Unofficial Portkey Archive

Life and Times

Rating: R

Ship: HHr (main emphasis)

The (unlovely) procedure: all rights go to JKR for previous plot and characters, Scholastic, Warner, and whoever else has their hands in HP.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Eighty - Mother

***

The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole

Molly Weasley stood at the kitchen sink. Soap suds bubbled up to where her multicoloured knitted shawl hung down from her shoulders and across her arms. A fire crackled behind her, the only other noise within the Burrow besides the sounds of bumping dishes being washed by hand and by magic. Several other dishes in tandem with her scrubbed pots and dried off pans.

The Weasley clock showed Bill and George at work and Fleur and Percy at home. The hand that showed Ronald remained beyond mortal peril, leaving Molly to think that his hand had to have been broken. Surely Ronald was still with Charlie and the dragons all these years. And, Fred's hand sat on travelling, and had been since his death.

The Burrow a quieted home, Molly awaited the return of her husband. His clock's hand slowly drifted from travelling to work. He'd be home from the Ministry later, working with some Muggle oddity or the like. She wondered, as she stared out the window at the Ford Anglia and various other Muggle assortments covered in a layer of fresh snow, what other contraption could he bring home that could trump such a sight as the automobile.

Gears began to grind, piquing Molly's interest. Her ears perked up at the sound. A cloth in hand, she wiped her hands off as she tottered over to the clock. She knew the time couldn't be for Bill to return to Fleur. She knew George and Arthur had just left for work. Percy always had a penchant to sleep, so his hand would keep at home for at least another hour or two. Her interest fell squarely with the excitement that maybe, just maybe her youngest boy's hand would be moving…

…But, her hopes were dashed.

Her bright eyes tumbled drearily when she saw the hyper-movements of her daughter moving back and forth between home, lost, and travelling.

The hand swung to lost, and then shot to home when mother Weasley heard a snap outside, and then a pop over the humble abode.

She passed a gift she was knitting for Dominique, a little sweater maroon in colour with a yellow W in its centre. She passed a cloth wiping down the kitchen table on its own from this morning's breakfast. She took out her wand and gave a swish, heading towards the door. The chairs aligned themselves and pushed themselves in. She didn't think about her actions, looking out the window in the door.

She saw her daughter standing out in the cold alone gazing around the grounds as if she were still lost, acquainting herself to the new, strange surroundings.

Molly covered more of herself with the knitted shawl before taking hold of the door knob. She gave one last look out the window, her eyes in squints from the shine of the white snow and narrowed out of misgivings from the scene. She hadn't seen her daughter in so long, since the Joining-or what would have happened-if not for her daughter's utter embarrassment in front of the entire family.

Sourness puckered Molly's lips, but she turned the knob and opened the warm Burrow to the bitter cold. A frigid wind whistled through the pins in her Weasley-red hair. She stood in the doorway, her hand still on the knob for a moment. Her eyes never ceased their strained look, piercingly directed at the Weasley standing lonesome in winter.

Ginny's flaming tassels, or what was loose from her fur hood, flowed with the wind around her. Some of her red would crisscross her face, her stillness watching her mother in the distance. Buried in a clover coat and black leggings, she shivered in her boots the longer she stood out there.

"Is father here?" she finally called out in a breeze.

The sun rose from the horizon behind her.

Molly shielded her eyes, putting her hand just above her brow. She asked, still with a hand on the Burrow's only door facing their front yard, "Who's asking?"

A howling wind blew between one of the numerous sheds dotting the landscape and the home in their moment of silence.

"I need to talk to him."

"Your father has responsibilities he must tend to," Molly answered from her spot. "Unlike some in our family."

After all the wounds afflicted between her and her mother, Ginny couldn't feel them anymore. Or, that was the usual, like the cold, her mother's put downs became a wet blanket over that part of her life she never wished to accompany again. But, today was a different day. The wounds bled, and she couldn't deflect her mother's words. She felt each and every one of them, even when she didn't speak.

"I just need to speak with father."

"Neville was a good man," Molly shouted over another blast of wind. "He deserved more."

Ginny hugged herself.

"I don't-"

"You made a mockery of the Weasley name, and a mockery of me. To think, Molly Weasley, a daughter amongst all Weasley daughters, rearing one so much like her, choosing a disgusting lifestyle over one rich with promise."

"He loved you, and you never appreciated him."

"And, you show up here on the morning of his funeral."

Somewhere deep inside she could feel her blood boil.

She tried to stave the emotion off, but her mother continued her verbal punches.

"Who do you think you are?"

"Who am I!?"

Ginevra's voice echoed throughout the winds, a cold pummel striking Molly backward where she stood. The Burrow groaned in the sudden gusts.

"I used to be your daughter!"

Molly held onto the door, her expression of awe at what she witnessed. The gusts began to accumulate around Ginny, circling her, kicking up snow in the cylindrical, semi-transparent column. The nearby shed creaked and shuddered, parts of the tin roof breaking off and flying away. Whole fence posts uprooted from around the frozen garden and were flung high into the air. The Ford Anglia pushed backwards from where it stood, and then pushed upward, falling on its side.

"You used to love me!!"

Ginny's rage fermented and grew, the boundaries of her magic pushing the snow from the ground and pressing a white, thick layer upon the front facade of what used to be her home. The ground, however dead it lay, shown again to the cloudy, grey English sky. Molly retreated inside when the snow shoveled itself against the window, slamming the door behind and keeping it there.

From inside, Molly huddled away from the door and began the process of contacting Arthur, contacting her husband to do something about his child-she would surely tear down their home!

The Burrow shook within an earsplitting scream.

Molly fell to her knees alongside the fireplace and covered her ears, going deaf in those seconds.

The painful scream led to ringing in her ears until the ringing stopped, the Burrow settling, and the atmosphere quieting once more.

She reopened her eyes, and shook out of her dizzy spell from dropping so suddenly to the floor. She looked around at her home, listening intently for something, anything to happen in the abrupt lull. She rolled, more than pressed up off the floor and gathered her faculties.

Her daughter…the power…

She nearly tripped on a rug, stumbling towards the kitchen and the door. She couldn't look out the windows, and when she tried to open the found it a bit stuck. After turning the knob again, she tugged with all her motherly strength to unhinge what kept the door closed.

She stood, staring at white.

The door had made an image imprinted into the snow.

From the outside one could see the snow melt as Molly chanted spells after spell to once again see her front yard…

…Or, what was left of her front yard.

Everything that could be uprooted was uprooted.

Everything that could be turned around, upside down and inside out was.

Bits and pieces from who knows what scattered a frozen field for there wasn't snow several dozen metres out from where Ginny stood centre. The only thing not touched was the Burrow save the icicles that had lined the rooftops.

