A/N: Thank you for your patience with me on this story. I promise it will be completed. I've got another five chapters written and am editing them now and hope to post with more regularity as I finish this story. I am estimating there will be ~13 "after the war" chapters before the story ends.

48: After the War, Part 4

Late that same night, or perhaps early the next morning, Hermione was woken from a deep sleep by the feel of hands on her body.

"Lucius?" she mumbled.

"Yes, it's me. I didn't mean to wake you."

She shifted on the bed, trying to focus her eyes in the darkness. Lucius was bare-chested as he slipped into the bed beside her.

"Wasn't expecting you," she said softly, trying but failing to stifle a yawn.

"Couldn't sleep. And I'd rather be here with you," he admitted.

"I'd rather you be here with me too, but I didn't think you'd want to leave Draco."

He arranged the blankets around them and then gathered her in his arms, pressing a kiss to her temple, her cheek, the underside of her jaw, and her collarbone before resting his head on her chest. Her arms automatically went around him, and she stroked her fingers through his silky blond hair.

He sighed, and she felt his body relax against hers.

"He asked one of the elves for Dreamless Sleep. He'll be out cold until late morning. Probably for the best. He won't know I'm gone."

"Oh."

"This is nice. I can hear your heart beating like this," he mumbled into her chest.

She smiled in the darkness, and her heart leapt with joy at the idea that Lucius had come to her, that he'd been unhappy and unable to sleep without being close to her.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, still stroking his hair.

"Mmm hmmm. Just tired." His words were punctuated with a yawn. "So much to do."

"Don't push yourself too hard. You need rest too."

"That's why I'm here. Sleep now. No more talking," he said as he shifted into what she presumed was a more comfortable position around her.

"Yes. Sleep. I love you, Lucius," she said as she pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

He was clearly already half asleep, but he mumbled something barely coherent that she thought sounded like "Love you."

She drifted back to sleep, her heart full and content at the knowledge that Lucius loved her and needed her just as much as she loved and needed him.

~oOo~

Lucius was gone when she woke, but the space on the mattress beside her was still warm. She smiled as she stretched in the bed, her limbs brushing the space where he'd slept. It was typical of Lucius to leave no note - she suspected he'd view such a thing as a weakness, and that in the cold light of day, he'd be somewhat embarrassed that he'd come to her in the night, wanting and needing to be held in order to sleep. His secret was safe with her. Still, it was perhaps for the best that he'd already apparently returned to Malfoy Manor, for she had an important task of her own to accomplish on this day: going back to St. Mungo's. She wanted to check on Harry, of course, but there was something else that had been troubling her.

When she arrived outside Harry's hospital room, she was not surprised to see Sirius there.

"I didn't expect to see you yesterday, at Malfoy Manor," she admitted.

He shrugged.

"Andy wanted to go, and if she was going, I thought I should too."

"It was a nice gesture. I… I think it's truly lovely that families who were split by war are coming together to mourn. It gives me hope for the future," she admitted.

"Don't expect me to make nice with Malfoy."

"Draco barely knows who you are," she said of her supposed paramour. "Getting blasted off the tapestry apparently meant that Narcissa didn't talk much about you."

"Harry never had much good to say about him."

She swallowed hard.

"Harry knew about the relationship and gave us his blessing."

Sirius looked taken aback and then shook his head, as if he was still trying to wrap his head around it all.

"Well, maybe I can be swayed in time to be nice to Junior. But I was referring to his father."

He held up a hand, stopping her as she opened her mouth to respond.

"I know what you've said about how he helped you. I still don't know that I trust him."

That was likely the best she was going to get, so Hermione shrugged.

"I can live with that."

Sirius, after all, had lost his best friend and spent 12 years of his life locked up in Azkaban because of misplaced trust. She could understand his reluctance.

"If you came to check on Harry, there's been no change."

"Oh."

"They've tried a few different potions, but they haven't done anything that I could tell."

