The wait is over! I had to split this one up – so I hope it's not too much of a cliffhanger! You all know what is coming. Enjoy. Oh, and thank you to all! I hope this isn't disappointing since you've all been waiting for it. Fingers crossed!

LCailan

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

Hermione's whole life changed once she returned to London.

Back when she had still been in school she had had dreamed of working for the Ministry, having especially considered Auror training among other things. She had also pondered working for the Department of Transportation at one time or another.

But never had she even dreamed of being where she was now – wife to the Minister.

Neville took on the new and heavy responsibility as he did everything – quietly and precisely. Because it took him longer to make decisions and each and every act and decision he made was done only after considerable thought, assistants were brought in to help him with the everyday tasks. Hermione's itineraries consisted of meetings and visits to the people in the surrounding areas and with the higher level Ministry officials in the countries surrounding England.

There was never a lack of things to do and even though Neville's first act as Minister was to re-open all lines of travel within the wizarding world making it easy for Hermione to travel and see her family, she hardly ever had time to see Ginny, Seamus and the children, or Luna. She spent most of her time making Neville's transition into the public life as comfortable as possible whilst taking care of a growing, tenacious boy.

Neville wasn't a man who had ultimately been made for power even though he had accepted it and done what had been his duty. Though during the day he was regal and quiet, at nights he tossed and turned, mumbling in his sleep and waking at odd hours only to fall back into a fitful sleep. But never did he complain. Hermione did her best to keep to her promise during the war – to love him as best as she could.

Though Neville had taken the position of Minister he left the military decisions and duties up to Blaise, whom he had instated as the Ministry's new military commander. Unsurprisingly, Blaise made every decision swiftly and without an air of doubt and he was a powerful and detrimental opposition to any remaining Death Eaters and former Ministry sympathizers though most of them were either dead or in hiding.

Bellatrix and Fenrir were placed in prison after being given a death sentence. Blaise had determined to use them as an example for any of those planning on defying the newly formed Ministry. Though the war was over, hatred had not ceased, having only shifted its target.

All through the city of London, shelters began to spring up with the help and support of Hermione and Neville. She helped channel some of the Ministry funds towards helping orphaned children and those suffering from the effects of war. Ginny would split some of her time between her home in Ireland and helping establish the shelters in London.

Hermione was positive that with the right amount of money and support she could help bring peace to a tumultuous struggling world in spite of the ever-present hatred. And she even managed to believe and glean a false sense of security from her actions. That was until reality hit her one late September day as she stood in front of Neville's desk in the large study that made up half of the lower floor of their three story home in central London.

"What do you mean there's no more funding?" she asked, her heart constricting a bit.

She had put in an order for books and supplies for a small shelter that had just opened up in western London the week prior.

Neville watched his wife for a moment not missing the flash of anger in her eyes or the determined set of her jaw.

"The Welsh Ministry has withheld financial aid when they heard that some of the youngsters staying there are children of Death Eaters. We can't do this without the cooperation."

Hermione paled, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood.

"And you'll stand for that!" she nearly screeched.

It was unlike Hermione to get so undone and Neville stood and reached for her hand in hopes to calm her down. She shoved it away with vehemence.

"Don't try to placate me or I'll hex you, Longbottom!"

She only called him by his last name when she was furious. Neville wrung his hands helplessly.

"Look, the war only ended a few months ago. I've got loads on my plate and the last thing I want to do is instigate division. Isn't the whole point to keep the peace?"

His voice was wary but tinged with hope.

Hermione's face paled.

"Oh, that's bleeding marvelous, isn't it?" she raged. "Put a few children on the streets because of their parent's sins?"

She flung her hands out in front of her.

"What if it were Leo? You say he's your son, don't you? Would you punish him simply because his father was a Death Eater? Hypocrite!"

Hermione felt a flood of guilt wash over the white-hot rage that filled her but she couldn't find it in her emotional state to realize if she was been fair or not. Neville swallowed back a painful response, choosing his words carefully.

"Blaise heads up the Department of Magical Cooperation and he knows and connects with the other Ministers. I can't be causing problems, Hermione, no matter how unfair it seems. I can't offer you the money to fund another shelter."