***

On the road to Mass

Traversing the snow-covered streets to meet Hermione's parents at church happened to be rather easy. I hadn't hoped for a jam, and thankfully I'd only seen an automobile here and there perusing England at this hour. The sun began to rise, or at least the earth began to shine a bit brighter beneath the usual grey, London overcast. I always enjoyed seeing the sunshine through the cracks in the clouds, as if they were bolts of lightning, electric veins in the sky with a sort of red-orange colour to them in the morning.

She hadn't turned the radio on, and for the longest time I watched her in peripheral-looking over at her between stop lights. She didn't look at me because of a reason. Thinking, I assumed, like my Hermione did when she'd zone out with whatever thought or thoughts crossed her busy mind. I had looked at her once when she gazed silently out the windshield at nothing in particular, and then another time to see her gazing out the passenger window.

She leaned her head into the passenger window when I last saw her, her big brown eyes peering out at what little people walked the cold streets this early Sunday. I saw her smile, but watched the smile fade shortly after when she saw a little girl and her parents shuffling into a shop. I could hear the little girl asking so many questions eagerly to her parents who kept agreeing with her, or however they were answering what looked like bushy brown hair. When they were no more, Hermione's fading smile was no more.

"Hey." I announced lightly not to spook her.

She lagged behind at first, nothing unusual when Hermione was deep in thought, but then looked over at me to reply with a small, "Hm?"

"Did you say something?"

We sat at another red stop light.

My arm lay on the armrest, and I wriggled each individual finger. She noted my actions, and then looked up when I exclaimed with a bit of smile, "Someone's been awfully cold and lonely over here by itself."

I continued to wriggle my fingers, and she eventually smiled.

She intertwined her fingers with mine, and took her other to wrap both around my cool hand. She even gave me a rub to warm me up, leaning over the armrest to kiss me. Tilting to her, too, to express intimacy between the red and green, we both startled when something fell onto the hood of the BMW. A white sheet of snow had begun to cover the silver-metallic gloss, and now an interesting portion of white began to move.

"What in the-?"

"Is that an owl?"

To our surprise a rather large snowy owl, after flopping around on the hood, got its bearings and looked straight through the windshield at us with its beady black eyes. He held in his mouth a piece of parchment with what resembled the Ministry's red wax seal. Some people on the sidewalks were just as startled to hear, and then see, the bird fall from the sky and land directly on the car as if on purpose-and then stare at us as if this was the every day.

She let me go when I took hold of the car door and opened it to the chilled environs, grinning in the slight awkwardness at the passengers in the car next to us. They looked onward at the bizarre scene, and the even more bizarre roll of paper, the tied venetian red ribbon in the owl's beak floating in the frigid winds. I gave the owl a scratch, offering my thanks for the, albeit, sudden delivery. The owl didn't show injury, dropping the letter in my hand and cooing up against my gloved hand.

He blinked at me, and in that moment was so similar, frighteningly similar, to my once beloved Hedwig before flying off in haste. Standing there carside, I watched him until the sky devoured the colour, and the honks from the other vehicles began. I forgot in the moment the light, where we were, what I was doing-even the letter now in my grasp.

I put my hand up and did a sort of wave at the person behind me who only threw up his hands and pointed at the red-turned-green light ahead of us.

When I climbed back in and closed the door, I noticed Hermione turned with a disgusted look on her face at the people behind us. They really loved blowing their horn. I took my time, however, and refastened my seatbelt before taking off again.

I handed the rolled parchment over to her, watching the road. "Looks like the Ministry still knows where we are."

"Like that will ever change…," she started to carefully peel back the roll, and as I glanced over saw the detailed cursive of black ink.

"What is it that they had to send an owl this far?"

Hermione sat quiet, reading, until I called for her once more, "Hermione?"

"Sorry," she hadn't taken her eyes from the parchment long enough to look at me in her apology, but did when she said in as few words as possible, "It's Neville."

"Neville?" My brow rose with my voice.

I looked back and forth between her and the road.

She nodded. "…Directions for this evening."

I heard her voice soften, and knew what had been unspoken.

I laid an arm back on the armrest and wriggled my fingers.

And, she was back with me, hand-in-hand.

***

The Atrium, Ministry of Magic

The corridor of Floo transportation fireplaces lay dormant. The construction teams, the police personnel, and the sample of Aurors wandering about the atrium were going about their business cleaning up and fixing the Ministry when they were abruptly stopped. One of the fireplaces exploded with its green flames, rolling like liquid metal out from the hearth until the liquid green fizzled out. A wash of hot air from the intense flames made those who stood closer to the fireplace take a step back while the others on the far side had their hair swept back. The force pushed water from the remodeled Statue of Magical Brethren, the wave splashing out of the reservoir. The floor rumbled, and of course, on heightened alert the Aurors took advantage of the second, wand at the ready when…

A very upset flaming redhead burst forth.

The Aurors let their wands fall the moment they realized who she was, and immediately took to her side. That didn't stop the disturbed workers from eyeballing the scene, seeing the evident tears streaming down her face as well as the evident wailing reverberating off the walls. Distraught, not a word could be discerned from her hiccupping voice, but she was nevertheless taken away, ushered forth from the stares of the many and onto the lift with quick escort.

***

After Mass

"Ah, so this must be the man of the hour," the Granger's had come over with Father Edwards who had just finished up his Mass. The parishioners began filing out of the several doors leading into the grand entrance foyer. Marble stairs led further down from where we stood out of the way and out the glass front doors, various stained-glass depicting Biblical scenes encircling a fountain which stood centre below coloured-crystal lights. Hermione had been taking a drink from the water bottle she brought with her when she suddenly had an urge to dig through her purse. She pulled out a compact mirror. Dutifully checking herself, she then smiled at Father Edwards's approach, slipping the mirror away.

Father Edwards put his hand out to me.

Giving a smile, I shook his incredibly warm hand and looked into the aged man's face. He surely had to have seen his fair share of stories, and yet still remained happy. That, I thought quickly to myself, was something.

"Harry Potter, sir."

"Frederick has told me all about you and," his eyes simply sparkled when he saw Hermione. Hermione, of course, smiled. "Hermione! What happened to the little girl who used to run up and down these stairs giving your mum a fit and a half?"

He put his hands out to her and Hermione clasped both of them. "School, and work, and getting engaged-"

Father Edwards looked back at Frederick and Emilie and gave a laugh. "Oh, the troubles of youth!"

The Granger's laughed.

"They need to wait another twenty years to find a trouble!" Frederick added in his laugh.

Father Edwards turned his attention back on us. "I'm just glad you're back in these sacred halls, little Miss Granger, and her fiance-"

She let go of his hands when he went back to clasp mine.

"Mister Potter."

I glanced between Hermione and Father Edwards, smiling as the foyer's audience of noise grew quieter.

My arm was back around Hermione when he slipped his hands into his robe, gazing at the soon-to-be-Potters in the spotlight. "My, my, Emilie you were right. Very content couple."

