted to tell you that I was wrong before. About the things I said about him…about everything I said that afternoon at Charlie's place."

Hermione looked at her friend for a moment as Ginny continued.

"What if Draco knew this is the way it would be? That the Alliance would become as prejudiced as those that they were fighting against? Can you imagine where you might have been today if Draco had stayed with you? What you might be facing?"

Hermione didn't want to think of it but she knew that Ginny's words were the truth.

"There's no doubt that Draco loved you. And now you have Leo as a memory of him."

Hermione stood, pulling away from Ginny. The words were a balm to her heart, for she had feared Ginny would never accept what had happened between herself and Draco. But those same words served to remind Hermione of how much she had lost.

Moments later, Ginny turned on the Wireless. And Blaise's heartfelt, passionate pleas for help could be heard over the airwaves.

"You will give every ounce of strength, and you will offer your very lives if the Alliance asks for them. And even then you will never cease to be, for as long as the wizarding world stands, then so will you stand also."

Two weeks later

It was a clear, glorious day in October. Hermione was at a local market, picking up vegetables for supper because Ginny and the children were coming to eat. In the grand scheme of things, the day had been one of the most insignificant of Hermione's life, really.

The loud yell that broke the stark silence outside of the market startled her, causing her to drop a bunch of lettuce. At first there had only been that one yell but then there were running footsteps and more yelling, and loud voices carrying on the cool afternoon air.

Hermione rushed around the bushels and cases of vegetables and fruits, her heart hammering wildly. Though years of abuse and war had conditioned her to assume the worst, what she saw in the outdoor square caused her to gasp. People were hugging and kissing one another, others were dancing and yelling out their excitement and still others had tears in their eyes. Trying to breathe in between her hammering heart, Hermione reached for the nearest person, an elderly wizard who was saying a rather loud prayer to God.

"W-what happened?" she asked, clutching his hand and hoping for the best. Perhaps a small victory or perhaps…

"Just came over the Wireless, it did!" he said reaching to hold her hand in his tightly. "The Alliance won the war! Voldemort is dead!"

Hermione's breath caught in her throat and she felt lightheaded. It wasn't possible, was it? That the war had ended on such an unassuming, normal day. That something she had gotten so used to could be over? Stumbling backwards, she ran into a man who was dancing his wife around in an erratic circle, crying the whole time.

All around her there was rejoicing. Hermione felt a torrent of emotions wash over her and she couldn't quite grasp even one to analyze. She stood in place, unable to move, to cry, to laugh, to do anything.

The war is over.

She wondered about Neville. Her heart began to pound as she thought of Draco. What if he had survived? What if…?

The war is over.

Her heart cried for all those who had given their lives throughout the years. The Weasleys. Her first husband. Harry. All the rest, every last one of them.

The war is over.

She would never feel enslaved again. No one would tell her that she wasn't good enough. Voldemort was dead. How it had happened she didn't know and Hermione wondered if she'd ever care.

Her fingers trembled as she reached to clutch her handbag closer to her.

"Funny thing, it was!" said one of the citizens nearest to her. "Bloke that did him in was just like one of us, he was!"

Another one called out in agreement.

"I nearly shit me cacks when I heard! He's one of us, to be sure! Got a wife and a little tyke!"

Hermione stopped to listen, her heart constricting with sadness and joy all at once. The man to finally bring down Voldemort was just like any other man. It made her feel warm that in spite of Harry's inability to do what he had been destined to do, someone else had.

"Had a strange name too, he did! Longbottom!"

She stopped, a sudden, terrible throb rapping against her temple so Hermione had to close her eyes against the dizziness. For a moment she tried to gather her bearings at the shock of what she had just realized.

But the darkness overwhelmed her and she fell faint.

Scotland

The greatest dark wizard of all time met his fate at the hands of a hero who had never believed he was a hero. He was a humble man, crippled by the tides of war but determined that this time he would make it right. He would fight to the end or die trying.

All around them there was the debris of war, the yells and the scuffles, the flashing of wand light like fireworks in an iron-gray sky.

But amidst all this there was a snake.

A snake and a sword that glinted like gray steel and precious rubies. There was a sudden rush of power as the hero's fingers wrapped around the gilded handle of said sword as he fumbled to a kneel position and crawled across ash and dirt with determination.

It was only one well-placed swipe and an immortal dark wizard became nothing more than a mere soulless mortal. The final horcrux had been destroyed.

But Voldemort would not give up and seeing the last remnants of his soul be torn apart by a mere human named Longbottom he reacted, lifting up his wand to destroy all that was attempting to stop him.

Neville had never believed he would look into the face of evil again but life was often unpredictable. As he dropped the Sword of Gryffindor against the dark, beaten earth he clutched his wand in one sweat-slippery hand and struggled into a standing position, blinking against dirt and sweat that threatened his vision.