She pursed her lips until they were white, her heart pounding within her chest.

"This is for the betterment of wizard kind!"

Neville sighed.

"I know it. And…maybe we just need time, I-"

She flung her hands up again.

"Forget it."

She turned to go but Neville reached to stop her, hating when they were angry with one another. As with everything else, he took his marriage seriously.

"Hermione-"

Thought not as angry as a few seconds before, she pulled away from him.

"I'm going to check on Leo and the governess. And then I'm going for a stroll. Please leave me alone."

She turned to see his pink, pleading face.

"Don't be angry with me."

She was torn but was unable to say anything to appease her husband and instead rushed from the room.

It was cool for September, Hermione decided, as she pulled her thick, warm robes around her body. She was moving down the well-lit street just as dusk had arrived. The trees looked like ominous, hulking masses against the darkening sky and the colored leaves shivered in the slight autumn breeze.

Huddled down into the warmth of her cloak, Hermione moved towards the location of the newest shelter – the one that sodding Blaise and the rest of the stupid Ministry would not help her fund.

What good is it to be the Minister's wife if I feel so helpless?

A part of Hermione knew that she was fighting so hard for the children's rights because her own son would have been in the same shoes had she not lived through the war. And that terrified and appalled her all at the same time.

The brick building loomed at the corner and she hurried across the street towards it. A weak, yellow light streamed from the stoop and she could see a figure huddled there, unmoving.

Hermione paused to catch her breath, her brow furrowing. If the Ministry would not help her, surely there was ways to make the money! She could work again; she could slip a job in between caring for Leo and doing her wifely and public duties. Even if Neville didn't understand she would convince him eventually. Or perhaps they could dip into their savings. It wasn't as if they lacked money, although savings was something Hermione had never believed she would have much of. Now she did.

Or she could ask Ginny.

The options were swirling within her feverish mind as she neared the stoop of the shelter and a dry, horrible cough interrupted her fast train of thought. The sound seemed to be coming from the bowed figure on the stoop and when Hermione neared she saw it was a female.

She was wearing a ragged, dirty cloak and her face was turned away so that she was unidentifiable. Hermione could see the girl's fingers – long and emaciated, as if she were a skeleton and not actually a human person. She was thin and small, shaking as she fought with another violent bout of coughing.

Overcome with pity that seemed endless as of late, Hermione crouched next to the poor soul.

"Let me help you," she offered kindly and the girl turned, startled, a horrified look in her wide, violet eyes.

Violet eyes.

Hermione was struck with a sudden, terrible recollection of a hot, dry afternoon over six years before where she had been tortured by a woman with bright, violet eyes and a beautiful laugh.

Pansy Parkinson.

It seemed that Pansy recognized Hermione at the same time, yanking her hand away as if she had been burned.

"Granger."

The sound was a single, pitiful croak and Pansy began an attempt to get to her feet, her weakness overcoming her at the last moment and causing her to slump forward so that Hermione had to catch her.

"You can't even move," she murmured, helping the other woman back down onto the cement steps.

Still Pansy jumped skittishly at every attempt Hermione made to help her.

Darkness had blanketed them, the only light coming from the streetlamps and the light from within the shelter.

"No one can help me, Granger."

It was odd to hear Pansy Parkinson sound so weak when Hermione had never known her any other way but ruthless and determined. The war and perhaps even life had beaten everything from her, leaving behind a wasted, ghastly shell. Hermione could see bruises and dirt that layered her once flawless features. Her eyes were deep and hollow, much like those of Lavender Brown when she had first arrived at the alienage so many years before. Her hair was oily and lank, hanging around her wan face in thick sheets. In spite of her appearance, or perhaps compounded with it, the cough that shook her frail body seemed to be the most frightening thing of all.

"I'm dying," she managed to choke out.

Hermione shook her head, helping her across the threshold into the dimly lit, stuffy and stale-smelling room. There were a few beds here, and a rickety staircase. Very few people inhabited the place.

"Hogwash," she replied. "No one's ever died from a cough."

She hoped her words were gentle enough to offer some hope to the woman who indeed seemed as if she might die at any instant.

