DISCLAIMER: HP belongs to JKR. The storyline, all new characters, new character development, new developments are my intellectual property. Glorioux

This story might disturb some readers, if you are uncomfortable with death, war scenes and post battle reactions, please don't read it.

Just think of it as food for the thought.

This is a short study on a what-if situation dealing with a passionate encounter the night after the Hogwarts last battle. Hermione is numb and wanders while she tries to find forgetfulness. Something happens between Draco and Hermione. The horror of the day might create magical events beyond belief.

SCENE ONE

The battle is winding down. There are scattered fires burning, but most are dying. Courses bounce erratically all over the place but are too weak to cause serious injuries. Soon enough, they will not find a viable target, and they will just fade.

The uninjured are busy tending the wounded; or, they are covering the bodies of those whose life force has left to join the Continuum. Their meritorious deeds will help to break an entrance between realms; and through these passages, they might be allowed to find a way to take them to their next lives.

The ones who survived are busy, and some even carry lifeless bodies into the dark with unknown intentions. Just like the two tall, blond wizards who carry a long bundle away from the Shrieking Shack. With a pop, they disappear without bringing on any attention.

It is still pandemonium, but not for much longer. A truce of sorts; too bad there are still personal battles to be waged before the day is gone. The dice have been cast, and it is too late to avoid the damage; thus, deep grooves will be carved unto Hermione's troubled soul.

Just beyond the battlefield, Hermione leans against a wall; it is far enough away from the action, she has made sure of that. She daydreams of an event that occurred during a trip with her parents, long ago. She just wants to distance herself from the today's events, so she stands by this dark side entrance. It has long been abandoned, and now is dank with moss and time. Her mind is no longer present; she is back in time. She wants to close her eyes and will this day away.

Tonight's battleground has awoken earlier memories of a forgotten event. It happened in one of the frequent family trips during her childhood. She would come along with her nanny. Blanche, who was French, had the pleasant job to keep her company while her parents had other business to attend.

She was seven at the time when both Drs. Granger attended a dental symposium at a famous German city. All summers, the city hosted the reenactment of a Muggle conflict during the 16th century. That century had been a time of death and war when the French had burned all the castles along the Rhine. The follies of men everywhere, celebrating events of fire, death, and destruction, much like tonight's.

This eerie night, with the Hogwarts Castle as a backdrop, inexplicably reminds her of that celebration at the German castle. She remembers that humid and too warm night, long ago. She had been tired and a little cranky. Her stomach was very full of chips and sausages, and she still begged for more sweets. The type her parents considered one step removed from rat poison or radioactive waste.

The sky and the castle, were illuminated by the lights, and the constant fireworks, gave the appearance of a burning castle. The lighting of the structure, was accompanied by firework explosions and the sounds of cannons. Raucous tourists, many of them young, with American accents, probably drunk, or high, or both, contributed to elevating the sound to intolerable levels. Now as then, the skies appeared to be in flames, but there is nothing quaint about tonight.

The noise of the pops, explosions and cracks, flying hexes and curses, is not all together dissimilar at those caused by the lighting of fireworks, and the long ago event's attendees. Whereas, eight years ago, the air smelled of fireworks, fair food, grilled meats and sausages, chips, fried food, crepes, beer, candy, liquor, and other not so pleasant human smells, it was nothing like tonight's stench.

During that summer-night long ago, the ground was covered with discarded wrappers, other trash, beer bottles, and fireworks' cases. The bodies found on the ground were those of people fallen to the excess of drugs or alcohol, homeless people; or, maybe lovers having sex under the anonymity-cover granted by the dark.

Tonight, the ground is also covered with assorted items. They range from broken wands, to pieces of torn human flesh, to otherwise discarded pieces of clothing and accessories. There are too many bodies strewn around like broken marionettes. Not all are dead, but some might wish to be so.

Yes, the two nights might bear some similarities to a casual observer, but are not even close by any stretch of the imagination.

True, Voldemort has finally been killed, but at what human cost? There is little to celebrate when you fight against your own kind, when you must cry for the dead and dying. Why celebrate a senseless civil war; one fueled by blindness and deafness, and lit by torches woven with the filaments of prejudice, ignorance, greed, and intolerance. Sadly, it is the case in most conflicts, the follies of selfish men.

The sounds heard earlier today were terrifying, and she still cannot make them go away. They make her wish that she was deaf. She still can hear the sounds of horror, pain and heart wrenching grief. The lights tonight are brought about not by fireworks and lighting effects, and not by real fires and deadly explosions. The wind carries the unpleasant smells of blood, fear, the stench of burning flesh, open stomachs, and body waste; smells she cannot ignore.

Foremost, she wants to be away from this event of horror and death; so she forces her legs to keep walking, away from the battle stage. Hermione wishes to close her senses to the ongoing horrors, or to be able to cry. Thus far, her eyes deny her the flow of tears needed to wash her pain, to cleanse her battered soul.

Today, she only wants to close her eyes and forget. She wants someone to hold her and take her away from this campus of death. She wishes for Blanche to come back from Lorraine. She left after Hermione started at Hogwarts and never was heard from again.

