Epilogue
The City of Days

June 8, 2004

After that, things had happened fairly quickly. Remus had issued a summons to the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, calling for assistance capturing the remaining Death Eaters at Castle Yfelwulf. Within a quarter of an hour, Voldemort's former fortress had been swarming with Order members, all busy scouring the castle for Death Eaters and hauling them off to be held in one of the dungeons at Hogwarts.

Illyria had been persuaded to explain its reasons for apparently betraying the Order group and siding with Voldemort, however briefly. "It was simple," it said haughtily. "You needed access to the fool Voldemort. And I did want to meet him. When I saw him, I knew he was exactly as you had claimed, a pretender and a braggart. So I convinced him that I could be of use to him and that he could trust me, and then I manipulated that trust. It was effective, was it not?"

Hermione missed most of the excitement of the next few days, spending them flat on her back in the Hogwarts infirmary while Madam Pomfrey healed the damage caused by Rodolphus Lestrange. Ginny, Remus and even Harry all stopped in to see her at various points, though, telling her about how the Order of the Phoenix had descended upon the Ministry of Magic to round up the Death Eaters remaining there (the stupid ones, mostly, they confessed) and then divided into strike teams, canvassing the country for Voldemort's last few holdouts.

Almost immediately, Harry was besieged by members of the magical press, both British and international, all congratulating him and angling for exclusive interviews. In typical Harry fashion, he shrugged them all off and granted the interview to the only paper that hadn't asked him for one: The Quibbler. Luna Lovegood would have been thrilled.

Angel, Wesley, Spike and Illyria had quietly returned to Los Angeles, a few nights later, before the frenzied media could discover their involvement. "We work best when we're not in the paper all the time," Wesley told Hermione, who was freshly released from the infirmary. "Keeps people from asking inconvenient questions."

She had nodded. "We do appreciate the help. Thank you. We couldn't have accomplished this without you."

"We'll send the bill," he said, and Hermione started to say something until she saw the faint twitching around his mouth that indicated he was joking. Spike had stuck his head out of the plane door and started whinging about the lack of selection on the minibar, and Hermione had decided it was best to let them leave.

Then the rebuilding started. Following the purge by the Order, the Ministry of Magic was riddled with vacancies, with many of the upper level ministers and department heads now in jail awaiting their trial before the Wizengamot. It didn't take long to convince people that Remus Lupin was suited for Minister for Magic, a position he humbly accepted. From there, members of the Order of the Phoenix slotted into place all over the Ministry. Kingsley Shacklebolt took over the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, while Hermione had ended up the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (and Deputy Minister for Magic, although since the Deputy Minister didn't have any duties, she considered it a useless title.) Arthur Weasley had been elevated to the head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, which Molly Weasley was still crowing about. Ginny had taken a position in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and even Percy Weasley had been lured out of hiding to run the Department of International Magical Cooperation – although his surviving siblings still refused to talk to him.

As for Harry himself, he was taking things slowly, trying to recover and avoid the constant media barrage. He had moved out of Grimmauld Place, and Ginny confided in Hermione that they were on a track towards something like reconciliation.

Hermione had thrown herself into the work of rebuilding the government after the corruption or incompetence of the previous administrations. It wasn't easy, reforming a system with hundreds of years of inertia behind it, and so far in the month she had been in office, it meant a lot of twelve-hour days and tedious meetings, convincing people that this reform or that change was worth something.

And on days like this one, the long days were even more tiresome. Hermione swiveled her desk chair away from her desk and stared out the window. She was four levels underground, but today Magical Maintenance had opted to show Hampstead Heath out her windows. Hermione could tell it was a pristine day out there, with people tossing frisbees and walking their dogs. And she was waiting for her appointment with Amos Diggory, and after that she had a meeting scheduled. Her datebook was full until at least nine. But maybe she could take a break, go for a quick walk after this meeting . . .

"Hermione Granger."

Hermione spun her chair around, briefly alarmed; the voice wasn't the one she'd been expecting to hear. "Illyria," she said, cautious.

Illyria inclined its head at her, burning blue eyes fixed on Hermione. She tried not to show her nervousness. Even now, she found Illyria just as spooky as she had on the day she met it.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Hermione asked.

Illyria stared at her, unblinking, for several seconds before it said, "I wished to walk the world. I sensed you were near and I . . ." It paused, and Hermione could almost see thoughts flickering across its face. "I wanted to speak with you."

"Well, all right," Hermione said. "Are you well?"

Again, Illyria paused. Then it turned and walked away from Hermione, who resigned herself to the fact that this conversation was going to resemble talking to her senile grandmother. "I am alone," it said.

"And how is everyone?" Hermione asked. "Wesley, Spike, Angel?"

The silence was longer this time. Hermione had just decided that Illyria wasn't going to answer, when it said, "They are dead."