The few who were taking shelter that night watched Hermione lead the weary woman down the dusty hallway with suspicious eyes and she moved a bit faster to get away from them. She knew the hatred that the general populace had towards the Death Eaters.

Merlin's beard, she couldn't imagine what they would do if they knew who Pansy was!

The back room served as a place for storage, though there were few things there and the corner of the room was cleared out and relatively dust-free.

"Here," she offered, helping Pansy down into a sitting position against the wall.

The sick woman watched Hermione with expressionless eyes. She shivered and then the coughing claimed her body.

The evening was growing colder and there were no blankets to be had and so Hermione found herself removing the cloak she wore to drape it over Pansy's frail body. For a moment the coughing subsided and a heavy silence existed between the two women.

Pansy finally spoke.

"You offer me kindness when no one else will."

Her eyes were bright with fever.

"And when I was in your place, I offered you none."

Hermione's throat was dry and she swallowed, though it was difficult.

"Leave the past in the past," she whispered, her eyes watering from some withheld emotion.

Everything, her whole day was forgotten – all the frustration over Neville's inability to help her fund more shelters, the anger over growing prejudice around her – all of it. Her day to day stresses and inconveniences seemed trivialized by the pain she saw deeply seated in the depths of Pansy's once lovely eyes.

The woman who lay prostrate lifted her skeletal hand.

"You…you have been through hell."

Hermione swallowed once more.

"We all have."

There was a long pause and Hermione felt as if there was a crackling in the air between them.

"It is…a sin to be what I am," said Pansy and she pushed up the sleeve of her robe so that Hermione could see.

Her pale arm was riddled with scars and freshly gouged wounds where someone had tried to remove the Mark that still marred her flesh.

"I cannot undo what I have done and now I will pay for it until the moment I die."

Her eyes closed.

"I welcome death. I always have."

Hermione stood by helplessly as Pansy was reduced to nothing but a violent fit of coughing. When it passed she moaned, her eyes fluttering but not opening. Quickly, Hermione knelt to take the other woman's hand.

"I have something that will help the cough," she offered.

"And what?" replied the other woman. "If you reach to help me they'll cut off your hand. That's what they do now, you know. They would rather watch us suffer and die than offer us a bit of help."

Hermione bit her lip, nodding.

"I know, I know."

She squeezed Pansy's fingers.

"But my husband is a Healer; he can-"

Pansy opened her eyes.

"So you got…married?"

Hermione faltered a moment, wondering why talking about her marriage seemed so mundane in the face of Pansy's hardships. It wasn't as if Hermione had esteemed Pansy a great friend and, in fact, they had been enemies. The wraith of a woman that lay in the darkened corner of the storeroom was one who had tortured Hermione! She had intended her to die; she had called her such awful, degrading things.

Hermione's blood still simmered at the though of what she had been through at the hands of the helpless woman at her feet. And yet, she felt nothing now but pity.

"I am the Minister's wife," she whispered and Pansy's eyes widened.

Then she shook with coughs.

"He…he hoped good things for you."

There was an unspoken understanding when Hermione met Pansy's eyes. They both knew it was Draco she spoke of.

She loves him too.

For years, Hermione wondered what had happened to him and now she had her chance and she spoke with a voice that was emotionally strained.

"Did…he suffer much?"

Pansy's eyes had closed and she was breathing evenly even though the sound rattled within her lungs.

"We all did."

"I-is…he alive?"

Nothing had meant more to Hermione than know the answer to her breathless question. Her eyes watered with anticipation as she told herself even if he did live, it no longer mattered to her.

It couldn't; she had moved on.

"He was…with me until the very end," whispered Pansy. "The final battle…it…if we had stayed, we would have died. Most of those…who opposed Blaise fell in battle. I…I ran. I don't know…"

There were tears that left strange, pale track marks along her sallow cheeks.

"He fell and they had gone after him but I…"

Hermione's heart had risen to dizzying heights and then had plummeted into the pits of despair at Pansy's rasping admission. So he was most likely dead, fallen on the final battlefield while Neville had been fighting to win the war for the Alliance.

There was no time to waste then on his demise, Hermione knew. She had to focus on helping the one who had survived – all the ones who survived – with or without the Mark. She wouldn't let Pansy die simply because she had once been the one to persecute her.

