The End.

65. To Thine Own Self Be True

Time didn't heal. That was a lie, a blatant lie. But being this depressed when other people needed her, soon felt like an embarrassing self-indulgence.

Some days it felt like a subtle game of subterfuge; smiling when sad, supporting others while shrivelling inside.

Some days she was even able to kid herself… at least for a few hours. And then she'd remember… and feel overwhelmed by grief and anger and an aching loneliness...

At least he's alive, she'd tell herself, mournfully aware that neither Elizaveta or Gabrielle had that luxury of thought. For them, this felt like the end of love's journey. There was no light at the end of the dark tunnel they found themselves in, and their only route out was a different path altogether.

Hermione had no conceivable desire to pursue a different path. The man she loved, the father of her unborn child was alive – and while he lived, as Ephraim had said when faced with the prospect of possible execution, there was hope.

Even so, it still felt hopeless... Every plea for clemency had been rebuffed by the Ministry. Rules were well and truly rules and not to be broken or bent, according to the steely-souled Minister. Solitary confinement in Azkaban was exactly that… Not even a single line of communication with the outside was permitted.

The world had been sealed away from Draco, in perpetuity.

Hermione's heart broke when she imagined how he must feel, what he must be thinking, his loneliness in a hostile place. The thought was so painful she often gasped aloud and at night she buried her sobs into her pillow in case she frightened the children.

'It's even worse than when Lucius was there! At least I was able to visit him – although that was in exchange for eye-watering sums of money,' Narcissa said ruefully as she served Hermione a cup of tea. They were sitting in the small front garden of the tiny cottage Narcissa was renting by the coast, the air thick with the scent of honeysuckle and an over-effusive rhododendron bush.

Narcissa had thanked Lucius a thousand times over for setting up a Muggle savings account in her name that enabled her to at least afford a place to live – though this was a stark contrast to her former gilded life amidst the elegant opulence of Malfoy Manor.

But Malfoy Manor clearly wasn't an option anymore. One look at their 'investment' – with its devastated interiors, ripped-up lawns, burnt groves and half-empty lake - and the American hedge fund which had bought the property had it bulldozed it to the ground. Plans were already afoot for a new housing development – Malfoy Towers.

It was late July and Britain was sweltering through one of the hottest summers in recent memory, which meant the children were all too eager to visit Narcissa's little house by the beach at any given opportunity.

From their vantage point in the cottage's front garden, Hermione and Narcissa could see them happily building sandcastles with Parvati and Elizaveta, skipping through the waves as they crashed ashore leaving long, hissing entrails of thick white foam in their wake.

'We never really went to the beach when Draco was a child,' Narcissa said wistfully. 'It's amazing how the simple things in life can bring such joy… I think Lucius and I sometimes forgot that.'

Her alabaster skin looked powdery, softly-crinkled in the bright sun's glare and her gem-like blue eyes seemed paler than usual. She gave Hermione a wan smile.

'Draco was very attached to you both so you must have done something right, Narcissa,' Hermione smiled – not really believing what she was saying. She suspected – indeed she knew – Draco had been a lonely, rather lost child, who'd followed his parents' example – for want of any other - into pride and spite.

Narcissa's eyes rested on Magda who was being tickled voraciously by Scorpius and Hugo. 'She's a happy wee thing, isn't she?'

'Yes,' Hermione said, glowing inwardly. Her eyes moved to Scorpius with a familiar pang. He was so like his father…

Rose was throwing a frisbee with Vithu and Farida further down the beach, her blazing red hair flaring out behind her like a flag unfurling in the wind, and a fierce desire to protect punched through Hermione… but also relief.

Rose claimed no memory of that fateful day at Malfoy Manor and there was nothing troubling in her behaviour to suggest she was speaking anything but the truth. She was often solemn, but then all the children were – not quite believing that Draco was away on a business trip.

Hermione was often moved to tears by their kindness towards her… their determination to stay happy, their uncanny ability to make sure she had a cup of tea at her bedside every morning, the way they made sure she never had to beg them to tidy their cramped bedrooms, the fact that Magda was always watched over, cared for… and how they literally looked out for Hakim, with his eyesight still affected by the cruel treatments he'd suffered, like it was the most natural thing in the world to gently guide him through life.

Hermione looked at Hakim snoozing peacefully in her arms, shielded by the shade of an apple tree curving overhead. The glaring sunshine hurt his eyes after a while, even though Thelonious had fashioned a special pair of tinted glasses for him.

'Has Harry had any word back about his father?' Narcissa asked, glancing at Hakim as she added milk to Hermione's tea.

Rather worryingly, Hassan Aktari had vanished, so Harry had alerted his colleagues posted across the Middle East to be on the look-out. 'Not yet,' she said soberly.

Narcissa heaved a regretful sigh. 'You won't be able to run a household with all these children for too much longer on your own, Hermione,' she said, pursing her lips. 'You'll start getting tired soon. It'll creep up on you.'

'I'm hardly alone!' Hermione laughed. 'There's Parvati and Henrik, and Niko swings by regularly. And Elizaveta's made the garden shed her very own home from home.' Indeed, the shed – now the portal paintings had been moved to the old tin mine at Shell Cottage – had been transformed by Elizaveta's rather more exciting brand of artworks. It didn't surprise Hermione that Elizaveta was such an accomplished artist, but her eclectic, even subversive style had sent Narcissa's eyebrows shooting skywards when she first visited Folkvangr. Despite this, both women had hit it off – a wordless, deep-felt gratitude on Narcissa's part for Gunter's role in liberating her. His sacrifice had not only delivered Rose but also broken the curse that entrapped Narcissa.

'I have plenty of people to help me,' Hermione assured Narcissa. Sometimes too many… There were days when she shut herself in the bathroom and sat in the shower, desperately seeking solitude.

Other times she missed Thelonious around the house. He was a steady, calming presence, but he'd moved back to Hogwarts with a promotion under his belt, following Neville – restored to his post as head of Herbology - with Hannah joining him, courtesy of her new job in the school infirmary.

'You have help NOW,' Narcissa said sternly, 'but you need to think about what happens when Folkvangr is sold. Because it will be. It's a fine family house for a more normal family.' Hermione smiled, wondering if Narcissa had ever actually met one of those. 'You have to start thinking about where you will go!' Narcissa cast a sorry eye at her one-up, one-down cottage. 'I won't be able to help you I'm afraid.'

