And here we are! Thank you so much everyone for coming on this little journey with me (seeing how my stories will end is typically as much of an adventure for me as it is for you lot 😉 ). And thank you, also, for not hating me too much that I made some of you feel bad for Voldemort.

Chapter Seventeen

It was several weeks before anything seemed back in 'some semblance of order.' Everyone involved in the so-called plot to unseat Voldemort eventually saw that not only was Alecto's plan better, as it benefited all of them, but that Thorfinn was correct, and it should've been the plan in the first place. To be fair, though, at the time their plan had started, Hermione knew no one thought the Dark Lord could be caught off-guard or lulled into a false sense of security.

Those weeks were . . . odd to say the least. The ripple through the Ministry now that no one was under the Dark Lord's thumb was immediate, and Kingsley Shacklebolt wasted little time claiming the post of Minister—though the position was still technically unofficial—and his first act was to see those imprisoned on Voldemort's whims or due to his bogus laws released. The still-loyal Death Eaters had been carted off to a refurbished, newly-warded and Dementor-free Azkaban. Voldemort had a heavily warded solitary confinement wing all to himself, which was little surprise to anyone, even though he didn't put up a struggle when the Aurors took him into custody. Though, that last bit had been a surprise to everyone; they'd expected as soon as he realized what must've happened, he'd return to his old, vengeful ways. Instead he'd fallen silent, merely nodding or shaking his head in response to things and gazing about as though everything his attention landed upon saddened him.

Hermione knew she'd make it her personal mission to keep him from backsliding, even if her wizards weren't especially happy about it.

As for her wizards, they, along with Alecto, Draco, Narcissa, and Lucius—apparently Narcissa, Draco, and Alecto claimed he was in on the plot, as well, Hermione had no idea what that was about, aside from loyalty to family, but then, just like with the poisoning, what the hell Alecto had to do with anything she hadn't the foggiest—had been offered the opportunity to serve out their probation as staff at Hogwarts, provided they followed a curriculum approved by both the new Minister, and new Headmistress Minerva McGonagall.

Irma Pince saw her release from Azkaban as a perfect time to formally retire from her post, affording Minerva the chance to let Hermione stay on . . . if she wished. One of her fist duties as the New-Ministry-approved librarian was to reorganize the books properly. Oddly, when she removed the books about Voldemort's life from the shelf, she didn't have the heart to discard them. She didn't care if she was judged for it later, she sneaked the books away, hiding them from everyone.

Even if she never looked at them, she felt it was important for someone to have them. Remembering what and who he'd been before this made how much he'd changed more real, somehow.

Her wizards, now able to more actively vie for her attention—when students weren't present, of course—made right nuisances of themselves day after day, and she simply couldn't get enough of this more carefree side to all of them. However, she did think she could do without Thorfinn's occasional need to scoop her up, toss her over his shoulder like a caveman, and run from the room.

Thorfinn became, strangely, what Hermione could think of as her best friend. A best friend who chose completely random moments to snog her senseless. Antonin made clear his intention to maintain a friends-with-benefits status with the witch, no actual commitment there beyond friendship. And Orias, well, just as she'd realized herself, seemed to feel that no matter what else happened with Rowle or Dolohov, he'd still be there beside her. He didn't dare to bring up the L word, but that was okay, because neither did she.

Her world settled into an entirely new version of normal—finally, she felt like everything happening around her was something she could understand.

Until the moment she was preparing to leave the castle one Saturday afternoon on that self-appointed mission. She exited the librarian's quarters to find Draco Malfoy in the empty library with his head down against his folded arms.

Though they still weren't quite friends, they were certainly closer and more amicable with one another than they'd ever been during all the years they'd known each other.

Frowning, she made her way over to the table on quiet footfalls. "Malfoy? You okay?"

With a noisy sigh, he lifted his head. "I'm . . . I'm weird, actually."

She couldn't help snickering. "And this is the first time you're realizing that, I take it?"

He shot her a withering glare.

Folding her lips inward, she held up her hands. "Sorry, you just made it sort of easy there. I guess you came in here for some quiet? But you know, I've got a few minutes if you want to talk about whatever it is."

Draco scowled, but not his usual Malfoy-scowl, the one where he could either be angry or snarky. This was a thoughtful expression. "I suppose. Can you keep a secret?"

Her brows drawing upward, she pulled out the chair opposite him and took a seat. "You should know better than to ask that of me."

