As always, I'm deeply touched by all the reviews, alerts and favorites. Thank you! Once I started the update it came quite easily so here's another segment. Enjoy!

LCailan

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

Lavender couldn't sleep. She lay in the large, empty bed her golden hair splayed out on satin pillows but hard as she tried, sleep remained elusive.

She listened to the distant sound of Muggle traffic beyond the two double doors that led to the second floor balcony. There was the sound of wheels against pavement and the urgent honking of horns. Sometimes there was a lull and she could hear the rush of the night wind. It ruffled the long, white curtains that adorned the windows.

Sighing, she rolled onto her side, away from the windows and took another deep breath. Her mind wandered back to the tense, angry conversation she had shared with Hermione earlier that night.

Why am I angry with her?

Lavender had long ago stopped trying to understand her own motivations. After all, her desires had yielded nothing but heartbreak and loneliness even though those two things had been the least of her desires. She had fallen in love with a man who possessed no heart and had given birth to a daughter with him that would never know real family love. Perhaps she simply possessed destructive motivations.

But why be angry with Hermione?

At even the thought, Lavender's heart tightened and her stomach soured.

What does she know of pain? Has she been dragged through the mud and made to whore herself on the streets of Paddington to make ends meet? No!

Lavender closed her eyes, wincing at the onslaught of bad, twisted memories of her past.

I barely survived while she married a Weasley! She became Draco Malfoy's mistress while I was rejected by him!

Startled by her train of thought, Lavender gasped. She was taken back to that wet early summer night when she had first laid eyes on Blaise. It was on that same night that Draco had so coldly rejected her.

I wasn't good enough for him but Hermione was?

Her heart was pounding and a long seated resentment and envy fueled her anger. For a long time there was only silence but then Lavender heard a thump from below and sat up, golden hair cascading down her back.

Most nights Blaise did not even come home anymore but it seemed that this night was different. For a few moments there was silence and then she could hear his heavy tread on the stairs in the hallway, coming closer and closer still. She turned her head a second later to see his dark form framed in the doorway. In the dimness of the room he looked like a blackened shadow.

"Blaise."

Lavender's voice was pleading. She knew she needed him. It wasn't just a physical need though that was part of it. No, it was all encompassing; it was a need born of love. A love she had nurtured for years and one that grew more desperate with each rebuff.

He walked across the room wordlessly, sitting down on his side of the bed. She could see his eyes glittering. Perhaps this would be the night he would reach out to hold her. She would feel his arms around her once more and he would stay through the night. Lavender couldn't remember the last time Blaise had shown her an ounce of warmth or a fraction of affection. All she had were faded memories now.

She had been changed by the war but he, too, had changed. And changed completely. In place of the man she was in love with there was only a heart filled with emptiness; there was only horrible beauty.

"Why are you still awake?"

His voice was roughed with disuse, soft and melodic just as it was in her fantasies.

"I always hope you'll come home. It's hard to rest without you."

It seemed the most possessive of comments but she knew it was undoubtedly true.

Her fingers ran along the satin duvet, reaching for his, finding them and resting hers there. Much to her joy he did not pull away, instead gazing at her, searching her eyes with his own.

"I saw you tonight, talking to Hermione Longbottom."

Lavender hid her disappointment as her spirits dimmed. So it wouldn't be about wanting to spend time together; it was never about that anymore.

"I…yes, I saw her tonight."

"She is a fool."

There was a silence as Lavender longingly stared down at their joined fingers, her white against the dark color of his skin. She knew better than to reply. In moments like this Lavender knew he could only hear himself.

"Longbottom is a fool just like his wife," he muttered.

His fingers began moving along her knuckles. "Instead of aiding me in eradication the fool is more interested in keeping the peace! How can we have peace if the very thing that we fought against for so long still exists? Until it is wiped out we won't know peace!"

His voice had grown more feverish in the darkness, holding darkened notes of melancholy and anguish. It was a beautiful voice but Lavender knew that it sang only a song of discord. As the moments passed, Blaise grew more agitated but he never moved from the bed or removed his hand from his wife's.