"Have they had any luck finding any cases similar to his? Or any specialists elsewhere who might have suggestions on how to treat him?"

He shook his head slowly.

"Apparently no one had ever survived the killing curse before Harry either. Everyone's kind of at a loss. The lead healer treating him did say they were reaching out to some specialists in America who might have suggestions for treatment, but I don't know if that's actually happened yet."

"What? Why not? What's the hold up?" Hermione demanded.

Sirius looked tired as he scratched at what looked like several days of stubble on his face.

"Everything. They're short healers and mediwitches who were killed over the course of the war. They were overwhelmed when Pomfrey started sending survivors to the hospital before the battle at Hogwarts was even over. They were short-staffed here when they sent people to help her triage the injured to keep them from flooding the hospital."

"That was…" her voice trailed off as she tried to keep count of how many days or weeks it had been since the battle ended. Everything was running together in her head. "Surely that's better now."

Sirius shrugged. "Perhaps. I haven't been back to the school, so I don't know. But I do know that potions and ingredients are in short supply - I've heard enough of the staff complaining about it and trying to explain to patients why they can't quickly treat some injury or another."

"Why are they short on potions and ingredients?" she asked with a frown.

Sirius looked at her strangely before sighing.

"Sorry - I forgot that you were on the run a lot and not following the news. Death Eaters attacked one of the largest potions ingredient suppliers in Britain. Set fire to most of the greenhouses and fields. Some of the staff were killed, and I guess that's affecting a lot of other places now."

Hermione rubbed her face in frustration. She knew that Professor Snape had been the primary supplier of potions for the hospital wing at Hogwarts, but he was gone now too. She wondered how many other potions masters, apprentices, and skilled herbologists had met their end during the war, further exacerbating what sounded like a bad supply issue.

"They say they're doing everything they can for Harry, but 'everything they can' is affected by all of that other stuff," he said wearily.

"I see. Thank you for telling me this."

He shrugged. "You can go in there if you want."

"I will, but I wanted to ask you something first. This is - well, I'm not sure how important it is in the grand scheme of things - but what happened to all of Harry's things when he was brought here?"

"If you're worried about his wand, don't be. I've got it."

"Good. I'm glad. But actually, I was wondering about his other things. Especially the cloak. I woke up panicking the other night when I realised I had no idea where it was because I knew how upset Harry would be if it had gotten lost or destroyed."

A smile flitted across Sirius's face, and he had a faraway look in his eyes.

"We got into more trouble with that bloody cloak in school."

"I'd question the wisdom of giving school children an invisibility cloak, but it was incredibly useful," she admitted.

He barked out a laugh.

"I've heard a few stories from Harry about the things you all got up to with it. It was stashed in his robe pocket when he was brought here."

She felt a sense of relief slide over her.

"Good. I'm glad it wasn't lost."

"Me too. James would probably return from the beyond to haunt me. That thing wasn't just his - it was an heirloom that had been in their family for generations."

"Really? I hadn't realised it was that old. It's held up remarkably well."

"That's magic for you," he said with a shrug. "Now that you're here, I think I'm going to get a shower and something to eat. You want anything?"

She shook her head. Mipsy had taken it upon herself to try to fatten her up after months on the run and was constantly pushing delicious meals on her.

After Sirius left, Hermione entered Harry's room and took her regular seat near his bed. At each visit, she studied him intently, watching the slow but regular rise and fall of his chest, taking mental notes on his pallor and debating whether she thought he looked better or worse. It was hard to tell.

"Hey you," she said softly to Harry as she sat down beside him.

She'd fallen into a bit of a routine during her visits with Harry. She'd sit beside him and occasionally fuss with his hair or squeeze his hand as she spoke. During her visits shortly after the battle, she gave him updates, little bits and pieces of information about what was happening in their world: the deaths, the funerals, the changes in leadership. It was a thoroughly depressing topic though, and she'd had the thought that if she were Harry, she wouldn't want to listen to talk about all of their friends who'd died.