The smells of the passage way bring her back the present, and that is the precise moment when she discovers Harry. He is with an unknown companion, and he is partially naked. However, how can she judge? He can fuck anyone he desires, especially tonight; he has won that right and much more.

Finally, her legs give away upon entering the passage, and she slowly slides down to sit on the ground stones, her back leaning against the wall. She is right by the couple, when weariness and apathy take over her. She collapses onto to the ground, almost touching Harry's leg; she closes her eyes and just reclines there, with her legs widely open.

She looks like a broken puppet with her long, lean, and strong legs splayed, forming a wide V. Although, not naked, her limbs are barely covered with the remains of indigo fabric resembling jeans. Her head hangs low for a long time, her hair sticks up in wild coils, and she holds her wand as an extension of herself.

After a while, the moans and the grunts are discernible, and she is able to clearly tune them after a few seconds. They are not a result of pain, or at least not the kind of pain and grief that pollutes the air nearby. She can hear agony sounds, which are now mixed with screams of pleasure, moans of passion, and wet flesh against flesh.

She slowly opens her eyes and first looks to her left. She repeatedly blinks several times attempting to clear her eyes, not of what is in front of her eyes. But yes, without a mistake, it is Harry, his eyes are closed tightly, his neck is arched, his head is thrown back, and his screams express considerable emotions.

Both his torn robe and his trousers are tangled, laying in a puddle by his ankles. She can almost touch his strong legs, strained from bearing the weight of the witch. She has incredible, long, porcelain legs wrapped around his waist. Her back is stuck to the wall; she grinds her bare bum against it, while Harry's hands hold her tight for dear life.

Hermione is speechless looking at them. Her mouth goes dry, and her heart beats wildly. She is sure that they are not aware of anything, of anyone, and their only focus is their coupling.

They are not alone, but one of many. Nothing matters but feeling alive, or feeling something, she guesses.

She cannot take her eyes away from the couple next to her; she has never had sex before. From her sitting position, she partly sees the movements of Harry's hard penis as it disappears into her depths, just to reappear once again. It seems wet and glistening in the dark, as it makes the in and out trajectory.

Every drive is accompanied by his moans and her cries, creating a low heat that melts Hermione's insides and makes her body ache with desire. She is so wet that she wonders if it is her period. She needs something but does not know what; for a moment, she considers touching herself, but decides it is too private of an act to indulge out in the open.

She wants to discover the woman's identity, but her face is obscured by Harry's head. She sees the woman's hands caressing his face, his neck, his ass, and finally surrounding the bottom of his shaft. She cries someone's name that Hermione does not catch. She also observes their mad kissing, licking and biting, while rutting llike beasts.

Finally, she moves closer in and stretches her hands wanting to touch them. She wants to feel and to be alive. She touches his calf, and just then, he looks down and groans. With her other hand, she reaches tentatively while moving it toward their joining, but she is not sure why. Oops, it is too late, their movements gain speed, and the couple chant words in the midst of their orgasmic release.

Both of their legs are quivering, and he keeps kissing the woman he is holding. All of a sudden, the witch breaks in sobs and tears, with no end in sight. As Harry drops her to the floor, the woman's face comes into clear view. It is then when Hermione recognizes the face, and her voice comes too loud, and she nearly yells her name, "Lady Ma—Malfoy?"

Hermione stands back in a hurry, and she hears Harry's voice urgently calling her from afar. Her pace is fast, as she carefully avoids the fallen bodies along the path, and just pretends that it is all commonplace. A few minutes later, she is again at the battle site. She sees the tall, blond wizards holding each other with tears running down their faces.

As she comes closer, they ask if she has seen the older witch. Hermione nodes, then points towards the castle and sees their immediate relief; they are happy to know Narcissa is not a casualty. She looks back and sees Harry bringing Narcissa by the arm, and her heart is lighter one second later.

At that, she runs towards the Malfoys, Hermione is happy to realize that they are also unhurt and alive.

On her way, her hand reaches the back of the head. She unties the strip holding a braid. Her hand now holds a dragon leather strip which she offers to Lucius. He looks at her, not understanding, and asks a silent question with his red-rimmed eyes. She shrugs her shoulders while avoiding eye contact.

"I think this belongs to you." Then, she turns away not knowing where she is going, but she is confident this is not the end of this saga.

As Hermione walks away, she senses a set of eyes ready to bore holes on her back. Lucius speaks loudly while looking at her, "Thanks, please forgive us if you can."

She looks as he brings the chord,mjust unwrapped from her head, up to his nose and inhales the scent. He closes his eyes to let himself dream. He can smell her hair, her essence of purity and life. He wants to void the smell of fire, charred flesh, blood, urine, emptied bowls, to wipe out all the stench of death surrounding him. She is still looking when he takes his eyes away for a minute, as he puts it away, inside his robe.

Hermione just shrugs. She remains standing, for a moment longer, expressionless, neither sad nor happy, just there. Then, she takes off at a fast pace, just to get away from everyone.

Soon, she hears Draco, "Granger, Granger, please wait; Granger slow down, damn I say wait." She does not listen, all voices and sounds are not processed in her brain, there are a discordant cacophony that makes little sense.

"Fuck, where is she going?" He is fuming as he runs after her.