Forgive and Forget (Chapter 19)
Chapter 19: At a Crossroads (Part 1)
And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last long aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question 'Whither?'
Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?
~ From “Acceptance”, by Robert Frost
When Draco awoke, the sun was just cresting the horizon, filling the bedroom with pale morning light. The window had been left open the entire night, making the room uncomfortably cool, and he shifted instinctively closer to Hermione to draw from her body heat. He could still smell the rosebuds outside on the terrace, and he closed his eyes to breathe in their scent, which mingled with Hermione’s fragrant hair.
At this thought, Draco’s eyes snapped open, and he drew himself away from the temptation of Hermione’s warm, inviting body. He pulled back the covers and forced himself to crawl out of the comfort of his bed, cringing when his bare feet struck the cold, hardwood floor.
His sudden movement caused Hermione to roll over and stretch out her arms to where he had been lying before, and her face crinkled into a frown. It was as if she could sense his abandonment, even in her sleep.
Draco sighed. The previous night had been a mistake. He had wanted it to be a clean break - if such a thing was even possible at this point. When Hermione had found him on the terrace, he had tried to pull away. He had even tried resorting to his old tactics of being cold, sarcastic, and distant, thinking that it would be easier for her to end things with him that way.
But of course, his efforts had been in vain. No matter how many walls he tried to erect between them, Hermione would always find a way through. For the first time in his life, all of his barriers were down, and he had her to thank - or blame - for that.
With another sigh, Draco retrieved his clothes from the floor and dressed himself. Then he closed the window to shut out the crisp morning air before he turned to exit the room. He hesitated on his way out the door, looking back at Hermione’s slumbering form. He didn’t want to wake her - didn’t want her to see him leave. But he couldn’t resist returning to her side one last time to tuck the blankets more tightly around her and press a feather-light kiss to her forehead. She stirred again, her eyelids fluttering as she mumbled something incoherent under her breath, but she did not awaken.
In that moment, Draco wondered if he was making a huge mistake leaving her and ending this…well, whatever this was that had developed between them. But when he saw the peaceful look on her face as she slept, he knew he was making the right choice. Hermione had had to fight so long and so hard - fighting to belong to a world that at times, tried to reject her; trying to save that world from the clutches of a power-hungry madman. For once, didn’t she deserve to have something she didn’t have to fight for?
Hermione deserved to be happy - that much, Draco knew for sure. He couldn’t comprehend the depth of his feelings for her, but he knew that she deserved so much more than a clandestine relationship, hidden in the shadows as if it were something shameful and wrong. She deserved to be more than a mistress he came to under cover of darkness when the cold, formal embrace of his pureblood wife didn’t satisfy him. Hermione would never agree to such an arrangement, and he could never bring himself to ask it of her. Even considering it as an option was, in his mind, selfish and cruel.
For a moment, he entertained the idea of preserving their friendship at the very least, but it didn’t take long for him to realize that that, too, was impossible. He wanted all of her, body and soul, and to have to settle for anything less would be more torture than he could possibly endure.
No, this was the best way. He couldn’t give Hermione anything else, but he could give her this: a clean break, a fresh start, and a chance to be with any man she wanted - any man but him.
With great effort, Draco turned to leave the room once more. This time, he forced himself not to look back.
The day was sunny and clear, even though a bit of chill still lingered in the spring air. A large crowd of wizards and witches was streaming through the front gate and onto the school grounds, filing into the rows of seats that surrounded the podium where Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt would soon give his speech. Not far behind the podium stood a tall, lumpy object covered with black cloth, which Hermione knew was the new monument the Ministry had erected in honor of the fallen.
The ceremony was about to begin, and she scanned the crowd of attendees, looking for any sign of her friends. Soon, she caught sight of Ginny, Dean, and Luna sitting in a row of chairs near the front, waving to get her attention, and she made her way briskly over to them.
“Where have you been?” Ginny whispered, as Hermione took the seat next to her and adjacent to the aisle. Ginny immediately zoned in on her friend’s red-rimmed, puffy eyes. “Are you okay? What happened?”
Hermione shook her head.
“I…I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispered back. “Not now, at least.”
To Hermione’s relief, Ginny didn’t press her any further. Regardless of how concerned Ginny had been about Hermione’s interactions with Draco over the past school year, she rarely pushed her to talk about topics she wasn’t ready or willing to talk about. Unlike other girls, like Lavender Brown or Parvati Patil, who never would have let the subject drop, Ginny was the sort of friend who knew when she shouldn’t cross the line. However, she didn’t stop shooting furtive, worried glances in Hermione’s direction.
She would tell Ginny the whole story another time. For now, she needed time to think and come to grips with what had occurred the night before.
The crowd continued to grow around them, but Hermione was so lost in her own thoughts, she barely noticed. That morning, she had awoken to find nothing but cold sheets and a rumpled pillow where Draco had once been. Since the very first night they had ever spent together, she had never awoken to an empty bed. Even when he awoke before her - which was often the case - Draco would usually lie there, idly playing with her hair, or teasing her awake with languorous caresses. His absence, more than anything they had said to each other the night before, had confirmed that whatever had developed between them over the past several months was officially over.
Hermione had had no desire to linger in that room once she discovered Draco was gone, and so she had risen from bed and returned to Hogwarts, steeling herself for the reality she was about to face - the reality of a world that no longer included him.
Now, she sat silently beside her friends, watching, but not seeing, as more witches and wizards arrived to swell their numbers. It wasn’t until she felt someone’s hand on her shoulder that she finally shook herself free of her reverie.
“Mrs. Weasley!” she exclaimed, as she turned to see the kind-eyed witch standing next to her. She rose to her feet, staring awkwardly at the older woman for a few moments. But her anxiety was unnecessary, because Mrs. Weasley promptly opened her arms and pulled her into a warm embrace.
“Hermione, it’s so wonderful to see you, dear,” Mrs. Weasley proclaimed, stepping back to grace her with a genuine smile. “We missed seeing you over the hols.”
“Oh, um, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come. You see, I…”
“No explanation necessary, my dear,” Mrs. Weasley cut in with a shake of her head. “I completely understand.”
Hermione gave the woman a shaky smile - and then noticed the gathering troop of redheads behind her.
“Hello, Hermione,” Arthur Weasley said with a grin, reaching out to shake her hand. “Long time no see.”
“Hello, Mr. Weasley…Hello Percy, Charlie.”
As Hermione shook hands with the male members of the Weasley family, Mrs. Weasley moved on to greet her daughter and the remainder of their friends, and soon the entire Weasley clan was sliding into the seats behind them, filling almost the entire row.
George arrived next, with the surprising addition of Angelina Johnson on his arm. They waved and rushed over to join the rest of his family, squeezing into two of the last seats in the row.
“Hello, Hermione,” Angelina said, smiling brightly. “Aren’t your parents here?”
“Um, no…Mum and Dad would’ve come if I asked them to, but I thought they might feel a bit out of place. You know, being Muggles and all.”
“Oh, I see.”
“So…” Hermione began, lowering her voice and arching one eyebrow. “You and George, huh?”
Angelina grinned.
“Yeah, guess you could say that.”
“I’m so glad,” Hermione said, with a genuine smile. She was pleased to have a distraction from the miserable turn her own love life had recently taken, but the distraction was to be short lived. For, at that very moment, Ron and Harry arrived, hurrying over to find seats with the rest of the stragglers.
“Hey!” Harry said in greeting, slightly out of breath. “Sorry we’re late, everyone. Auror training went a bit over.”
“It’s okay, they haven’t started yet,” Ginny reassured him, giving him a quick kiss and pulling him down into the empty seat next to her. Ron paused at the end of the aisle near Hermione, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. Hermione swallowed nervously and tried to avoid his eyes, but it was no use. She supposed this moment had to come eventually, and there was no use delaying it any longer.
“Hello, Ronald,” she said crisply.
“Hey,” he answered. There was an uncomfortable pause, and, out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Harry and Ginny exchanging glances. She sighed with impatience. It was her and Ron’s first meeting since breaking up, and she really wished it didn’t have to take place under a microscope like this. She hoped their brief exchange of greetings would be the full extent of their conversation. At this point, after everything she had been through with Draco the night before, she didn’t think her nerves could handle any additional strain.
However, to her dismay, Ron spoke up once more.
“Look, Hermione, I was wondering…”
At that moment, there was a rustling in the crowd of spectators as a procession of Hogwarts professors and high-ranking Ministry officials, led by Kingsley Shacklebolt, began to make their way down the central aisle, heading towards the podium. Ron let out a resigned sigh.
“Never mind,” he muttered. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Then he brushed past her to take the last empty seat, which was further up the row, next to Dean.
Hermione felt an enormous surge of relief at being spared from what would likely have been a very awkward conversation in front of their friends. She folded her trembling hands in her lap, smoothing the skirt of her black dress, as she waited for the ceremony to commence. Then, suddenly, a wave of whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire, and she turned to see what the source of the commotion was.
There, making their way to two seats at the back of the assembly, were Draco and his mother. Narcissa held her head high, feigning ignorance at the crowd’s reaction to her entrance. Draco looked slightly less at ease than his mother, but Hermione thought this may have been because she could read his emotions better than others would be able to do.
For just a moment, their eyes met, and Hermione felt as if her heart were lodged in her throat. His face was an unreadable mask, a calm façade, but she could have sworn she saw it waver for just a second, hinting at emotions that roiled just beneath the surface. Then Professor McGonagall stepped up to the podium to address the crowd, and Hermione forced herself to tear her gaze away from Draco and focus on the ceremony.