So instead she stuck with lighter topics. She spent hours talking through some of her favourite memories with him and things they'd experienced together, small moments that had brought them joy. She talked about the books she was reading from the Malfoy family collection and what she was learning. She spoke vaguely about hopes and dreams - about someday restoring her parents' memories and bringing them home from Australia when it was safe to do so, about maybe getting married one day, about the need to obtain her NEWTs at some point and the possible career paths she might want to take.

Most of her talk about the future was mindless prattle. She could admit that to herself, but not to anyone else. There was still too much uncertainty. Death Eaters were still on the loose, Hogwarts was closed, and she was still in a secret relationship with Lucius. She may have mentioned NEWTs to Harry, but she couldn't imagine going back to Hogwarts, not as a student, not after everything she'd seen and done in that castle during the battle. Nor could she wrap her head around how to get from the state of the world as it was at that moment to a bright future in which she and Lucius were happy together in a public relationship and Harry was recovered and Ron was back and everything was as it should be.

She sat beside Harry until she'd run out of things to say and Sirius returned, freshly showered and shaved and in a different set of robes. She made polite conversation with Harry's godfather for a few minutes before leaving St. Mungo's.

In the weeks since Lucius had escorted her out of Hogwarts, she'd always used the floo to St. Mungo's, never stepping outside the hospital. Lucius insisted it was for her own safety, but as it often did, curiosity was beginning to get the better of her. Plus she wanted to visit Flourish & Blotts. She'd yet to visit the library at Malfoy Manor, but she'd exhausted the limited supply of books at the lodge in terms of researching Harry's condition. Until she could get into the manor library, she'd thought perhaps she could pick up a few books at the bookstore or at least begin to make a list of books that might be helpful. Despite Lucius's gentle admonition that she was not a healer, Hermione knew that when there was a problem she couldn't solve, she went to the library or turned to her books. She wasn't an expert, but surely, she told herself, she could help, especially if the healers and mediwitches themselves were so short-staffed they hadn't the time for research.

It was cold and grey outside when she left the hospital, the wind sending a shiver through her and making her clutch her cloak more closely to her body as she looked around. A few people went in and out of the hospital, and Hermione stepped away from the main doors, taking a moment to cast a notice-me-not charm on herself.

She told herself it was for security purposes, which would appease Lucius, but in truth she preferred to be unseen. The healers who treated Harry and the Auror who stayed near his door were used to seeing her, but she was keenly aware of the looks and whispers that followed her as she came and went from the hospital floo, not unlike what she'd experienced at the funerals she'd attended. It was an uncomfortable truth that the little girl who'd always raised her hand in class, who'd been desperate to be noticed, to be admired, to be accepted, now found the attention discomforting.

Safely behind her notice-me-not charm, she paused to take in her surroundings. The hospital's exterior looked as if it had taken some spell damage to the facade that had yet to be repaired, chunks of stone missing here and there. For the most part though, it appeared as though the Death Eaters had thankfully left the hospital alone. It probably helped that it was located in a muggle section of London, having long ago outgrown available space in Diagon Alley. Hermione ducked into a side alley off the hospital and focused on arriving at one of the Diagon Alley's designated apparition points.

She landed in a swirl of magic that left her feeling slightly off-kilter as she took in her surroundings.

From her vantage point, she could see Gringotts Bank, which also looked as if it required exterior repairs. She shuddered to think about just how badly she, Ron, and Harry had damaged the place during their escape on a dragon. It was a good thing Lucius was wealthy, she thought ruefully, for the goblins were apt to hold a long-standing grudge against her over that escapade and might not ever let her back in the bank.

Hermione wasn't sure what to expect as she ventured further into Diagon Alley. She'd assumed there would be some air of jubilance and bustling activity as shopkeepers and workers repaired damage and set the Alley to rights, but there was nothing of the sort.