'Molly and Arthur have offered to take us in at The Burrow. It'll be a tight squeeze but they're on their own there and—'

Narcissa's lips tightened in disapproval. 'You need somewhere NEW. Somewhere DIFFERENT. You told me Draco wanted a place in France, so that's what you should do. Find a home for ALL of you, because one day he'll be home. Mark my words.'

Hermione smiled politely. She loved how Narcissa fervently believed that the Minister for Magic would suddenly see the error of his ways! As much as his current intransigence annoyed her, Narcissa still had hope – something Hermione envied.

'Just think, Hermione. With the proceeds from Folkvangr you could buy one of those lovely old farmhouse places… with a vineyard, perhaps?' Narcissa sighed contentedly, lapsing into quiet fantasy. 'A lick of paint and it'd be good as new.'

This was partly true. With Tom Bennet dead, Ron didn't have to pony up the cash he'd borrowed to buy her house. But the truth was she was going to need somewhere much BIGGER to offer refuge to all the children they'd rescued from Dark Flux. Even the most rundown of French rustic idylls would likely cost more than Folkvangr's asking price. She'd be forced to borrow.

Ron had offered to help – indeed, he was helping already by paying most of the bills and working very hard at his new Ministry job to do so.

Hermione was initially uncomfortable with Ron's financial involvement, but with Draco's assets confiscated by the Ministry and little prospect of getting a good job herself in her current situation, she had little choice but to gratefully accept.

She found it easier to accept his kindness regarding the children who he regularly hosted at Wisteria Cottage to give Hermione a much-needed break – although she rather fancied he enjoyed the distraction… He'd been more severely affected by what happened to him at Malfoy Manor than he ever expressed, and he persisted – foolishly, Hermione felt – to blame himself for Tana's betrayal, despite the fact she'd been placed under an Imperious Curse. Tana, in turn, accused Tom Bennet of cursing her – except Hermione knew something that most people didn't: Tom was already dead by the time she'd taken Rose to The Burrow…

Hermione suspected it was actually Sylvestra who had ensnared Tana using Legilimency, (Tana's closeness to Ron meant she was a useful source of inside information), followed by an Imperio, which thankfully expired when Henrik shot Sylvestra at Malfoy Manor.

A roar of disapproval hailed from the beach… Magda had sat down on Hugo's carefully constructed sandcastle and he wasn't happy. At first Magda found his fury amusing, but her face puckered once she realised that Hugo's distress was real and she started crying herself.

'Oh dear, it's getting late – I'd better get them home,' Hermione said and was about to shift Hakim and stand up.

'No…' Narcissa said, reaching her hand out. 'Let them work it out for themselves… children have to learn how to fall out and make friends again.' She smiled at Hermione. 'It's something adults should learn to do much, much more, too… don't you think?'

'I guess so.' And sure enough, Hugo was already rebuilding the castle and laughing as Magda proceeded to poke him and tangle her little fists in his hair.

Hermione marveled at the contented bond between them. Hugo more than tolerated her. He doted on her. And Hugo was probably the most important person in Magda's life. Her eyes always sought him out and she visibly relaxed when he was close by.

Magda would likely have a much happier childhood than her mother had, Hermione thought. But she was also blessed with a naturally sunny disposition. Hermione had once thought that Katya's 'issues' were chiefly the fault of her parents - Ephraim too busy to care, Iona resentful and neglectful of his love-child. But now she wasn't so sure...

Katya's deranged attacks on Ziff and Tuyen allied with her obvious mental instability meant she was a secured inpatient at St Mungo's undergoing a plethora of treatments, including Ephraim's potion. But nothing had worked and one of the healers had confided that even without her pregnancy interrupting her former regime, any positive effects would have waned over time – enabling her true nature to come to the fore.

It occurred to Hermione that there was no known cure in either the Muggle or wizarding world for psychopathy – because that was the crux of the problem, surely? That strange, alien emptiness she'd encountered when she entered Katya's head...

Kai was convinced.

'She enjoyed killing them,' she said, when recalling the horrific murders of Tuyen and Ziff that Kai had been forced to witness. 'I could see it in her eyes.'

'No, Kai. She was cursed… following orders,' Hermione pointed out. 'And she had a tough upbringing. Unloving.'

'Same for a lot of folks,' Kai sniffed. 'No reason to kill and LIKE IT.' She suddenly looked crestfallen. 'What bugs me is how I was used by her…'

'What do you mean?'

'I reckon she worked out I couldn't Apparate into the village to fetch you – 'cos of my age an' all – meaning I had to run instead. This bought Tana time to hand Rose over to Katya – and Katya then set the whole thing up, staging it for your benefit.' She gave Hermione a meaningful look. 'Because that was the reason behind it all, wasn't it? To drag you in?'

'But none of that's your fault, Kai,' Hermione remonstrated, fearing that the girl was being hard on herself – and deciding there and then that Kai was right. Katya had thought it through. She intended to wound, to punish. Was it psychopathy? Or some kind of mental aberration that, hopefully, could be addressed?

She squeezed Kai's hand. 'You behaved in a decent, honourable way, Kai. Never forget that.'

Kai had smiled sweetly, relieved to hear this. And she was determined to do the right thing and stick around to testify at Ephraim's trial in Paris. Billed as the biggest trial in the wizarding world for many years it would likely prove a grueling experience. Both Arlene and Kai, with Baby Joyana, were now safely stowed at the Hotel Danemark in readiness.

There seemed little doubt that Ephraim would be found guilty… there were now innumerable witness statements addressing many charges levelled against him. But Harry had decided to narrow the field to his development of Dark Flux as a terrorist bio-weapon.

Padma was keen to testify – if only to exact some revenge of her own for all she had lost: her life, her lover, her freedom. Her return to reality after Sylvestra's death had been bittersweet. She'd struggled with the concrete realities of everyday life more than she'd expected – even with her sister's loving support.

Hermione suspected she was suffering from grief, because even though Tony wasn't actually DEAD, he was as good as... He, too, had been confined to picture-world, but access to his painting was barred, even to Padma. She'd sadly concluded he didn't want to be contacted. That he was happy with his isolation.

And yet Padma missed him terribly. Indeed, she appeared to miss her entire former life in a way Hermione struggled to comprehend, trying to recreate every last single detail - including her old job at the Ministry, occupying the exact same desk in the exact same office where she'd worked opposite Hermione for so many years.