"I'll help you," she stated tremulously, blinking against hot tears of loss.

Her fingers shook as she wrapped them around Pansy's icy-cold ones. The dark-haired woman responded weakly, moaning as she began to cough again. Hermione pulled her cloak up to Pansy's chin, hoping to make her as comfortable as possible while she rushed home to get something from their medicinal stores. For now, those things would have to do until she convinced Neville to come help her.

As she got up, Pansy opened her eyes once more.

"I know now…why he loved you so."

It was the last thing she managed to say before falling into a deep, death-like sleep. But the words would make Hermione uneasy and broken for days to come.

Hermione never revealed her meeting with Pansy to either Neville or Ginny and Seamus when they arrived for a visit the following week. She had convinced herself that it was for the better, and she would not stir up old wounds or aggravate her friends and family. Instead, she had taken from the supply at her home bringing the herbs to Pansy and brewing a potion to help with the coughing until the dark-haired woman no longer winced with pain and was able to keep down the bit of food that was given to her.

In the meantime, Hermione had busied herself with finding a new location for a shelter, and in the end decided that public property was more expensive than private residences and she determined to purchase a house to use as the location of the new shelter – and possibly from someone who needed the money. She convinced Neville that it was a good idea and in the end he had laughed, telling his advisors and other Ministry employees that his wife would save the wizarding world, one person at a time.

But it wasn't until one afternoon when she and Ginny, Neville, Seamus and the children had gone out for a flying lesson that she found the perfect house.

They had apparated to a point somewhere outside of London, where the hills were still covered with green grass even though the trees were splendid in their autumn colors. The houses here were majestic and stately, sitting atop small hills and surrounded by fences. Many had gone into disrepair as their owners had fled because of the war. And now, those which had been owned by the Ministry were being sold by the city. Here and there, however, there was still the rustling of curtains from darkened windows as uncertain owners peered out of their homes to watch the group as they passed by.

The house caught Hermione's eyes immediately for it was a tall, three-story brick colonial with a massive yard which she imagined might be good for any children who might want to play. It was not expensive, as she would later find out, and also far enough away from the city that she hoped would deter Blaise or anyone who was caught by the prejudiced fever that had swept the wizarding world.

"Go on," Ginny said when she noticed Hermione's admiration. "We can practice just there," she added pointing towards a clearing nearby.

And so Hermione walked up towards the lovely house, pausing on the porch uncertainly. She heard no sound within and her knock brought no curious face to the front door.

Pausing only a second she began to knock again.

"Hello? I'm with the Ministry of Magic! I'm looking to make a purchase so if there's anyone home-"

She heard a muffled thud from somewhere within the house and it was that which made her try the door. It was stuck but not locked and she pushed it open to enter.

The rooms were dusty and large, with furniture that was covered with white linens. It was clear that the house had not been in use for a long time and as Hermione moved through each room curiously she heard another thud.

It had come from the basement.

"Hello?"

No one answered her but then she wondered if there were others, like Pansy, who were running from…

The Ministry. Could they really have been running from the Ministry?

Have we become so blinded?

Her heart heavy, Hermione found the door to the cellar and it opened with a groan. The light from the room behind her offered only a few steps leading down into a black abyss.

"Hello?"

Once again there was silence and the only thing she could hear was the distant sound of her family and friends as they taught the children how to fly. The sound was like music to her ears even in the shadowy, cool confines of the unknown house.

Perhaps she had been mistaken and there had been no noises. It seemed like the house was abandoned and she would have to call the city to find out how to purchase it. Having decided to turn around and join her family once again, something made Hermione hesitate.

What if she was wrong? What if someone was down there and they needed help just like Pansy had?

There aren't enough people willing to offer help.

Sighing, she steppe down onto the first landing and then sighed. She would have to check. As she descended into the dank cellar, Hermione removed her wand.

"Lumos," she whispered and light burst forth from her wand, illuminating the steps before her.

When she reached the bottom step, her feet meant hard-packed earth. The room was cold and smelled like the grave.

"Is anyone here?"

Finally she heard it. Breathing.