Instead of the expected crowds, there were surprisingly few people out and about, and the cobblestone streets were mostly empty. She'd never seen Diagon Alley this empty before during the day. Even when she'd gone with Harry and Ron to retrieve the cup from Gringotts, there'd been more people out and about. The normal street peddlers were mostly absent, their stalls locked up. Some looked as if they'd been closed for some time. The only street vendor open advertised devices to supposedly protect the user from dark magic. Knowing what she did of dark magic, she doubted most of them actually worked.

Everywhere she looked, there were 'Wanted' posters from the Ministry. The newer-looking posters depicted known Death Eaters who'd not yet been captured. Hermione shivered again as images of Yaxley and Gibbon screamed at her from their magical moving pictures. Older, faded, and weather-worn posters declared Harry Potter to be wizarding Britain's "Undesirable Number 1," and she saw at least one poster with her own face partially covered by a newer poster for Avery, Jr., who was wanted for crimes against muggleborns.

It was more than a little disturbing to know that regime change merely meant new 'Wanted' posters went up over the old, that yesterday's leaders were today's wanted criminals. She could only hope and pray that the new government Kingsley was rebuilding would last longer than Voldemort's puppet ministers.

Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment looked open, she noticed, but their window display was sparse, and she wondered if that was to prevent theft or if there was a shortage of goods and supplies that extended beyond potions ingredients. She'd been on the run for so long and then safely tucked away at the lodge and hadn't given much thought to how the war affected things of that nature.

Ollivander's was boarded up, faded planks of wood nailed over the door and window. The elderly wand maker had been kidnapped during the war, she knew, but he'd not yet been found. Hermione bit her lip as memories of her visit to his shop crossed her mind, of waving a dozen wands around, her magic sparking erratically based on the wood and the wand core, before he'd handed her a vine wand with a dragon heartstring core. He was an eccentric old man, and she hoped that he was found soon and was alive and well. Nearby, Fortescue's Ice Cream Shop was also damaged and closed.

Some of the other buildings had broken bricks and stones in their facades or signs that had been caught in the crossfire and damaged by spells, and there were small piles of rubble and debris in places. Given all of the benefits of magic, and the way one could vanish rubbish or levitate items, it was surprising to see so much visible damage, although perhaps it had been naive of her to assume people would immediately clean up and get back to normal.

She felt uneasy the further she walked down the Alley, and she slipped her wand into her hand, just in case. A man's voice called out behind her, and Hermione startled, immediately pressing her back to the nearest wall as she cast a shield and a disillusionment charm over herself.

She could feel her heart pound and blood rush in her ears as she tried to slow her breaths, so as not to give her location away.

Danger! Danger! Her mind screamed and her muscles tense.

"Oi! Wait up, will you?"

A wizard in a blue cloak who looked to be in his 30s jogged down the cobblestones, passing Hermione's hidden figure without giving her a moment's thought.

She watched in silence as he moved past her, catching up to a witch in grey who'd just come from Slug & Jiggers Apothecary. She stashed a package in her robes as she wrapped her cloak around her.

"Did the market have what you needed?" she asked.

"No, sold out again. Said to try back next week. Bloody mess it is! Did you get the potion?"

"Just a wee phial, and it's three times what it used to cost," she said bitterly.

"Typical. Well come on, then! No sense in standing about," he retorted.

Hermione watched in silence as the pair walked briskly down the Alley to one of the designated apparition points before disappearing together in a swirl of magic.

She slumped against the wall, trying to catch her breath.

It was nothing. Just people shopping. She took in a slow, deep breath as she forced her body to relax, suddenly feeling small and stupid.

"It's fine. You're just fine," she repeated to herself under her breath.

She paused to smooth her hair and take a calming deep breath.

"It's fine," she repeated as she walked quickly toward Flourish & Blotts.

She was reminded distinctly of being a little girl again, walking home from the park late at night, after the sun had set and the normally cheery-looking elements of her neighbourhood - shrubs and trees and parked cars and such - cast long shadows and made spooky shapes in the darkness. Each sound, the crack of a twig under her feet, the sound of a pebble kicked down the pavement as she walked, sounded ominous. It was easy back then for her imagination to run away from her, for her to think that someone or something could be hiding in the darkness, waiting to snatch her up and harm her in some way.