Everyone had different ways of coping with everything that had happened, Hermione thought, as she strolled along the fine yellow sand to corral the children back to Narcissa's cottage for a quick spot of tea before heading home.

Change had come to them all…

Bill had become a full-time professional wand-maker and Fleur planned to be his sales manager, although – with Tuyen gone - much of her time was still taken up with caring for the three youngest refugees, Tien, Hoang and Kek, with Melissa and Gabby's support.

Agatha and Tansy continued to work on Sub Rosabut they'd expanded operations with a new recruit: Pascal Loubitier, from Troyanda13. It was hoped that Ernie – slowly recovering from the attack on St Botolph's and now wheelchair-bound – would soon rejoin their ranks.

As for Harry... Hermione paused here in her ruminations. Maybe he hadn't changed so much? He'd been everything she could have ever hoped for with such a dear friend. Despite being busy with Ephraim's trial, he'd visited her every day and quietly managed things without her even noticing half the time. And she was fairly certain the fact her bank account never seemed to drop below a certain point was his doing, too.

He'd borne the brunt of her tirades and silences, and gone with her to her parents' house when she broke the terrible, heartbreaking news about Ziff, and he insisted on accompanying her when the time came to say a final, devastating goodbye to her uncle.

He'd held on for so long and it was fitting that he regained some consciousness when she visited with the children – including Scorpius. But Hermione eventually received the fateful call from Gwen – their first contact since Aunt Rita's murder.

Harry came with her to the funeral and he chatted amiably with Oleg and her family and then smoothed away the awkwardness with Gwen. It had been a tour-de-force for an essentially shy man Hermione thought afterwards. And she would always be grateful…

Her true reunion with Gwen – in the garden at her parents' house a few days later – had been tearful, heartfelt. And Gwen told her that Oleg had asked her to marry him and she'd said yes.

'Looks like I'll be part of your world after all,' Gwen said.

'You always were – and always will be,' Hermione said in return, heart brimming.

'I'm sorry Draco won't be around,' Gwen sighed. And when Hermione explained to her about the baby, Gwen cried.

'It's not fair,' she wept. 'Is there really no hope?'

'Our legal system's different, unfortunately…'

Life had to go on, she realised, though sometimes she wished it didn't…

Hermione stared out to sea, the sun warm on her back, wishing she could turn the clock backwards rather than watch dolefully as it pushed relentlessly forwards into dark uncertainty.

XXX

There were many more visits to Narcissa's cottage at the beach during that long, sticky summer. By the end of it, Ephraim's trial was finally over – although his punishment was yet to be meted out. Narcissa had long since given up caring what happened to her husband, but Hermione felt surprisingly anxious.

However, she didn't have much time to think about it. Folkvangr had suddenly secured a buyer and she was forced to turn her mind to the future, to her next steps.

'I want you to come and see somewhere with me,' Harry said.

'What kind of SOMEWHERE?'

'You'll like it.'

XXX

Le Manoir des Anges was a crumbling, ochre-coloured manor house with pale blue shutters, but in the warm evening sun it shone with a rosy, pink hue.

Cypress trees casting tall sloping shadows lined the driveway leading to a paved courtyard in front of the house. A pathway on the right-hand-side of the courtyard passed a long, dilapidated barn after which a trellised archway led to an overgrown garden with a large, algae-covered fishpond and a softly tinkling fountain in the guise of a stone angel at its heart.

Verdant green lawns stretched from here down a rolling bank towards a glistening, silver river that curled around the extensive gardens, pounding over rocks and stones, gushing as it passed beneath a small wooden bridge that connected the property with a narrow country lane.

A collection of five thatched cottages (former gîtes) connected by a winding path were situated close to the main house, facing the barn across the courtyard. One of the cottages was currently inhabited by the property's vendor, an old lady who was a former acquaintance of Bernard Gagnon, Rozella's father.

'Bernard told Gabby who then told me about this place,' Harry said after they'd wandered around the estate. 'Do you like it?'

'It would need a lot of work; a lot of money,' Hermione said disconsolately. It made her heart ache to say this out loud. The faded glory of the manor house set in this tranquil setting amidst the slumbering slopes of the Provençal hills, sparse, rugged mountains rearing up in the distance, had stirred a deep longing within her. 'The sad truth is, Harry, I can't afford it.'

'Yes you can,' he said, sitting down on the wooden bridge, his legs dangling over the clear, rushing waters. 'You'll have money from Folkvangr and Draco made it clear that any remaining money from his estate was to be paid directly to you.'

'But there's nothing left.'

'Not true,' Harry said, eyebrows twitching as he unveiled a letter scribed in an elegant hand from Vendôme. 'This is the official transcript of an exchange between a British Muggle bank and La Petite Bourse – that's the main wizarding bank in Paris. You see, I tracked down Draco's Muggle relatives, Hermione... His natural grandfather, Voltimand, left him a stable-yard in Shropshire. I've already found an interested buyer… Naturally, I've kept this quiet from the Ministry of Magic and only used French lawyers!'

'And you kept it quiet from ME, too!' Hermione shrilled.

Harry smiled sheepishly. 'I had to. But the legals are done and dusted now, so I'm off the leash.'

Hermione studied the letter and a despairing look stole across her face. 'It's a lot of money, Harry, but – it isn't quite enough. There's still a shortfall.'

'Which I'll pay.'

'No you damn well won't!'

'It's not a huge amount,' Harry said airily, 'and I honestly think this place – with a bit of hard graft – would make for a wonderful home and … maybe more? You told me Draco thought you should open a school… Well, I think that's a great idea. You've too good a brain to fritter away on meaningless Ministry claptrap. Share it with those who'll make this world better! Now, THAT's a worthy investment… And this site's got huge potential!' A gleam of excitement sprang into his eyes as he scanned their surroundings. 'Those vineyards you can see on the other side of the river,' he said, pointing, 'they're part of the property.'

'But, Harry… it's still far too much money!'

'I promised you both I'd do all I can to help if anything went wrong - and sadly, it has,' Harry said fervently. He looked at the old, honeyed house and his eyes softened. He loved it too, she could tell. 'And the thing is, I can see you here, Hermione, with your children… and the cottages could accommodate teachers or students or friends who outstayed their welcome.'

She laughed. 'You'd always be welcome. You know that.'

