I am coughing like Granny evil, and my nose is blocked. My head feels like Dobby is sitting on top of it. If only I had some of the potion that cures this blasted cough and cold.

Anyways, you people are the ultra mag group of people ever. Thanks a bunch for leaving me all those reviews. I know I haven't answered most of you, but know that I've read and appreciated every single word. Thank you guys!

This is the end of our little story. I planned this one solely around Hermione and Antonin's relationship and it was magical to write this pair.

So, thank you for following, favoriting and reviewing my story.

I don't own Harry Potter!

*bawls like a baby and runs away*

Epilogue

My love for you is a candle,

Burning with an eternal flame…

'Hermione…'

'Hmm.'

'Come to bed, dragaya.'

'Just a few more minutes.' She yawned and rubbed her eyes, fatigue evident in her firebrand eyes.

The moon had climbed in its third quarter and stars were a surprise when she raised her head to look out of the window. The last she'd checked-the sun had still been shining in the sky.

Her study faced the gardens, and the fragrance permeated the air coming from the window.

In the shadow of Castle Dolohov was a piece of heaven that Antonin had created to escape the madness of his life. Tall marble columns dripping with flowering vines intersected the trellis of black and red roses. As far as she could see, there were only roses with their soft petals and heady fragrance.

'Hermione…' his hands worked out the kinks from her neck, their touch familiar and welcome.

It had been three years since the wizarding war had ended.

And it had been four since Hermione and Antonin had dispelled the loneliness that clung to the walls of his home.

Now when the sun rose in the sky, it was greeted by the gleaming spires and shining windows, blooming flowers and joyous chirps. It slowly crept throw the glass windows of the master bedroom on the third floor and stumbled blindingly on the content entwined forms of Hermione and Antonin.

He would shield his eyes from the light, bury his head in her hair and mutter about her stupid habit of insisting on leaving the curtains parted. She would press herself closer to him and smile-the first thing he saw every morning.

Their road to happiness had not been without its dangers and pitfalls.

He had held her in his arms when she'd broken down after obliviating her parents. She'd lost her grief in his love and he'd lost the chips of his flinty heart.

She'd gone to search for Horcruxes and he'd made sure that nobody among his former associates or heaven forbid, his snake face boss found anything about her.

Bellatrix had somehow worked out his association with Hermione and the fact that he'd killed his fellow Death Eaters when she'd attacked Hermione in the park.

Antonin would have taken death gladly-kissed it like his absolution-if it would have spared Hermione. But snatchers had caught her alongside Potter and Weasley, and it had been hell when Bellatrix had marred her perfect skin with the insult.

She'd made him watch.

He'd made sure Bellatrix begged for her death.

He'd kept her alive to watch her master's demise.

'You need to sleep,' he said as he maneuvered her out of her chair.

'But I'm so close, Antonin,' she protested.

'You can continue tomorrow, krasivaya.'

He picked her up despite her half-hearted protests and walked out of her study.

'When did you come back?'

'I took the last available port-key from New York, only to find my wife too immersed in her research to even spare me a glance when I entered her study,' he grumbled.

'Your wife was trying to find a permanent cure for Dragon Pox.' She cuddled into his chest. 'So, how was your exhibition?'

And just like that, she'd made him forget that he was supposed to be angry at her working hours. 'Oh, Hermione, they loved it. I couldn't…'

She'd encouraged him to send his canvases to muggle galleries and they'd been extremely popular. Soon, the name Dolohov became as known in muggle world as it was in wizarding one. It was the latest fashion statement to have a Dolohov on your wall. The media obviously wanted to celebrate the genius of A. Dolohov but they seldom found the man.

As Antonin laid Hermione on their bed, moon peeked through the windows to fall on her face. She was still the same Hermione who'd shyly kissed his lips when he'd brought her to Castle Dolohov for the first time. She was still the same Hermione who'd enticed him with smoky eyes and innocent smiles. She was the same woman who'd promised to never let go of his hand throughout their lives.

'I love you, Hermione,' he whispered on her lips, his hands tangling in her hair.

'As I love you, Antonin…'

The night gave away to day, breathy cries to soft moans. Passion changed to languor, as they drifted on their dreams…

Goodbye Hermione and Antonin, till we meet again somewhere entirely new and different…