It was a difficult thing to sit through. It began with Professor McGonagall giving a speech rather similar to the one she had given at the start of the school year, in which she emphasized the importance of unity in the Wizarding community. Then, in a voice that quavered at times, she read off the names of those who had fought for the side of the Light and fallen in the war against Voldemort. Hermione thought she’d had a grasp on the number of people who had died in the war, but it wasn’t until that long list was read off that she realized the staggering volume of lives lost. It was hard for her to maintain her composure when Professor McGonagall listed a name that she knew. When Fred Weasley’s name was read off, she could hear Mrs. Weasley’s small sob from the row behind her, and when Dobby’s name was listed, she saw Harry lower his head and blink rapidly.
After all of the names had been read off, Kingsley took Professor McGonagall’s place at the podium, and after one stern glance at the witches and wizards gathered before him, the crowd fell silent once more, waiting for him to speak.
“Good morning,” he said in his rich baritone, which had been magically magnified with a Sonorus Charm. “We have all gathered here today to mourn the lives that were lost in the war against Voldemort.”
There was a slight ripple in the crowd, from those who still cringed at hearing the name spoken out loud.
“At this place, one year ago, fifty souls were lost. That does not include the hundreds of others, both wizard and Muggle, who were killed in the Death Eater attacks, raids, and interrogations that preceded that battle. And you may ask yourselves, what is the best way for us to honor them?”
Kingsley paused and gestured at the covered monument yet to be revealed behind him.
“This monument, as large and beautiful as it may be, is not enough. The best way for us to honor those who paid the ultimate sacrifice is by how we live our daily lives. It is not in how we shape the stone carvings of this monument, but in how we shape the future of the Wizarding World.”
With a wave of Kingsley’s wand, the material covering the monument disappeared, and the sculpture was revealed. Hermione had not known what to expect - and a part of her had been afraid that the monument would be something gaudy that wouldn’t represent the lost loved ones appropriately. She was pleasantly surprised to find that was not the case. The monument was tall and breathtaking to behold, illustrating an intricately carved phoenix rising from flames. At the base of the statue, there was a smooth block of granite, in which were etched the names of those who had given their lives in the war. Staring at the phoenix’s outstretched wings, Hermione felt her spirit lift for the first time that day.
“My friends,” Kingsley continued, once the murmurs of approval had died down. “Today we stand at a crossroads. We can choose to do as we had done before - to forget what these people have died for, to forget the lessons we learned on this battlefield. We can choose to regress, once more, into a society that labels witches and wizards according to their birth status and ostracizes those who are different from us. We can let Voldemort’s message live on, allowing it to consume our world in the flames of bigotry and hatred.”
At this point everyone seemed to be leaning forward, hanging on Kingsley’s words, and Hermione thought she could detect at least a few guilty-looking faces in the crowd.
“Or,” said Kingsley, “we can create a new world for our children where they will not be defined by their blood status, and where the word ‘Mudblood’ will not exist except for on the pages of their History of Magic textbooks. That is not to say we should forget what our society used to be, because if we do, how can we measure how far we have come? We must never forget the sacrifices that were made on this day, one year ago. We must never forget where we’ve been. But, like the artist who shaped the stone of this sculpture, we must allow our experiences to shape us into better people, and a better society. Like a phoenix, we can rise from the ashes and begin anew.”
Draco wondered which level of Hell he had been banished to, as he stood beside his mother in the Great Hall, surrounded by mourners, Ministry officials, and other “champions of the light.” Since the time they had arrived at the memorial service, whispers and stares followed the Malfoys everywhere they went. The other attendees made no attempt to hide their disgust at Draco and Narcissa’s presence at the ceremony, and the words “hypocrite” and “Death Eater scum” fell from their lips with so little discretion, it was clear they wanted to be overheard. They wanted to make sure the Malfoys felt as unwelcome as humanly possible.
Well, they had certainly succeeded…although one would never know it by looking at Narcissa Malfoy. Draco couldn’t help admiring the way his mother held her head high, facing the crowd’s scorn with steely resolve. It wasn’t until they had made their way to a quiet corner of the Great Hall that she finally spoke.
“The fools,” she muttered, in a whisper only Draco could hear. “Why, not long ago, those same Ministry officials were clamoring for your father’s attention, and trying to charm their way into his pocketbook.”
Draco shrugged. He was still rather angry with her after the conversation they’d had at the Three Broomsticks the day before, and he didn’t feel like giving her the enthusiastic support she was looking for.
“Times have changed, Mother.”
“So you keep saying,” she replied, darting a glance in her son’s direction. “I notice something else has changed as well. Is it true - or perhaps I have simply imagined - that you and Hermione Granger don’t seem to be on such friendly terms this morning?”
Draco gritted his teeth, but before he could issue a retort, his mother’s attention suddenly strayed elsewhere. Her eyes widened as she stared at someone standing on the other side of the room. Draco turned to follow her gaze, and his eyes came to rest on a tall, dark-haired woman who was talking to Luna Lovegood while jiggling a toddler on her hip. At first, his attention was captured by the baby’s vivid, turquoise hair, but then he looked more closely at the woman who was holding him.
For the briefest moment, he thought his Aunt Bellatrix had returned from the grave, and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest at the thought. Upon further inspection, however, he realized that the woman was not Bellatrix at all, though she did bear a striking resemblance to her. Her curly hair was a shade lighter, and pulled up in an elegant chignon. She possessed the same austere beauty, but where Bellatrix’s face was emaciated and sallow from years spent in Azkaban, this woman’s face was soft, kind, and rosy-cheeked. Her resemblance to Bellatrix, in combination with his mother’s startled response to seeing her, all but confirmed her identity for Draco: She could be none other than his mother’s sister, Andromeda Tonks.
“Mother?” Draco murmured. “Is that who I think it is?”
Before Narcissa could reply, Andromeda seemed to sense their stares, and she turned to face them, her own eyes widening with surprise and recognition. For a moment, the two women stared at each other from across the room, and the air between them was wrought with tension. Then, suddenly, Narcissa turned her back on her sister, tugging her son’s arm in order to lead him away from the scene.
“I think it is time for me to leave,” she said in a level voice that betrayed none of the conflicting emotions Draco saw in her eyes.
“But Mother, don’t you think -”
“Now, Draco,” she snapped. Then, at the sight of his concerned expression, her face softened somewhat. “I’m quite all right, dear. Just caught off-guard. Would you mind escorting me to the front gate?”
Draco hesitated, still startled by his mother’s behavior. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her act this unsettled. Even in the presence of Lord Voldemort himself, she had always managed to project a pretense of calmness, but now she appeared anxious and upset. He knew that she had been estranged from Andromeda for many years, but he hadn’t expected her to have this strong of a reaction to seeing her sister in person once more. It aroused some of that newfound compassion within him, causing his previous anger towards her to fade into the background.
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed. “Let’s go.”
The relief on his mother’s face was evident as the two of them exited the Great Hall and made their way to the front doors. However, when they were mere steps away from exiting the school, Draco heard a familiar voice calling his name.
“Malfoy, wait! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Draco turned, and to his surprise, found Harry Potter chasing after him. Immediately, he stiffened, and he felt his mother do the same at his side. Hadn’t they had enough awkward encounters for one afternoon? Draco worried about Potter’s motivation for seeking him out. Had he heard about what had occurred between him and Hermione the night before? Was he there to exact revenge for what he considered mistreatment of his best friend? However, the expression on the other boy’s face was not anger.
"Mr. Potter," Narcissa acknowledged in a strained voice. Potter gave a stiff nod in her direction.
"Mrs. Malfoy."
Draco glanced from one to the other, sensing enough tension in the air to cut with a knife.
"Er...Potter, why exactly are you looking for me?" he asked finally.
"Oh, there's someone who needs to talk to you."
"Now?" Draco asked with a scowl.
"Yeah, it's...kind of someone important."
Draco looked over at his mother, who gave him a tight smile in return.
"I can see myself to the gate, Draco," she said. "I will see you at the Parting Ceremony in a few weeks. Until then, good luck on your studies."
She dropped a quick kiss on Draco's cheek that nearly made him die of mortification (In front of Potter? Has she gone mad?!). Then, with one last regal swirl of her robes, she strolled out the heavy front doors of Hogwarts and left him alone with his old adversary.
The two boys stood awkwardly for a few moments, and Draco gave Potter a glare that clearly bespoke dire consequences if he made any remark about the kiss he had just received from his mother. Luckily for Potter, he made none.
"Uh, follow me," he said instead.
With a bored shrug, Draco followed Potter down the corridor. He tried to appear ambivalent about their destination, but he was genuinely curious about what had motivated Potter to come looking for him. Who could possibly want to talk to Draco so badly? And what did Potter mean when he said "someone important"? Draco's heart thudded with anxiety as he wondered if it was a Ministry official who had questions about his or his father's former Death Eater activities. Surely his family had put those days behind them by now? He looked at Potter out of the corner of his eye, but other than seeming slightly uncomfortable at the idea of being alone with Draco, the boy's expression gave no other clues to his feelings. As the two of them made their way through the school halls, Draco thought back on the brief, tense encounter that had just occurred between Potter and his mother.
The last time Harry Potter and Narcissa Malfoy had come face-to-face had been at his parents' trial. To the surprise of the entire Malfoy family, Potter had given testimony about how Draco's mother had saved his life during the final battle with Voldemort by pretending that he was dead in the Forbidden Forest. This testimony had likely spared all of them from serving time in Azkaban prison. Draco knew his mother felt a sense of gratitude towards the boy; she was reluctantly, grudgingly grateful -- but grateful, nonetheless. It was the same feeling Draco felt towards him, after he had saved his life in the Room of Requirement.
That was a wizard's debt.
He wondered if Potter knew the gravity of such a debt, given that he'd been raised by Muggles. Draco certainly understood. His father had warned him countless times, for as long as he could remember, never to underestimate the power of a wizard's debt.