Meeting her gaze steadily for a silent few seconds, he nodded. "Okay, fair. Um, I don't know how to say this other than to come right out with it."

The witch clasped her hands upon the tabletop, the picture of complete patience and calm as she waited.

"My . . . my mother has a girlfriend." Realizing belatedly that women sometimes referred to their female friends that way, he tacked on, "Romantically speaking, I mean."

Hermione darted her gaze about as she asked, "Did your parents divorce?"

"Oh, no, see that's the weird part. They're still together. Father knows—they told him once things settled down around here—and he's okay with it."

"I'm . . . I'm very confused."

Draco threw up his hands. "Me, too. I mean, I found out about it before he did, and I wasn't happy about it, but, you know, I accepted it because my mother was happy. But I figured when the truth came out, they'd be all sorts of terrible repercussions."

Nodding, she offered, "And your upset that your parents' marriage didn't implode?"

He rolled his eyes. "When you say it like that—"

"No, no." Hermione waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "What I mean is it's what someone would naturally expect from that sort of situation. Therefore, it's natural for you to be a bit out of sorts that things turned out differently. Did your father explain?"

"Yeah, that's the scary part." Draco shrugged. "Everything that happened in the aftermath of the War . . . it made him realize he could just as easily have lost her. She was here, suffering and miserable, and he wasn't able to be present for her. Said he came to realize how important she is to him, and if having a relationship with Alecto is what'll make her happy, then he's willing to let her have that."

"Alecto is your mum's girlfriend?" Hermione's eyes shot wide as she asked, but after a moment, her features settled and she nodded. "Actually, I can see it. They are gorgeous together."

Draco's eyes narrowed a bit. "I cannot believe you just said that."

Laughing, Hermione shook her head. "Listen, how you feel right now is completely understandable. It's a weird situation. I mean, who could expect your father to be so understanding?"

He tossed his hands in the air all over again. "Exactly!"

"Bottom line, Malfoy. Is your mum happy?"

"Yeah."

"Is your dad really okay with it?"

"Strangely, yes."

"And you're okay with your mum's situation because she's happy?"

"We're talking in circles, now, Granger. Yes."

She shrugged, smirking. "Then you have to find a way to be okay with your father not being a tyrant about it."

"Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous."

Propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin against her palm, she waited for him to meet her gaze before she asked, "Feel better?"

"Actually, I do."

Nodding, Hermione stood. "Good. I've got some place to—"

The sound of the library doors busting open just then cut her off. Wincing, she turned to look. "Oh, Thorfinn, not now. It's really—"

"Pfft," Thorfinn breathed the noise in response as he dashed into the library, lifted her off her feet and deposited her over his shoulder. "Oh, hey, Malfoy."

Draco only arched a brow, watching as the Viking of a wizard turned and started out of the library as though there wasn't a complaining witch draped over him.

"Oh, just fine," she shouted at the small of Thorfinn's back while he took off down the corridor with her. "At least run toward the front doors! I've got someplace to be, you know!"

"Are they treating you well?"

He sighed, rolling his eyes as he turned away from the barely-existent window in his cell. "You ask me that every week."

"And every week I'm just as concerned about your answer as the last."

Crossing the floor of his cell, he came as close as the bars permitted, gazing down at her. "And just as last week, they're treating me fine. Better than expected . . . ." He squared his jaw as he looked off for a moment while he spoke. "Better than I know I deserve."

"The important thing is you know it. Before all this, it wouldn't have faze you at all."

He nodded. "I know." Swallowing hard, he reached out, his movement tentative. He always did that, moved as though he expected her to pull away. He rested his fingers over hers where they were curled around the bar. The first time he'd done that, the Auror watching him had come over ready to push him back from her. Eventually, and at her insistence, that devolved into a clearing of his throat. Now, the Auror was silent, but she imagined he was arching a brow at the contact.

"Every week they come in, make me take Veritaserum, and ask me the same questions, over and over." Those blue eyes drifted closed. "The monotony of it is mind-numbing."

"You can't really blame them, though." She brushed the pad of her thumb across his knuckles in a gesture of comfort—it was as much as she could do for him, after all. "They want to make sure you're not going back to your old ways."

"I know. That's the worst part. I brought this on myself. All these emotions . . . ." He sighed again, pressing his forehead against the bars. "I forgot what they felt like. God, it hurts."

A sad, gentle smile curved her lips. "It's redemption. Tends not to tickle."

He breathed out a snicker at that. "I suppose not. You know what's worse?"