Except that now, she knew all too well about the things that went bump in the night. Now she knew that the creatures from her childhood nightmares were real and she knew just what dangers truly lurked in the shadows, ready to attack at a moment's notice.

By the time she passed through the familiar doors of the bookstore, her heart was racing.

She'd forgotten about the disillusionment and notice-me-not charms until she was safely in the bookstore and the elderly shopkeeper called out, "Oi! Who's there?" when the door opened but no one was seen.

Hermione hesitantly dropped the charms but kept her wand in hand.

"Hi, I'm, ah… I'm just looking. For books. On healing."

The wizard eyed her suspiciously.

"No charms like that in the store. Can't you see the sign?" he huffed, pointing back at the door.

"I'm sorry. I must have missed it. Books on healing?"

"In the back, along the far left wall," he said, eyeing her suspiciously, as if he expected her to toss on an invisibility cloak and snatch up valuable books before darting out the door. "You looking for something specific?"

"Ah… just books on healing. Thanks."

Hermione ducked her head as she walked quickly to the back of the store, hoping to go unrecognised, unwilling to make eye contact and risk seeing the same sort of curious stares she'd received at funeral after funeral.

She spent the better part of several hours tucked into a corner of the store, looking through their books on healing and magical medical care. Most were unhelpful and focused on general healing spells, potions, and the like or were limited in scope to things like treating quidditch injuries or managing pregnancy. She found a few that were advanced in nature, clearly meant for healers or mediwitches, that included recommendations for healing dark maladies and curses, but she wasn't sure if they were worth buying. She also combed through a section labelled "dark arts," that was more or less worthless. Most of the books were more akin to the texts that had been required reading in years of Defence Against the Dark Arts classes than actual useful texts on dark magic.

Hermione sighed heavily. What she really needed was access to Lucius's library at the manor, but given Draco's emotional state, she was hesitant to ask. When the shopkeeper harrumphed behind her for the umpteenth time before asking again if she needed help, she gave up on the bookstore. She purchased two of the texts on healing, along with a medical dictionary she assumed she'd need to better understand what she was reading. In the last delivery of supplies she'd received from Lucius whilst she and Harry were on the run, he'd discreetly included a small bag of galleons, not knowing if she'd need the funds or not. The purchase at Flourish & Blotts took up a large chunk of her limited funds. She shrunk the books and placed them in her beaded bag as she left the store.

The subject of money was not one she'd really broached with Lucius before in terms of how much she did or did not have. He had assumed, more or less correctly, that she was of limited means once she altered her parents' memories and sent them away. Now that the war was over, she would need to give some thought to her ability to have at least some funds at her disposal. Lucius, she suspected, would be offended at the notion that he was not meeting all of her needs, and she had no doubt that if she merely asked for galleons, he'd give them to her without a second thought. She just wasn't entirely sure how to begin that conversation.

Her lone errand complete, Hermione made her way across the Alley. She'd intended to go straight to the designated apparition point and return to the lodge, but instead found herself detouring down a side street to Carkitt Market, following the sound of voices. A tearoom and a cafe were both closed, boards covered broken glass windows, but some of the shops seemed open, and there were at least more people milling about here.

She'd heard tales, from professors at Hogwarts, and from the Weasleys and others in the Order of the Phoenix, about what it was like after Voldemort's first defeat, when Harry and Neville both lost their parents. She'd heard about owls filling the sky as news of You-Know-Who's defeat at the hands of a mere baby spread across the magical world - there were so many owls flying in daylight that even the muggles took note of it. She'd heard about people celebrating openly in the streets, and how the obliviators had worked overtime when more than a few tipsy wizards and witches displayed magic in front of clueless muggles.

