Blaise apparated in the midst of a countryside surrounded by mountains and forests. The wind was blowing strongly on the surroundings forcing Blaise to tighten his robes around his shoulders so that it didn't fly away.

He stopped for a minute to take in the countryside that surrounded him. It was his first time here and he had to admit, he was captivated by the beauty of the place. It was like a dream.

He saw a small flock of sheep in the distance near a building he thought was a farm. They were at the edge of the woods which were spread to the middle of the mountain facing him. Splendid.

The weather wasn't really welcoming, the sky was grey that day, but it wasn't something that Blaise disliked. He loved the nostalgia given by this weather even if it wasn't appealing.

As he lowered his eyes; Blaise realised that his feet were hidden by the field's long grass. Probably some wheat or some corn, he knew nothing about it all.

A gust of wind brang a particular smell to his nose. He recognised it immediately: rain.

He didn't have to wait long before a few raindrops fell on his nose. He smiled. He was one of the few British people who loved his country for its weather.

He loved the rain, the bad days, the wind and the storm.

Yet he didn't like snow. It was cumbersome, annoying and far too cold. He liked rainy days because it was always easy to cover up and keep warm, but snow always spoiled everything. London would freeze when it snowed. It lost its characteristic liveliness. And Blaise hated it.

A sudden thunderclap sounded beyond the clouds and Blaise decided to set off.

As much as he liked the rain, he didn't want to catch a cold either and in Muggle land, no spell would help him.

He didn't have to walk very long before human civilisation appeared. In the distance he saw the tiny village that Potter had told him so much about: the slate roofs, the stone walls and the chimneys that blew long white smoke.

A smile played on his lips and he hurried on, unfolding the collar of his long coat to protect his neck from the cold.

As he walked past the sign indicating the name of the hamlet, the village church bell rang at six o'clock indicating that he was right on time.

As Harry had told him, he didn't have to walk far to reach his destination. He turned left once, crossed the small bridge in the centre of the village, reached the fountain square and took a pedestrian street on the right.

The shop front that Harry had described to him in detail, so characteristic and distinguished, finally appeared. Des fleurs et des bottes.

Blaise, who had some knowledge of French, couldn't help but smile at the nod to the famous wizarding bookshop in Diagon Alley.

The shop was so beautiful that he was almost afraid to soil the entrance with his dirt-soaked shoes. The outside walls were painted blue and the name of the bookshop was written in black calligraphy. He didn't waste any time and finally entered, ringing the little bell on the door.

Soon Hermione Granger's voice could be heard from the bookshop floor.

"We're closed!" she exclaimed in a slightly shaky voice.

As a few heels clicked towards him, he was taken by surprise by the sudden barking of a dog, hidden behind the counter.

"Stop, Albert," Hermione growled as she reached the bottom of the stairs. "Zabini?"

The man turned his head towards her and smiled. The surprise effect had been successful. Whether it was positive or not remained to be seen.

However, he quickly lost his smile when the dog – which Harry had more or less told him about – came out from behind the counter, staring at him and baring its teeth. He took a step back, frightened.

"Albert, sit down!" Hermione ordered, her eyebrows furrowed.

The animal quickly complied and went back to hiding behind the counter. Blaise allowed himself a deep sigh. Although he didn't know that much about dogs, he knew for a fact –thanks to Harry– that the breed was particularly protective, even aggressive.

He looked up at Granger and immediately noticed the change in her posture. She had lost all confidence, her gaze was shifty, almost frightened, and he noticed that she was relentlessly twitching her fingers.

Albert's behaviour must have distracted her for a moment. Not long enough.

"Did something happen to Harry?" she worried in a shaky voice, putting a hand on the counter to steady herself.

Blaise frowned. He felt stupid all of a sudden. Of course she would imagine the worst. He had come to see her without warning and for the first time. In her mind, there would be no reason for him to pay her a simple courtesy call.

He took a step forward, just to show her that everything was fine and that he was coming as a friend, but she did not react as he would have liked.

She immediately drew her wand and pointed it at him, taking a step back.

He raised his hands to the sky to prove that he was coming in friendship.

"It's all right, Granger, I'm not armed," he promised, stepping back. "I mean you no harm, I promise. Potter is fine, he's the one who told me where to find you."

He kept his eyes on her, as if to back up his words and prove to her that he wasn't lying. He never thought she would be so defensive. But he thought to himself that he hadn't been much better only a few days earlier.

Of course, Harry had warned him that she was not in her right mind, that she was unwell and might be frightened, but he had not imagined that she would be so frightened by his presence.

So he took it in stride. He didn't move a muscle, kept his gaze fixed on hers, his hands raised, three metres away from her. He waited for many minutes.

Finally, he watched her slowly lower her wand, her eyes filled with tears which she seemed to be holding back as best she could.

"Why did he give you my address?" she asked in a trembling voice, clasping her arms around her stomach as if to protect herself.

Blaise finally dared to lower his hands–as slowly as possible so as not to worry her–and put them in his pockets before answering.