"Very." Emilie nodded along in agreement. "My Cupcake is everything to me, and I know Harry treats her with respect and love."

"God will certainly grace you two with extraordinary happiness, I can tell," Father Edwards's soft eyes went from Hermione, and then to me. He smiled. "And, I hear you wish to stand before Him here and announce your lifelong commitment?"

Frederick wrapped his arm around Emilie the moment Father Edwards said those words, both looking extremely pleased with what was before them: baby girl and cupcake beginning their journey in marriage.

"If it no bother, Father," uttered Hermione without hesitance. "I know it's short notice, and I know weddings usually take months to prepare for, but we-"

"I've known your family, little Miss Granger, for a long, long time. As you know, your dad and mum both went here, and were married here," Father Edward paused a beat, his kind smile contagious. "I have no reason to pass this momentous occasion up for their daughter, and for you, Mister Potter. But, why so soon?"

"We've been waiting for a very long time." I didn't even have to think about that, honestly, the words falling quickly off my tongue.

"Too long," repeated Hermione.

"I love Harry," She looked up at me and smiled. She then looked back at Father Edwards. "And, it's just been too long."

"I don't think we can wait anymore, or we'll burst. I'm addicted to her."

Looking at Hermione, we both laughed at the sincerity of the statement.

"Well, I can try and fit something in around Christmas, but it may have to be a small wedding-"

"We just want the family there," announced Mister Granger from aside Father Edwards. "If the church can hold us, and if Hermione and Harry don't care about the size-"

"We don't," inserted Hermione. She then looked at me. "At least, I don't care, really."

Squeezing Hermione's middle, I said alongside her, "The only thing that matters is, at the end of the day, this beautifully amazing woman walks right along with me."

"Then that's settled," Father Edwards nodded enthusiastically, and even clapped his hands together. "I'll be in touch with you both soon, and Frederick and Emilie-"

He looked at Hermione's mum and dad. "I'll be in touch with you two, too, for the specifics."

"Sounds good," Missus Granger said in her grin.

"Sounds really good," said my beloved next to me.

***

The Office of Destructive and Otherwise Deleterious Devices, Ministry of Magic

A smell that could only be described as concentrated burnt hair odor kept Ginevra outside the department door. Instead, Arthur was told of her daughter's sudden arrival and came outside to greet her. When he saw her disheveled state, and that of her tears, he ripped the mask he had to wear to work off his face and tossed it aside. Dusting his robes off, he took to his daughter in haste. The moment her father hugged her to him, she began wailing once more.

He seemed the only one to encrypt what she said even through her cry. Being her father he had that ability. Being her father, he also had the ability to quell her just enough with a rub of her back to get Ginny calm just enough for her to describe to him why she was in such a sorrowful state. He listened to her intently, even bending at his knees to her height to keep those paternal ears on her despair.

The more she described her confrontation with Molly, the more his eyes widened until he immediately took her back in his arms and requested assistance. An Auror kept with them at the lift to wait on the possible leave of the smaller Weasley, so when Arthur called for help the Auror was there.

"A family issue has taken precedence," he began removing the special gloves he wore, a particular sheen gleaming off them under the lights. He put them in his robes. "Tell the others I'll be back when I get this sorted out."

"Yes sir." The Auror saluted.

Arthur shuffled his daughter along with him, consoling only like a father could with his daughter, "It'll all be okay."

***

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

Standing in the entryway of her little art studio atop the second floor, I watched a very unaware Hermione going about her painting of the walls. She had on one of my fairly old shirts. I couldn't wear it anymore, so she took it to play with-and play with she did. Paint splotches and dabs marked the ultramarine. I couldn't even see the lettering on the cloth, and couldn't for the life of me remember what was said to begin with.

No matter.

I watched at how attuned she was with her brush, her hand having a mind of its own, having seen the image she produced fluidly out on the wall: a landscape I'd seen before. We both had seen, scenes from our past together amongst various other doodles she'd done. She was paying particular interest to the fields of green, and the sunrise she created reminiscent of that one morning when we were on the run, when I knocked.

She turned instantly to my knock from her island in the middle of a sea of open-and-closed tubes of paint, canvases, and a variety of brushes and bowls of water. Her ponytail, her bushy hair behind her in a white scrunchie, swung from one side to another. I smiled when I noticed a bit of grey paint speckles on her cheek, and at her small grin behind an airy fringe. When she went to turn, again, to step nearside a radio upon her painter's stool, I took note of the multicolours splattered on her used, ripped jeans.

I'd interrupted Alanis Morissette's Head Over Feet, and Hermione mouthing the words as she went about her work. I wish I hadn't interrupted, really, as the picture and the mood within her studio felt so very normal, and yet so very surreal at the same time. Her movements, her actions, how she could pull average into beautiful mesmerized me from the door. I leaned on the doorframe, slid my hands in my dark jeans, and continued to watch her tiptoe around as she decreased the volume of the radio.

"Hey," I said softly in smile. "Sorry to disturb the session. Lunch's ready downstairs if you are."

Even with the scrunchie holding her hair back, wild curls found their way around. Tucking those mahogany curls behind her ears, she said just as softly, shaking her head, "You're never a bother."

"May I come in?"

"Of course you can come in."

Pushing off the doorframe, I kept my hands in my pockets whilst adoring what my love had been doing. Encircling a Hogwarts centrepiece she created her memories, all the cheerful ones, some especially for her and some I knew were of us. I smiled when I saw what came to be my favourite of hers. Just to the side of Hogwarts she had painted a rather lifelike still of us in our Gryffindor garb. We were in our white collared shirts, our crimson-and-gold ties. She'd only painted enough of us to showcase her arms looped around mine, our faces together, and our glowing smiles. She'd made our eyes twinkle even in the most subtle of lights.

This is her view of us-and I absolutely loved it-always getting a chill when I saw how content we both were together in paint and present.

"Still my favourite."

Her eyes followed mine, and she smiled aside me.

"What inspired the new portrait?"

I nodded over at the sunrise.

"That morning when we both crawled out of the tent and watched the sunrise…," Her voice remained softened. "I remember every second of that morning. I found `hope' in those moments, and I knew somehow, some way-"

I glanced at her from the sunrise and saw her pools of gorgeous cinnamon on me.

"Some way we would get through it, get through it all. I just knew it. And, I feel sometimes that some way-lost-but I remember this," she motioned towards her creation. "And I feel better."

Something so very male, my instinct, struck a chord.

My intuition, and what I knew, being that man for her.

I knew what she needed, and how I felt, too.

I turned to her, took her face in my hands and kissed her, leading her to tiptoe to my lips.

If not for suspected wet paint on her shirt, she would have fallen into me, lingering with our kiss in a tilt. Her hands were on mine, and when those pools of the most gorgeous cinnamon reopened she just gazed into me.

And then smiled.