’A Malfoy never allows himself to be in debt to anyone ,'his father had always said. Then again, when you're trapped in a room full of Fiendfyre, you tend to run out of options pretty quickly. Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled. Of all the wizards in the world, he had to owe his life to Harry Potter. Karma really was a bitch sometimes.
"Here we are," Potter said, pulling Draco out of his thoughts. He looked up with surprise to realize they were standing in front of the large griffin statue that guarded the entrance to the Headmistress's office.
"Tartan knickers," said Potter, and having said the password, the statue sprang aside to grant them entrance. When Draco glanced at Potter with raised eyebrows, the boy shrugged, a smirk worthy of a Slytherin lighting up his face. "What? You don't think Professor McGonagall has a sense of humor?"
Draco merely rolled his eyes and followed him up the spiral stone staircase to the Headmistress's suite. When he entered the room on Potter's heels, he was surprised to find that Professor McGonagall was the only person there. If she wanted to speak to him so badly, why hadn't she done so at the brunch downstairs? And what did she want to talk to him about? Had she heard about what had happened between him and Hermione?
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, we've been looking everywhere for you," she said in greeting.
"You wanted to speak with me, Professor?" Draco asked uncertainly.
"It was not I who made the request." She turned behind her to address one of the portraits hanging on the wall. "I trust you'd like to speak to him alone, Severus?"
"Please, Minerva."
Severus? Draco thought, in shock. She couldn't possibly mean...
Sure enough, Professor McGonagall stepped aside, revealing Severus Snape's portrait on the wall behind her, where Draco knew it had not been before.
"Mr. Potter thought it would be appropriate for Professor Snape's portrait to hang in this room, in light of...certain circumstances that we were made aware of after his death," McGonagall explained, and Draco turned to Potter in surprise. The other boy shrugged, looking mildly embarrassed.
"He was Headmaster, for a time," he explained. "It took a lot of convincing to get the school's Board of Governors to agree to it, but they finally gave in."
Draco shook his head in amazement. He couldn't imagine what had compelled Potter to fight to have Snape's portrait installed in the Headmaster's office, but from the look of discomfort on Potter's face, he decided against asking him about it.
"We'll just leave you two alone, then," McGonagall said, sweeping past him and out of the room with Potter close behind her. "Come back downstairs whenever you're ready," she added, and then closed the door behind her with a soft click.
Draco was left alone to face the curious stares of a room full of portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses, but there was only one that captivated his attention. Severus Snape stared down his long nose at Draco, his hair just as greasy, and his dark eyes just as unreadable, as they had been in life. Yet, in spite of the fact that he had once been one of his favorite teachers, and a longtime friend of his family's, Draco felt as if he hardly knew the man. All along he had been a spy for the Order. All along he had been doing Dumbledore's bidding, not Voldemort's. He had been fighting for the other side, and even though Draco was glad Voldemort had fallen, he couldn't help feeling a bit betrayed by his old professor, for having kept him in the dark for so long.
"Well, boy, I didn't summon you here just to have you stand across the room and gawk at me," Snape snapped, and Draco almost grinned in spite of himself. That was definitely the Professor Snape he remembered from his childhood. He finally crossed the room to stand before the portrait, gazing up at his former Head of House. The man's dark eyes narrowed as he studied Draco, and Draco wondered if it was possible for a painting to perform Legilimency on a live person. He reasoned it probably wasn't, but it still made him nervous.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes, Draco. There was much I was not able to tell you before...before everything that occurred last year. There were many things that went unsaid between us. No doubt you have been informed about my true allegiance during the war against Voldemort. You must understand that it was necessary for me to keep many things secret from you, not only for your own safety, but mine as well. At the time, I wasn't entirely sure where your own loyalties lied."
"At the time, I'm not sure I knew where my loyalties lied," Draco mumbled. Severus’s eyebrows rose at these words.
"And are you sure about them now, Draco?"
"I...I know now that it was a good thing that the Dark Lord fell. It would have been bad for my family - for everyone - if he won.” Draco paused, uncomfortable about the turn the conversation had taken. “Professor, not that I’m not happy to see you again, but…what exactly did you bring me here to talk about?”
"I hear you have befriended Hermione Granger," Snape replied. Of all the things his former professor could have chosen to discuss with him, this was the last one Draco expected him to bring up.
"Yeah, we’re friends. I mean…we used to be.”
“Used to be?” Snape pressed. Draco nodded again. He was beginning to feel like one of those stupid Muggle bobble-head dolls Hermione once told him about.
“I assume your parents did not approve of your friendship with the girl,” Snape continued. It was clear he was just as uncomfortable with the topic, but felt inclined to pursue it anyway.
“Mother certainly didn’t. But I didn’t dare tell Father. Professor Snape, you know how he’d react.”
“Indeed.”
There was a discreet cough from a portrait higher up on the same wall, and Draco glanced up to see that it had come from the direction of Professor Dumbledore’s painting. However, the elderly Headmaster was asleep in his armchair - or at least pretending to be. Draco returned his attention to Snape.
“Draco, I know you must think me ignorant on this topic,” Snape continued, pretending not to have heard his former colleague’s interruption. “However, I feel that I may be able to share some advice with you, based on my own past experiences with a Muggle-born girl, a long time ago, that came to a rather unfortunate end…”
"Are you talking about Potter’s mother?" Draco queried, before he could stop himself. Snape's scowl deepened.
"I see Potter still hasn’t learned when to keep his mouth shut," he said grimly. "Exactly how many people know about my history with Lily Evans?"
"Just about everyone in Wizarding Britain. Potter announced it in front of everyone during the final battle."
Draco tried to suppress a smile at Snape's indignant reaction to this news. Of all his old pastimes, getting Potter into trouble was one he wasn't about to let go of. It was simply too much fun to give up.
"Regardless," Snape continued, "I do not want you to make the same mistakes I made, Draco. To be haunted by that kind of regret is not something I would wish for you -"
"Who cares what you wish for me?" Draco snapped, finally losing patience. "You didn't care to protect me when you were alive, so why bother now? My parents...my parents tried to protect me. My mother especially. And you expect me to repay her by chasing after a Muggle-born, and having a relationship with someone she'll never approve of? It would tear my family apart. We've already lost almost everything. We're outcasts, pariahs..."
"Draco," Snape interrupted, frowing, "is that all that matters to you now, keeping your mother happy? Whose life are you living?"
That was the final straw for Draco.
"Enough. You think you understand what I'm going through, but you don't. It's different. I'll be fine, and Hermione will be better off without me. We'll move on and put this whole bloody mess behind us, and my father will be none the wiser. That's the way it should be, don't you see? That's the way it has to be." He stalked across the room, pausing with one handle on the doorknob as he shot a final glance over his shoulder. "It was good to see you again, Professor." Then he left, letting the door swing shut behind him with a resounding thump that stirred the dust off of the bookshelves.
The Headmaster's office was silent for several moments, until Professor Dumbledore opened his eyes and sat upright in his picture frame.
"You did try, Severus."
Snape scowled up at him.
"Yes, and my words fell on deaf ears, as I told you they would. I don't know why I let you talk me into having that conversation with the boy to begin with. It was about as pleasant as chopping up an entire barrel of Flobberworms bare-handed."
"A punishment that your students suffered quite often, as I recall," Dumbledore said with some amusement. Then he sobered. "I believe young Mr. Malfoy has a right to some happiness in life - a right that I'm afraid he will squander, at least for the time being. He is correct in one thing, however. The love he feels for Miss Granger is quite different from what you felt for Lily Potter."
"The love I felt for Lily was deeper than anything Draco could have possibly experienced -"
"You're wrong, my friend," Dumbledore cut in sadly. "His love is even deeper. You were possessive of Lily, and always resented her relationship with James, even though it brought her great happiness. Draco wants nothing more than for Hermione to be happy, even if it means letting her go." Dumbledore let out a wistful sigh. "Ah, young love. Life is too short, Severus."
"Hmph," Snape snorted. "This coming from a man who lived to be 150 years old."
Hermione hoped the general sense of melancholia would help mask her own dismal mood as she finally managed to peel herself away from the Weasleys on the pretext of getting a fresh glass of pumpkin juice. Somehow, she had managed to avoid Ron entirely since Kingsley concluded the dedication ceremony and announced the commencement of the luncheon in the Great Hall. However, she knew she couldn't avoid him forever.
I can try, though, she thought grimly. Her thoughts were too preoccupied with Draco to even contemplate how she felt about Ron at the moment. Just a few minutes earlier, she had seen Draco leave the room abruptly with his mother, and she couldn't stop herself from wondering what was going through his mind. Did he miss her as much as she missed him? Or had he already moved on, eager to put their brief little fling behind him forever?
Her thoughts were interrupted when a portly, yet well-dressed, middle-aged wizard approached her at the beverage table.
"Hello, Miss Granger?" the man asked politely. "You are Miss Hermione Granger, I presume?"
"Er, yes," she answered. "I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met before, Mr...?"
"Hudgkins. Mervin Hudgkins. I'm the new Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department at the Ministry."
Hermione's first feeling was surprise at the fact that this cheerful, balding man was the new Head of the MLE Department. Somehow, she had always imagined members of that department to be grim, imposing individuals. Her secondary reaction was one of unease. With a few exceptions, her past interactions with Ministry officials had been anything but pleasant. Seeing her discomfort, Hudgkins let out a laugh that made his ample belly wobble.
"I see your opinion of the Ministry is not a high one, Miss Granger," he said jovially, as if he had read her mind. "And I can't blame you, to be honest. The Ministry has done a piss-poor job of things over the past several years - for many years, in fact. That's something the Minister of Magic is working to change, however. In fact, it was the Minister himself who asked me to speak to you today."