"He lets that woman of his rule his heart and I fear she has nothing but bad intentions."

It was odd, Lavender realized, how little Blaise knew about Hermione. She was the kind of woman one wanted to hate simply because she was so good. But when Blaise was in one of his moods there was no reasoning with him and so she remained silent hoping to fall into his good graces.

"Did she tell you anything?"

His voice had grown honeyed and warm. Lavender looked up into his face inches from hers.

"What do you mean?"

"Anything that could allude to what is happening within the Ministry offices?"

"Wouldn't you know?" she questioned. "Don't you work there?"

Blaise's grip on her hand tightened.

"They tell me nothing!" he exclaimed with irritation. "They think I should focus my attentions elsewhere."

Blaise pulled his hand away from Lavender's taking with him the warmth and contact that she missed and craved like the air she breathed.

"Blaise, please-"

She found herself being silenced by the all-encompassing touch of his hand against her cheek. She shivered at the contact, willing it to never end.

"You know her better than I do," he whispered. "You know if she'd be up to something."

"Up to something?"

Lavender's echo felt stupid to her own ears. Blaise was too preoccupied to notice that his wife was enraptured by his attentions.

"You know Neville Longbottom isn't truly the one that runs the Ministry. It's his wife and I question her loyalties to the Alliance. After all, her fallen lover was a Death Eater."

His words dripped with disdain and Lavender blinked, searching his fevered face.

So are you, my love. So are you.

It was the height of insanity but she didn't dare speak her mind, afraid that he would take his touch from her and leave her lonely and lost once again. Without him, she was nothing. Lavender ran her fingers along his cheek tenderly before speaking.

"He-he was your friend once."

Her reminder was murmured gently but it fell upon deaf ears.

"One who does not fight for the same cause as I was no friend of mine."

Oh, God. What has made him this way?

Lavender shuddered, wanting to curl against Blaise's warmth and forget the rest of the world. She was so sure, so positive that if he would just love her again that all would be right. But-

"Friend or no friend, Draco is dead."

She saw a smirk playing on Blaise's shapely mouth.

"They tortured him months ago. He knows where the remaining Death Eaters are."

Lavender shook her head wishing he would stop talking about his work and focus on her the way he did in her long-lost memories.

"Blaise, did you not hear me? He is dead."

It was madness, this obsession he had with eradicating the world of the remaining Death Eaters. It was complete and utter madness and it was destroying him. Lavender stood helplessly because she couldn't do anything and it was eating away at him, twisting his mind, his emotions, his actions – everything. War destroyed people; it crippled and it created fears. And in others it fostered insanity.

"Blaise."

He ignored her, hands limp in hers, eyes glazed over. She was both troubled and angered by his distance.

"Blaise!"

This time her voice was shriller, more demanding. His eyes flickered as he gazed from the window with its billowing curtains to the troubled face of his wife.

"What?" he snapped.

"Why don't you listen to me!" she cried out. "Why don't you open your eyes and see what's really happening and not what you bloody want to see?"

He remained infuriatingly calm.

"I've long ago stopped understanding you, Lavender."

Even the way he spoke her name lacked something and she wanted to weep at what was lost.

"What about me? What about our family and everything we dreamed about?"

Her hand tightened on his.

"We can have that now," she whispered emphatically. "If you would just let go of the past and move forward, Blaise. I want that and so does Daisy. We need you!"

And how much! She could only pray now that somehow, something would get through to him. Blaise watched her curiously.

"You have everything you've ever wanted."

Tears shimmered in her eyes.

"No, not this way," she moaned. "Not this way. I want our family and I need your love. I need you to be…to be-"

It was hard to put into words the loss she felt and all the months of loneliness. How could she tell another person exactly how much she missed them even though they were right there?

There was a crippling, electric silence. Then Blaise grabbed her by the shoulders and covered her warm lips with his demanding mouth, pressing into her and taking from her what he wanted all the while Lavender cried inside at the feeling of being emptied out and left to wither.

They were breathless when he pulled apart.

"You search for something you never lost," he hissed. She saw resentment and madness in his eyes. "And you say I've changed?"