***

Somewhere in Sheffield

The sound of a cracked whip made those going about their lives in the suburbs outside Sheffield's metropolitan area look. They hadn't seen the fiery redhead appear, and never gave the thought that she appeared there. Some did raise a brow at the noise, continuing to look around at where the noise could've come from, treating the woman like any other Muggle on the streets.

The ginger's melancholy was hidden beneath the curtain of Weasley-red drifting in the winds hitting her backside. She stared rather lifelessly at the flat that now stood in front of her. Rigid and soulless, those Muggles who wandered by did take her morose into account, looking at her as they walked by in their duties, and then a second-look after from behind.

It took more than moments for the Weasley to move, gathering more attention from the Muggles on the streets. Some even began deciding to bravely approach her, or maybe call the police, thinking the worst in the current state of the world. But, she did finally move. She pulled a white gate open and let it close behind her, minding to the small path up to a door she knew. She thought a moment to press the doorbell, but instead began banging on the door with her fists.

She all but took out her emotions on the door when the door flung itself open.

"Crickey! What in the-?!"

A fair-skinned blonde male at the height of his physique gaped in amazement at who was before him, but showing his true personality smirked with smugness. He went from positively perturbed at the person who hammered on his door at this hour to relishing the minute, boasting with his stance. He pushed his chest out and squared his shoulders, the smirk never leaving his face.

"I knew one day I'd finally have you."

"Just shut up," the Weasley hastily remarked, pushing the door open further in her charge forward. Her strength took him off guard, and when she grabbed him and pulled him down to her level did it look as if his smugness had been smeared away. "Just shut the fuck up or you won't get why I came here for."

Her voice drained, her emotion was just above monotonous, but with purpose.

The fleeting fright which she created left the muscular man for another smirk when he realized what she meant-and why she was here.

If not for the following movement when she crawled up onto him and began snogging him senseless.

He had to walk backward, feeling top heavy with the extra hundred pounds latched onto himself, and felt for the wall. His male instinct hungered, too, and it wasn't much to topple the sense of fear for arousal. She had pushed him against the wall where he took pleasure in her allowance as she didn't conflict with his aggression, his hands roaming her body carelessly. He took what he wanted, touched what he did, and grabbed what she had delivered to him.

"I knew there'd come a day when you'd want me," He said between quick breaths. "Between you and that tart, Granger-"

She withdrew from her advances and his to give him a slap powerful enough to drop him to his side.

"Oi! The fu-?!" He held his face, tears in his eyes from the unexpected pain.

She glared down at him from above him, a frown on her lips, her eyes like daggers twisting into him. "Don't you EVER talk about Hermione like that in front of me or you'll surely get what you deserve!"

"You came here to ride my pecker, and you're going to school me in manners, Ginny?"

"Just keep your fucking trap shut!"

***

At an Undisclosed Place outside London

There weren't many of us, just enough of us.

But, I guess that's what the Ministry wanted.

To keep the light off our event, if one could consider it one.

I think Hermione took it the worst. Ginny didn't show up, and after trying to reach her before the ceremony started for what seemed like forever, I think that's what made Neville's funeral that much more unreal. She stayed with me, right beside me, as one of the Ministry officials read aloud Neville's epitaph. I don't know who wrote it, and I would've been honored to do so if I was asked in retrospect, but his last words were lovely nonetheless.

A lot, if not all, of Hogwarts faculty had shown up. Even some of the ghosts had come. People I knew from school, too, and even closer to me, those who had joined us in Dumbledore's Army so many years ago: Dean, and Oliver, Angelina and her husband, George, or course. Katie-and we hadn't seen her since she left to join professional Quidditch, save the television-she came for a bit, but then parted, needing to get back on the road. Cho stayed for a while, asked where Ginny was to Hermione, and I knew how hard it became for Hermione to continue to reassure others of Gin's state of mind.

It wasn't her job, but she was her best friend…

And, it broke her; I could feel it in the way she clung to me, how tightly her fingers would wind around my coat or my gloved hand.

Draco and I had a quiet word quickly, catching only a few eyes from across the snowy field we all stood around. Even through the cosmetic potions Hermione had concocted, he knew just who I was-if not for how Hermione acted around me. We didn't talk about work, or the present, and definitely not the past. We spoke a little bit about Neville, and what he meant to us, and how he wished he knew Neville before he joined their Army.

"He took up the task without question and became a leader his brothers and sisters admired," Draco said in passing. In earshot Pansy stood with Hermione, exchanging embraces and having quite the interesting conversation about her belly. I didn't catch why they were so intent in pointing at Pansy's stomach when the conversation slipped away, an Auror stepping beside him to whisper something.

"He was a good man, Potter, and he will be missed," was what Draco said before he left with his Ministry team, some Aurors disappearing into the white fog surrounding the perimetre. I could just make out those who stayed camouflaged with the hills and valleys of white powdered snow.

That left us in the end.

Two souls standing at Neville's coffin draped in Ministry colours, a wreath of red roses at the head with several other roses given by his loved ones. I had placed mine atop, and kept with Hermione, hand-in-hand, as she became the last of us. She held onto her rose, staring blankly at what was once one of our closest mates and quite the man people knew not of in the end.

"Everything is different now, isn't it?"

I let her talk, feeling her fingers caress my own, intertwined.

"We try our best, but in the end, does it really matter?"

She looked at me with those big saucers of hers so ready to go.

"It does," I said, bringing her hand up to my lips where I kissed her. "It matters to me."

"I don't want to say goodbye…" Her voice cracked at the end, lessening with her emotions.

I wrapped my arms around her when she hugged me, and tightly. "I know…"

I cradled her head to me. "It's so very difficult for everyone who loved him."

"I wish Gin were here…," her tone muffled against me, but I heard it loud and clear.

"I know, baby," I rubbed her head, gave her back a tiny massage in our embrace. "…I know."

The sun set on the horizon, making the snowy crystals sparkle like billions of fallen stars from the sky.

Hermione turned from our embrace to lay the last rose on the coffin. "…I'll miss you," she whispered into the growing, chilled winds whipping around us.

"Come on, hun…," I coerced her to follow me inside a tent where we were all to gather after the funeral. "…Before we catch cold."

I opened the tent flap for her, and when she entered looked back myself to see the gravesite being tended to by white cloaks. One ivory hood looked back at me almost as if to say something, but instead resumed his watchful eye as they prepared to lower Neville coffin to keep at least the elements from damaging his resting place before they moved him to his final destination in the Memorial Gardens at Hogwarts.

***

Hermione and I sat together away from everyone.

She wanted it that way, or so she said, only ever talking to me when we first entered and some thereafter.

"…The whole thing reminded me of when you died."

How she crossed her legs, I had my hand on the leg she lay towards me, the sides of our bodies touching. We had our chairs placed close, side-by-side, without room between us. I had the other arm behind her on the chair, and I liked to keep her that way, in our own bubble. We were scarred, and it took our efforts, the ying and the yang, to keep each other from crossing lines we didn't wish to cross whether it be shouting to cursing to…something else.