Hudgkins raised his glass of pumpkin juice in Kingsley's direction, and the dark-skinned wizard nodded in return. He gave Hermione a reassuring smile that managed to put some of her misgivings about Hudgkins to rest.
"And what was it Kingsley wanted you to speak to me about?" Hermione asked, in a more pleasant tone than before.
"A job opportunity at the Ministry. Now, now, hear me out, Miss Granger! I think this is an offer you'll find quite impossible to resist."
I doubt it, Hermione thought to herself. But aloud she said, "Really? Please, tell me more, Mr. Hudgkins."
"Mervin. Please, call me Mervin," the older wizard said, taking a quick swig of his pumpkin juice. "The Minister and I have been in discussions about creating a new group in the MLE Department - a group dedicated to social equality in the Wizarding world, called the Magical League for Social Justice. The war with You-Know-Who highlights just how necessary and overdue such a measure is. Of course, the main focus of the group would be to improve the standing of Muggle-borns in the Wizarding community, a cause that I'm sure is near and dear to your heart as well, but it would also serve other underprivileged groups such as werewolves, house-elves..."
"House-elves?" Hermione repeated, intrigued in spite of herself. Hudgkins grinned triumphantly.
"Ah, yes. I've been told you have a particular soft spot for those creatures."
By Harry, no doubt. Hermione scanned the Great Hall, trying to find him so she could shoot a glare in his direction, but then she recalled that he had wandered off shortly after Draco did.
"I have to admit, this new Magical League for Social Justice sounds like a wonderful idea, Mr. - um, Mervin."
"I'm glad to hear you say that, Miss Granger, because it was our hope that you would lead it."
"Lead it?" Hermione squeaked incredulously.
"Of course, what better person to be in charge of the League than yourself?"
"B-but I'm so young. I'm only just about to complete my schooling. Surely someone older, with more experience..."
"Nonsense!" Hudgkins scoffed, waving aside her concerns. "The Minister has nothing but high praise for you, Professor McGonagall has assured us that you're grades are consistently stellar, and besides all that, you helped Harry Potter bring down one of the most powerful dark wizards of our time. You're a war hero! What other qualifications do you need?"
Hermione flushed.
"I don't...I mean, I don't think it's fair to put me in such a high-ranking position just because..."
"Miss Granger."
"Please, call me Hermione."
"Hermione," Hudgkins continued, speaking solemnly for the first time in their conversation. "You are a modest young lady, I can see that. No doubt it makes you uncomfortable to be lauded as a hero of the Wizarding world, but instead of balking at the idea, have you ever thought about embracing that role and putting it to good use?"
"What do you mean?" she asked doubtfully.
"Think about it. For this League of Social Justice to succeed, we will need members of the community to be accepting of the new measures we propose. It will not be easy to make the types of changes we're hoping to make...and no one will want to hear these ideas coming from a fat old buffoon like myself, believe me," he added, patting his belly in cheerful self-deprecation. "But if you were the one proposing these changes...well now, that would be a different story. An intelligent, young, Muggle-born lady like yourself, one of the most gifted witches of her age, and a war hero besides? What else could make the Wizarding world sit up and listen? My dear, you have the opportunity to make a real difference; to make changes that will improve the lives of witches and wizards for generations to come. How can you possibly refuse?"
Hermione pursed her lips as she mulled over the idea. Hudgkins was right - his offer was practically impossible to resist. She remembered her frustrations, especially in fourth year, when she had tried to start up S.P.E.W. and struggled to find people to support her cause. If she were head of the League for Social Justice, she could actually make a difference, just as Hudgkins said. She would finally have the resources to make all the changes she thought the Wizarding world required. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she would be a fool to pass up this sort of opportunity.
Resigned, she asked, "When would you want me to start this new position? I don't know if Professor McGonagall told you, but I've won a scholarship to travel around the world conducting research, so I'll be away from Britain for the next year..."
Hudgkins shook his head sadly.
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid we wouldn't be able to wait that long. We've just recently secured the funding for this endeavor, and with the war still fresh in people's minds, now is the best time to get the League up and running. If you don't accept the position soon, I'm afraid we'll have to give it to someone else. But Hermione, please understand that you are our first choice - our only choice at this point. We would be ever so disappointed if you refused our offer."
And I as well, she thought, biting her lower lip in disappointment.
"Could I think about it for a few weeks before I make my final decision?" she asked. "Until after I've completed my N.E.W.T.s, perhaps?"
"Of course," Hudgkins agreed. "I'm sure the Minister would be more than happy to delay our final decision until that time, especially if it increases our odds of bringing you on board."
"Thank you," Hermione said with a smile, holding out her hand for him to shake. She decided she liked Hudgkins after all. She appreciated his warmth and his honesty - two traits that in the past, she had often found lacking in members of the Ministry. He would be a pleasant employer, if she ever had the opportunity to work with him.
Ginny appeared at her side the moment Hudgkins departed from it.
"What were you and the new Head of the MLE talking about it?" she asked.
"You're so nosy," Hermione teased. "Do you know him?"
"I've never met him, no. But Dad speaks highly of him. He says it's about time that they started putting men and women of sense in charge of the Ministry. So tell me, what did he have to say?"
"He offered me a job as head of the Magical League for Social Justice."
Ginny's brown eyes widened.
"Merlin's beard, Hermione! That's a big offer! Dad's been telling us about the new League, and he says it's bound to make waves in the Wizarding world. I can't think of anyone more perfect for the job than you. You said yes, I hope?"
"No, not yet. I have the scholarship to think about, remember? And Hudgkins said they can't delay filling the position while I'm traveling for my research...Oh Ginny!" she cried despairingly. "What am I going to do? How can I possibly decide between the two?"
"You'll make the best choice for you, I know you will," Ginny responded, patting her shoulder in reassurance.
"What's going on?" She and Ginny spun around to find Ron standing there, awkwardly shuffling his feet. "Is everything okay, Hermione?"
Hermione stiffened and tilted her chin up to give him a haughty glare.
"Everything's fine, Ronald," she said coolly. "Not that it's any of your business."
The icy reception made him wince, but somehow, he found the courage to stand his ground in spite of it. He sent a beseeching look in his sister's direction.
"Ginny, if I could talk to Hermione for just a second..."
Hermione clutched Ginny's arm tightly, not wanting her to leave her alone with Ron. Between the break-up with Draco and her indecision about the job offer she had just been given, talking to her ex-boyfriend was the last thing she needed.
Please, she pleaded to whatever gods would hear her. I can't have this conversation with him right now. Not today. Please, not today.
Somehow, the gods must have heard, because the answer to her prayers came in the form of a jaguar Patronus, which soared into the Great Hall, landed in the center of the room, and began to speak in Bill Weasley's voice.
"It's happening," he said, clearly full of nervous excitement. "The baby's coming. Fleur and I are on our way to St. Mungo's."
"Oh!" Mrs. Weasley gasped, clapping her hands together in delight. "Come along, everyone, time to go the hospital! George, Ginny, Ron…we have to leave immediately! Oh, and Harry - where's Harry?"
"I'm here, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied, striding forward out of the crowd.
"Ah, there you are. Everyone, out to the front gates to Apparate. Quickly now!"
She bustled around, red-cheeked and merry as she herded her husband and children together. As they milled towards the door, others attending the luncheon called out their well wishes and congratulations. Meanwhile, Ginny paused to tug at Hermione's sleeve.
"You're coming, aren't you?"
Hermione shook her head.
"No, I...I'd rather stay here, thanks. Tell Bill and Fleur I wish them good luck, and I'll come see the baby soon."
"Okay," Ginny said reluctantly, "if you're sure." She trailed after the rest of her family, but Ron stayed, seizing the opportunity - however brief - to speak to Hermione alone.
"Hermione, please listen to me..."
"I'm not interested in what you have to say, Ron."
"Give me a chance to talk to you," he insisted. "Let me set things right. Next Saturday, meet me at the Three Broomsticks at noon for a round of butterbeer and we'll talk."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Ron!" Mrs. Weasley shouted, frantically waving him towards the door. "Hurry!"
"Please, Hermione," Ron said softly. "For old time's sake." The look in his eyes was so humble and pleading that Hermione could no longer harden her heart to his request. Besides, they had to have it out eventually. They had too many mutual friends to avoid each other forever.
"Fine," she muttered. "Next Saturday at noon then."
"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!"
"Coming, Mum!" Ron called out to her. He turned to give Hermione a grateful smile and a murmured, "Thanks," before he departed with the rest of his family.
As Hermione watched the troop of red-heads leave with Harry and Angelina in tow, she noticed that the mood in the Great Hall had lightened considerably at the announcement of a new arrival in the Weasley family. It was fitting that Bill and Fleur's baby was going to be born on the one-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Birth, death, and rebirth - that was the endless cycle that played out every day in every corner of the world.
"Life moves on," she whispered. If only she could make herself believe it.
A/N:Thanks to you readers who have been patiently waiting for this chapter. I cannot apologize enough for the length of time it took to get this story updated. I suffered a huge case of writer’s block for this story, but thankfully that seems to have lifted, and I’m actively writing again. The next chapter is a continuation of this one, which will finally complete the first half of this story, occurring during Hermione and Draco’s “eighth year” at Hogwarts. I’m hard at work on it now, and plan to have it finished and posted within the next couple weeks. I’m hoping to get back to updating this story on a more regular basis from now on. No, that does not mean I will have an update every single week, but I’ll try to get them out as soon as real life - and my muse - will allow.
One thing you will notice is that I’m bringing back the poems. Some of you who’ve read this story from back when it was posted on Fanfiction.net may recall that there used to be poems posted at the intro of each chapter. I since took them out when I reposted the story here. I’m putting them back in because…well, because I like them there, I guess! LOL.