That was the sort of thing she thought she'd find as she walked further down Carkitt Market, but the gloom of the cold, grey typically-English weather seemed to match the mood and those she passed. As she looked around, she realised that nearly all of them looked closer to Lucius's age than to her own, and it occurred to her that these wizards and witches had lived through Voldemort's first rise to power. Perhaps they'd been among those who'd taken to the streets in celebration on November 1st when their world learned that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been defeated by Harry Potter.

The faces she saw today did not look celebratory, and she could not blame them. They'd surely once celebrated the demise of a terrible wizard, only to have him return once more. Now they were afraid, seemingly convinced that the other shoe was still to drop.

She found herself wanting to tell them all, "It's okay! He's truly dead and gone! I was there! I saw it!"

Yet the caution Lucius had instilled in her made her refrain.

Up ahead, a small crowd had gathered in front of a butcher shop, and there seemed to be some sort of commotion.

Hermione withdrew her wand and approached cautiously, curiosity getting the better of her, even as she renewed her notice-me-not and disillusionment charms.

"They said there'd be more today! They said some back today!"

"Been weeks since there's been any beef!"

There were more murmurs and rumblings from the crowd, about shortages of meat and bread and other foodstuffs. Hermione joined the back of the crowd and frowned as she listened to the angry witches and wizards around her. She, of course, had frequently gone without whilst they'd been on the run, but that was to be expected. It hadn't occurred to her that the war had caused widespread shortages, but now that she thought about it, surely economic disruption was a natural consequence of war. She'd heard sad tales from her grandparents about rationing during and after World War II - but that had entailed the near total destruction of the European economy! The magical world was far smaller, and, well, they had MAGIC. Gamp's laws of transfiguration meant it was impossible to magically conjure food, but surely magic provided other means to prevent or at least alleviate shortages?

Somewhere near the front of the crowd, a wizard with a deep voice was trying to get everyone to assemble into an orderly queue to enter the shop. It was, apparently, the wrong thing to say, for shouts broke out, with people yelling that they'd been waiting hours and would not be pushed to the back. Hermione surmised that the shop did not have nearly enough meat on hand to satisfy the demand, and judging from the tension in the crowd, that was not going to go over well.

She began to try to move backwards, away from the crowd, just as more people surged forward, and she found herself abruptly shoved into the people in front of her as she lost the hold on her disillusionment and notice-me-not charms. Panic flooded her body as she fought against the crowd, trying desperately to free herself. Shouting intensified as emotions reached a boiling point. Spells and punches flew.

Her lungs tightened and Hermione gasped for breath. In an instant, she was no longer in a crowded mob in Carkitt Market but in the midst of the Battle of Hogwarts. She could smell the acrid scent of smoke from the burning castle, hear the volley of spells fired back and forth, the muscles of her body aching as she ran, ran faster than she ever had to try to escape the Death Eaters.

Over the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears, she could hear loud pops of apparition and more shouts. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an Auror's distinctive uniform as he grabbed someone and threw him to the ground. Though logically, some part of her knew that someone - likely the butcher - had called in the Aurors for crowd control, her mind was lost in the sounds and terror of the battle.

Escape was all that mattered.

She used her wand to cast a shield around herself to protect from spell damage, and began to desperately force her way out of the crowd. Someone or something hit the back of her head, hard, and she stumbled into a nearby person. Drastic measures would be needed to escape, and she resorted to stunning people and shoving them aside when the crowd tried again to push her forward. She stumbled near the edge of the melee, falling to her knees on the hard cobblestones and losing her grip on her wand. She crawled after it, desperate for escape. There was no Harry to save here. No Lucius to find.

Escape, escape, escape ran through her brain like a mantra.

Her scraped fingers grasped her wand and she cried out when someone tripped and fell over her. She was disoriented, her head aching, and she had no idea where the nearest apparition point was in Carkitt Market. She managed to crawl underneath a closed flower stand, but its proximity to the crowd meant it could easily be toppled if they got closer.

Her hands shook as she shoved her sleeves up her arm, revealing the bracelet from Lucius. She pointed her wand and the monogrammed silver disc on her bracelet and whispered, "portus."

