A/N: Hello all! Look what we have now! We have more Age. Truly, we have the end of Age, in honour of Hermione's 38th Birthday! Happy Birthday our little Álainn! Hopefully, this means the beginning of a bit more writing! You should all thank the illestviking for that - having a wife as a muse is rather useful you know :)

Once again, all of this can never be achieved without the tireless and never ending brilliance of Spin, who I would be lost without.

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It had been painful for Minerva, but downright awful for Álainn, with no sign of stopping. Álainn had only twice been able to speak but vomited more than that before the sun had risen.

The mediwitch had come and gone, but there was nothing the woman could do except pat Minerva's shoulder in comfort. Minerva was fraught with worry. She'd nodded off twice through pure exhaustion, but woke to Álainn's screams. She would not do it again.

At the darkest point of the night, a time when even Álainn's ears started bleeding, Minerva nearly lost it herself. It was only her iron will that got her through it.

She sat, staring at Álainn, who now looked far more like Hermione than the little girl she had slowly, but surely, come to love as her own.

"Min?" came a strangled whisper.

She shot out of the chair and to Álainn's bedside.

"I'm here love," she muttered, lightly touching the clenched fist to let her know. She'd tried holding Álainn's hand through the night, but all the bones felt as though they disintegrated under her touch.

"Water," she croaked.

Minerva summoned a wet rag they'd been using for that purpose. Álainn sucked on it greedily.

"It's easing," Álainn said after a while, and Minerva recognised the voice as definitely belonging to Hermione. "I would not wish this on anybody."

"I know darling," Minerva smiled sadly. "I am so sorry."

Her eyes blinked as Álainn, no, Hermione, turned her head and finally opened her eyes.

"It isn't your fault."

"I should have searched for a better way," Minerva muttered, fiddling with the blanket that Álainn had slept with from the first day Minerva had brought her home from that damp, cold corridor.

"Minerva?" Hermione said expectantly. "Please look at me, I think it's building again and I won't be able to talk for a while." Minerva looked at her, unable to stop the tears rolling down her cheeks. "I do not hold you responsible in the slightest," she groaned and her big brown eyes closed again. Minerva mourned the moment. "You gave me something that is more precious than you will ever know," Hermione managed, before curling up in a ball with a sharp cry.

Recognising that Hermione was now mostly fully grown, Minerva slid into bed beside her as Hermione gripped her tightly again. Hermione buried her face in Minerva's neck, much the same way that Álainn had done so many times, and Minerva could feel hot tears on her skin.

"I love you Mama," Hermione whispered, before going very still for a moment. Minerva could feel the erratic heartbeat and knew it was too fast for her to have passed out before she pulled back to check on her. Hermione's eyes were rolled back into her head and Minerva realised she was having a seizure of some sort.

"Hermione," she yelled, turning them so that she was kneeling beside her rigid form. She held Hermione's shoulders in an effort to prevent any injuries.

Minerva's wand had fallen on the floor as more tears fell, the helplessness filling every inch of her. She dared not let go, but she needed to call for help.

"Minerva?"

Her heart lurched as she heard the voice from the bottom of the stairs.

"Harry!" She heard him take the stairs at least three at a time at her call, skidding to a halt at the door. "Send a patronus to William Pomfrey" She didn't turn to look at him. "She's seizing."

Harry did so without effort or pause, and had she paid more attention, she would have been impressed. There was a horrible crunching coming from Hermione's body, making Harry turn a funny colour as he knelt on her other side, narrowly avoiding a flying arm, but saving Hermione's head from impacting the dresser by the bed.

"What's her status?" William said, stepping through the grate.

"She's having a seizure," Minerva sobbed, no longer able to cope.

"How long?" William asked, doing a manual check of Hermione's pulse.

Minerva tried to answer and opened her mouth to speak when Hermione convulsed and coughed, blood splashing her robes. It was horrific. Minerva slid to the floor, her brain supplying her with nasty thoughts about Hermione's body, splitting in two and tearing itself apart.

She heard Harry and William talking, but paid no attention as she sat with her head in her hands.

It seemed endless. She'd been by Hermione's side for over twenty four hours now and she was exhausted. Seconds felt like hours; hours like lifetimes as she sat practically comatose.

"Min?"

She heard his voice, but her brain shied away from it. She didn't want William to tell her what she expected and that Hermione had died a truly awful death. "Min, eat this."

She did so obediently when he took her chin and touched her lips with a piece of chocolate. She had hoped for a potion that would send her into oblivion, but the chocolate calmed her nerves and brought back some of her equilibrium.

"She's okay," he said gently, though she didn't hear him properly at first. His face relaxed and his hand squeezed her shoulder, easy to feel now she was coming back into her own. "She's okay, she's through it."

She heard it much better the second time. Her eyes widened and she struggled to stand, requiring William's help when her hip gave way. Hermione, Álainn's smiling face greeted her and made her heart soar.

"Oh my darling," she paused. "Hermione," she choked, covering her mouth to catch a sob.

"Álainn," Hermione smiled. "You promised, Mama."

Minerva was sure she'd never cried as much in her life as this night, and blushed a deep red as she dissolved again. Her Álainn had remained and Hermione, with all her memories once more, wanted to be her's still.

She buried her face in her hands and just could not stop sobbing. She tried to speak, tried to apologise for her behaviour, but she was so tired, she could barely even cry. Someone took her by the arm and led her around the bed to Hermione's side. Hermione smiled, though Minerva could see it was pained, and threw back the covers.

"Come cuddle with me, Mama," she sighed, their roles reversed as Minerva clung to the girl, though gently, knowing even through her exhaustion that she must be in terrible pain.

"I'll be here," Harry whispered, dimming the lights and tucking them in. Minerva didn't care. Álainn remembered her and she had not lost anything at all.

They were fine.

Everything was going to be okay.