His laugh was a sibilant hiss.

"Look at yourself, Lavender. You wanted me for so long and now that you know who I am you aim to search for a man that never existed!"

"You've changed!" Lavender cried out tearfully, feeling heated from his kiss. "You're not-"

"I am who I am. Make your peace with that."

He was gone and she was left alone in a room where the only sound was the late night wind against the windows. And she could not find peace within her.

The rest of the world could still have been at war, the madness all consuming and destructive, but Hermione had finally found her peace. In the circle of Draco's arms everything she had lost was found again and all the time that had passed no longer mattered.

I am whole.

It was not just a fancy; it was a feeling. It was true and more real than anything Hermione had known in all her thirty years. As she watched his face she knew she'd be damned before she let him go again, no matter what the consequences.

Draco watched her somberly but as it had been in the past, Hermione could not determine what he was thinking. The only thing she was certain of was that he loved her as she loved him. The love between them had never gone away and that certainty was both saving and destructive. Hermione knew without Draco, half her heart would always be missing and the half-life she lived would never feel complete. And yet she knew to be with him, to make such a choice, would mean to destroy everything she had built.

It meant starting all over again and how could she do that? How could she even think of doing that to-?

"I'm sorry."

He words sad.

Draco ran his long, elegant fingers through the messy curls around her shoulders, bringing her face close to his for another, lingering kiss. Melting into him seemed the most natural thing in the world and for a few moments all her worries and guilt shimmered into the back of her mind.

When he pulled away, Hermione allowed herself to get lost in his eyes.

"I'm sorry about everything that's happened, Draco. I'm sorry about…tonight, about…not being able to-"

She was shamed now, color flooding her face and neck. Was she truly so weak? Was she that simple minded that another man had so easily made her stray? Hermione knew her feelings to be much more complicated that that but in the moment, she felt dirty.

"It takes two, Granger."

Her heart skipped at the way he said her name – just as he had so long ago. Pressing his forehead against hers, Draco sighed.

"You apologize to me? A man who clearly possesses no nobility and good intentions?" he asked wryly, pressing his lips against her flesh for a moment. "I can't help loving you, Hermione. It's bigger than I am."

Hermione was silent though she knew in her heart of hearts she agreed.

"I know," was her reply.

"It's shameful. I hate the man you call a husband. He's a good man and a kind person and I hate him! I hate him and I made you break you vows to him and I don't bloody care!" he managed to rasp. "I don't care because it means I can be with you like this again," he finished, reaching down to cup her body against his with a groan.

Hermione felt a flooding heat wash over her as her eyes fluttered shut.

"I know," she moaned again. "I know it's wrong Draco but I want you."

Her eyes opened.

"Time never stopped but my heart did," she admitted. "It stopped that day at the train station in Wales and it never started again until I saw you in the cellar and that's the irrevocable truth."

They gazed at one another, so much unspoken and yet so much understood. Draco leaned down to wipe away a single tear that had made it's way along her crimson cheek. She leaned to entwine her fingers in his and brought them to her lips tenderly.

Draco closed his eyes, sighing. There was no peace like the one he had found in Hermione's arms. There was no truth like the one created by their love. There would never be anything as timeless and indestructible. She was good and beautiful and most of all, she was his. Still his after so many years and lost hopes. She was still the light in his darkened life and he would never, ever again leave her.

Not even now when she wasn't allowed to be his.

"Hermione, tonight changed everything."

"Yes."

"But nothing all at the same time."

"Yes."

Her voice had broken and Draco found himself not wanting to hear the answer to his next question.

"What happens now?"

The silence served only to increase his anguish and he sought solace with another kiss. He expected sadness when they pulled apart but saw only determination in the depths of her endless, amber eyes.

"Now I protect you the way you protected me."

Her voice was certain and her eyes shone with certainty.

"What?"

"I'll keep you safe because I love you and I can't bear to lose you again. Here, in this house for now. But Neville and I have funded new clinics all over the city and…there's a place, in Ireland where-"

His blustery response interrupted Hermione's hurried planning.