She vanished in a swirl of magic, leaving behind the chaos of the market and landing in a heap in the main hall of the lodge. She tried to stand but fell, landing again on her knees and crying out in pain.

There was a large table in the hall, pushed against the wall and likely purely decorative in nature, but in her confused state, it was close by and seemed safe, so she crawled underneath it, curling herself up to be as small as possible. Her head throbbed, and her knees ached, and she sobbed as she clutched her wand, still holding the shield charm around her.

She was only vaguely aware of Mipsy popping into the hall and hopping hysterically around her, trying to speak to her, the little elf's voice barely cutting through the shield and the din in Hermione's head.

Her sobs had quieted to soft sniffles when suddenly Lucius was there, kneeling on the floor beside her, his elm wand slashing through her shield and taking it down.

"Hermione!? What happened? How badly are you hurt?"

"Missus is like this when Mipsy found her! Missus is hurt, but won't let Mipsy touch her!"

Lucius pushed the end of her wand down to the floor, away from him, and used his other hand to grab her face, forcing her to look at him.

"HERMIONE!"

She startled, and the memories of the battle, the screams and shouts of the injured and dying, the crash of stone and the acrid smell of smoke faded like a dissipating fog, and then she was looking up at Lucius, his face so close to hers.

"There you are. What happened? Where are you injured?"

Still shaky, she gestured to her head, knees, and hands. Lucius began casting diagnostic and then healing spells, and a pain relief potion was pushed into her shaking hands, which she drank gratefully. She was vaguely aware of Lucius lifting her up and carrying her somewhere before laying her down on a soft surface.

"Missus may be going into shock. She must be kept warm."

A thick tartan blanket was tucked around her, and then Lucius was there again, sitting on the edge of the sofa, facing her.

"I was in the midst of a meeting, and my hysterical elf showed up saying you were injured. What happened?"

A wet flannel arrived from somewhere, and he used it to wipe her face, clearing away tears.

She was becoming more aware of her surroundings now, coming back to herself and to reality, the battle once again fading to the dark recesses of her mind. In a halting voice, she told Lucius about going to Diagon Alley and then about the riot in Carkitt Market.

He stood and paced as she spoke, and she cowered under her blanket, hoping he was not angry at her.

"You could have gotten yourself killed!" he said, stopping to look at her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"What on earth possessed you to go out like that?"

"I just… I wanted books, to try to read up on Harry's condition. Sirius told me that St. Mungo's was short-staffed, and they weren't able to do as much for Harry as he'd hoped, and I just thought if I could find some books on healing and dark magic that maybe I could help them in some way," she said in a small voice.

Lucius rubbed a hand over his face, looking frustrated.

"Pet, there is nothing Flourish & Blotts would have on either of those subjects that can remotely touch what is already in the library at Malfoy Manor. If you wanted access to the library, you had only to ask."

"I didn't want to bother you. And I know Draco doesn't like me."

"Draco will deal with it. I will not have you risk your life like that! You could have been killed!"

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You should be!"

She shrank back into the cushions at the harsh tone of his voice.

"These are dangerous times. The Dark Lord is gone, but the havoc he wreaked on our world is not. It is not safe for you to be out and about like that," he said in a quieter voice.

"It was so awful, Lucius - shortages of food, potions, supplies. Why didn't you tell me?"

He ran his fingers through his hair, still clearly frustrated.

"Because you have enough to deal with right now, with Potter as he is, your friend missing, the Ministry hammering you with questions. Not to mention the funerals."

He heaved a sigh and looked at her.

"I was trying to protect you," he said before taking a seat beside her and brushing her hair back from her face.

"You did protect me - the bracelet got me back here safely."

"Pet, you are so important to me. And whether you're comfortable with this or not, you are important to the wizarding world. You cannot risk your life like this. Not for books. Or curiosity. Anything you want, anything you need, you have only to ask, and I'll get it for you."