Also, a special thanks to my betas, Dina and Amethyst18, for their help polishing up this chapter! :)
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Table of Contents
And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last long aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question 'Whither?'
Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?
~ From “Acceptance”, by Robert Frost
When Draco awoke, the sun was just cresting the horizon, filling the bedroom with pale morning light. The window had been left open the entire night, making the room uncomfortably cool, and he shifted instinctively closer to Hermione to draw from her body heat. He could still smell the rosebuds outside on the terrace, and he closed his eyes to breathe in their scent, which mingled with Hermione’s fragrant hair.
At this thought, Draco’s eyes snapped open, and he drew himself away from the temptation of Hermione’s warm, inviting body. He pulled back the covers and forced himself to crawl out of the comfort of his bed, cringing when his bare feet struck the cold, hardwood floor.
His sudden movement caused Hermione to roll over and stretch out her arms to where he had been lying before, and her face crinkled into a frown. It was as if she could sense his abandonment, even in her sleep.
Draco sighed. The previous night had been a mistake. He had wanted it to be a clean break - if such a thing was even possible at this point. When Hermione had found him on the terrace, he had tried to pull away. He had even tried resorting to his old tactics of being cold, sarcastic, and distant, thinking that it would be easier for her to end things with him that way.
But of course, his efforts had been in vain. No matter how many walls he tried to erect between them, Hermione would always find a way through. For the first time in his life, all of his barriers were down, and he had her to thank - or blame - for that.
With another sigh, Draco retrieved his clothes from the floor and dressed himself. Then he closed the window to shut out the crisp morning air before he turned to exit the room. He hesitated on his way out the door, looking back at Hermione’s slumbering form. He didn’t want to wake her - didn’t want her to see him leave. But he couldn’t resist returning to her side one last time to tuck the blankets more tightly around her and press a feather-light kiss to her forehead. She stirred again, her eyelids fluttering as she mumbled something incoherent under her breath, but she did not awaken.
In that moment, Draco wondered if he was making a huge mistake leaving her and ending this…well, whatever this was that had developed between them. But when he saw the peaceful look on her face as she slept, he knew he was making the right choice. Hermione had had to fight so long and so hard - fighting to belong to a world that at times, tried to reject her; trying to save that world from the clutches of a power-hungry madman. For once, didn’t she deserve to have something she didn’t have to fight for?
Hermione deserved to be happy - that much, Draco knew for sure. He couldn’t comprehend the depth of his feelings for her, but he knew that she deserved so much more than a clandestine relationship, hidden in the shadows as if it were something shameful and wrong. She deserved to be more than a mistress he came to under cover of darkness when the cold, formal embrace of his pureblood wife didn’t satisfy him. Hermione would never agree to such an arrangement, and he could never bring himself to ask it of her. Even considering it as an option was, in his mind, selfish and cruel.
For a moment, he entertained the idea of preserving their friendship at the very least, but it didn’t take long for him to realize that that, too, was impossible. He wanted all of her, body and soul, and to have to settle for anything less would be more torture than he could possibly endure.
No, this was the best way. He couldn’t give Hermione anything else, but he could give her this: a clean break, a fresh start, and a chance to be with any man she wanted - any man but him.
With great effort, Draco turned to leave the room once more. This time, he forced himself not to look back.
The day was sunny and clear, even though a bit of chill still lingered in the spring air. A large crowd of wizards and witches was streaming through the front gate and onto the school grounds, filing into the rows of seats that surrounded the podium where Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt would soon give his speech. Not far behind the podium stood a tall, lumpy object covered with black cloth, which Hermione knew was the new monument the Ministry had erected in honor of the fallen.
The ceremony was about to begin, and she scanned the crowd of attendees, looking for any sign of her friends. Soon, she caught sight of Ginny, Dean, and Luna sitting in a row of chairs near the front, waving to get her attention, and she made her way briskly over to them.
“Where have you been?” Ginny whispered, as Hermione took the seat next to her and adjacent to the aisle. Ginny immediately zoned in on her friend’s red-rimmed, puffy eyes. “Are you okay? What happened?”
Hermione shook her head.
“I…I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispered back. “Not now, at least.”
To Hermione’s relief, Ginny didn’t press her any further. Regardless of how concerned Ginny had been about Hermione’s interactions with Draco over the past school year, she rarely pushed her to talk about topics she wasn’t ready or willing to talk about. Unlike other girls, like Lavender Brown or Parvati Patil, who never would have let the subject drop, Ginny was the sort of friend who knew when she shouldn’t cross the line. However, she didn’t stop shooting furtive, worried glances in Hermione’s direction.
She would tell Ginny the whole story another time. For now, she needed time to think and come to grips with what had occurred the night before.
The crowd continued to grow around them, but Hermione was so lost in her own thoughts, she barely noticed. That morning, she had awoken to find nothing but cold sheets and a rumpled pillow where Draco had once been. Since the very first night they had ever spent together, she had never awoken to an empty bed. Even when he awoke before her - which was often the case - Draco would usually lie there, idly playing with her hair, or teasing her awake with languorous caresses. His absence, more than anything they had said to each other the night before, had confirmed that whatever had developed between them over the past several months was officially over.
Hermione had had no desire to linger in that room once she discovered Draco was gone, and so she had risen from bed and returned to Hogwarts, steeling herself for the reality she was about to face - the reality of a world that no longer included him.
Now, she sat silently beside her friends, watching, but not seeing, as more witches and wizards arrived to swell their numbers. It wasn’t until she felt someone’s hand on her shoulder that she finally shook herself free of her reverie.
“Mrs. Weasley!” she exclaimed, as she turned to see the kind-eyed witch standing next to her. She rose to her feet, staring awkwardly at the older woman for a few moments. But her anxiety was unnecessary, because Mrs. Weasley promptly opened her arms and pulled her into a warm embrace.
“Hermione, it’s so wonderful to see you, dear,” Mrs. Weasley proclaimed, stepping back to grace her with a genuine smile. “We missed seeing you over the hols.”
“Oh, um, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come. You see, I…”
“No explanation necessary, my dear,” Mrs. Weasley cut in with a shake of her head. “I completely understand.”
Hermione gave the woman a shaky smile - and then noticed the gathering troop of redheads behind her.
“Hello, Hermione,” Arthur Weasley said with a grin, reaching out to shake her hand. “Long time no see.”
“Hello, Mr. Weasley…Hello Percy, Charlie.”
As Hermione shook hands with the male members of the Weasley family, Mrs. Weasley moved on to greet her daughter and the remainder of their friends, and soon the entire Weasley clan was sliding into the seats behind them, filling almost the entire row.
George arrived next, with the surprising addition of Angelina Johnson on his arm. They waved and rushed over to join the rest of his family, squeezing into two of the last seats in the row.
“Hello, Hermione,” Angelina said, smiling brightly. “Aren’t your parents here?”
“Um, no…Mum and Dad would’ve come if I asked them to, but I thought they might feel a bit out of place. You know, being Muggles and all.”
“Oh, I see.”
“So…” Hermione began, lowering her voice and arching one eyebrow. “You and George, huh?”
Angelina grinned.
“Yeah, guess you could say that.”
“I’m so glad,” Hermione said, with a genuine smile. She was pleased to have a distraction from the miserable turn her own love life had recently taken, but the distraction was to be short lived. For, at that very moment, Ron and Harry arrived, hurrying over to find seats with the rest of the stragglers.
“Hey!” Harry said in greeting, slightly out of breath. “Sorry we’re late, everyone. Auror training went a bit over.”
“It’s okay, they haven’t started yet,” Ginny reassured him, giving him a quick kiss and pulling him down into the empty seat next to her. Ron paused at the end of the aisle near Hermione, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. Hermione swallowed nervously and tried to avoid his eyes, but it was no use. She supposed this moment had to come eventually, and there was no use delaying it any longer.
“Hello, Ronald,” she said crisply.
“Hey,” he answered. There was an uncomfortable pause, and, out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Harry and Ginny exchanging glances. She sighed with impatience. It was her and Ron’s first meeting since breaking up, and she really wished it didn’t have to take place under a microscope like this. She hoped their brief exchange of greetings would be the full extent of their conversation. At this point, after everything she had been through with Draco the night before, she didn’t think her nerves could handle any additional strain.
However, to her dismay, Ron spoke up once more.
“Look, Hermione, I was wondering…”
At that moment, there was a rustling in the crowd of spectators as a procession of Hogwarts professors and high-ranking Ministry officials, led by Kingsley Shacklebolt, began to make their way down the central aisle, heading towards the podium. Ron let out a resigned sigh.
“Never mind,” he muttered. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Then he brushed past her to take the last empty seat, which was further up the row, next to Dean.
Hermione felt an enormous surge of relief at being spared from what would likely have been a very awkward conversation in front of their friends. She folded her trembling hands in her lap, smoothing the skirt of her black dress, as she waited for the ceremony to commence. Then, suddenly, a wave of whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire, and she turned to see what the source of the commotion was.
There, making their way to two seats at the back of the assembly, were Draco and his mother. Narcissa held her head high, feigning ignorance at the crowd’s reaction to her entrance. Draco looked slightly less at ease than his mother, but Hermione thought this may have been because she could read his emotions better than others would be able to do.
For just a moment, their eyes met, and Hermione felt as if her heart were lodged in her throat. His face was an unreadable mask, a calm façade, but she could have sworn she saw it waver for just a second, hinting at emotions that roiled just beneath the surface. Then Professor McGonagall stepped up to the podium to address the crowd, and Hermione forced herself to tear her gaze away from Draco and focus on the ceremony.