"No! I can't let you do that," he said his face turning pink. "To risk your life like that and destroy the family that you've created? And Leo, he doesn't know anyone but Longbottom. I can't-"

She stopped him.

"I love Neville. I will always love him for what he did for me and for giving me a family and giving Leo a father when his real one wasn't there. But I love you too and I won't let you go again. It's that simple."

"Hermione-"

"Don't 'Hermione' me."

His jaw stiffened.

"You don't know Zabini. He's a madman."

He watched as Hermione shook her head with vehemence.

"You're wrong; things have changed. I do know Zabini. I'm the Minister's wife, remember?"

This was said wryly but it still caused Draco's breathing to grow shallow and his belly to twist with jealousy.

"The way he tortured those people after…after the final battle…I don't think I can explain, Hermione."

She had grown serious.

"I know he's not right, Draco. I know it but he's just a wizard."

"He's dangerous."

"And I can handle myself."

"It's not worth the risk!"

She was silent for a moment, thoughtful.

"Why was I worth the risk to you? Back when I was at the alienage?"

Draco thought back to that time, his mind muddled and his heart heavy. She had been his light; an infallible beacon in a dismal, frightening existence. She had captured him long before he had loved her. For a moment, Draco couldn't quite look at Hermione.

"That's…it wasn't the same. You couldn't even…"

He stopped and then sat up, pulling her with him and Hermione gazed at him steadily.

"Pansy is alive."

Draco paled all other thoughts flying from his mind in that moment.

"What?"

"She came to London; she was looking for help."

His face crumbled, the shame and regret painted it its lines.

"Oh, God…I wondered what had happened to her! She was so strong! She stood with me when everyone else abandoned us. She loved me…"

He hung his head.

"Merlin's beard…I can't believe she's alive," he whispered in shock.

Hermione reached to still his trembling hand.

"She's alive and well. And she's still strong, Draco. She's helping those who survived the final battle. Those ones that Blaise knows are still alive and tortured you over."

Draco refused to look up, feeling overwhelmed at the news that Pansy was alive. He stared down at the dusty floor as Hermione gently prodded him to move across the room to the old couch that took up the back corner. Then he felt her small body pressing against his as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Hermione?"

"Yes."

"Who? Who is she helping? Who…survived?"

He felt her frown.

"I don't honestly know. Pansy wasn't…forthcoming with information. She begged Neville's help and he agreed. I've been trying to help her for weeks. Even before I knew you were still alive."

Draco finally looked up and it took almost everything in him not to break down.

"You're too good, Hermione," he said cupping her face in his hands. "Too bloody good. Both of you!"

And yet he resented Neville Longbottom even more than he had a moment before. Why did he have to be so sodding good? Why wasn't he a fucking prat so to give good reason for his fiery hatred?

Hermione seemed unaware of Draco's inner turmoil as she leaned up to press her lips against his cheek.

"I wanted to help her the way she helped me. The way you both did. It's only right."

"No, Hermione. It's not right that I've put you in this position!" he exclaimed. "And I won't let you risk your life for me. You know what might happen if Blaise gets wind of this? Fucking Death Eaters! He'll destroy you and your husband!"

Hermione was startled by Draco's growing vehemence and pulled away as he jumped to his feet.

"You'll tell your husband to back off. And I'm done listening to you."

His gray eyes were glittering slits as Hermione stood to face him. She was defiant and beautiful in her refusal to back down.

"You'll do what I want you to," she said with a smug expression on her face. "I know it because your heart is my heart."

Draco shook his head.

"I won't let my desire for you destroy what you've built. That wasn't what was supposed to happen."

He remained stubborn even though he knew she would see his cracks.

"And you made me love you. That wasn't supposed to happen," she reminded gently.

Gods, her voice was like music to his ears and Draco faltered. So weak, he knew. He was so weak in the face of everything she was.

"Hermione…"

"I love you and I want you for as long as I can have you."

Draco stared.

"What about after? What about when I'm free in Ireland or whatever bleeding marvelous part of the world you think I'll be safe in?" he spat panicked at the thought that one day soon he'd be separated from her once again. He couldn't bear it and yet she stood there watching him calmly, assurance glimmering in the depths of her eyes.