She had her head on my shoulder, in the crook of my arm, when she said this. I lifted from my stroke of her leg, enamored, really, by her presence, and she did, too. I gave her a puzzled look. "Why would you think that?" I replied, curious to a point.

"Because I wasn't there for you, and I'd be damned if I'd miss-!"

I saw she was getting worked up, her voice had even caught the attention to those close by, so I soothed her by doing all that I thought I could. I kissed her, her cheek first, and then her mouth, before grazing my thumb across her cheek. "I'm here."

"I know, but I'm sad-and angry-and frustrated-and-confused-and worried-and-"

"'Ermione!"

The burly tone of familiar bear broke our concentration.

We both looked at the large, giant of a man who had stepped to our side and at first couldn't ingest the image, but eventually smiled at his own.

Hagrid always had the personality to cheer people up just by smiling, and he was. "And `Arry…," he put his hand to cover one side of his mouth to not say aloud his conclusion.

My brow rose, and Hermione glanced first at me, and then Hagrid.

"Yer secret's safe wit me, ya know that…," he had leaned over to lower his tone, and then stood up to reach his full height. "Even though it's not much `er secret. Anyone who knows you two's history would know how `Arry treats ya, and how `Ermione treats ya-like two hippogriffs in love."

"Hagrid…" Hermione went to stand first, opening her arms as Hagrid did. He gave her the biggest bear hug imaginable, and then went to me to do the same.

Hagrid was probably the only person we could openly talk to about Neville and our past. How he, and we, used to get in all sorts of trouble, especially starting at the end of fourth year. Hagrid at one point got Hermione up in a giggling frenzy, and that made me happy, if only for the moment. The toll had taken an incredible beating on us, and to see her laughing-that made me happy. And, she was, too.

"Ya know," Hagrid fidgeted with his hands, looking as if what he was about to say was out of context. "I hadn't seen ya two in so long, I jus' didn't know what ta do wit myself."

"I'm sorry, Hagrid-"

"Ya dun have ta apologize ta me, `Arry-"

"We promise we'll make it out to the hut, Hagrid," exclaimed my beloved. We'd gone back to sitting like Hagrid expressed, like two hippogriffs in love. "We've just been so busy preparing for the wedding, and-"

"'Arry Potter the groom and `Ermione Granger the bride," Hagrid shook his head in disbelief. "I ne'er thought I'd see the day. Ol' Hagrid is happy for ya two."

We smiled at each other, and then at Hagrid.

"You'll be at the wedding?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

***

"Hermione…"

"Harry," she cut me short, the drink in her hand. She'd been over and back again with the typical red solo cup. I could smell the pungent aroma of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey from the cup, and on her breath. She was on her second cup, and nearly finished, but she was also quite the lightweight. And, I feared with the current emotional instability… Though, I understood how she felt.

I took a sip or two from her cup telling myself I did it because I didn't want her to get sick, but knew, somewhere deep inside, that I wished to be drunk right along with her. But, some outside force kept me from drowning my sorrows, and in classic Harry Potter fashion, I followed my gut. The couple sips wouldn't get me anywhere close to where I knew she headed down, so I just kept my eye on her…and kept her with me.

I watched her tilt her head back, tilt the drink back, and watched her shut tight her eyes. Drinking it straight came with its consequence, taste being one of them. A space between her fingers led me to see Mister Weasley approaching, and she hiccupped when he went to introduce himself.

He knew who I was, working with Draco, and like Hagrid said…anyone who knew our history could probably connect the dots, for better or worse.

"I kept looking over here at you two and kept asking myself why I hadn't come over sooner," he took one of the chairs beside us and sat down next to Hermione. She didn't look at him, keeping her eyes straight forward, but I gave a smile in greeting. "Then I thought, maybe they needed some company. I didn't want you to think we didn't want both your company after what all has happened."

"Thank you, Mister Weasley."

Hermione hiccupped and fell into me, her eyes still forward.

I knew she thought, and in reach and at my side, she could.

Thinking alone would be…problematic.

Arthur and I spoke lightly of history, and our future, and of Neville. "He was like another son, Neville. Another Weasley boy of mine. He knew his stuff, and he would always bring me another new Muggle toy to play with. The computer-I know the Ministry has been dabbling in the oddity, but the object's complexity…how impressive it is…almost rivals our wand in what it can achieve. And, he was at the front of the technology boom at the Ministry, a true pioneer in the magical world."

"He loved Ginny, he did. Him and I had a few father-to-son chats on the side speaking on their future together. It was heartbreaking when she left him, and-"

"Excuse me," Hermione interrupted Mister Weasley. I had witnessed Hermione drop her head back and take the last drop of her drink just before she did. She looked right at me, seemingly despondent to Arthur on her left. "I'm getting another drink. Would you like one as well?"

"Hermione-" The uneasiness of the matter brought a hand to hers when she snapped at me, making me double back.

"I haven't done anything."

The disquiet invited itself in the silence between us three.

I just shrugged. "No, but thanks-"

And, she was up before I could call her "hun".

Arthur watched her walk away from us as I did, and then turned back to me, apologizing, "I'm sorry for bringing it up."

I shook my head. "She just-"

I sighed, looking back over at my beloved pouring more Firewhiskey from a variety of bottles, both alcoholic and non, from a buffet of food. Some of the funeral patrons, those I assumed were not of our side and of Neville's acquaintances, gawked at her… Which I didn't enjoy, a fire unlike what Hermione put in her belly in mine.

Arthur continued his regret, his mouth moving a mile a minute at how he longed for his daughter to be here, and why she wasn't. "She came to the Ministry, and sought for my office. She was simply distraught, and what she told me-"

"She came to the Ministry? She was distraught?" He piqued my interest. Professor Trewlawney approached Hermione and laid her hand on Hermione's shoulder from behind. I thought she only startled Hermione, but Hermione seemed to have none of the professor's words of wisdom. She pushed the professor's hand away and was on her way back to us when Arthur had said those words of instant intrigue.

"Hermione and I have been trying to get in touch with her, but to no avail. Why was she distraught? What's happened that she can't get back with Hermione?"

My voice became aggressively eager, dropping Arthur in his seat with a slouch. "Look, Harry," Mister Weasley sat with his elbows on his knees. "Molly can be… Well, Molly can say…"

Molly.

Of course.

Ginny had always chased after her mother's affection.

I swallowed hard after hearing her name, knowing the unknown felt much like an anvil dropping from my throat to the pit of my stomach.

"…Ginny told me the things Molly said to her, treating her without regard, like a complete stranger. She said she ignored her, and wouldn't tell her where I was. She blamed her for Neville's death, how she's made a fool out of the Weasley name-which is by far incorrect-and… I've spoken to Molly about it, but Molly's been through so much-"

I heard a gasp.

We heard a gasp.