She could sense his greenness washing through her. He felt strangely cleansing, wholesome. Interesting… She'd barely sensed 'colours' since Draco had been taken away from her.

Hermione followed his gaze and sighed. The house was wreathed in wisteria and its pale blue shutters were closed against the orange sunset. Something about the house made it look like it was smiling. It felt safe.

'I love it,' she breathed. 'But… I can't accept your money. I won't.'

'Without it you can't buy this place, Hermione. And you have to. It's perfect. Please accept my help. I'm a wealthy man…'

'You have your own family to consider! Maybe YOU should live here? Not me.'

'But I want to see you happy again. You're all at sea, Hermione... Drowning. I can't bear it.'

'Living somewhere as beautiful as here? It'd be wasted on me, Harry.'

He gave her a curious look. 'But not on your children… you have to think about them, too.'

'I can see that - but as much as I love their company, it could also get lonely. We're a fair trek from the nearest town.'

'Kai and Arlene… they've grown rather attached to us, would you believe? And they desperately want to stay in Europe. Maybe they could take one of the cottages? And then you'd have neighbours.'

Hermione smiled. She liked the idea of them being close by and for a brief moment she had a vision of Arlene, flour up to her elbows, chasing chickens around the yard.

'And Niko's looking for a home,' Harry added. 'He's a bit of a lost soul these days. He could be your gamekeeper!'

Hermione burst out laughing. 'While I swanned about like the Lady of the Manor?'

'And I suspect Elizaveta would come and keep you company.' Harry gazed at the soft sunlight dappling the lush green landscape and the dusky colours of the vineyards climbing the hills, their fruits plump and ripening. 'Plenty for her to paint! And the light's bloody gorgeous.'

'That's true.'

'And don't forget, Parvati HAS to stay with you… She's the closest Scorpius has to a legal guardian and where you go, hegoes. She's rather anxious about this, actually... So she'd be overjoyed.'

'Which would mean Henrik would be here.'

'Indeed. And now that he's often away with work, he'd be happy knowing Parvati was with you I think.'

Hermione gazed at the house, the setting… and the little old lady who waved as she crossed the courtyard.

'It seems unfair, though, Harry… this is what Draco would have wanted.'

'I know… but he'd want you to have it for him.'

'But I want himto have it, too.'

Harry stared at her, an unfathomable expression on his face. 'There's something else we need to talk about,' he said hesitantly. 'Ephraim's due to be sentenced next week. He wants to speak to you.'

She vehemently shook her head. 'NO. That man's caused too many problems. He deserves everything he gets. I don't want to be dragged into his woes.' She studied Harry's face carefully. 'Do you already know what his punishment will be?' She was ashamed that her voice quavered a little. She didn't actually want him to DIE. And they'd promised him that he wouldn't be executed…

Harry nodded, looking grave.

'Is – is it bad?'

'It's not good. But it's not death – although, maybe as good as…'

XXX

An isolated existence, permanent exile – but with a twist… that was Ephraim's punishment.

He was to be banished to a small island near New Zealand. He would never leave this island and if he tried, he'd die.

But he wouldn't be alone.

He'd agreed to wear the silver rose necklace Katya had intended for Draco - and from that point on he would be bonded to her, forever.

It was a fitting end, Hermione thought… finally forced to care for the child he'd forsaken, to try and find ways to heal their souls.

Hermione was glad she already knew about this before meeting Ephraim at Auror HQ.

Françoise, Harry's colleague, ushered her into an interrogation chamber where Ephraim was seated, alone. It was a plain room with blank, breeze-block walls and grey furniture – similar to where Draco had been interrogated by Harry some months ago and a far cry from the dank, mould-infested subterranean cell Ephraim had occupied at the British Ministry.

Hermione felt a jolt of panic when she met Ephraim's gaze. He looked so entirely different to what she'd expected she even wondered if this was the same man.

He was wearing a white pyjama ensemble and his wrist was weighed down by a thick silver band – a security device. His eyes were a startling, livid blue, thrown into sharp relief by his scalp-hugging buzzcut which accentuated his strong craggy features and the deep worry-lines etched into his face.

Most surprising of all was a vivid, crimson scar that dented one side of his head with thick lines irradiating outwards – a scarlet sun that she'd never have noticed while he had a full head of hair. She could barely keep her eyes from the scar as she stammered a greeting.

He flushed, self-conscious, and his hand darted to his head. 'Not pretty, huh?'

'What happened?'

'My father…'

'He did THAT to you?'

Ephraim shrugged. 'He had a temper…' He looked uncomfortable under her hawk-eyed scrutiny.

'A TEMPER?' Hermione couldn't contain her curiosity. 'What did he do?'

'He put a drill to my head…' He clearly didn't want to explain more, but her shocked silence forced him to continue. 'He didn't want me or my brother to use magic and one day I did. I couldn't help myself… I was young and impetuous, bursting with a gift that was forbidden me.'

'How young?'

'Oh… I dunno.' His voice was more noticeably American than usual, she thought. Maybe she wasn't used to hearing him. 'Fifteen?'

Hermione dreaded to think what ghastly magic he'd cooked up to warrant such violence. Nothing short of killing someone she suspected. But even then... he'd still been a child.

'What had you done to get banned from magic?' she asked, almost reluctant to learn the true horror of Ephraim's past misdeeds.

A shadow fell across his face. 'Nothing… It was him. My father. He killed my mother by accident. A MAGICAL accident. And he was so ashamed of what we could do, he promptly moved us to some deadbeat backwater where we could hide away - where we were home-schooled – although my father wasn't the most avidteacher, so I took charge of our learning and Jake was doing well; until I screwed-up.'

She had to know now... had to know the terrible thing he had done. 'What was the screw-up?'

Ephraim scowled. 'We were fixing up our house – it was a mess of a place.' He sneered at the memory. 'And Jake hammered a nail through his hand… an accident. But the kid was screaming something awful. So, I did the first thing that came to mind to help him out. I used magic. My father came running… He was carrying a drill at the time.'

Hermione stared at him, open-mouthed in horror. Assuming he was telling the truth - and she sensed he was - he'd done nothing wrong at all.

Madness. It was the only explanation for what his father had done to his son, because it was unspeakable. Gut-churning.

'Maybe your father's why you turned out the way you did?' she suggested tentatively. 'You couldn't bear the idea of hiding your magic ever again.'

