Disclaimer: I am not the great JKR.

A/N: So, here we are! Done at last! So please, don't forget to leave a review on your way out!

Chapter Twenty-One: Ouroboros

Hanging his traveling cloak on the hook by the door, Severus handed his outer robes to Ezekiel and accepted the handful of letters in return. The house, located within easy distance of the Chenonceaux Wizarding Research Library, was filled with the scent of the lavender fields all around, the purple stalks in bloom. When the weather was nice, the elves left the windows open to let the breezes carry the fragrance through the house. Every so often, though nothing was said, he'd see clumps of white heather scattered along the windowsills, adding their light scent to recreate the olfactory echoes of his dreams.

Gabrielle Delacour had chosen very well for him, and in the fifteen months he'd lived there, he'd learned to be quite fond of his home. It was comfortably situated, not a sprawling mansion that declined, mostly unused, as his last domicile had been. Large enough for a handful of guest bedrooms, a study that opened onto a significant personal library, a basement laboratory, his personal suite, and the assorted public rooms that houses were expected to have, it still managed to feel like a private, personable space. He often took tea in the garden out back, lovingly tended by the elves. At a small table on the edge of the property, he could look towards the house and the gardens, or away towards the river and the oceans of lavender.

He headed that way, the letters gripped in one hand as he rolled up his sleeves with the other. It had taken time to become comfortable in his house, more time for him to relax into the sensation of home, but within his property, he'd taken to an easy informality.

Lareine teased him about constantly. They met every Tuesday afternoon for tea, alternating between his garden and a small Parisian café of which she'd grown fond. He'd seen the new Lair only once, assisting her in setting up the complicated wards that would keep the madam and her employees safe from attempts of revenge, but hadn't set foot in it again after that. She never pressed him on that, never teased on that score. Instead, she teased him for rolling up his sleeves and untucking his shirt, for the hair that grew longer down his back because he never bothered to take the time to cut it, about the queenly cat who'd decided his garden was an excellent place to raise kittens.

He'd tried once to chase the cat off, the first time he saw her, but she sat back on her haunches and gave him such a fierce look that he named her Minerva and left her alone. When the winter grew cold, he even pretended not to notice the felines curled into a bed in the warmth of the kitchen.

The conversations in their weekly tea were not entirely teasing, of course. Potions, also, covered a great deal of ground, as they discussed new articles, new techniques, and occasionally, whatever he was researching. She gave him light updates on some of the girls, humorous stories that had nothing to do with the business they were in and everything to do with the strange family to be found within the Lair. Politics frequently found their way into the meanderings discussions, though they dissected the people as much as the actions.

Much of that information came from the letters. They'd been a shock when they first started arriving, more so when they continued. Letters from his former students, now former compatriots, scattered all over the world in their various tasks or retreats.

Blaise Zabini, urbane and witty as ever- and just as prone to dry chatter- had stepped forward as Minister of Magic before the fireworks even faded from the sky. Together with the Birdies who'd accompanied him, he gathered up the sleeping forms of the Inner Circle and put them under careful guard, not in the slime-slicked, bone-ridden dungeons, but in the detention cells a few levels higher. As time progressed, he made certain they received trials that were as fair as they could be under the circumstances. That Blaise was a Slytherin, and raised in the expectation of joining these men, offered them a degree of mercy they wouldn't have gotten otherwise. Many were still sentenced to death, for their purposeful actions in two separate wars. Some, whose actions had been less reprehensible or whose motivations were a bit murkier, were sentenced to lifetime imprisonment. Still others were given lesser sentences, or largely pardoned with a period of probation. Ishtari Clemens numbered among these, and Blaise had deliberately not presided over that trial to disavow any appearance of favoritism.

Where Blaise presided over the majority of the trials, they were run and organized by Tonks, new Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Starting with the Birdies and carefully recruiting outwards, she slowly rebuilt the Aurory, giving them fierce training even Mad-Eye would have approved of. She was an exacting boss but a fair one, and her fairness extended to her enemies as well. She and Blaise worked well together, doing everything they could to make the transition as smooth as possible and to keep the vengeance to a minimum. It was not entirely bloodless, and more than one Death Eater had been torn apart by a mob while awaiting trial in their homes. They made it clear, however, that such mob justice would not be tolerated.

The Diplomatic Corps was turned inside out by Susan Bones, who'd spent most of the previous years traveling between flocks of Birdies. She took their web of contacts and solidified it, strengthening it with new ties made outside of the secret alliances. New treaties were written, and it was made politely- but explicitly- clear that no treaty made under the Dark Lord's reign would be considered valid. The training she gave her new recruits overlapped in many ways with the new Aurors, every diplomat able to defend themselves, and they learned how to dissect words and tones with frightening precision.