It was a difficult thing to sit through. It began with Professor McGonagall giving a speech rather similar to the one she had given at the start of the school year, in which she emphasized the importance of unity in the Wizarding community. Then, in a voice that quavered at times, she read off the names of those who had fought for the side of the Light and fallen in the war against Voldemort. Hermione thought she’d had a grasp on the number of people who had died in the war, but it wasn’t until that long list was read off that she realized the staggering volume of lives lost. It was hard for her to maintain her composure when Professor McGonagall listed a name that she knew. When Fred Weasley’s name was read off, she could hear Mrs. Weasley’s small sob from the row behind her, and when Dobby’s name was listed, she saw Harry lower his head and blink rapidly.
After all of the names had been read off, Kingsley took Professor McGonagall’s place at the podium, and after one stern glance at the witches and wizards gathered before him, the crowd fell silent once more, waiting for him to speak.
“Good morning,” he said in his rich baritone, which had been magically magnified with a Sonorus Charm. “We have all gathered here today to mourn the lives that were lost in the war against Voldemort.”
There was a slight ripple in the crowd, from those who still cringed at hearing the name spoken out loud.
“At this place, one year ago, fifty souls were lost. That does not include the hundreds of others, both wizard and Muggle, who were killed in the Death Eater attacks, raids, and interrogations that preceded that battle. And you may ask yourselves, what is the best way for us to honor them?”
Kingsley paused and gestured at the covered monument yet to be revealed behind him.
“This monument, as large and beautiful as it may be, is not enough. The best way for us to honor those who paid the ultimate sacrifice is by how we live our daily lives. It is not in how we shape the stone carvings of this monument, but in how we shape the future of the Wizarding World.”
With a wave of Kingsley’s wand, the material covering the monument disappeared, and the sculpture was revealed. Hermione had not known what to expect - and a part of her had been afraid that the monument would be something gaudy that wouldn’t represent the lost loved ones appropriately. She was pleasantly surprised to find that was not the case. The monument was tall and breathtaking to behold, illustrating an intricately carved phoenix rising from flames. At the base of the statue, there was a smooth block of granite, in which were etched the names of those who had given their lives in the war. Staring at the phoenix’s outstretched wings, Hermione felt her spirit lift for the first time that day.
“My friends,” Kingsley continued, once the murmurs of approval had died down. “Today we stand at a crossroads. We can choose to do as we had done before - to forget what these people have died for, to forget the lessons we learned on this battlefield. We can choose to regress, once more, into a society that labels witches and wizards according to their birth status and ostracizes those who are different from us. We can let Voldemort’s message live on, allowing it to consume our world in the flames of bigotry and hatred.”
At this point everyone seemed to be leaning forward, hanging on Kingsley’s words, and Hermione thought she could detect at least a few guilty-looking faces in the crowd.
“Or,” said Kingsley, “we can create a new world for our children where they will not be defined by their blood status, and where the word ‘Mudblood’ will not exist except for on the pages of their History of Magic textbooks. That is not to say we should forget what our society used to be, because if we do, how can we measure how far we have come? We must never forget the sacrifices that were made on this day, one year ago. We must never forget where we’ve been. But, like the artist who shaped the stone of this sculpture, we must allow our experiences to shape us into better people, and a better society. Like a phoenix, we can rise from the ashes and begin anew.”
Draco wondered which level of Hell he had been banished to, as he stood beside his mother in the Great Hall, surrounded by mourners, Ministry officials, and other “champions of the light.” Since the time they had arrived at the memorial service, whispers and stares followed the Malfoys everywhere they went. The other attendees made no attempt to hide their disgust at Draco and Narcissa’s presence at the ceremony, and the words “hypocrite” and “Death Eater scum” fell from their lips with so little discretion, it was clear they wanted to be overheard. They wanted to make sure the Malfoys felt as unwelcome as humanly possible.
Well, they had certainly succeeded…although one would never know it by looking at Narcissa Malfoy. Draco couldn’t help admiring the way his mother held her head high, facing the crowd’s scorn with steely resolve. It wasn’t until they had made their way to a quiet corner of the Great Hall that she finally spoke.
“The fools,” she muttered, in a whisper only Draco could hear. “Why, not long ago, those same Ministry officials were clamoring for your father’s attention, and trying to charm their way into his pocketbook.”
Draco shrugged. He was still rather angry with her after the conversation they’d had at the Three Broomsticks the day before, and he didn’t feel like giving her the enthusiastic support she was looking for.
“Times have changed, Mother.”
“So you keep saying,” she replied, darting a glance in her son’s direction. “I notice something else has changed as well. Is it true - or perhaps I have simply imagined - that you and Hermione Granger don’t seem to be on such friendly terms this morning?”
Draco gritted his teeth, but before he could issue a retort, his mother’s attention suddenly strayed elsewhere. Her eyes widened as she stared at someone standing on the other side of the room. Draco turned to follow her gaze, and his eyes came to rest on a tall, dark-haired woman who was talking to Luna Lovegood while jiggling a toddler on her hip. At first, his attention was captured by the baby’s vivid, turquoise hair, but then he looked more closely at the woman who was holding him.
For the briefest moment, he thought his Aunt Bellatrix had returned from the grave, and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest at the thought. Upon further inspection, however, he realized that the woman was not Bellatrix at all, though she did bear a striking resemblance to her. Her curly hair was a shade lighter, and pulled up in an elegant chignon. She possessed the same austere beauty, but where Bellatrix’s face was emaciated and sallow from years spent in Azkaban, this woman’s face was soft, kind, and rosy-cheeked. Her resemblance to Bellatrix, in combination with his mother’s startled response to seeing her, all but confirmed her identity for Draco: She could be none other than his mother’s sister, Andromeda Tonks.
“Mother?” Draco murmured. “Is that who I think it is?”
Before Narcissa could reply, Andromeda seemed to sense their stares, and she turned to face them, her own eyes widening with surprise and recognition. For a moment, the two women stared at each other from across the room, and the air between them was wrought with tension. Then, suddenly, Narcissa turned her back on her sister, tugging her son’s arm in order to lead him away from the scene.
“I think it is time for me to leave,” she said in a level voice that betrayed none of the conflicting emotions Draco saw in her eyes.
“But Mother, don’t you think -”
“Now, Draco,” she snapped. Then, at the sight of his concerned expression, her face softened somewhat. “I’m quite all right, dear. Just caught off-guard. Would you mind escorting me to the front gate?”
Draco hesitated, still startled by his mother’s behavior. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her act this unsettled. Even in the presence of Lord Voldemort himself, she had always managed to project a pretense of calmness, but now she appeared anxious and upset. He knew that she had been estranged from Andromeda for many years, but he hadn’t expected her to have this strong of a reaction to seeing her sister in person once more. It aroused some of that newfound compassion within him, causing his previous anger towards her to fade into the background.
“Yeah, okay,” he agreed. “Let’s go.”
The relief on his mother’s face was evident as the two of them exited the Great Hall and made their way to the front doors. However, when they were mere steps away from exiting the school, Draco heard a familiar voice calling his name.
“Malfoy, wait! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Draco turned, and to his surprise, found Harry Potter chasing after him. Immediately, he stiffened, and he felt his mother do the same at his side. Hadn’t they had enough awkward encounters for one afternoon? Draco worried about Potter’s motivation for seeking him out. Had he heard about what had occurred between him and Hermione the night before? Was he there to exact revenge for what he considered mistreatment of his best friend? However, the expression on the other boy’s face was not anger.
"Mr. Potter," Narcissa acknowledged in a strained voice. Potter gave a stiff nod in her direction.
"Mrs. Malfoy."
Draco glanced from one to the other, sensing enough tension in the air to cut with a knife.
"Er...Potter, why exactly are you looking for me?" he asked finally.
"Oh, there's someone who needs to talk to you."
"Now?" Draco asked with a scowl.
"Yeah, it's...kind of someone important."
Draco looked over at his mother, who gave him a tight smile in return.
"I can see myself to the gate, Draco," she said. "I will see you at the Parting Ceremony in a few weeks. Until then, good luck on your studies."
She dropped a quick kiss on Draco's cheek that nearly made him die of mortification (In front of Potter? Has she gone mad?!). Then, with one last regal swirl of her robes, she strolled out the heavy front doors of Hogwarts and left him alone with his old adversary.
The two boys stood awkwardly for a few moments, and Draco gave Potter a glare that clearly bespoke dire consequences if he made any remark about the kiss he had just received from his mother. Luckily for Potter, he made none.
"Uh, follow me," he said instead.
With a bored shrug, Draco followed Potter down the corridor. He tried to appear ambivalent about their destination, but he was genuinely curious about what had motivated Potter to come looking for him. Who could possibly want to talk to Draco so badly? And what did Potter mean when he said "someone important"? Draco's heart thudded with anxiety as he wondered if it was a Ministry official who had questions about his or his father's former Death Eater activities. Surely his family had put those days behind them by now? He looked at Potter out of the corner of his eye, but other than seeming slightly uncomfortable at the idea of being alone with Draco, the boy's expression gave no other clues to his feelings. As the two of them made their way through the school halls, Draco thought back on the brief, tense encounter that had just occurred between Potter and his mother.
The last time Harry Potter and Narcissa Malfoy had come face-to-face had been at his parents' trial. To the surprise of the entire Malfoy family, Potter had given testimony about how Draco's mother had saved his life during the final battle with Voldemort by pretending that he was dead in the Forbidden Forest. This testimony had likely spared all of them from serving time in Azkaban prison. Draco knew his mother felt a sense of gratitude towards the boy; she was reluctantly, grudgingly grateful -- but grateful, nonetheless. It was the same feeling Draco felt towards him, after he had saved his life in the Room of Requirement.
That was a wizard's debt.
He wondered if Potter knew the gravity of such a debt, given that he'd been raised by Muggles. Draco certainly understood. His father had warned him countless times, for as long as he could remember, never to underestimate the power of a wizard's debt.