Ephraim shook his head and guffawed loudly. 'You're too kind, Hermione... Seriously. Some folks are just bastards. Like me. And my father. The difference is I became a POWERFUL bastard which can hide a multitude of sins - until you run out of road. Like now.' His face fell. 'But I didn't want to see you today to talk about me or my father – worthless piece of crap - I wanted to talk about someone we both care about.'

She knew he meant Draco – and this made her nervous.

'I've started procedures to adopt him.'

'You've WHAT?' Hermione spluttered. 'He's a grown man, for god's sake!'

'Indeed. But it's perfectly legal in our society. To all intents and purposes, Draco will be my son... I won't be offended if he keeps his old name… Draco Golowitz has less panache,' he added in droll tones.

Hermione felt herself bridling. 'Have you given him a choicein the matter? He'll say no!'

Ephraim smiled slowly. 'He doesn't know yet so it hasn't been finalised. But I doubt he'll reject my offer.' His eyes dropped to her swelling girth. The baby was beginning to show now and she'd already rediscovered the spell required to adjust her waistband. 'He deserves to be with his child… and you.'

Hermione's pulse quickened. 'I don't understand.'

'He'll be American.'

She shook her head, nonplussed. 'No. No. He's British. And just because you ADOPT him doesn't mean—'

'It does, actually. It's a rather obscure American Magical Law – not much-trumpeted and it remains on the statute books more through forgetfulness than design. But by becoming my son, he immediately has American nationality... he'd be wise to drop his British citizenship immediately and forsake being Dual.'

He waited for her to absorb this information… and once she did, she felt faint with a rushing surge of headiness.

'Azkaban… Americans are exempt!' she breathed.

'Indeed. All charges would be dropped… probably mitigated by a juicy fine… Of course Draco would have to fully embrace his new status. But he will. I'm sure of it.' He gave her a lingering look. 'How could he not?' he added softly.

'When would he be freed?'

'Once the necessary administrative agreements are drafted and my lawyers negotiate his release with Merriman… It won't be the quickest process. The Ministry's famously heavy-footed, as you well know.'

Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes. 'I don't know what to say.' PLEASE accept Ephraim's offer, Draco, she silently begged. 'Why didn't you do this before?'

'It didn't occur to me… but I've had time to think.Lots of time.'

'Thank you,' she said, and her voice cracked with emotion. She hated being grateful to this man… but she couldn't suppress the elation coursing through her veins.

'It's mainly forhis sake, obviously,' Ephraim said. 'A man deserves the right to care for his child… or should I say his children.' His eyes gleamed brightly. 'Have you got a picture of her? My grand-daughter?' There was a hopeful lilt in his voice.

'Not with me...'

Ephraim's face sank.

'But I can forward one on to you if you like?'

'That'd be kind.'

An uneasy silence fell between them, enough time for Hermione's eyes to move back to his scar. It was a deep depression. He'd been very lucky. He should have died.

'What happened to Jake?'

The colour drained from Ephraim's face. 'He's dead… My father succeeded with him where he failed with me.' He looked away, a distant look in his eyes.

'I'm sorry to hear that,' Hermione said – and they lapsed again into silence. She shuffled her chair back in readiness to leave.

'Look after Rose,' Ephraim said, taking her by surprise, returning his eyes to her face. 'She has a very powerful gift.'

'I know.'

He raised his eyebrows. 'Good. I wasn't sure that you did.'

'I do. And I will… I'll try my best.'

Ephraim smiled. 'Yes. You always do. That's what makes you special.'

Hermione blushed to the roots of her hair.

'I've made provisions for her… for allyour children, actually. I suspect you and Draco would refuse any direct assistance, but there's a bank account in all their names but with both of you as the main trustees. I've added Parvati's name as well just to be sure that SOMEBODY sensible urges you to use it.'

Hermione's blush deepened. 'We don't need your help.'

'Yes, you do,' he said crisply. 'You can start making plans... I'd like to think I'll know about them one day, but I suspect that's a forlorn hope, isn't it?'

He didn't deserve it, she thought, he didn't deserve anything - but she couldn't be unkind.

'I'll write to you.'

He sighed. 'Thank you.'

She stood up and extended her hand. 'I doubt we'll ever meet again so this is goodbye.'

He stared at her hand and then tentatively closed his own hand around it. She could sense his emotions: swirling, pulsating… and for a puzzling moment she felt the same.

'You know there's more I'd like to say to you, Hermione,' he said gruffly.

'Don't,' she warned. 'Please, don't.'

He looked at her and his eyes were wet. 'I made mistakes and I apologise from the bottom of my heart…'

'There's no need, Ephraim… I mean, yes, there's need, but…'

'You became my weakness. My conscience. I couldn't bear your ill opinion. I don't know why, I don't know what happened to me… regret over Anna, perhaps?' He shook his head in exasperation. 'What started as the smallest chink in my heart became a deep longing for redemption and the faith of a good woman.'

She'd feared more – particularly as his hand tightened. But now she could walk away.

She slipped her hand free and looked down at him.

'I forgive you, Ephraim,' she said, feeling that he needed to hear this while wondering how she had the power to even bestow such a thing.

But it was done.

XXX

'See? Wasn't so bad, was it?' Harry said when she joined him at a café on the Place Dauphine, a short walk from Auror HQ.

It was a warm, sunny day and Paris was buzzing excitedly. Hermione was pleased to see that Harry had snagged them an outside table at a pleasant café overlooking the elegant triangular square dotted with chestnut trees in full summer bloom.

'I can't fucking believe it!' she said breathlessly, as she sat down. 'I mean... it's completely fucking nuts - but if it works, Draco will be free!'

'Yeah... but there's still a bunch of bureaucrats to deal with, Hermione, so don't expect a quick fix,' Harry said in less cheery tones.

'Oh, of course, I realise that... I'm not expecting miracles.'

'But at least the ball's rolling... I heard from Ephraim's lawyer just a few moments ago and they've officially kickstarted the process.'

'Good... that's great...' Hermione poured herself a glass of ice-cold water and a thought occurred to her. 'So... I take it you already knew about this adoption plan before I went to see him?'

Harry eyed her over the rim of his wineglass. 'Only as a very vague notion...'

'I see.' She sipped her water, a pensive look on her face. 'What's so special about TODAY then? I mean, if it was already a notion, what was his lawyer waiting for?'