"Could we sit down? Or go for a coffee somewhere?"

She frowned and he realised that things were not going to be that simple.

"Answer my question," she just said.

He sighed and lowered his head for a moment. He didn't want things to be like this. They were not in a good position for her to accept.

When he looked up, she hadn't moved. She was as defensive as ever.

"Look, Granger–"

"Zabini, if you don't explain this to me right now, I swear I'll have you out of the bookstore myself and I'll make you regret ever having set foot in there," she replied in a low, shaky voice.

Blaise swallowed and nodded, raising his hands innocently once more.

"We have a rather special service to ask of you. Something that might save someone's life."

She frowned again, but that didn't stop her. She tapped her foot anxiously.

"I don't know if you read the Prophet, but–"

"No. Not anymore," she interrupted him, shaking her head.

She still seemed tense, still frightened and unsettled. He nodded.

"A law has just been passed by the Wizengamot. They've finally opened up the possibility of releasing some Death Eaters," he announced gravely.

"I don't see how that concerns me," she replied firmly.

"They are demanding certain conditions for their release. One of them is–"

He hesitated for a moment. He would have much preferred to do this somewhere else, under calmer conditions. He was frustrated.

"One of them is to marry a squib, a Muggle or a Muggleborn," he finally announced with a sigh.

He saw the wheels of her brain turning through her eyes. Then she realised what he meant and began to shake her head silently. She didn't take her eyes off him, her eyes filling with tears again.

"I thought I could trust you," she whispered, sobbing softly. "I thought Harry understood."

"Granger, I–"

"Shut up!" she exclaimed loudly before obvious regret showed in her eyes.

A vase on the counter exploded. Blaise gasped and felt the magical tension that Hermione was giving off.

"Shut up," she repeated in a low voice.

She was breathing heavily. He internally fought from reaching out and trying to comfort her. He didn't know what to do. He should have sent Potter instead. Or Pansy.

"I don't want to," she whispered with her head down, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I can't. I told Harry. I told him. I–"

She spoke so quietly that Blaise found it hard to understand what she was mumbling. She seemed to be repeating the same things over and over, without stopping. She was ruminating.

"Granger, this is about saving someone, saving a life," he tried.

"But I don't want to save anyone anymore!" she cried in response, raising a tear-streaked face to him. "Don't you understand? I came here to get away from it all, to forget, to experience something other than war, death and constant rescues! I didn't come here for you to show up at my door whenever you need to use my name, my status or whatever, to save who knows who!"

Blaise took a step back under the power of her words and swallowed. Her magic was getting heavier and heavier in the room.

He hadn't seen it that way. He hadn't wanted to listen to his wife when she warned him that Granger might react badly. Potter had seemed confident about Hermione agreeing.

Clearly, he too had been blinded by his desire to see Theo again.

He didn't know what to do. Granger was in a pitiful state. Her dog had even gotten up when he heard her cries and had come to rub against her legs. She was sobbing silently.

"You should go away. I'm sorry. I can't help you," she finally whispered.

oOo

Ginny stood apart from the rest of the guests. She was less and less willing to mingle with the crowds–however small they might be–and preferred the solitude that her place in the back row afforded her.

Of course, she should have been with her family, at the front of the rows of shoddy white plastic chairs, but she had refused. She would only be there for the ceremony. She would take a portkey to join Astoria in Peru as soon as the marriage officer announced that the bride and groom could kiss.

She was looking at all this with a very critical eye. The ceremony had not yet begun and yet everything already seemed more pathetic than ever. Her brother stood at the altar in a basic black suit, too large and of poor quality, even though he could afford one that fit him and looked much better. Percy was his best man. Romilda Vane, his wife's.

The decoration of the hall was simpler than anything else, there was no colour except white which tended to grey in places. The bride's family wasn't present, as they were against the wedding. Only the Weasleys' relatives and the Weasley family filled the room.

The crying of an infant was the only sound that echoed in the small reception hall. She turned her eyes to her nephew and held back a sad smile. She didn't want to let anyone think she was enjoying being here.

Yet she couldn't help but feel sorry for the little boy crying in his grandmother's arms.

Maurice Eustach Weasley, born only two weeks earlier.

She already felt sorry for him.

Lavender had gotten pregnant by Ron by accident. They had been separated for three weeks, for the tenth time in a year, when they had conceived him. Ron had repeatedly told Lavender that she had to have an abortion, that he didn't "want a kid" and that he wouldn't take care of it. Ginny had been shocked to hear this.

Fortunately, Molly had intervened and sworn to her son that he would never set foot in her house again if he dared to impose such a thing on Lavender. She had even urged him to marry her to console her and make amends.

A love marriage, Ginny thought wryly as she heard the music start.

Her brother was an arsehole, she never thought she'd ever think about it openly. He had become pitiful. He'd managed to get off drugs and alcohol the previous year, but he hadn't become a good man for it. The only people he hadn't rejected were his parents. Otherwise, his only friends were those he had made one night in a bar and who had encouraged him to dive into debauchery. The ones who still encouraged him to fall back into alcohol. Ginny hated them. They had taken her brother away from her.