"We can't worry about that now, Draco."

"You're bloody mad."

"It is madness but I know now that I can't be without you. I tried that. And I also tried staying away and I can't. You said it; we can't control this…thing between us. You know why? Because this thing is real and true love and I know you know that!"

Draco watched as Hermione stepped closer to him and her wildly beautiful eyes challenged him to say differently. He couldn't. And with that, he flung out his hands helplessly.

"So what then?" he spat incredulously. "You protect me in this sodding house until you can transfer me somewhere else? You hide your dirty little secret while you go on with the rest of your fucking life with Neville and MY son?"

His eyes watered from withheld emotion.

"I can't do that!"

She shook her head.

"I told you already; I love you. I won't deny that. I can't lie and tell you that I don't love Neville because I do. But my heart is with you."

Draco couldn't speak; it was as if the words were stuck inside him without a way to escape and so Hermione continued.

"I never intended to hurt anyone but I know no matter what happens someone…"

Her face fell and as she struggled to continue Draco found himself wishing he could take her guilt. After all, he was just as guilty.

"I broke my vows to him," she whispered. "To a man who has been nothing but wonderful to me and Leo and whose only sin is that he's not you."

Draco felt an inexplicable sadness blanket him.

"Hermione, that's why…that's why I can't do this thing. I can't let you-"

She reached to link her hand in his.

"Be it horrible and selfish, I love you. I know it might be wrong and I know that it's going to cause pain but if you walk away I'll simply die."

He was rooted in place, unable to move from her embrace.

"Tell me you understand; tell me you feel the same."

Hermione searched Draco's face and found all she needed there, in the depths of his quicksilver eyes. She reached up to caress his cheek tenderly.

"I can't worry about what's going to happen and I won't think on the past."

Draco closed his eyes at the touch of her fingers and took a shaking breath.

"Draco, we could run. You and me and Leo. Leave here. I could…I could create a diversion and we'd be gone before anyone knew!"

He saw both the despair and hope that flickered across Hermione's suddenly pale face but still she clung tenaciously to him. It was her stubbornness that was her undoing. Now. And before, at the alienage too.

He felt himself smirking.

"That's just madness, you know that," he murmured with a sad shake of his head. "Even if I wanted to-"

Hermione grew impassioned.

"You do! You do want to; I can see it on your face. We can run, Draco!"

"I have nothing to offer you, Hermione! Nothing to offer Leo except this damned Mark on my forearm that brands me as an abomination," he whispered raggedly, his eyes watering. "What kind of life would you have with me? I'm a wanted man; I always have been. Nothing has changed."

Her lips quivered.

"But I love you."

"And I adore you more than my life. It's always been true and that's why I won't let you do this crazy thing."

He reached to touch her hand with his for a moment and the silence stretched between them until he cleared his raw throat.

"I want you for as long as I can have you," he whispered, echoing her earlier words.

"Living with you isn't…that's not a choice I'm willing to make," she replied with passion.

"I know."

He wrapped his arms around hers and pulled her against himself, stirring each one of his senses. Leaning down he willed their problem to the back of his mind, deciding that for now, she was here. And he had her.

"I'm here now."

She leaned up, her eyes fluttering closed and her heart beating quickly with both desire and despair.

"Don't let go, Draco," she whispered. "And don't give up hope. I'm going to do everything I can to make this right. I promise. It won't be easy and it will involve risks but it's worth it, isn't it?"

It was, he knew. He answered her with a kiss.

Ireland

The morning sun rose along the navy horizon and early threads of light pierced the crowded room. The shadowed forms that sat and lay on the dirty ground moved slowly, some moaning others gasping for air.

In the midst of it all stood Neville, leaning over one of the forms, a phial full of blue liquid clasped in his shaking hands. The sunrise seemed to dispel some of the heavy darkness he was feeling but nothing eased the burden he felt.

Death Eaters.