Hermione blinked, feeling like she'd been slapped in the face. "Dead?"

Illyria turned back to face her, its entire face burning with anger. "Dead. The half-breeds, the mongrel, and Wesley. All gone. I remain."

It felt like her mouth wasn't working correctly. Hermione finally managed to say, "How?"

"The fool, Angel, provoked a fight he could not win. He challenged the Senior Partners. He was crushed. And Gunn, Spike and Wesley were crushed alongside him."

The office was silent for a few minutes. Illyria seemed content to stand there, staring at the potted plant Hermione had tucked in a corner of her office, while Hermione tried to adjust to the fact that the Wolfram and Hart team were gone. She had pictured them going back to Los Angeles, to their smog and glitz, and maybe even their redemption. Not this sudden end, lost in a hopeless fight.

"When?" she finally asked.

"Two weeks ago."

"Thank you for telling me."

Illyria gave her a brief nod. "I thought you might want to know."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Scowling, Illyria said, "Do not presume to pity me. I was once a king and I will be so again. Far more important than your pathetic lives, or theirs. I will raise my armies and the world will tremble before my name. I do not need them." But it didn't have its usual imperious ring.

"I didn't mean to presume," Hermione said, noting that Illyria's expression was almost sad. "What are you going to do?"

"I will walk. And I will rally my followers until I am ready to remake this world in my image."

Hermione paused, unsure how to respond. "Well, good luck with that," she said, aware of how awkward and inadequate it was to say that to a creature that claimed to be a god.

"I do not need it."

The office was silent again. Illyria turned away again and Hermione sat still, shocked and disbelieving. She had suffered losses before, terrible ones like Ron's murder, but the deaths of the Wolfram and Hart team seemed more . . . unwarranted, somehow. Maybe it was because she had been fighting a war these last ten years, and deaths were expected, even devastating ones like the kidnapping and murder of your fiance. But Angel and the rest of the team had just been going about their lives . . .

Hermione thought of Angel and his grim comments about war and wondered if their situations were that different, after all. Angel had been fighting his own war, and had apparently been fighting it longer than she had. He had, she realized, chosen to go "over the top" at a time and place of his own choosing.

Illyria turned back to her, scowling. "I wish to go now."

"Do you need an escort up to the Atrium?" Hermione asked, slightly inanely.

Illyria managed to give her a look that was more condescending than usual. "No." It waved a hand vertically in front of it, and the air rippled and sliced open. Illyria gave Hermione a long look, one that Hermione couldn't even begin to analyze, and then stepped through the gash, which slid shut behind it.

Hermione sat for several long moments, mulling over what Illyria had told her. Gone, all three of them, and Gunn, whoever he was. Snuffed out at the end of the fight. Had they even had a chance to make a difference?

They made a difference for us, Hermione thought.

"Genevieve," she said, startling herself, as an idea struck her.

Her assistant sounded composed, though, as she responded. "Yes, Minister."

"Tell the Minister that he's canceling his evening plans and having dinner with the group tonight, please. And tell Ginny Weasley the same thing. I'll call Harry myself."

Harry offered to host them for dinner when she called, privately relieving Hermione. She was the only one of them that was still living in her pre-victory flat, too busy to go flat-hunting. Remus had moved into the traditional Minister for Magic's residence, while Ginny had taken a flat in the Wizarding district surrounding Diagon Alley. Harry, however, had purchased a semidetached house in Canterbury, largely, Hermione suspected, to put some distance between himself and Grimmauld Place. Ginny, well-aware of Hermione's dubious skills in the kitchen, volunteered to help cook.

Hermione shut up her office at precisely six o'clock, having spent some time helping Genevieve rearrange her evening appointments. She worked her way through the security checkpoint and into the Atrium, casting a dismissive eye at the rebuilt Fountain of Magical Brethren. Its removal was a battle she hadn't yet won. Focusing on Harry's garden, she stepped into the Designated Apparating Area and Apparated –

– into the small shed down the bottom of the garden that Harry considerately kept clear as an Apparating point. Hermione walked up the back garden, skirting the large water feature put in by the previous owners, and tapped on the back door before going in. Ginny was already there, standing in the kitchen with Harry and looking remarkably domestic. Several empty pots – likely all the pots Harry owned – sat on the stove.

"I didn't start anything yet," Ginny said. "I didn't know if you had anything in mind. Genevieve sounded pretty firm when she called."

"Genevieve always sounds pretty firm," Harry said, retreating to the kitchen table.

"No, I didn't have anything in mind," Hermione said. "I thought I might be able to cook spaghetti . . . I really just wanted us all to be together."

Harry and Ginny shared a look at that, but didn't say anything. Despite the fact that the group – with the exception of Harry – all worked at the Ministry, they didn't actually see that much of one another. Ginny tended to spend her days down on the seventh level, and Hermione only saw Lupin when the entire Cabinet was called to meet.