’A Malfoy never allows himself to be in debt to anyone ,'his father had always said. Then again, when you're trapped in a room full of Fiendfyre, you tend to run out of options pretty quickly. Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled. Of all the wizards in the world, he had to owe his life to Harry Potter. Karma really was a bitch sometimes.
"Here we are," Potter said, pulling Draco out of his thoughts. He looked up with surprise to realize they were standing in front of the large griffin statue that guarded the entrance to the Headmistress's office.
"Tartan knickers," said Potter, and having said the password, the statue sprang aside to grant them entrance. When Draco glanced at Potter with raised eyebrows, the boy shrugged, a smirk worthy of a Slytherin lighting up his face. "What? You don't think Professor McGonagall has a sense of humor?"
Draco merely rolled his eyes and followed him up the spiral stone staircase to the Headmistress's suite. When he entered the room on Potter's heels, he was surprised to find that Professor McGonagall was the only person there. If she wanted to speak to him so badly, why hadn't she done so at the brunch downstairs? And what did she want to talk to him about? Had she heard about what had happened between him and Hermione?
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, we've been looking everywhere for you," she said in greeting.
"You wanted to speak with me, Professor?" Draco asked uncertainly.
"It was not I who made the request." She turned behind her to address one of the portraits hanging on the wall. "I trust you'd like to speak to him alone, Severus?"
"Please, Minerva."
Severus? Draco thought, in shock. She couldn't possibly mean...
Sure enough, Professor McGonagall stepped aside, revealing Severus Snape's portrait on the wall behind her, where Draco knew it had not been before.
"Mr. Potter thought it would be appropriate for Professor Snape's portrait to hang in this room, in light of...certain circumstances that we were made aware of after his death," McGonagall explained, and Draco turned to Potter in surprise. The other boy shrugged, looking mildly embarrassed.
"He was Headmaster, for a time," he explained. "It took a lot of convincing to get the school's Board of Governors to agree to it, but they finally gave in."
Draco shook his head in amazement. He couldn't imagine what had compelled Potter to fight to have Snape's portrait installed in the Headmaster's office, but from the look of discomfort on Potter's face, he decided against asking him about it.
"We'll just leave you two alone, then," McGonagall said, sweeping past him and out of the room with Potter close behind her. "Come back downstairs whenever you're ready," she added, and then closed the door behind her with a soft click.
Draco was left alone to face the curious stares of a room full of portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses, but there was only one that captivated his attention. Severus Snape stared down his long nose at Draco, his hair just as greasy, and his dark eyes just as unreadable, as they had been in life. Yet, in spite of the fact that he had once been one of his favorite teachers, and a longtime friend of his family's, Draco felt as if he hardly knew the man. All along he had been a spy for the Order. All along he had been doing Dumbledore's bidding, not Voldemort's. He had been fighting for the other side, and even though Draco was glad Voldemort had fallen, he couldn't help feeling a bit betrayed by his old professor, for having kept him in the dark for so long.
"Well, boy, I didn't summon you here just to have you stand across the room and gawk at me," Snape snapped, and Draco almost grinned in spite of himself. That was definitely the Professor Snape he remembered from his childhood. He finally crossed the room to stand before the portrait, gazing up at his former Head of House. The man's dark eyes narrowed as he studied Draco, and Draco wondered if it was possible for a painting to perform Legilimency on a live person. He reasoned it probably wasn't, but it still made him nervous.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes, Draco. There was much I was not able to tell you before...before everything that occurred last year. There were many things that went unsaid between us. No doubt you have been informed about my true allegiance during the war against Voldemort. You must understand that it was necessary for me to keep many things secret from you, not only for your own safety, but mine as well. At the time, I wasn't entirely sure where your own loyalties lied."
"At the time, I'm not sure I knew where my loyalties lied," Draco mumbled. Severus’s eyebrows rose at these words.
"And are you sure about them now, Draco?"
"I...I know now that it was a good thing that the Dark Lord fell. It would have been bad for my family - for everyone - if he won.” Draco paused, uncomfortable about the turn the conversation had taken. “Professor, not that I’m not happy to see you again, but…what exactly did you bring me here to talk about?”
"I hear you have befriended Hermione Granger," Snape replied. Of all the things his former professor could have chosen to discuss with him, this was the last one Draco expected him to bring up.
"Yeah, we’re friends. I mean…we used to be.”
“Used to be?” Snape pressed. Draco nodded again. He was beginning to feel like one of those stupid Muggle bobble-head dolls Hermione once told him about.
“I assume your parents did not approve of your friendship with the girl,” Snape continued. It was clear he was just as uncomfortable with the topic, but felt inclined to pursue it anyway.
“Mother certainly didn’t. But I didn’t dare tell Father. Professor Snape, you know how he’d react.”
“Indeed.”
There was a discreet cough from a portrait higher up on the same wall, and Draco glanced up to see that it had come from the direction of Professor Dumbledore’s painting. However, the elderly Headmaster was asleep in his armchair - or at least pretending to be. Draco returned his attention to Snape.
“Draco, I know you must think me ignorant on this topic,” Snape continued, pretending not to have heard his former colleague’s interruption. “However, I feel that I may be able to share some advice with you, based on my own past experiences with a Muggle-born girl, a long time ago, that came to a rather unfortunate end…”
"Are you talking about Potter’s mother?" Draco queried, before he could stop himself. Snape's scowl deepened.
"I see Potter still hasn’t learned when to keep his mouth shut," he said grimly. "Exactly how many people know about my history with Lily Evans?"
"Just about everyone in Wizarding Britain. Potter announced it in front of everyone during the final battle."
Draco tried to suppress a smile at Snape's indignant reaction to this news. Of all his old pastimes, getting Potter into trouble was one he wasn't about to let go of. It was simply too much fun to give up.
"Regardless," Snape continued, "I do not want you to make the same mistakes I made, Draco. To be haunted by that kind of regret is not something I would wish for you -"
"Who cares what you wish for me?" Draco snapped, finally losing patience. "You didn't care to protect me when you were alive, so why bother now? My parents...my parents tried to protect me. My mother especially. And you expect me to repay her by chasing after a Muggle-born, and having a relationship with someone she'll never approve of? It would tear my family apart. We've already lost almost everything. We're outcasts, pariahs..."
"Draco," Snape interrupted, frowing, "is that all that matters to you now, keeping your mother happy? Whose life are you living?"
That was the final straw for Draco.
"Enough. You think you understand what I'm going through, but you don't. It's different. I'll be fine, and Hermione will be better off without me. We'll move on and put this whole bloody mess behind us, and my father will be none the wiser. That's the way it should be, don't you see? That's the way it has to be." He stalked across the room, pausing with one handle on the doorknob as he shot a final glance over his shoulder. "It was good to see you again, Professor." Then he left, letting the door swing shut behind him with a resounding thump that stirred the dust off of the bookshelves.
The Headmaster's office was silent for several moments, until Professor Dumbledore opened his eyes and sat upright in his picture frame.
"You did try, Severus."
Snape scowled up at him.
"Yes, and my words fell on deaf ears, as I told you they would. I don't know why I let you talk me into having that conversation with the boy to begin with. It was about as pleasant as chopping up an entire barrel of Flobberworms bare-handed."
"A punishment that your students suffered quite often, as I recall," Dumbledore said with some amusement. Then he sobered. "I believe young Mr. Malfoy has a right to some happiness in life - a right that I'm afraid he will squander, at least for the time being. He is correct in one thing, however. The love he feels for Miss Granger is quite different from what you felt for Lily Potter."
"The love I felt for Lily was deeper than anything Draco could have possibly experienced -"
"You're wrong, my friend," Dumbledore cut in sadly. "His love is even deeper. You were possessive of Lily, and always resented her relationship with James, even though it brought her great happiness. Draco wants nothing more than for Hermione to be happy, even if it means letting her go." Dumbledore let out a wistful sigh. "Ah, young love. Life is too short, Severus."
"Hmph," Snape snorted. "This coming from a man who lived to be 150 years old."
Hermione hoped the general sense of melancholia would help mask her own dismal mood as she finally managed to peel herself away from the Weasleys on the pretext of getting a fresh glass of pumpkin juice. Somehow, she had managed to avoid Ron entirely since Kingsley concluded the dedication ceremony and announced the commencement of the luncheon in the Great Hall. However, she knew she couldn't avoid him forever.
I can try, though, she thought grimly. Her thoughts were too preoccupied with Draco to even contemplate how she felt about Ron at the moment. Just a few minutes earlier, she had seen Draco leave the room abruptly with his mother, and she couldn't stop herself from wondering what was going through his mind. Did he miss her as much as she missed him? Or had he already moved on, eager to put their brief little fling behind him forever?
Her thoughts were interrupted when a portly, yet well-dressed, middle-aged wizard approached her at the beverage table.
"Hello, Miss Granger?" the man asked politely. "You are Miss Hermione Granger, I presume?"
"Er, yes," she answered. "I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met before, Mr...?"
"Hudgkins. Mervin Hudgkins. I'm the new Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department at the Ministry."
Hermione's first feeling was surprise at the fact that this cheerful, balding man was the new Head of the MLE Department. Somehow, she had always imagined members of that department to be grim, imposing individuals. Her secondary reaction was one of unease. With a few exceptions, her past interactions with Ministry officials had been anything but pleasant. Seeing her discomfort, Hudgkins let out a laugh that made his ample belly wobble.
"I see your opinion of the Ministry is not a high one, Miss Granger," he said jovially, as if he had read her mind. "And I can't blame you, to be honest. The Ministry has done a piss-poor job of things over the past several years - for many years, in fact. That's something the Minister of Magic is working to change, however. In fact, it was the Minister himself who asked me to speak to you today."