It wasn't like he hadn't faced them before, was it? After all, there had been the battle in the Department of Mysteries, hadn't there? And what about the bloody fact that he, Neville Longbottom, had defeated Lord Voldemort? Now if Voldemort hadn't been a Death Eater, he didn't know who was.

Why do I feel so on edge?

The men and women gathered in that small room were the remnants; they were the remainder of the human souls that Blaise Zabini had targeted for destruction. They were Marked – and not only by the glaring dark smudges on their forearms. Neville wasn't sure how many of them still remained. And he wasn't sure exactly why he had agreed to this supposed madness. Was it Hermione? Or had it been the knowledge that without acceptance there would never be peace? The end of the wizarding war should have brought with it peace and yet still some stoked the fires of anger and stirred the beginnings of deeply-seated prejudices.

As he crouched down before a man whose face was shadowed by a thick, tattered hood, Neville decided that everyone deserved a chance at survival – even those who had so blatantly tried to destroy the existence of the very ones that were helping them now. It was irony.

"Hold still," he said in a low whisper and the man hissed and pulled away once more, cradling an arm which was garishly painted with deep, open wounds.

"It bloody hurts!"

"I can't make it stop hurting," said a very calm Neville. "It's cursed; I don't know what sort of curse but I do know that sometimes those kinds of cuts won't heal. The best I can do is help you bandage it. And the salve will help."

His assurance was gentle and then hooded man relented once more, offering his battered arm and only moaning as Neville began his silent work. As he worked, Neville's mind wandered. It wandered to quieter days and more pleasant mornings. Mornings that he had spent in his laboratory at the Clinic in Cardiff. He recalled yellow sunrises and hours of research. He had recollections of warm tea and his Weird Sisters records.

And there I was, wishing for more, wishing I could better help the WERA!

And he had, Neville realized. By ending the war and ushering in the wizarding world's new era. With that had come too many changes. Hermione had been the best change and the one thing he truly embraced. She and Leo meant the world to him and as he finished bandaging the man's arm, he realized that it was this and not much more that was his driving force. In spite of the fact that Hermione could not completely open up to him and so he was being kept in the dark about the time she had spent in the alienage.

Time, she just needs time!

The logical part of his brain knew that the more time passed the less valid this excuse would become.

Certainly she was traumatized. Perhaps she can't talk about it.

He had mulled that over for ages and wondered if perhaps there was no cure, no amount of love that could rebuild trust after someone had been so damaged.

But if I give her enough reason to trust me...perhaps just a few more words of love and of support…

It seemed futile, but Neville had determined long ago that he would not give up on Hermione or their relationship. He loved her; that much was for certain. Everything else he would have to hope for. And there was never any gain or satisfaction without risk.

He refocused on the task at hand and swallowed. The word 'risk' seemed quite right in describing his current situation anyway.

Here I am, Neville Longbottom, Minister for Magic. Helping the Death Eaters while most of the populace around me is crying for their blood.

The hooded man's other arm lay face up on the dusty ground, the Mark black and garish against his bruised and lacerated flesh. It was evident that the man had attempted to remove it. Neville had seen far too many such attempts. As he pressed the damp cloth against the red scratches on the Marked flesh, he sighed.

"You know, trying to remove it won't take away the stain of what you are."

The man jerked his arm away with a vicious yank.

"Why don't you piss off, you sanctimonious-"

"Theo!"

The thin yet commanding voice rang through the room and both men turned to see Pansy Parkinson framed in the doorway. She held two rucksacks full of supplies that Neville had managed to gather in the dead of night, when all other eyes were sleeping. She walked forward slowly, her violet eyes trained on the man lying on the ground.

"That's your Minister you're speaking to."

Neville sensed a hesitation in her soft words and he wondered if she too was finding it difficult not to be defiant. She knelt down on Neville's other side and pulled back Theo's hood. It was then that Neville recognized him.

The bloke had been quiet in school; he hadn't been one of those Slytherins who had taken great pleasure in mocking him. His face was a purplish-white color, weary from hunger and abuse. But his eyes still snapped defiantly.

"I haven't forgotten," he choked out and then his body went limp against the ground.