"If…if you need help, I can…I'm the-"

The wand light bounced off the white cement walls as she moved forward and way in the back of the room there was a pile of what looked like boxes of some sort. She heard the same strained, raspy breathing once again and carefully approached the back of the room, wand aloft.

"I'm not here to hurt you," she insisted with a quiet intensity. "In fact, I'm quite good with Potions and I could help you…if you're hurt."

She spotted the worn, dirty boot first and then walked around the stack of boxes.

What she found – more so who – changed her whole life in one horrific, glorious second.

"Sweet Jesus," she whispered, her eyes widening just as she nearly dropped her wand.

Hermione's hands began to tremble as one came up to cover her mouth just as she let out a moan of disbelief. She took a step backwards hoping to find purchase but found nothing and tumbled to the beaten earth floor.

His face was thin and dirty, covered with a full growth of beard the same platinum color as the hair that had grown down to his collar, but she would have known his eyes anywhere – in her dreams and in the darkened corners of a strange cellar.

"D-Draco," she whimpered.

The sound came from the depth of Hermione's heart and was issued forth with a violent rush of joy so pure it brought tears to her eyes. She could see him illuminated by her wand light, his eyes shining with amazement.

She ceased to think; time ceased to move.

Hermione crawled across the floor and threw herself into his arms, breathing in the scent of him – the scent she had never forgotten for it had haunted her darkest dreams. He was hot, perhaps too hot, she thought, but still she clung to him, pressing her face against the sweaty heat of his neck, his beard a foreign, prickling sensation against her cheek. He was so real, so familiar, and she sensed dampness against her skin and tasted the bitter saltiness of tears. Hers? His?

She wasn't sure and could only whimper as Draco's hands came around hers and he let out a choked sob, holding her so tightly Hermione had trouble taking a breath. She straddled his prostrate body wanting to be closer, to be so close to him that they were one. She ran her hands along his shoulders, his arms, anything she could reach if only to assure herself that this moment was real and not just another impossible dream.

But Draco was there and his tears were a reflection of her own just as she leaned in to press her lips against his in a choked, desperate kiss. She forgot herself; she forgot everything that had happened and it was as if time had never moved forward, as if Draco had never been gone.

His fingers wound in the wild curls that spilled around her shoulders and the utterance of her name from his trembling lips burned into her soul and served to remind her that she had been forever marked by this man and that it was only the fool in her that had thought otherwise.

Hermione kissed Draco face, his cheeks, and the scar against his chin, his nose, and his tear-damp eyes as she whispered his name over and over again.

"It's not a dream?" She managed to say and he was shaking his head, smiling even though there was pain evident in his face.

"No, Hermione, I'm here… I'm here, my love…my love."

Yes. Yes, she thought. Love. She loved him, God, how she loved him! She kissed him until she was breathless and even then would not relinquish her hold of him, pressing against his body as closely as he would allow.

"I thought you were dead, I though I'd never see you again!" she rasped.

He was watching her with weary quicksilver eyes that shone with tears by the light of her wand. He had reached up to stroke her face tenderly.

"So many times I thought I would die," he replied in the same strange, raspy voice, as if it would take all his strength to speak above a whisper.

The shock Hermione had felt upon first seeing him had not yet faded and she felt as if she were floating in an impossible dream, because dreams were the only time she had ever seen Draco in the last six years.

Six years.

With a start, she pulled away, her eyes filling with tears of guilt. How could she have forgotten about her family, her son, her husband, even for a moment? What kind of woman was she?

Her mouth tasted of Draco and she wanted to throw herself at him and weep in shame all at once. How was this possible? How had he come into her life after so many years, after she had moved on and made her peace with his incessant memory?

Draco's face fell as he watched Hermione pull away and stand on wobbling legs. His heart could hardly contain what he felt at the sight of her after so long.

"I-I have to go," she whispered, unable to look at him. "I shouldn't have come here. I-"

For a moment she couldn't move, even though the right thing to do would have been to turn around and never look back. But how could she do that? Though her foolish heart felt nothing for him in that moment but love, Hermione knew that the full gamut of what she felt for him would soon surface – the resentment, the pain, the rage – all of it. How would she deal with it? How would she be able to face the rest of the world, the life she had made for herself?

"I've so many questions," she managed to choke out, looking away from him lest he see the indecision in her eyes.