And, as it turned out, Hogwarts did re-open in the fall, with Lee Jordan as Headmaster. There was still a great deal of work to be done on the grounds and castle but it was safe for students now. The first year or so would be mostly catching up, correcting the gaps left by the years of no available schooling. Like all his fellows, he'd become an excellent judge of character, and the faculty slowly filled out with skilled instructors that he could trust. Under Draco's order, the Malfoy fortune has been used to build a huge orphanage cum prep school outside of Hogsmeade. The street rat army split into three parts: those of school age went to Hogwarts for remedial lessons, the eight to eleven year olds went to the orphanage to learn the basics, like reading and writing, and those younger than eight remained in the country house, looked after by Paisley and Luna, among others.

Viktor Krum actually numbered among those others. Severus hadn't truly been surprised when Krum joined the Death Eaters, given the education he'd received at the hands of Karkaroff. He also hadn't been unduly bothered to learn that Krum was a phoenix before he was a snake. The Dark Lord had assigned him to India, and it had been curse that controlled Crabbe to kill Padma Patil, his subtle workings that continued to keep the country unsettled after the death of the martyr. He'd been tried along with everyone else, but unanimously granted a pardon once his co-conspirators testified on his behalf, explaining that he'd joined the Death Eaters only to act as a spy.

Not long after his pardon, Pansy Parkinson had received permission from the Ministry to divorce her permanently imprisoned husband. While divorce was rare in the wizarding world, it did occasionally happen, and her work for the phoenix contrasted with his work for the Dark Lord was deemed sufficient cause. Less than a month later, she married Viktor Krum; there were few surprised when her son was born with a distinctly large nose.

Over the winter, Severus received invitations to two weddings. Once her trial was done and her pardon issued, Ishtari Clemens was wed to Blaise Zabini in a grand affair that gave all of wizarding England cause to celebrate. The first many months after the Dark Lord's demise had been full of trials and punishments and the backbreaking business of getting everything straightened out and rebuilt. Now, finally, they could begin to just enjoy. The pair were genuinely happy to be getting married; never drastically in love, they were nonetheless very fond of each other, and had been betrothed from the cradle. That their union would be a symbol to contain the fractious elements of their society was not lost on either of them. Severus attended, wrapped in several layers of glamours which, courtesy of Tonks, would stand against the Aurors' sweeping probes.

The second invitation was honorary, given that the accompanying letter explicitly stated it would be too dangerous to come. As late winter gave way to spring, Michael Corner and Hannah Abbott were married in a huge ceremony in Washington D.C. It was a rare occasion for the American magical community; most of their elected leaders were already married, and at least half-reviled by the people they were supposed to serve. Michael, while he had his share of detractors, was proving himself a very capable president. Hannah had set aside the bubbly impishness of Miss Sigurdson, but kept the calm efficiency, and had quickly become a beloved figure. He didn't try to attend, probably wouldn't have even if the invitation had been worded differently, but he did send along a letter with his congratulations and several gifts.

The light, teasing thank you for the pot of silky hand cream was nearly in the teasing tone Hannah had so often employed as Ingrid.

He received letters from all of them far more frequently than he'd expected to, and answered them with a pleasure that continued to surprise him. He discussed research with Luna Lovegood, who was much more to the point in writing than she was in person. He directed Pansy to the better places to acquire potions for the children under her care. He patiently answered Lee's questions on classroom management and how to run the school, as well as the best ways to re-establish the interwoven layers of wards around the school property. With Gabrielle, he discussed art and music and literature, refusing to be drawn into a discussion on dance, and was perfectly content to argue the merits of various forms of beauty. He valued each conversation because they, more than anything else, reminded him of how much he'd changed.

Severus Snape was, in essentials, much as he ever was, but for the first time in his entire life, he was his own master. There was no father looming with drink and fists, no Dark Lord throwing curses and foul commands, and- though he occasionally felt guilty at admitting it- no Albus Dumbledore with his twinkling eyes and greater good. He was aware, in a way he hadn't been as a youth, that his choices would continue to have consequences, as all choices will, but they were his to make.

Most of the letters he valued.

And then there were some he treasured.

Draco, Ginny, and Harry had settled into New Zealand, frequently hopping across the waters to explore the vast Outback. The wildness seemed to soothe them, tame something vital within them that had been too fierce for too long. Their letters, however, came regularly, even when all other contact vanished for a time. They touched on the world stage, on their former players, but as time passed, the letters became increasingly personal, a sign of the trust they had in him and of the healing they slowly found. Sometimes the letters said more with what wasn't written than what was, but practice made his adept at reading those unsaid thoughts.

So when Draco mentioned casually that Ginny looked a wreck when she cried, Severus understood that it wasn't simply a light joke about blotchy faces and swollen eyes. It was the thaw in the valkyrie, the snap as something that had broken a long time ago broke again so it could truly be healed. He understood that it was the first time she'd cried since the world as she knew it ended, knew she was grieving for her family, for her friends, for all the things they'd done and lost and been.