Neville remained silent, watching their exchange.

"Then show some respect."

Pansy Parkinson was a woman of few words, Neville had realized.

She had met him in the middle of the night and together they had set off to find a place to call a safe harbor until the building of the first shelter and clinic was completed. They had discovered a small, brick building that had once served as storage space at the edge of the property and there she had had helped him set up camp. All the previous night she had worked feverishly and had not uttered one word so that Neville did not know if she was hungry, cold or weary. Perhaps the war had made all those things so commonplace she no longer felt them? Even when they had taken breaks and he had offered her food she had only thanked him and lapsed back into endless silence broken only by an occasional, weary coughing.

She was unfailingly determined and fiercely loyal. Neville had found himself wondering what she had been doing for the old Ministry all those years during the war. But he never asked.

The moment of tense silence between Pansy and Theo passed and then she stood, leaving behind the sacks of supplies she had carried into the crowded room. Neville watched her move gracefully between the fallen bodies as if she had done it many times before. She disappeared down the back hallway leaving him alone once more.

He cleaned up quickly and then clumsily made his way towards the same exit, careful not to fall or trip over the Death Eaters too weak to move. He found Pansy standing in the doorway that faced the wooded property that surrounded the building. In the distance the building site could be seen and the clinic was going up at a rapid pace thanks to the spells that the builders were weaving.

He stood next to her and watched as the morning breeze picked up and ruffled rogue strands of her long, dark hair. Even after the weeks of care Hermione had given her, Pansy looked like a mere skeleton covered with a fleshy casing. The only thing that signaled life was the glimmering of her eyes. They seemed to overflow with abundance of life.

"He was afraid."

Neville jumped at Pansy's sudden words.

"Peg pardon?"

"Theo," she continued. "He was afraid. We all are."

Neville felt and odd sense of resentment settle upon him.

"Why? Because for the first time in your life you have no control? No Muggle-borns to push around? Is that it?"

There was no change in Pansy's expression and Neville began to grow irritated. She stared out at the building site and then her eyes flickered over him briefly.

"Fear is always there. Control is a distraction. When you no longer have it, you feel the fear that you were trying to pretend wasn't there."

Neville stood away from her rigidly, favoring his good leg.

"That's rubbish."

He heard her snort softly.

"You don't think we felt fear?"

"It was those you discriminated against that had the right to feel fear."

There was a tense silence before Pansy spoke again, this time about Voldemort.

"He controlled us with fear; it was all some of us knew. The fear was always there. We each handled it differently but we all felt it. Some reacted with violence. Others grasped onto a cause that didn't exist. And some chose cruelty. The truth is that if you don't show your fear they can't control you. We are only human."

Neville marveled at such an admission because in spite of her displeasure with conversation, he felt that she was a strong woman.

"That's true. And those thousands you hurt were only human too," he pointed out tersely. Once again, Pansy chose silence for a moment or two before replying.

"You act as if there is no prejudice on your side, Minister. Take a look at the Commandant. Perhaps it is much closer than you realize."

Neville found himself growing defensive.

"You think it is my choice to keep Zabini in his post? He has a following that I cannot understand and it would be madness to remove him from his position! You know better than I what he has done for the WERA and the Muggle-borns. He's a war hero."

Pansy offered a sad smile.

"Indeed. And I know more about what he has done to his own people than you ever will. How quickly he turned on those who bear the same Mark he does. How twisted his own prejudices have made him. Ambition is as destructive as violence and often times one doesn't realize it until it is much too late."

Her words were small now and Neville realized how weary she truly looked. He also realized that she bore a heavy burden that he could not understand and in some ways he wanted to.

It was a surreal moment for Pansy, standing in the company of the Minister that early spring morning. Freedom was so close she could nearly taste it and she wanted nothing more than to put down the burden she had been carrying for much too long.

First, the burden of fear, of wanting to be strong in the face of her own fears and weaknesses. The belief that her position within the old Ministry would give her all the assurance she would ever need. Then there had been the burden of loving a man who had never loved her and rejecting all those who would want her. Even someone as vile as Marcus Flint had been.