"And I fear that I owe you more than the answers I could offer."

The silence seemed to drag out for a thousand years. Hermione trembled as she spoke.

"I'm sorry. About coming down here and about-"

"I am not," replied Draco. "Hermione, you…you are the most beautiful sight I have ever seen."

The last few words were broken by emotion and she snuck a look in his direction, feeling her face grow warm.

No. No, I can't do this; I can't think about this right now!

Her heart hammered wildly as she spoke with determination.

"I have to go. If you don't need my help I should be getting back."

She had to go; she had to go join her family. Her son.

Oh, dear God!

The enormity of telling Draco that he had a beautiful son caused Hermione to tremble with fear and uncertainty.

How could I even tell him?

She was frozen with despair and it gave Draco the opportunity to reach out and wrap his hand around hers.

"I know why you're leaving," he said in a low voice. "It's because of him, isn't it?"

Hermione let out a small, choked sound.

"H-him?"

"I might be considered the pariah of society but I can still read. It's been all over London. When I first heard, I-"

Hermione turned to stare at him blankly, wondering what he was thinking. But his face was a mask of nothing by wand light. But there was something such intensity in his gaze that Hermione had to look away, her mouth going dry.

"He loves me very much," she whispered.

"How could he not?" Draco replied softly.

She was startled by his response and even more so by the profound sadness that she could now see in his eyes. Suddenly she felt a violent wave of rage towards him that made her want to scratch his eyes out.

But she didn't, instead turning to walk from the room, not know what she would do next.

"Hermione."

She stopped by the stairs.

"This isn't how I meant for us to meet; I didn't intend for us to meet at all, actually. I never wanted your life to…"

There was a long, stagnant pause and Hermione fought with everything her not to turn around. It would be for the best; she could not cave.

"I hoped that you'd find your way. I knew you were strong. I knew you were just waiting to thrive, like a flower bud in winter and now look at you! I didn't dream of hurting you like this. I just wanted one glimpse. Just once, to know you were truly happy as I hoped you were. God, I never…wanted it to happen like this!"

She didn't move.

"One glimpse?" she asked icily. "And then what?"

"And then I'd put oceans between us, Hermione. Don't you see? We could never…after everything that's happened, don't you see that the war tearing us apart was the best thing that could have happened?"

There were things Draco had said already that had tempted Hermione to speak, but she had not. But something in his words was so hard and final that it caused her to turn on him.

"You lied to me! You said we could try someday, when things got better, didn't you?"

"Wishful thinking, wasn't it? You saw the world, the way it was headed! We could never have weathered the catastrophe that's happened!"

"We didn't weather it because you didn't want to try! You ran the first chance you got! You abandoned me!"

She was breathing heavily, torn between tears and rage. Rage won the battle.

"I hate you!" she screamed. "You made me wait six bloody years! How could you? How could you have left me?"

Draco had gotten to his feet in hopes to reach out and calm her. Though he knew he would not stay, this was not the way he wanted to remember her.

"I left because I loved you! Look around you, Hermione! Do you think you would ever have had a chance to be anything with me at your side? What we had wasn't supposed to have happened. We should never have fallen in love!"

They stood, pitted against one another in a war of passion and anger.

"But we did! The war didn't tear us apart, Draco. You did, because you were too much of a coward to try!"

Sighing with resignation, Draco dropped his head as if terribly worn. She knew she had hurt him but Hermione was too angry to feel guilt.

His words were low when he spoke.

"I don't have much time. My rations won't last me more than one more day so I can't stay any longer."

Even though she was angry with him, Hermione could not help herself and she reached to stop him from turning even though he flinched at her touch.

"Where will you go?"

"What does it matter?"

"It does," she replied miserably.

"It doesn't matter, Hermione. I just have to keep moving. Too long in one place and…"

Hermione thought of Pansy and what she had heard about the Death Eaters being punished for their crimes. He would be caught; he would be punished and, God forbid, he would be put to death-

No.

Taking a huge breath, Hermione reached to clamp her hand around his.

"Don't go, Draco."

His brow furrowed.

"Hermione?"

"Stay. I need you to stay."

Nothing had ever been as important to her.