When Ginny cracked a biting joke about Harry trying to tame the wild Granians that raced through the hills, he knew it was memory that haunted the young man, memories of Hagrid who, in his bumbing, big-hearted, ineffectual way, was the first friend famous Harry Potter had ever had. As he continued to read of the wild animals Harry continued to bring to the sprawling cave system they'd turned into home, Severus knew that taming the creatures went a long way to taming the rage he'd cultivated for so long as Thanatos.

And when Harry said that Ginny and Draco had started going to specialists to see if the damage done to her during the Final Battle was reversible, he understood that it wasn't an idle curiosity, but their need to see if they could have a family forged through blood instead of fire. Ginny was, after all, her mother's daughter; however cold she made herself, Molly shone through in quiet ways, in the moments when she did a small kindness for a child, when she worked out a sudden burning fury by making mountains of food. And for Draco…Draco, who'd learned so much and come so far, who was the last scion of a tarnished line…for him, it was a chance to have a real family, to raise a child, or perhaps even children, who wouldn't be measured by a father's choices and expectations and plans. For two people who'd lost almost all of their childhood, it was a chance to nurture an innocence they could no longer comprehend. A chance to create, when so much of their energy was spent on destroying.

And sometimes accompanying letters, sometimes just a single strip of paper on its own, came chess moves. Harry and Severus had played several games in this way over the past fifteen months. Just as in that room on the top story of the Lair, each had two chess sets: one to play games with anyone who happened to be there with them, and one that waited patiently for the next move to arrive by owl.

And unlike the previous chess set, it was truly just a game of chess.

It was still a daily bemusement, something to ponder in quiet moments, that he was friends with Harry Potter. It was not simply a camaraderie, not a working partnership that settled for familiarity, but a genuine friendship like he hadn't experienced since Lily. Their written discussions were broad-ranging, very rarely touching on the past, not even to explain the finer points of the game they'd played out. Those details came from Draco and Ginny, filling in all the pieces he'd missed or been purposefully excluded from.

The one person he did not hear from was Hermione. Nor, if he was honest with himself, had he expected to. Draco and Ginny had each other to ground them, and Harry had Draco to teach him how to be himself again now that Thanatos was just a haunting nightmare. But Hermione…Nocturne was far more than just a memory for her.

He occasionally had news of her through the others, a note or post script mentioning a brief visit. She never stayed with anyone for long; Ginny, Harry, and Draco were sometimes able to keep her for a week or so, but with most others, she stayed only a few minutes, or a few hours. She traveled relentlessly, ghosts driving her across the world to see the results of their actions.

Sometimes it's easier to kill someone, Ginny had written after one of these fleeting visits. You raise a knife, you raise a wand, and when it's done, they lie dead at your feet, never again able to bother you outside of nightmares. She killed enough in the early days- we all did, as we fought to carve a niche deep enough for our game- but after becoming Nocturne, it was a very different form of destruction. Suddenly she was destroying them from within, but destroying herself as well. She stayed in one place- one country, one city, one building, one room- and all too often one position. She was chained there in a way the rest of us weren't. And now, as the rest of us try to pretend we're not terrified to have possessions and homes, she's trying to remember the world beyond maps and pictures and stories. All the things she was never sure she was going to see. I'd rather live with the blood than with the confusion. When it comes down to it, knowing now what I do, I would still choose to kill- it's easier to justify.

Shaking his head, Severus settled into one of the chairs at the back of the garden, glancing through the handful of letters. A thick packet from Luna, a sizable missive from Hannah Abbot Corner, a heavy envelope where Ginny, Draco, and Harry had taken turns writing lines of the address, and the newest issue of a Potions journal he subscribed to. He set the last aside with the intention of reading throug it later; Lareine would be receiving hers today, as well, and he wanted to take notes before their next discussion.

As he set it on the table, the journal bumped up against a tray holding far more than his usual tea. "What is this?" he muttered, eyeing the neat of pairs of everything on the tray.

"Perhaps Ezekiel thought you might be polite enough to offer your guest some refreshment?"

He stiffened at the pebble-washed voice, turning slowly to see Hermione Granger walking out of the lavender field. Bits of the plant clung to the plain black robes draped over one tan arm, more catching in the curls that tumbled down her back in a mostly contained mass. She was still thin, her bone structure delicate beneath the skin, but she looked healthier, her warm brown eyes alert and alive. Despite the robes, she wore Muggle clothing, a pair of simple but fitted denims and a sleeveless, high-collared white shirt, a navy and lavender striped tie knotted loosely. Through the gap of the unbuttoned collar, he could barely see the heavy scars that ravaged her throat, the tie keeping the shirt closed enough for comfort. Well-worn shoes dangled from her other hand, her bare feet sinking into the soil.