And, by the time we could look in the direction my beloved had went we were met by a frighteningly immutable stance. The glazed look of Hermione lit to life, the cup full of her drink falling as if in slow motion from betwixt her fingers until it overturned onto the ground. The strong smell of whiskey overwhelmed our rather somber milieu, and I saw that certain light flicker wildly in her eyes.

I couldn't catch her before she started to run, lifting immediately and calling out her name to grab a fistful of air.

***

(Hermione's Perspective)

I had heard it. The words. Those words that changed the blood in my veins to the hard-hitting whiskey. An accumulation of all the sadness, all the anger, all the resentment… I'd been trying to maintain a sense of calmness when I overheard what was said on the way back… I let the cup of alcohol drop to the floor, the plastic smacking against the muddy grounds, the clear liquid mixing unevenly. Unevenly like what the world had come to be. I didn't understand.

How could a mother be so cruel?

How could a mother toss one of her own aside like rubbish into a bin?

My mother loved me until the end, and accepted me whatever path I walked. She never demanded more from me other than for me to use my moral compass, to be good to others as I wanted them to be with me, and to succeed. She never chastised me, demeaned me, thought of me as some…stranger, another face in the crowd.

She loved me.

And Gin… She deserved better than this.

All this.

Her mother her monster, kept to her like a marionette, suffocating her life.

Harry and Mister Weasley both turned in unison. My eyes narrowed, the very fibre in my being shaking. I shook, and I saw Harry try to place his hand around mine to hold me steady. I heard Arthur's swallow before I heard Harry call for me. But, the time I had come.

Molly became my target, my sight never leaving hers.

I don't think I breathed, nor blinked, as I ran at my full speed at her.

People in the environs watched my lithe body move like water in the tent, between the chairs set up for those to sit while talking, reminiscing, maybe, about our fallen companion: Neville Longbottom.

Molly squatted in her hen corner, gawking at others and being herself. Her nose sat a little higher, her smirk a little smugger. She'd become one of those. Those. Those people we fought so hard to separate from, Harry and I, Neville. Those who sought to judge us. Judge not lest ye be judged, and I was about to judge her…

My way.

She didn't see me coming…

"Neville was worthy of much better…," she sat with a frown, but her nose still sat that inch higher. She mocked emotion, shaking her hair, the tangled strands of Weasley-red ruffled against her homely brown shawl.

Her girls nodded like bobbleheads, agreeing without thought to the vile she spewed.

"I gave my daughter everything she ever wanted. And for what, girls? She had Harry, and she allowed him to run to…well, you gals know. She had Neville, beloved Neville, and she tossed him away like she tossed her life away. She rebelled, she chose to be…different…she embarrassed the Weasley name time and time again, and I gave her chances-dozens upon dozens of them-to chose what mother knew right. But she crossed that final line, and-"

Molly ended up in the mud, catching herself at the final moment. Her hands and knees splashed with sodden earth, she gripped what tufts of sparse grass lay in her palms and shot a look at who dumped her from her chair. The gaggle of women gasped, as well as the onlookers, most who stood up if seated to catch a glimpse at my actions.

And, she saw me, the consequence of those actions.

I seethed, my chest rising and falling so quickly I hadn't known why I didn't fall to the ground myself, out of breath.

"You!" Molly's face carved mostly with teeth, growling, showing the inevitable fire which came with being a Weasley-and the mother, a roaring furnace like no other. "You ungrateful-!"

"All she wanted was a mother!!" I belted this out from the deepest parts of my soul. I watched Molly get up from the mud and trudged the distance towards me, her front a swath of the murkiest colour. The colour dripped from her like the rage in her severely reddened face.

It became us, and only us.

I screamed at her, even if the distance had closed in from all sides. "That's all a child ever wants-to be loved!"

I could feel the warm tears readily at the ducts, and then the slow shower of them across my innocent cheeks.

Molly wound up and slapped me, my face jerking to one side.

A brown handprint was left where a red one lay underneath.

My eyes widened, tears evident in the flooded, reflective pools.

"You've gotten everything your little heart desired, Miss Perfect! The whole world stops when you walk in, and that's what I wanted for my little girl!"

"My mother always loved me for me!" I placed my hand on my chest, pointing at my heart. "Ginny has cried because that's all she ever wanted! She did things to impress her mother so that her mother would finally accept her-but you never did! And, she cries!"

"You're a monster!" I shouted into her face, making her hold her head back. "You're an unappreciative, wicked beast of a woman!"

"You think you know everything, Miss Perfect!" Molly wagged her finger in my face. "But, you're as ignorant to the world as the rest of your youth!"

"At least I find solace in knowing my mother never hates me for who I am! At least my mother treasures me, and will forever be a person I look up to! She'll never be the monstrosity you are!"

"No wonder my daughter enjoys your company so much," Molly put her hands on her hips and let out a snigger, her nose stuck north. "She's followed your leading footsteps-she had everything, and let greatness slip away. You had Harry and he died-"

She looked right at me, directly into me and said in slithering, snake-biting response, "And, you never look back. She will, too, and shame our name even fur-"

She hadn't time to finish her thought before I drug her down. I yanked her down, and to say I didn't continue shedding tears would be a lie. I believe I could finally feel the heaviness hollowed out in Gin's heart that very moment. When grappling Molly in the mud I found myself channeling the emotions driving Gin for so many years. And, Molly fought back, becoming that embodiment of hatred her daughter now held. She actually hit me, a few times, giving me scrapes and scratches. When I fought back, beginning to overpower her, I fell from the volatile scene like a dying petal of a flower.

I struggled in earnest to get back at her as I cried out, filthy, wet, and tear-stained, "All she wanted was a mother! All she wanted was to be cared for and loved!"

"Hermione," I heard Harry's voice, but he became white noise. The heightened, strained atmosphere kept me going, as well as, I assumed, the whiskey I consumed. "Love, settle-"

I had broken away, but in the next second of time, and people, stopped.

I stopped, halfway back to Molly.

I nearly toppled over from my momentum.

Aurors hadn't been present until now, appearing when Molly went for her wand and now brandished her weapon at me.

"Do you think I never wanted my daughter to be happy?"

"Merlin's beard! Mols! Have you gone mad?! These are our friends!" Arthur's voice rang from behind me. "Put your wand down! This is enough!"

"Hush, Arthur! This hasn't a thing to do with you anymore!" Molly's eyes went from me, flicked behind me, and then gazed back into my own. "She was my only daughter! She chose to stray from me, to stray away from those who loved her, dally in drugs, dally in women-everyone knows-everyone!"

"She's a human being!" my scream hurt me, digging back into my soul. "In the end, none of that should matter!"

"You just wait, Miss Perfect, when you have a daughter of your own-!"

I shook my head so hard the world became dizzy.

"It'll never happen! Like my mother, and her mother, and her mother before that-I will love my daughter, or my son, with every bit of my heart! Whatever they aspire to!"