Hudgkins raised his glass of pumpkin juice in Kingsley's direction, and the dark-skinned wizard nodded in return. He gave Hermione a reassuring smile that managed to put some of her misgivings about Hudgkins to rest.
"And what was it Kingsley wanted you to speak to me about?" Hermione asked, in a more pleasant tone than before.
"A job opportunity at the Ministry. Now, now, hear me out, Miss Granger! I think this is an offer you'll find quite impossible to resist."
I doubt it, Hermione thought to herself. But aloud she said, "Really? Please, tell me more, Mr. Hudgkins."
"Mervin. Please, call me Mervin," the older wizard said, taking a quick swig of his pumpkin juice. "The Minister and I have been in discussions about creating a new group in the MLE Department - a group dedicated to social equality in the Wizarding world, called the Magical League for Social Justice. The war with You-Know-Who highlights just how necessary and overdue such a measure is. Of course, the main focus of the group would be to improve the standing of Muggle-borns in the Wizarding community, a cause that I'm sure is near and dear to your heart as well, but it would also serve other underprivileged groups such as werewolves, house-elves..."
"House-elves?" Hermione repeated, intrigued in spite of herself. Hudgkins grinned triumphantly.
"Ah, yes. I've been told you have a particular soft spot for those creatures."
By Harry, no doubt. Hermione scanned the Great Hall, trying to find him so she could shoot a glare in his direction, but then she recalled that he had wandered off shortly after Draco did.
"I have to admit, this new Magical League for Social Justice sounds like a wonderful idea, Mr. - um, Mervin."
"I'm glad to hear you say that, Miss Granger, because it was our hope that you would lead it."
"Lead it?" Hermione squeaked incredulously.
"Of course, what better person to be in charge of the League than yourself?"
"B-but I'm so young. I'm only just about to complete my schooling. Surely someone older, with more experience..."
"Nonsense!" Hudgkins scoffed, waving aside her concerns. "The Minister has nothing but high praise for you, Professor McGonagall has assured us that you're grades are consistently stellar, and besides all that, you helped Harry Potter bring down one of the most powerful dark wizards of our time. You're a war hero! What other qualifications do you need?"
Hermione flushed.
"I don't...I mean, I don't think it's fair to put me in such a high-ranking position just because..."
"Miss Granger."
"Please, call me Hermione."
"Hermione," Hudgkins continued, speaking solemnly for the first time in their conversation. "You are a modest young lady, I can see that. No doubt it makes you uncomfortable to be lauded as a hero of the Wizarding world, but instead of balking at the idea, have you ever thought about embracing that role and putting it to good use?"
"What do you mean?" she asked doubtfully.
"Think about it. For this League of Social Justice to succeed, we will need members of the community to be accepting of the new measures we propose. It will not be easy to make the types of changes we're hoping to make...and no one will want to hear these ideas coming from a fat old buffoon like myself, believe me," he added, patting his belly in cheerful self-deprecation. "But if you were the one proposing these changes...well now, that would be a different story. An intelligent, young, Muggle-born lady like yourself, one of the most gifted witches of her age, and a war hero besides? What else could make the Wizarding world sit up and listen? My dear, you have the opportunity to make a real difference; to make changes that will improve the lives of witches and wizards for generations to come. How can you possibly refuse?"
Hermione pursed her lips as she mulled over the idea. Hudgkins was right - his offer was practically impossible to resist. She remembered her frustrations, especially in fourth year, when she had tried to start up S.P.E.W. and struggled to find people to support her cause. If she were head of the League for Social Justice, she could actually make a difference, just as Hudgkins said. She would finally have the resources to make all the changes she thought the Wizarding world required. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she would be a fool to pass up this sort of opportunity.
Resigned, she asked, "When would you want me to start this new position? I don't know if Professor McGonagall told you, but I've won a scholarship to travel around the world conducting research, so I'll be away from Britain for the next year..."
Hudgkins shook his head sadly.
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid we wouldn't be able to wait that long. We've just recently secured the funding for this endeavor, and with the war still fresh in people's minds, now is the best time to get the League up and running. If you don't accept the position soon, I'm afraid we'll have to give it to someone else. But Hermione, please understand that you are our first choice - our only choice at this point. We would be ever so disappointed if you refused our offer."
And I as well, she thought, biting her lower lip in disappointment.
"Could I think about it for a few weeks before I make my final decision?" she asked. "Until after I've completed my N.E.W.T.s, perhaps?"
"Of course," Hudgkins agreed. "I'm sure the Minister would be more than happy to delay our final decision until that time, especially if it increases our odds of bringing you on board."
"Thank you," Hermione said with a smile, holding out her hand for him to shake. She decided she liked Hudgkins after all. She appreciated his warmth and his honesty - two traits that in the past, she had often found lacking in members of the Ministry. He would be a pleasant employer, if she ever had the opportunity to work with him.
Ginny appeared at her side the moment Hudgkins departed from it.
"What were you and the new Head of the MLE talking about it?" she asked.
"You're so nosy," Hermione teased. "Do you know him?"
"I've never met him, no. But Dad speaks highly of him. He says it's about time that they started putting men and women of sense in charge of the Ministry. So tell me, what did he have to say?"
"He offered me a job as head of the Magical League for Social Justice."
Ginny's brown eyes widened.
"Merlin's beard, Hermione! That's a big offer! Dad's been telling us about the new League, and he says it's bound to make waves in the Wizarding world. I can't think of anyone more perfect for the job than you. You said yes, I hope?"
"No, not yet. I have the scholarship to think about, remember? And Hudgkins said they can't delay filling the position while I'm traveling for my research...Oh Ginny!" she cried despairingly. "What am I going to do? How can I possibly decide between the two?"
"You'll make the best choice for you, I know you will," Ginny responded, patting her shoulder in reassurance.
"What's going on?" She and Ginny spun around to find Ron standing there, awkwardly shuffling his feet. "Is everything okay, Hermione?"
Hermione stiffened and tilted her chin up to give him a haughty glare.
"Everything's fine, Ronald," she said coolly. "Not that it's any of your business."
The icy reception made him wince, but somehow, he found the courage to stand his ground in spite of it. He sent a beseeching look in his sister's direction.
"Ginny, if I could talk to Hermione for just a second..."
Hermione clutched Ginny's arm tightly, not wanting her to leave her alone with Ron. Between the break-up with Draco and her indecision about the job offer she had just been given, talking to her ex-boyfriend was the last thing she needed.
Please, she pleaded to whatever gods would hear her. I can't have this conversation with him right now. Not today. Please, not today.
Somehow, the gods must have heard, because the answer to her prayers came in the form of a jaguar Patronus, which soared into the Great Hall, landed in the center of the room, and began to speak in Bill Weasley's voice.
"It's happening," he said, clearly full of nervous excitement. "The baby's coming. Fleur and I are on our way to St. Mungo's."
"Oh!" Mrs. Weasley gasped, clapping her hands together in delight. "Come along, everyone, time to go the hospital! George, Ginny, Ron…we have to leave immediately! Oh, and Harry - where's Harry?"
"I'm here, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied, striding forward out of the crowd.
"Ah, there you are. Everyone, out to the front gates to Apparate. Quickly now!"
She bustled around, red-cheeked and merry as she herded her husband and children together. As they milled towards the door, others attending the luncheon called out their well wishes and congratulations. Meanwhile, Ginny paused to tug at Hermione's sleeve.
"You're coming, aren't you?"
Hermione shook her head.
"No, I...I'd rather stay here, thanks. Tell Bill and Fleur I wish them good luck, and I'll come see the baby soon."
"Okay," Ginny said reluctantly, "if you're sure." She trailed after the rest of her family, but Ron stayed, seizing the opportunity - however brief - to speak to Hermione alone.
"Hermione, please listen to me..."
"I'm not interested in what you have to say, Ron."
"Give me a chance to talk to you," he insisted. "Let me set things right. Next Saturday, meet me at the Three Broomsticks at noon for a round of butterbeer and we'll talk."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Ron!" Mrs. Weasley shouted, frantically waving him towards the door. "Hurry!"
"Please, Hermione," Ron said softly. "For old time's sake." The look in his eyes was so humble and pleading that Hermione could no longer harden her heart to his request. Besides, they had to have it out eventually. They had too many mutual friends to avoid each other forever.
"Fine," she muttered. "Next Saturday at noon then."
"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!"
"Coming, Mum!" Ron called out to her. He turned to give Hermione a grateful smile and a murmured, "Thanks," before he departed with the rest of his family.
As Hermione watched the troop of red-heads leave with Harry and Angelina in tow, she noticed that the mood in the Great Hall had lightened considerably at the announcement of a new arrival in the Weasley family. It was fitting that Bill and Fleur's baby was going to be born on the one-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Birth, death, and rebirth - that was the endless cycle that played out every day in every corner of the world.
"Life moves on," she whispered. If only she could make herself believe it.
A/N:Thanks to you readers who have been patiently waiting for this chapter. I cannot apologize enough for the length of time it took to get this story updated. I suffered a huge case of writer’s block for this story, but thankfully that seems to have lifted, and I’m actively writing again. The next chapter is a continuation of this one, which will finally complete the first half of this story, occurring during Hermione and Draco’s “eighth year” at Hogwarts. I’m hard at work on it now, and plan to have it finished and posted within the next couple weeks. I’m hoping to get back to updating this story on a more regular basis from now on. No, that does not mean I will have an update every single week, but I’ll try to get them out as soon as real life - and my muse - will allow.
One thing you will notice is that I’m bringing back the poems. Some of you who’ve read this story from back when it was posted on Fanfiction.net may recall that there used to be poems posted at the intro of each chapter. I since took them out when I reposted the story here. I’m putting them back in because…well, because I like them there, I guess! LOL.
Also, a special thanks to my betas, Dina and Amethyst18, for their help polishing up this chapter! :)
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