'Well, I guess he - Ephraim - wanted to be certain... to speak to you first.'

'But this is about DRACO. Not ME! I'm not the one stuck in fucking Azkaban.'

'Sure,' Harry said, a little awkward. 'But I think he was worried you might object.'

'OBJECT? Why the hell would I object?' she cried. 'Getting Draco out is the one thing I want, that I think about all the bloody time, Harry! Every morning I wake up and I - I fantasise that he's sprawled next to me… his stupid long legs encroaching all over my side of the bed… And then I realise it's too bloody cold for anyone to actually be there at all and I'm facing yet another day when he's gone. Another day torturing myself, thinking about him living, breathing… being somewhere awful and unimaginable.' She shook her head in despair. 'So the idea that Ephraim somehow needed my permission to rescue his own stepson-son-son-in-law or whatever the fuck Draco is these days is pretty fucking wild.'

She crushed her hand against her forehead fearing a sudden flood of tears, but quickly recovered herself with a forced smile and a laugh. 'Sorry,' she breathed. 'I just get so frustrated - like I'm locked outside of my own fucking life and can't get in.'

Harry fixed her with a tender, green-eyed gaze.

'I love you… you know that, don't you?' he said.

She grinned, her eyes bright with tears, and she reached for his hand, clutching it tightly. 'And I love you, too, Harry… and I'm ridiculously grateful for everything you keep doing for me even though I must bore the hell out of you moaning on all the time...' She reflected a moment. 'Did his lawyers mention the fund he's set up for the kids? I'm not comfortable taking his money but it might mean you don't need to help me out with the shortfall on the house.'

'Except you're completely missing the point here, Hermione. I want to help.' His fingers kneaded hers anxiously.

There was a clink of glasses and cutlery as a waiter came and arranged their table and waited to take their orders. They instantly pulled their hands apart to manipulate the large, unwieldy menus, settling on Chateaubriand for two.

'The point I'm trying to make...' Harry said in slow, deliberate tones once the waiter had gone, 'is - you shouldn't blow all of Ephraim's money at once. There's an awful lot to be done to fix up the manor house and it'll need a lot of groundwork, too.'

'But I've no idea how much he's given them...'

'Given YOU. Let's not play games here.'

'As I was saying, I've no idea how much it is,' she said irritably, figuring Harry did.

Harry told her and her hand flew to her mouth in shock. 'Bloody hell. I thought he was in financial trouble!'

'To a man of Ephraim's former wealth, this amounts to a rounding error…'

'It's too much. I can't accept.'

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. 'There's no point being proud here! This man owes you... And it's not like he can spend it on his prison island … and he certainly can't leave it to his kids because one's a fucking psycho an' the other one's dead.'

'When you put it like that...' She thought about this a moment. 'Was he with Sylvestra when she died?'

Harry nodded. 'It was fucking grim, actually. She didn't die straight away... And she knew she'd failed to kill you.' He topped up his wineglass. 'Strange witch... She was the girl with it all, but she never failed to play a good hand badly.'

Harry's phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and frowned. 'Got to take this… I'll be right back.' And he moved away, leaving her staring at his glass of wine, a sombre expression on her face.

'That was quick,' she said when he sidled back into his seat, but the moment she spoke she felt a wave of grey wash over her and despite it being a bright, sunny day – short-sleeve weather - Hermione suddenly prickled with cold.

She looked up and Dolores was smiling.

Hermione instantly grabbed her handbag, ready to run…

'No need for panic,' Dolores said hastily in her thick accent, staying her with a glancing touch of her arm. 'I'm not going to hurt you.'

'I'd rather not take my chances,' Hermione said, furtively scanning the square behind Dolores for Harry.

'I'm here to say thank you.'

'What for?' Hermione said, sharp-toned. And why now? she thought, frantically wondering how she could target Dolores with a permanent repelling charm without her noticing…

'Because you have liberated me.'

'By killing Salvedra?'

Dolores's smile was slow and seemingly sweet but Hermione felt sure a shadow had fallen across the table – which only served to make what she said next so much stranger.

'I am a servant of the light – La Luz,' she said in soft, slithering tones. 'La Luz – it is constant. All things fade and die but never the light. But Salvedra… he held the light captive. He used it and manipulated it to his own vainglorious ends.'

'If you felt that way, why didn't you just leave him? it all sounds a bit abusive to me,' Hermione said wearily, tired of Dolores's gibberish.

'I vowed to serve and my word is my bond.' Dolores closed her deep, dark eyes in momentary reverence and her lustrous jet-black hair rippled blue in the sun. 'It was always our way.'

'OUR?'

'Salvedra and I… Despite his many faults – and they were legion – Salvedra always remained a true caballero. A man of his word.'

'And once upon a time, you were his lady…' Hermione said, the pieces locking together inside her head.

Dolores smiled. 'One day I will tell you my story.'

Hermione stared at her, a tide of anger swelling inside of her. 'You know what? Don't bother. I don't want to know! Not ever. I don't actually care, Dolores. I want to forget you and everything about you.'

Dolores blinked in surprise. 'But I wish to help you, Hermione. I could be your guide…'

'I don't want your guidance. I'll muddle along in my own way, thank you very much,' Hermione said tartly. And she meant it. No more mystery. No more complication.

'But… I know things about you. I see manifold, potential destinies – for you and those you love,' Dolores said stroppily. She hadn't expected rejection. Her eyes dropped to Hermione's body. 'The child you are bearing… it will be important. Powerful. I saw that the moment I met you and Draco. Don't you want to know how? And why?'

'No,' Hermione decided. 'No, I don't.'

Dolores looked astonished. 'I don't understand.'

'It's about being happy… living our lives by chance and our own endeavours, not by absurd and unfounded expectations.'

A tall man in black was standing next to the table and speaking. For a moment Hermione was confused and then she realised it was the waiter.

She turned her attention back to Dolores, but she was gone.

XXX

'It's perfect,' Gwen grinned, looking around the barn. It had been transformed from a disheveled shed that still reeked of earthy manure and animal feed into a solidly constructed hall, smelling of sharp, clean pine. She grinned at Hermione. 'It'll be a wonderful wedding venue! Thank you so much!'

'Orange and white blossoms and creamy orchids… I can see it now,' Parvati sighed, gazing at the barn with misty eyes. Hermione fancied she was dreaming about her OWN wedding.