I felt a hand on me, and then Harry, not looking like himself, but so much like himself after the cosmetic potions veiled him from this world. He placed his arm in front of me, a protective barrier of himself, and offered his wand just as Molly did.

He aimed it at the person who had loved him like a mother.

"Like I said," Molly prodded with her wand at Harry of whom she'd never known was him in her deliriously hateful state. "You lay quickly with others after Harry died, just like another one I knew! You can't deny it, either! Everyone who bought a Prophet since has seen pictures of you and some random Muggle! And now another!"

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

Others, family members, friends, colleagues stood at the ready for anything to happen. Even Molly waved her wand at her husband when he took a step, now aligned with Harry. He pointed at her and said as an order, "That is enough! No more, Molly! No more!"

"Expelliarmus!"

One of the Aurors took Molly off-guard, her wand leaping far to the side where another Auror caught it with finesse. Aurors swooped in to remove the tension, especially when Molly went steadfast at the one who caught her wand. Some funeral mourners even fled in to deescalate the situation, placing their hands on Molly. Of course, even amongst the crowd now gather around her one could hear the shouts of mother Weasley beheading them all with retorts:

"She was to smear our name further! She accosted me! She deserves this treatment, not me!"

Harry caught the one Auror, the Auror who disarmed Molly, look back at him from the shrieking woman in the centre of the mob and saw a bit of Weasley-red peek out from the white cloak and hood. Harry nodded his way, and the Auror nodded in return before trekking into the warzone that had become Molly Weasley's party.

Harry, his hands, his arm never leaving me, turned and embraced me to him. I shook my head and cried into him. I cried because of everything, feeling Gin's loss in my core, and for the fact that I had messed his brilliantly beautiful suit up. Harry smiled as he caressed the top of my head. He secured those arms of his around me and held me, all the while telling me how everything was fine.

And, how he loved me.

Arthur stood still beside us, planted like a tree gazing onwards at his maddened wife and how she had taken her wand out on one of us, especially me. He had his hands in what hair he had left, years of his own loss, the stress, making bits of Weasley fall out.

"She needs to go home," Harry issued to a shocked Arthur Weasley coming down from such a high as the heated situation brought itself. Arthur looked at Harry after a beat, as if to internalize and ingest what he said. Harry issued, again, "I'm taking her home."

"Right," Arthur breathed, pulling back what remained from his receding hairline. "Right-right."

"Could you please tell Hagrid, and the others, that we've gone home if they ask for us. Tell them we'll still be here, in contact, as always."

"Sure," One could tell Arthur was still in awe at what unfolded, but he nodded, eventually landing two feet back on solid ground. "Sure, Harry-and you needn't worry. We will always have your back-both you and Hermione."

"She's just-" Arthur looked back over at his wife.

"It's difficult," Harry added, to which Arthur glanced at him. Harry nodded understandingly. "I know."

"Thank you, Harry," He put his hand on Harry's shoulder, and then I felt him place his hand on me. I looked at him briefly from Harry's comforted arms. I saw him through the tears, and he remained, like always, the genuinely heavy-hearted Mister Weasley.

"And, I apologise to you, Hermione. Please don't take what Missues Weasley says-"

The emotions washed over me, the situation so raw, so real, and Harry had to stop Mister Weasley however true he meant. "She really needs to be home."

Arthur nodded, patting Harry on the shoulder. "And I've a wife to attend to…"

The world became a blur, and we both became weightless as the tent just outside Neville's resting place was there-and then wasn't.

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

"Thanks for coming by and checking on her," I'd come from the master bath where I let Hermione do her thing. She needed me, and I needed her, but sometimes I felt she needed that minute of solace to herself. She had stopped crying when we reappeared at home, and quickly got her into a soothing hot shower. Between her and whatever left on the ground, I believed she'd rolled around in the earth long enough to remove the first layer. Thick mud caked on her, her hair, her face, her clothes of course, and somehow some of the dirt made it underneath covered areas.

And that's where I met a sudden ignite of the fireplace, my arms carrying a bundle of our sodden funeral apparel. I let Ron in, and as I set the washing machine to begin he stood in the entrance of the laundry. He had his hood down, his Weasley-red swaying when I noticed him looking towards the noise of the water running in our quieted abode.

I had an eye on the dryer, warming towels for when my love would step out of the shower, when Ron replied, "Anything, mate, is there anything I can do?"

I just shook my head and leaned on the rumbling dryer. I crossed my arms. "Everything will be better in the morning, I'm sure. The whole situation simmered over, and other than Molly hitting her-"

"I couldn't believe it," Ron interjected, shaking his head along with mine. "When we were notified of the commotion inside, I came in right when I heard the slap, and it was as if-"

"I can't explain it, Harry," Ron's thoughts diverted, figuring the situation out as much as we did, I did. I understood Hermione's position, and stood with Hermione's position… I guessed it was the years of Molly's mothering that denial of what occurred kept triggering, almost as if I wanted to repress the image of my fiance being smacked as she tried to justify why Molly would shun Gin as she did.

"Our family has been through so much… I think after the War and all its celebrations, mum realized Fred would never come back after the madness. I think it took a considerable toll on her because she's always kept to us."

"As she did with me," I added.

"Exactly. The nightmare she found herself in when you died, and then Fred, and then you died again…" Ron's voice trailed off as well as his sight of me, lingering on the wall.

"It's almost more work to keep me secret."

Ron shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, albeit with a blank stare at the wall. "It has to be. Who in their right mind would ever release that the Order used Dark Arts to bring you back? Surely there would be people who understood, but a significant majority would probably strike us from their book outright."

"She's not nutters," The blank stare left him as he looked back up at me. "Mum."

"I know, and Hermione knows, too."

The dryer went off and I leaned over to check on the towels.

"I may press Malfoy to allow the obliviation spell to wear off so she knows where I am, close by, and not chasing common welsh greens with my brother Charlie-"

Ron spoke, and I gave him my attention, listening with one ear. The other kept Hermione in earshot, and noted when the water shut off as it did. I took the towels out of the dryer and began folding them neat enough to carry them upstairs.

"Mate," I started, closing the dryer door. The warm towels felt nice against the coolness of the flat's stilled atmosphere. "You're a great friend, and an even greater person. You'll know what to do. I don't know if I can make that decision, you know? I have to be with Hermione right now, and that's really what's on my mind. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, Harry. I apologize," Ron's words were sincere. "For mum."

"We'll get passed all this," I put out my hand to him, walking out of the laundry room. "We always do."

Ron placed his leather-gloved hand with Harry's and shook.

"And you call me a `great friend'. Thank you, Harry."

Taking the first step with towels in hand, I heard Ron before his apparition pop, "Oh, and Harry."

"Yeah?" I glanced behind me, on the fourth step.

"Tell Hermione Gin's safe."

"Do you know where she is?"

"Unfortunately."