She placed her other hand over his. "What?"

"This all brought with it a self-awareness I didn't have before." He uttered a chuckle full of derision at himself. "As much as everything hurts, I know it's still better than I deserve."

"That's sort of the point." She shrugged. "If you're left to stew when you don't feel sorry about what you've done, there's no purpose to it. You feel because you're not him, anymore. You hurt because you've evolved. Voldemort will always be who you were, but it doesn't have to be who you remain."

He opened his eyes, the blue depths swimming a little as he asked, "And who would that person be?"

"Oh, I don't know." She smiled again, a brighter expression than before. "But Tom doesn't sound so bad. Maybe you can pick your own new last name? Something that doesn't have hurtful memories attached to it."

He bit his lip, holding back grin. "I could be a Tom, again, I think."

"Tom," she echoed, her gaze searching his face.

The Auror interrupted just then, with that gruff, irritating throat-clearing of his.

As if she didn't know what he was about to say, she glanced at him over her shoulder.

The wizard stationed by the wing's lone door frowned, making a show of tightening his grip on his wand. "Miss Granger, time's up."

"I understand." She returned her attention to . . . Tom. She would make herself get used to calling him that quickly. "I've got to go, now."

Those blue eyes held hers as he asked, "Will you come see me next week?"

She smiled, but again it was a sad expression. There was a chance she was the only thing keeping him tied to his new desire to change. "Of course I will. You ask me that every week."

Even as that ruddy Auror looked on, Tom raised his free hand, reaching a finger through the bars to trace over her lips. "And every week I'm just as concerned about your answer as the last."

"And just as last week, and this week, I'll be here precisely when visiting time begins, and will stay until they force me to leave. Every week, for as long as you're here."

He nodded, forcing a gulp down his throat. "See you then, Hermione."

The witch returned his nod, dropping her head for a quick moment to brush a kiss against his knuckles before she pulled her hand from beneath his. "See you then, Tom."

She could feel his attention on her as she was led from the wing. Just as she disappeared through the doorway, she glanced back, meeting his gaze. It was always that one last look. Odd how it was that she was so certain that single moment meant as much to him as whatever they discussed during her visits—meant as much to him as the fact that she visited him, at all.

"I don't think I'll ever understand it," the Auror said in a hushed tone as he guided her along the corridor back toward the exit.

Hermione laughed softly and shrugged. "And I don't think there's any way I could explain it that would make sense, so I suppose we're even."

They lapsed into silence as they moved through the prison. Hermione always had a bit of a rough time walking away. Not because she fancied the idea of staying in Azkaban, or because she though he shouldn't be here—after everything, even changed, there needed to be some recompense for his crimes—but because it always left her time to think. To mull over how sad he looked. To remember that one night they'd had together.

And to again wonder why no one'd thought to simply slip something into his tea sooner? But then, they'd just have a revenge-bent madman behind bars, now, not someone willing to become better.

No matter how she thought on it, there was really no other way for this to have gone that would have produced this result.

She'd never get over the simple, startling fact that Alecto Carrow had been responsible for freeing Wizarding Britain from Voldemort's grasp. And she'd done so for completely selfish reasons that had nothing to do with taking that power for herself.

Hermione still didn't know precisely what had happened to Amycus Carrow and Theodore Nott, Sr. No one would tell her precisely what had been done to them. And, unlike what she might've once done—pestering everyone in the world until she had an answer—she accepted that perhaps she was happier not knowing.

As she stepped off the ferry from the prison and started walking, her head full of useless thoughts, she heard someone calling her. Frowning, she halted and turned in the direction of the voices.

A smile spread across her face immediately. "What are you doing here?"

Orias grinned. "We came to see you back to Hogwarts, Little Witch."

"Says you." Antonin arched a brow. "I tagged along so we could go to a pub. Haven't had a drink in ages, and we were only permitted out of the castle because we said we were coming her to escort you back."

Thorfinn looked at the two of them and laughed. "Says both of you. I'm only here because I wanted do to this in public."

Next thing Hermione knew, she was draped over Thorfinn's shoulder as he sprinted away from the other two.

"Oy," Antonin shouted, his hands cupped around his mouth. "You'd better be heading for a pub."

"New plan," Orias said as they started after the pair. "When we catch them, you hold him down, I'll beat him within an inch of his life."

Antonin turned his head to catch the other man's gaze. "And then we find a pub?"

Orias shrugged, nodding. "And then we find a pub."

THE END