Voldemort opened his mouth but Neville never heard the curse, seeing only the green light flash brilliantly as it raced across empty space and all time seemed to stop. The former Gryffindor reacted defensively, his words broken and roughened by the fighting. He aimed at the other man's wand, hoping to disarm him.

The two spells collided and the Killing Curse rebounded, destroying the man who had cast it. As Neville fell forward, his own wand slipping from his loosened fingers, he had no real knowledge of what he had done. He had no inkling that he had ended the war – that he had done what Harry would have but could not have.

The war had ended; Lord Voldemort had finally been defeated.

A mere humble man had become a hero.

Blaise Zabini wasted no time capturing the remnants of the Death Eater armies, imprisoning Bellatrix Black Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback. He knew others were getting away, scattering to the four winds but he had no doubt that sooner or later he would recapture all those who had stood against the Alliance for so long – in spite of becoming allies in the end.

That did not matter to him. There had never been an intention to keep his word to Malfoy anyhow, although the blond man had disappeared during the final battle and could not be found. Perhaps he had died, the pity.

The weary lines of the Alliance began to struggle to return home, to make sense of what was to come, and to be dubbed victorious! Blaise went with them, leading them back the way they had come and to face a new world – a world that he would help rebuild.

There were tearful, emotional reunions. There was the hushed uncertainty of what came next. There were children reunited with their parents and plans made for a future without war. There were still the struggles of healing those wounded and burying those who had passed.

Through it all, Hermione worked feverishly for she feared that her mind would wander if she stopped to think of all that had happened. She wouldn't and even more importantly, she couldn't.

The war was over and her life was going to change and she had a future, a husband and a child. A family. The holidays came and went and winter melted into a glorious hopeful spring.

Throughout those months, Neville gave up his work as a healer, shyly and with more than just a bit of discomfort, he stepped into the spotlight as the man who had defeated the greatest dark wizard of their generation. Though he wasn't sure what to do with all the attention lavished on him, somehow he still endeared many to him – those who knew him and those who learned of him after what he had done. He graciously accepted accolades, provided interviews, and accepted awards on the behalf of the wizarding world.

Even Blaise reluctantly offered him the greatest of military awards. But in spite of his required time away from home and the sudden whirlwind of activity that Neville's life had become, he never failed to make time for his family. And slowly Hermione learned to trust him completely.

The wizarding world began to heal slowly in the months that followed. Businesses began to teeter from death into life once again, families were rebuild and people began to foster the tiniest beginnings of hope in their hearts.

Plans for a new Ministry with new leadership began to be built and everyone assumed that the Commander of the Alliance would surely take the seat as the new Minister for Magic. Some whispered that Blaise did not even want such a role and others were certain that he was too unrelenting in his beliefs for the position. In the end it did not matter for someone else was chosen.

In June, Leo turned five.

In July, the newly formed and yet to be built Ministry named Neville Longbottom their new Minister for Magic and Hermione found herself moving back to London once again. And that was how Hermione Granger Weasley Longbottom, who had been a Muggle-born persecuted and treated as nothing, became the wife of the London's Minister.

Two months later

Draco blinked, struggling to see.

When the war is over…

He was not used to being totally alone. For so long the strangled sound of Pansy's coughs had kept him in miserable company, but even that was gone now. He had lost her during the final battle and wasn't sure if she had survived or not. There hadn't been time to do anything but flee.

As Voldemort had fallen, all hope for the Death Eaters had been snuffed out and those with the Mark fled before they could be captured. Draco was no fool; he had not waited to see what would happen.

For the first time he truly was alone. He had no family, he had nothing.

It had been shocking to him to glimpse Hermione's smiling face on the cover of the newly-organized Daily Prophet. As one of the first newspapers to be up and running after the war, they had been given exclusive rights to interview and photograph the ceremony swearing in the new Minister for Magic.

Draco hadn't truly cared at the time, several months ago, when the Ministry had announced new leadership. After all, he had been more worried about where he would sleep next and where he would find food. Even though the end of the war had signaled hope and prosperity for some, for others it had meant completely devastation. He was on the run – and he would continue to run until he could not run any longer. He had once been a man of great power within the Ministry and now he was nothing.

But seeing Hermione's face on the front page of the paper…

Somehow Draco couldn't imagine not seeing her one last time. He would not bother her; he would watch from afar. He would check to make sure her life was just as he hoped it would be, everything that she had deserved. His battered heart ached for everything he had lost five years ago even though he was thrilled that she had found a new life and abundant blessings. That was how it should have been.

As the sun rose on another glorious autumn day, Draco turned to move in the direction of London hoping he would get there without getting caught so he could see Hermione even if it was only for a moment. He had promised her, after all, that he would return…when the cruel war was over.