All this wedding talk made Hermione miserable, though she took pains not to show it.

She'd hoped Draco would be out of Azkaban in time for Gwen and Oleg's wedding, but it looked increasingly unlikely. Harry had received verbal reports that Draco had agreed to the terms of his release, but he still wasn't permitted to communicate with anyone beyond his jailers - none of whom were qualified lawyers able to draw up watertight contracts as far as Hermione knew, which meant they were at an impasse.

It was hugely frustrating.

Luckily, restoring Le Manoir des Anges was proving to be a useful displacement activity, keeping Hermione's mind and emotions in check.

The house and grounds were a hive of non-stop activity. An army of workers had been deployed and friends and family had rallied to help with Harry staying most days to oversee what appeared to be his pet project - the vineyard.

Before long, Le Manoir des Anges had been returned to a semblance of its past glory, both inside and out. Hermione lived in one wing of the house while the rest was converted in readiness for its next stage of development: a school.

The cottages were being refurbished by their prospective inhabitants.

As Harry anticipated, Parvati and Henrik were already occupying one of these and had more or less adopted Hoang.

Arlene, Kai and Joyana had moved next-door, while the third and smallest gîte had been bagged by Ernie and Tansy.

Thirsting for warmer weather, Ernie had left London (and Tim – an amicable split) to take up Hermione's offer to teach potions at the new school. Tansy was also keen to help out, in addition to her regular Sub Rosa columns.

Gwen, Oleg and Alfred had decided to pitch in too, occupying a fourth cottage situated furthest from the main house with its own small, walled garden.

Hermione offered the fifth gîte to Narcissa – but she'd grown to love the sound of the sea lapping at the shore beyond her cottage window. Melissa was keen to take her place, but Hermione worried about her living alone. Luckily, Elizaveta took a stroll one fine morning and realised there was an incomparable view stretching down the valley from the fifth cottage...

This left Niko, who nabbed a solitary hut by the river and revamped it to his liking.

Thelonious had found he was unable to re-settle at Hogwarts and asked Hermione if he could teach astronomy and charms at her new school instead. Binta with her expertise in runes and herbology was another welcome addition.

There were many more steps before the school 'opened' but Hermione felt she was getting a good team together.

She often thought about the odd turn her life had taken… a house full of children, living in what sometimes felt like a commune - the sort of 'rustic idyll' she'd discussed as a distant dream with Narcissa.

She still regularly visited friends and family in Britain and return visits were increasingly frequent. Fleur and Bill were particularly fond of Le Manoir and Louis often stayed at Gwen's cottage.

By the time Gwen and Oleg's wedding rolled around Le Manoir des Anges was ready to accommodate the arrival of friends and family from far and wide, making it a truly festive occasion.

They were blessed with the weather – a deliciously warm Autumn day, vibrant colours shading the trees that bordered the property.

Parvati had got her way – possibly jumping the gun on her own dreams, Hermione feared – and the barn was beautifully adorned in a sweet-smelling, floral sea of orange and white.

Arthur's hog-roast was a culinary coup and there was music and dancing – led chiefly by the children … Everyone was celebrating with gusto.

Everyone, Hermione thought, but herself... because amidst so many friends and family, people she loved, she'd never felt so alone…

Harry was running late – he'd missed a string of drunken speeches - and she felt a little adrift on a table with Ginny talking non-stop to Gabby and Parvati and Henrik gazing into each other's eyes.

She could see the night sky studded with brightly twinkling stars through the barn window. The sky here always felt clean and alive – and she suddenly craved it… that, and the sound of cicadas and the river rushing under the bridge.

She slipped outside, relishing the cool night air on her heated cheeks, hurrying away from the barn.

The music gradually faded and the excited gurgle and splosh of the river as it dashed downstream magnified as she drew closer to the rickety wooden bridge.

A tall figure was approaching through the darkness.

'Finally!' she called out, 'you've missed everything!'

'Believe me, I'd have got here sooner if I could…' came the reply.

Hermione's world spun on its axis and she could hardly think, let alone speak. Her heart was pumping violently in her chest and now she was crying out, like a wounded animal, as she ran across the bridge straight into Draco's arms.

'In fact… I'd have never left,' Draco said, his voice buried in her hair as he coiled his arms tightly around her.

She was dimly aware that she was crying and his mouth was soft on her face, smoothing the tears away.

It was a moonless night but she could feel it was him, see it was him… truly him… by the silvery gleam of his hair, his wide, shining eyes and the glorious white glow that shimmered and shook between them, consuming them both.

They clung together, mouths stopped up by fervent, heated kisses, lost in taste and feel and the sensation of their skin warm against each other.

'I didn't know you were coming,' she breathed, overwhelmed by his warm solidity, hardly daring to believe...

'Neither did I.' He leant his forehead against hers and his voice was scratchy and tired. 'Harry came to Azkaban with a fat wad of parchments and some very shouty lawyers. Insisted I leave that instant…' He quickly glanced over his shoulder. 'He was right behind me.'

Hermione could feel tears flowing down her cheeks again… She'd cried so much in recent months she'd started to think it wasn't possible to survive such sadness, but this was sheer, unadulterated joy beyond anything she could have imagined. And loving gratitude to Harry for bringing it about.

Draco glanced at the barn, alive with light and singing and shrieks of loud, pealing laughter - and then his eyes moved across the face of the manor house. Candles burned in the windows and its golden façade was gently illuminated by a single torch of flame in the courtyard.

'It's beautiful here,' he sighed. His hand caressed the nape of her neck and she shivered at his touch. 'Perfect.'

'Come and see,' she said and she tugged his hand and led him across the bridge that spanned the river. They passed the barn – almost guiltily – knowing there'd be time for him to re-enter the world… but not now, not tonight, because all they wanted, was to be together.

They stood in the hallway, candles bobbing in the breeze, a gleaming, polished balustrade curving away from the terracotta tiles to the upper floors, and smiled so hard at each other, their faces ached.

'I can't believe it's you,' she said in hushed tones, almost as though if she spoke too loudly he might disappear, 'that you're real...'

'I'm very fucking real,' he said. He held her face in his hands and stared down at her. He was trembling. 'And this is the best moment of my life,' he added, speaking as she had, in a low whisper. One of his hands dropped down to the gentle curve of her belly and he smiled. 'Truly. The fucking best.'