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I didn't mean to make you angry or to interrupt your meeting."

"I know you are, but I need you to understand the danger you are in. Kingsley told me today that the Aurors have learned from a captured Death Eater that there is a substantial price on your head."

"Lucius, I saw one of my own old Wanted posters in Diagon Alley from before the end of the war. That there's a price on my head isn't surprising."

"Do not be cavalier about this. And do not trust that Aurors will be able to come to your aid."

"They apparently came to break up the riot."

"Yes, but you need to understand that whilst Kingsley and his allies are doing their best to remove compromised leaders from the Ministry and rid the government of the Dark Lord's supporters, they are also trying to run the government, round up escaped Death Eaters, keep the population calm, and restore order to society. It's a monumental task, and frankly, one that will not wholly succeed."

That gave her pause.

"What… what do you mean it won't wholly succeed?"

After everything they've been through, everything they've fought for, the idea of Kingsley's government not succeeding was too horrific to consider.

"There are problems of corruption within the government, loss of life and thus jobs that cannot be filled, problems with securing adequate supplies of everything from food to potions and medical supplies, missing people that must be searched for, Death Eaters who must be captured and tried, and an unhappy populace. It would be impossible for anyone to successfully address all of those things at once. Shacklebolt has been given an impossible task, one that he is frankly unsuited for," he said, counting off the problems on his fingers as he spoke.

"How can you say that? Kingsley is - he's trustworthy! He practically ran the Order after Dumbledore's death!"

"And he is acting Minister for Magic because of his role in the Order. He has the moral authority to lead that many others do not. But he's not a politician. He has no experience beyond working as an Auror and his leadership in the Order. I do not doubt that he will do his best. But you should consider whether someone skilled in guerrilla warfare and sabotage, someone used to conducting business in strict secrecy is the best person to run a supposedly democratic government."

She opened her mouth to respond but found she had no appropriate retort for his observation. It was true. All of it. She'd never once considered it that way, instead thinking of Kingsley as a smart choice precisely because he was NOT a politician.

"He's far better than his predecessor."

"We both know that's not saying much."

"You think he'll fail," she said quietly.

"I think he'll do his best," he repeated. "It won't be enough, but he'll do what he can. We did not get into this state overnight, and we won't get out of it quickly either. Which is why I need you to be more cautious with yourself."

"I will be. I'm sorry," she said with genuine contrition.

"Pet, you need to understand that the Aurors are trying to enforce order in the population. There are concerns about riots over food and supplies. They're also trying to capture Death Eaters and search for missing people. You cannot assume they'll come to your aid. They simply do not have the resources. Please do not put yourself in danger again. I cannot lose you"

"You won't lose me. I promise. I'll be more careful," she said, more than suitably chastised by this sobering conversation.

"Let me see your bracelet," he said, holding out his hand.

She withdrew her hand from beneath the tartan, and he squeezed it gently before pointing his wand at the silver disc. She listened to his words, the chanting of a spell she'd never heard before. The silver glowed and warmed against her skin before fading.

"What did you do?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"Added you to Malfoy Manor's wards. You should be safe to floo back and forth between here and there now, and you are welcome to use the library at any time. But NOT today," he said, just as she opened her mouth to insist on going.

"Why not?"

He looked at her incredulously.

"Because you likely have a concussion. You'll stay here and rest. You can go tomorrow if you feel better."

Lucius left then in a swirl of black robes, headed back to whatever meeting her breakdown had interrupted. Hermione was left alone with Mipsy and a lot on her mind.

A/N: Some elements of life in post-war magical Britain described in this chapter are inspired by Keith Lowe's book, "Savage Continent: Europe in the Aftermath of World War II." Lucius's observations about the difficulties of post-war governance and about Kingsley having the moral authority to lead but not the skillset are also adapted from this book. I highly recommend "Savage Continent" if you'd like to know more about the immediate aftermath of the war, as the subject is often glossed over in history classes, but do be forewarned that some of the content is deeply disturbing.