Harry had never spoken to her again after he'd thrown her out of his house. Neither had Ginny and if her mother hadn't forced her to come to the wedding, she had been busy planning their next trip with Astoria.

Lavender made her entrance–in a poorly made dress that was far too daring for Ginny's taste–and she refocused on the ceremony. Her brother hadn't even shaved, nor had he made the effort to fix his tie properly. She sighed.

Glancing at her other brothers, she noticed that they were just as delighted to be there as she was. Fleur and Bill hadn't even brought their daughter, probably not wanting her to witness the massacre at the age of five. The only one who seemed proud to be here was Percy.

The marriage officer began his speech. Lavender kept smiling and almost jumping up and down. At least someone was happy here, Ginny thought bitterly.

When Ron leaned over and kissed his new wife on the lips, Ginny sighed with relief. This was her cue to finally leave. She simply waved her hand in the direction of George and Charlie, who smiled slightly at her, and then turned to head outside to the waiting portkey.

A minute later she was leaving England.

oOo

Hermione was sitting by the fire when her house's old Muggle bell rang.

She was startled and turned sharply towards the source of the noise. She was not expecting anyone. Albert must have realised that something was wrong too, because he stood up from the fireplace and started barking.

"Hush, don't make any noise," she begged him in a low voice, drawing her wand.

Albert stopped barking, but she could hear him growl through clenched teeth as he followed her to the front door.

Hermione's heart was racing. She didn't know what to expect. She had done everything she could not to be found. What if someone came for revenge? What if someone came to kill her?

She must have made a mistake. She–

"Mademoiselle Granger? Are you here? I'm Madame Laroche's son," a man's voice sounded from just outside the door.

Hermione froze, one hand resting on her heart. Her whole body was shaking. How could she be sure he was telling the truth? Her neighbour had never told her about her children.

She discreetly approached the window to try to catch a glimpse of the man who was calling her. Her hands were in uncontrollable spasms and she found it hard to concentrate. What if he was lying?

He was rather tall, about forty years old, with a receding hairline and peppered hair. He was wearing overalls and a pair of boots, and was holding an umbrella in one hand to protect himself from the driving rain that had been veiling the area for the past few days.

Hermione didn't know what to do. The man didn't seem to be armed, but that didn't mean he was familiar to her. It could be a trap. He could be on polyjuice.

There was no indication that she could trust him. The memory of Nagini's attack at Godric's Hollow came back to her mind, only fueling her trembling. She couldn't trust anyone.

Albert was squealing at her feet and rubbing against her to reassure her. He was showing her that she was not alone.

She was not alone. She could face this situation. She had to rationalise things. She had her wand, Albert was there, so she could defend herself.

Eventually, after a few more seconds of reflection, she decided to take action. From the look on the man's face, he was beginning to lose his patience. If he really was her neighbour's son, he wasn't there for nothing.

So, plucking up courage, she opened the door, her wand clenched in her fist behind her back.

"What do you want?" she blurted out in a voice she wanted to be sure.

He was about to leave, but turned back to her, a polite smile on his lips.

"Hello, I'm Henri Laroche, your neighbour's son," he introduced himself, holding out his hand.

She looked down at his outstretched hand, but didn't shake it. Her heart was still beating far too fast. She was on the verge of hyperventilating.

She shouldn't trust him. She couldn't do it. She kept getting bad hunches.

Henri cleared his throat, embarrassed, and his expression became more serious.

"I don't really know what relationship you had with my mother, but I've come to tell you–I've come to inform you of her death."

A weight dropped in Hermione's stomach. She blanched considerably. Her head began to spin. It was unthinkable. What he had just said was unthinkable.

His sentence echoed in her mind as she realised its significance.

He wasn't a fraud, but what he had just said had broken her heart.

Her neighbour had been her only support since her arrival in France. She had invited her to tea several times to chat. She had introduced Hermione to her various animals, even allowing her to take a ride on the back of one of her horses. She was her most loyal customer at the bookshop. And finally, she always took the time to check up on her. She had been there for her, without imposing herself on her life. Hermione could never thank her for that.

She was gone. She couldn't believe it.

Henri continued to speak, but she could no longer hear him. She was somewhere else. Tears had escaped from her eyes and were running down her cheeks.

She felt Albert rubbing her leg, as if to comfort her, and tried to regain her composure.

"My mother left you her two horses, Hera and Ares. She repeats several times in her will that she trusts you to take care of them properly–"

She couldn't focus. She just nodded and smiled falsely. She didn't even know how her muscles were able to smile. She felt completely empty.

Her neighbour had passed away. She couldn't believe it. She was completely out of it.

So much so that she hardly noticed Henri's departure. She greeted him vaguely, closed the door like a soulless corpse and let herself slide to the floor. She burst into tears without being able to control it.