They fell against each other with a groan. The sound of the party carried across the courtyard; loud and raucous and fun, but here in the house, the sound of their breathing seemed to fill the space around them as his arms tightened around her and he kissed her hair and her cheeks and then her neck before tilting her face upwards and capturing her mouth with his. She sighed at the soft, molten warmth that oozed through her, but then a hot flame of desire flickered brightly, burning like wildfire, and they were kissing with increasing need, straining to be closer.

'Show me where we live,' Draco said hoarsely, trying to catch his breath. 'Just you and me…' And he moved towards the staircase, his hand trailing behind him, his fingertips touching hers.

She paused for a moment and watched, heart racing, as he headed up the stairs before her - besieged by a memory from many months ago at Malfoy Manor when she'd had to choose to follow him – knowing that if she did, she'd be thrown into his world – and he into hers – and that her life would change forever.

On such moments are lives made, she thought with a smile. Best thing I ever did.

'What's keeping you?' Draco grinned from the landing above, hand outstretched.

'Nothing,' she breathed, running up the stairs after him, laughing with joy. 'Nothing at all.'

XXX

Padma stared at the painting, an intent, mournful expression on her face.

'Cornfields and Sky' by Samuel Palmer. Loaned to the gallery by The Art Institute, Chicago. The painting was itself a recent acquisition, said the accompanying blurb.

'He's here,' Padma sighed, settling herself on a wooden bench and facing the picture. 'Tony.'

Hermione studied the painting, arms folded over the high, rounded bump of her belly, a whimsical expression on her face. The painting had been 'donated' to The Art Institute by Lothar Vilmark, former CEO of Gilgad Inc, as part-restitution for the myriad financial shenanigans he'd been embroiled in.

The painting was why they were here in this gallery, at a special exhibition which had accrued works from all around the world to celebrate 'Victorian Art'.

'It's a beautiful painting. Tranquil,' Hermione said, trying to inject a buoyant tone into her voice. Padma's face was an odd mixture of bereft and entranced.

Hermione glanced across the room to Draco. He was studying a painting with unusual concentration.

'Oh!' she said as she silently approached, shaking him from his reverie. 'It's… a bit like me!'

'Yes, the resemblance is striking.'

'La Donna della Finestra by Dante Gabriel Rossetti,' she said, reading the sign. 'One of the Pre-Raphaelites…' She gazed at the serene-looking lady in a rich, blue dress, staring dreamily out at her audience. 'She's definitely got my hair,' she commented, noting the Donna's thick, brown curls…'but her eyes are blue.'

She curled her arm through his. 'Maybe I've got one of those boring, generic faces that just looks like everyone?' she said, thinking of Anna... even Katya.

'You're kidding, right?' Draco exclaimed with a scandalised air, his sparkling grey eyes dancing. 'You astonish me every fucking minute of every fucking day.' He glanced between the painting and herself. 'She's nothing to you, Hermione. No character.'

She smiled fondly. 'She was real too, you know. A real, live woman. I doubt he just dreamt her up from nowhere.' She glanced over at Padma. She was still staring at 'Cornfield and Sky', a rapt look on her face that broke Hermione's heart.

'She'll be sitting there for hours I bet,' Hermione said sadly once they'd left the gallery and headed into a park that ran alongside the museum. 'She still loves him, but it's hopeless... so sad.'

Draco pulled her close, fending off a stiff breeze that sent a flurry of rustling brown leaves flying through the air.

'It's hard to just switch off loving someone I guess.' Draco looked at her and dashed a kiss across her cheek. 'It's just one of those things that sneaks up on you in an almighty ambush and then you're lumbered.'

'Wow, Draco! That's SO romantic. You should use that in your Best Man's speech!' Hermione teased. 'Henrik will be chuffed to bits.'

'Oh, fuck. The speech... Did you have to remind me?' Draco clenched his jaw in anguish. 'And we were having such a lovely day!'

Henrik and Parvati's wedding was less than a week away. Hermione couldn't help but think that despite all the death and drama, these past months had certainly inspired love and romance from the most unexpected quarters.

However, Draco - as Best Man - was terrified of screwing it up.

'WHY ME?' Draco groaned. 'I'll be a rubbish Best Man...' His face fell into shadow. 'If only Ziff was still alive... Or Harry!'

'But Harry's not dead, Draco.'

'I know that! What I mean is he'd do better than me... I should have said no. What was Henrik thinking?'

'That you're his friend and he trusts you,' Hermione smiled, nestling into the crook of his arm, her mouth curled in wry amusement… 'And you ARE the best man...the best fucking man I know.'

'Yeah, but you're biased… And thank god for that,' he said, pulling her behind a large, oak tree and into his arms, so close she could feel his heart thumping against her. 'Because the only type of Best Man I ever want to be is to you and our children; to love you and be loved by you forever… Because being with you is the greatest fucking privilege of my whole damned life.'

She gazed longingly at him, starry-eyed; and the sound of crashing cymbals and the white-hot dazzle of sun piercing clouds on an overcast day could never have accounted for half of what flowed between them in that instant.

'We're so bloody lucky,' she grinned, thinking you made your own luck, too; in the choices you made.

'Let's go home, Beautiful,' he smiled.

And he took her hand, and they were gone.

XXX

"Music is your only friend, Until the end." - The Doors

CHAPTER TRACKS:

"CELLOPHANE" by FKA TWIGS

"SUGAR FOR THE PILL" by SLOWDIVE

"WHAT I'VE DONE" by LINKIN PARK

"GETTING AWAY WITH IT (ALL MESSED UP)" by JAMES

"DIG DEEP(WEST COAST MASSIVE REMIX) by LXANDRA

"BEDSHAPED" by KEANE

"MELODY OF LOVE" by HOT CHIP

"LA VIE EN ROSE" by LUCY DACUS

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters.

AUTHORS NOTE:

Thank you for reading... and your patience! It's been a pleasure to share this story with you. I hope you've enjoyed…

I feel a bit weird walking away from this world, these characters – they've been with me a long while now, which is why I'm already drafting a new story – a Dramione, but interpreted rather differently! I tell myself it'll be shorter and less intense, (definitely the latter), and I'll try and wean myself off my addiction to creating new 'characters' (but I won't. Doomed to fail).

In the meantime, love yourselves and those around you and this bloody beautiful world we live in. Take care.XXXX