Hermione started some water boiling, chatting with Ginny about events at the Ministry. Harry contributed comments from time to time, many of them bordering on the cynical; although the Ministry was now studded with people of whom he approved, he still had a long-seated distrust for the Ministry. In a quiet moment, Hermione looked at him and couldn't decide who had been more damaging: Lucius Malfoy or Cornelius Fudge.

Remus Lupin arrived half an hour later, looking a little sheepish and saying that he had been trapped in a meeting that he had been unable to escape. While Ginny and Hermione worked together to create a tomato cream sauce for the pasta, he and Harry managed to start an amiable conversation. Hermione watched them out of the corner of one eye, noting that there was much less hostility on Harry's part than there had been even a month ago.

Ginny discreetly moved to Hermione's other side, stirring a pot with her wand. "It's still hard for him," she said under her breath. "He's dealing with what he remembers."

"What does he remember?" Hermione murmured.

"He hasn't talked much about it. I think it's kind of a jumble to him. He says he remembers being alone the most."

"He knows we're sorry?"

"He knows it. That doesn't mean he believes it." Ginny gave Hermione a hard look. "How would you feel if your friends locked you in a house and abandoned you?"

Hermione sighed. It wasn't worth arguing with Ginny about this. "Do you think the pasta's done?"

Ginny leaned over the pot. "Oh, probably."

Hermione waited until dinner was over to bring up her visit from Illyria. Conversation over dinner was lively, kept going by Ginny and, surprisingly, Harry. They sat, forks abandoned on their plates, for a moment after dinner, conversation dwindling into silence. Then Hermione straightened and said, "Illyria visited me today."

"Oh?" Remus turned piercing interest on her.

"I think it was, for Illyria, a social call. It told me . . ." Hermione hesitated. "It told me Angel, Wesley and Spike are dead."

"Dead?" Ginny sat back, evidently as shocked as Hermione had been. "How?"

"It sounds like Angel picked a fight he couldn't win."

"When?" Remus asked.

"Two weeks ago, Illyria said."

There was silence around the table. Harry, who had known the Wolfram and Hart team the least, didn't look quite as stunned as Ginny and Lupin, but he still looked speechless.

"I can't believe they're gone," Ginny said. "I didn't think –"

"I admit I wasn't expecting it either," Remus said.

"I don't think," Hermione said, "this is one of the things you can expect."

On her right, Harry swallowed.

"I just – I think," Hermione said, feeling her cheeks turn pink, "it sounds like they went down fighting, and they were trying to make a difference. And what we've been doing – what we've done – we've done good. But I think we need to – to live like them. Live to make a difference."

Her words fell into a careful silence. Across the table, Remus was wearing the neutral expression he used for Cabinet meetings. Harry dropped his eyes to his plate, pushing around the remnants of his spaghetti with the back of his fork. Ginny watched Harry with a fierce, protective look that reminded Hermione of Molly Weasley.

". . . All right," Harry said.

Hermione looked at him quizzically. The neutral expression dropped off Lupin's face.

Harry was still looking at his plate, moving the same spaghetti back and forth. "Sixth year, Dumbledore and I had an argument about what the prophecy meant. He told me that yes, I had to fight Voldemort, but I had to because I wanted to, not because some prophecy meant I was destined to. And that's what I was living for after that, beating Voldemort, even in – in Grimmauld Place." His voice hitched a little.

"I really do regret that, Harry," Hermione said quietly. Ginny quelled her with a look.

Harry didn't appear to have heard her anyway. He continued, gathering steam, "And now that Voldemort's gone – well, I can't live to fight him anymore, can I? But I can live to fight what he left, all the Death Eaters and the pureblood nonsense. And if someone else tries to do like Voldemort, I'll fight him too."

He looked up from his plate, meeting Ginny's eyes. Hermione, watching Ginny, saw her face burning as intensely as Illyria's. "So all right," he said. "That's how I'll live. For good. Not for revenge, or justice, or survival. For good."

Lupin nodded. "You do your parents proud, Harry."

Hermione watched Harry crack a shaky, if relieved, smile at Lupin's words and knew then that despite the walls, the resistance, the inertia, they were going to succeed in her dream of rebuilding the Wizarding world. Harry would do it, and she would be at his side, helping him in whatever way she could.

She looked toward the future, and smiled.

Author's Note: Eleven chapters. 105,000 words. Six years. And with this, my time in Potter fandom is pretty much concluded. My thanks to everyone who favorited, reviewed, or added an alert, even during the long fallow years when it looked like I'd walked away without ever bringing this to a resolution. I'm a terrible author, but it meant a lot on the days when I was convinced I'd never write anything readable again to know that there were people out there who liked what I had done before.

kayjay216
March 20, 2012