Pansy had never been a fool; each time her wand had taken the life of an innocent soul her burden had grown more daunting. She was suddenly caught up in faded, broken memories.

Her father telling her she would start working that Ministry and that it would behoove her to work as hard as she could because his connections and not her talent had gotten her the job. Her tears of frustration as she had set aside the rest of her life to prove her father wrong and to show the world that she could do something. The voice of Bellatrix Lestrange heaping praise upon her for doing her job right. The sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach as she tortured children, women and men, all the while hiding her fear behind the cracking shell of glee and laughter. And flashes of her moments alone, behind closed doors, knowing that she was good at what she did and she was squandering it because she feared-

That particular burden had been almost too much to bear and yet somehow…she was still alive. Still strong and willing to face another day.

Freedom…Pansy needed it like she needed each breath she took. She needed to find a place to lay down the weight she felt. The odd thing was that the man at her side would be the one to help her – both he and his wife.

Funny how not even in my imaginings did I believe I would ever be at the mercy of Hermione Granger. How nothing is the way I thought it would be.

She chanced a glimpse to the man on her left and thought back to her school days, for they were the last days she clearly remembered him. He had been a fat, dumpy boy, one of those that were perfectly suited to be the butt of all the school pranks. Of course she had been popular and like most girls her age had not been able to help herself when it came to bullying. Pansy had always had a penchant for bullying. He had been ungainly and quiet, easily frightened and slow to retaliate.

She had felt secretly sorry for him.

And now?

Now he was no longer a boy and boasted more integrity and bravery than all those who had poked fun at him. Life and irony went hand in hand.

He stood stiffly as if pained by some old injury and was not much taller than she. He was neither fat nor thin, a bit round actually, with a shock of brown hair that fell into kind and understanding eyes even at the most dire of moments. Pansy wasn't sure how she knew that but she just did. He carried himself slowly, if not a bit clumsily and was dressed in clothes she fancied her grandfather would have worn had he still been alive. He spoke softly and had a shy smile.

Neville Longbottom was a good man and Pansy had ever known any good men. She loathed and admired him all at the same time.

"You know we have freedom of choice," he was saying. "Fear should never be used as an excuse."

She thought his voice carried too much knowledge as if he had experienced what he was saying and learned from it. She found herself pondering his words.

"You say that to me but look at yourself. Is it your fear that drives you to keep Blaise in his position? He threatens the very peace your Ministry is striving to uphold. I may be an abomination in the eyes of the new world but I know things."

For the second time that morning, Neville and Pansy regarded one another both holding a measure of distrust for the other.

"Do you fear Zabini?"

Neville remained silent and she continued.

"A wise man would, Minister."

"And why should I listen to you?"

"I may have fallen on many occasions, but I know how to lead people."

She turned her head slightly towards the building behind them from which a hushed mumbling could be heard.

"It is no coincidence that they turned to me."

Neville responded a few moments later.

"You say you've done horrible things. Do you think this will make up for them?"

Pansy lowered her heard and her words were contrite.

"I no longer think or believe in much, Minister. Only that this is the right thing and I've spent too much of my life doing everything but what was right."

The birds twittered in the trees beyond them and then the breeze picked up for a moment. The sun was warm upon their backs and just for a second their animosity seemed to have melted away. The stirring from within the building grew louder.

"I have my duties," she said then. "To those who are waiting for me to help them. So do you."

She paused before turning around.

"Think about what I said. It's not just because Zabini so easily turned and tortured those who fought on my side during the war, Minister. That has something to do with it but it's also because he will turn on you as well. Give him time and reason."

Pansy watched his back for a moment wondering what he was thinking and why she even cared. But in the end she knew that if they had any chance of survival it lay in the hands of the Minister for Magic, no matter who he was.

"You will never make a choice that will please everyone. But some choices are better for your people in the long run while others…"

She finally fell silent, uncertain of what was too much. Finally, Pansy decided she had said enough and opened the door to the building just in time to see him turn, a pleading expression in his face. But she did not wait to hear his question and slipped into the building, letting the metal door fall shut behind her.