"Would you like some tea, Miss Granger?" he asked lightly, rising to his feet.

"Tea would be lovely, thank you." She sat down on the other side of the small table, pretending not to notice that he didn't sit until she was comfortable, and accepted the cup of tea he handed her. "I hear you've been keeping busy."

"The library at Chenonceaux is quite well stocked," he agreed mildly. He took a sip of the steaming liquid. "And your travels? Have they given you what you seek?"

She studied her bare feet thoughtfully, examining the streaks of dirt, and didn't immediately answer. "I'm not sure what I was seeking," she said eventually, "so I wouldn't begin to know if I've found it."

"But you've found something."

She arched one eyebrow. "Have I?"

He set down the tea, folding his hands in his lap. "I don't think you would be here if you hadn't found something, whether it was what you were seeking or not."

"You're a hard man to forget."

"So I've heard," he replied dryly, and started a ghost of a laugh from her.

Stirring her spoon through her tea- not because she'd added anything, but because she needed the activity- Hermione tried to recognize the next path of the conversation. She'd gotten better at talking, to an extent, but she'd been so long in silence that she still had to remind herself to do it. "I've been trying to put a name to things," she told him finally. "I can put names to what Ginny and Draco have, to what Blaise and Ishtari have, to what Hannah and Michael have, to what Pansy and Viktor have. The names are easy. But you and I…"

Severus turned his signet ring around on his finger and said nothing, patiently waiting for her to find the words. Or not. He left it to her to choose, and that more than anything else was what gave her the impulse to continue.

"After my name was out in the open, not a secret you could pretend not to know, we danced around each other, never touching. Before that, it was…well, whatever it was, and after that was something else entirely, and I don't know what the names are."

"Is a name necessary?"

"I don't know," she admitted, clearly frustrated by that fact. "Names have power if they're used correctly; how often did we learn that? And yet…"

"Yet?"

"Who am I?"

"You are a brilliant, resourceful, courageous, and frankly devious young woman with an endless capacity for research, planning, and application."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Yes, I did." He held up a hand to forestall her protest. "It's just a name."

"Tell that to Romeo and Juliet."

"It's just a name," he repeated softly. "After all, who am I?"

She nodded to acknowledge the point.

The unlikely pair sat in silence for a time, sipping tea as the breeze brought the smell of the lavender wafting over the terrace.

"Ginny couldn't cry for Charlie," she said abruptly. "While they discussed the poison, while they watched Andrei put the poison in the food, while they watched him eat it, watched him die, while they stood beside his grave and put on a show of mourning for everyone, she couldn't cry."

"You do what needs to be done until it is done," he replied mildy. "Then you can react as you wish to, rather than what is most appropriate for the scheme."

"She cried for Charlie. A few months ago." He nodded once to indicate that he'd been informed. "First she cried for Charlie, but after a while, she cried for the others."

"Yes."

"Because she loves them."

"Yes."

"Why can't I cry?"She stood and paced around the small terrace, her robes sliding from the back of the chair to the mulch. "What if the name for us is love, but I'm too broken to feel it?"

"You're here, aren't you?"

She stopped and scowled at him. "What does that mean?"

He stood and walked across to her, one hand rising to push the heavy curls from her face. "After fifteen months, you're here. Forgive me if I choose to believe that means something."

"But what?" she asked, almost pleading. "What does it mean?"

"That not everything needs a name." Severus traced the fine bones of her face, wanting desperately to do so much more than that, but not wanting to spook her. Not when she'd finally come to see him. And he'd accept whatever time she gave him, without pushing her for more,because he more than anyone understood how terrifying true intimacy was.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward and pressed her cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and he slowly brought his arms up around her. "What if I really am broken?" she whispered.

"It's not the breaking that defines us, Hermione, but the way we choose to put the pieces back together." His dark eyes traveled around the house that had somehow become home, the house-elves of whom he was bemusedly fond, the stack of letters from former students who'd become friends. "We all break. Will you accept help in putting the pieces together?"

She shifted in his arms, tilting her head back to study him. Then, so slowly he almost thought he was imagining it, she stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth, a Mona Lisa smile floating about her lips. That kiss was followed by another, in the opposite corner, and another, back to the first, until he gave a low growl and captured her mouth with his.

And it didn't matter whether he was kissing Hermione or Nocturne.

Because we was kissing her.

For as long as she'd let him.

Quite by accident, she'd given him a chance to reclaim all the broken pieces of his life, the chance to reform them into a picture he could live with quite contently. And now, finally, he had the chance to repay her- by offering her the same grace.

For as long as she'd let him.

And perhaps, once she'd put together as many pieces as she could, she might even stay.