My brow rose. "Should we go get her-?"

"I don't know why she's at McLaggen's, and I don't know if I can fairly control her actions as much as I want to with that rubbish."

"Rubbish indeed-McLaggen?"

"The sod, but she's told me how she's an adult and I shouldn't treat her like anything else but."

"Noted," I gave a hesitant nod, taking in why Gin would choose McLaggen over… My mind had become a swamp of memories, and all I wished to do was be with Hermione after tonight. "I'll tell Hermione…when she's of sound mind."

Ron nodded, too, and vanished before me in a pop.

***

McLaggen's flat, Sheffield

A motley assortment of drug paraphernalia littered a king-sized mattress. Out cold, Ginny lay amongst the hallucinogenic riff raff wrapped haphazardly in sheets. Cormac sat naked aside her, head lowered as he expelled smoke from his lips and made a sigh of utter pleasurement. He went to open his eyes, taking his mouth from an object which looked like a skull with a long pipe, and smiled as if he had won a trophy for what he had triumphantly done.

"Always a good fuck," he stated with a chuckle, using Ginny as support when he sat down the bong and went for a whole bottle of tequila on her side. Grasping the neck, he fell back to his bum and sort of swayed at rest. He glanced askance at her, put the bottle to his lips, and laughed. "If you didn't know how to work a pecker, I wouldn't be caught near Weasley rubbish. I heard the stories from Hogwarts."

He laughed again and went to drink from the bottle when nothing but drops fell warm on his tongue. He peeked inside and noted the emptiness. Glowering, he scowled at her from the side. "Little twat."

He dropped the bottle, the glass falling off the side of the bed with a thud and rolling somewheres off.

"You'll make it up by blowing me whenever you wake."

***

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

"Harry…"

She must've heard the door open and close. The lavatory door was cracked open as I left it earlier, the lights in the room shining a ray across the dark wooden floor.

"I'm here," I went for the door and opened it to find her slumped against the shower wall with the shower door open. She had her hand over her face and kept groaning. I felt bad, my love in pain. When she heard me crossing the small distance between her and the door, she peeked through fingers to see me.

"I'm here," I said again, pushing open the shower door to its fullest to get the first of three towels I had in my hand around her. She had to help me, standing tall but leaning back and forth as if her world rotated-and I was sure it did. I dropped the other two towels when I saw her struggling to dry off and began to assist, bringing her out so she could sit on the loo to maintain some sort of equilibrium.

"If only we premade some anti-hangover remedies," I jested at her as she and I dried her off.

She sort of smiled, but found it hard. She groaned, and told me, "Ohhhh, don't make me laugh… It hurts…"

"What hurts?"

"Everything."

"That's a lot."

"Mhmm…"

"Oh," I caressed the top of her hand as I dried between each individual finger with the second towel. "Harry's sorry Hermione's ill."

"I'm more than ill…," she breathed in this enormous breath and let it out slowly. "I feel bad, so, so bad…"

"The hangover that awful? Want me to get you something to drink, something to-"

"Oh please," she gripped my hand and shut her eyes tight. Her voice softened, "…Please don't talk about food right now…"

"So, what's making my love feel worse?" I stood up and began lightly patting dry her hair.

"What I did to Missus Weasley…," Her meek tone came from the darkened caverns of the towel. She peeked out from beneath, shadowed from the lights in the lavatory, when I bent back down so she could see me. "In front of everyone, and at Neville's funeral…"

"…Neville…," she whispered as if remembering the past, remembering a friend. "I'm `Hermione Granger'-I should've thought everything out before jumping into something so…so…"

"…'Me'?" I prodded. "You pulled a `Harry'. I've rubbed off on you, given you that rebellious spirit."

"Face it, love," I gave an overly dramatic sigh. "We just were meant to be."

She gave me one of those Hermione looks even with the dark under her eyes.

"I thought it was admirable. We stick up for the ones we love, be it against friend or foe," I tilted forward to kiss her lips underneath the confines of the towel, and she jerked back, groaning as she did.

"Harry…," She breathed. "I haven't even brushed my teeth."

I just smiled and took her hand, kissing it once more.

"I love you," I said looking at her. "So much, I do."

Hermione made a slight grin. "Well, after seeing what I did in the loo after we got home and you still wish to kiss me… I think that's evidence enough."

I made a soft laugh, and her grin widened.

***

I'd given her something for the headache, and now she lay with me in bed. I could see her enough in the atmospheric light, whether that be the moonlight or streetlights outside. Nevertheless, I watched her as she lay flat on her back. She kicked off the sheets and quilt and lay, more or less, uncovered. She even shimmied up my Gryffindor Quidditch jersey she loved so much to feel the cool air of a chilly London night breeze across her flat tummy. And my hand, gently rubbing her by the slightest of touch.

In the beginning her stomach would retract when my hand would lovingly skirt along her silky, flawless skin. I teased her navel until she wished me to stop, the squirming elevating her throbbing head pain. She had her eyes closed, her head towards me and an arm above her on the pillow. The bluish tint of the night dyed her skin.

She smiled when my fingertips glided just above the band of her knickers, a black centimetre or two of cloth above a large white, tight number. I laughed a little, watching myself after watching her, at how I used to be so very scared of this, let alone actually touching girls' undergarments.

"I think you're incredible."

"I don't feel incredible right now…"

"You still are."

"…Yeah?" Her voice ascended an octave above whisper, and she smiled.

"Yeah…," I mimicked her lessened tone, leaning over to caress her forehead. My hand, its fingers ran inside her hair, rubbing that lovable crown lightly. "How's the head?"

"Better…" She said weakly, and pretty darn adorably.

"Better…," I imitated, laughing some when I made her smile. "Well, that's wonderful."

She nodded however slightly.

"We haven't an itinerary, so I want you to sleep as long as you want to break this hangover."

She nodded again, moving mostly her chin that smidge.

"I love you, Hermione Granger." I caressed her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and nuzzled softly against her.

"I love you, too, Harry…"

***

{Author's Note: Tried my best to squeeze the emotional sponge of all its drippings in this one. Last chapter became one of the fastest growing reads of them all, so I am pleased at least by the number that you all enjoyed the spotlight on the Ministry and all its storylines. I thank those who have reviewed, but wish there were more communication so that I don't solely base a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down on the cold hit number (if only this were like Facebook, eh?). I also played with a parallelization with this and Chapter 59 alongside a parallelization of Molly Weasley and Emilie Granger.}

{Music: I found the instrumental version of A Bad Dream by Keane and Mother by John Lennon (especially in the first scene) that became Ginevra's themes, also Yellow by Coldplay, Running Up That Hill by Placebo, The Scientist by Coldplay, Dark Horse by Katy Perry, Head Over Feet by Alanis Morissette, My Favorite Mistake by Sheryl Crow, If It Makes You Happy by Sheryl Crow, and more that I've surely missed over the month or so}

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