Two

Many thanks to my beta, Soul Bound.

Hermione exploded spectacularly from the fireplace in a suffocating cloud of ash and bizarrely found herself in a noisy roomful of legs – and what a wild array of shapes and sizes they were too.

'Well, that was dignified,' she muttered under her breath as Professor McGonagall helped pick her up. Hermione dusted herself off, hacking like a pack-a-day smoker.

'Never mind, my dear; it is a practice thing. I used to be dreadful at it until Albus taught me the trick of holding on one's nose when one steps into the fire. I never could figure out why it works, but it definitely does. Try it next time. Anyway, nobody is paying any attention, thankfully. I remember falling out of the fireplace and landing on my backside mid-way through a full board meeting. Now that's embarrassing. That is also the reason why I wear ankle-length skirts and full dress robes now,' said the professor. 'Right, let us find Mrs. Weasley and pay our respects.'

Hermione followed as Professor McGonagall nimbly worked her way through the crowds of people who respectfully nodded greetings to the older witch. Professor McGonagall briskly asked a rather portly looking wizard where Mrs. Weasley was, and they were directed to the far corner of the room. Hermione concentrated on breathing calmly in an attempt to quell her rising heart rate and at least appear outwardly calm. A drawn, puffy- eyed Mrs. Weasley was sitting and talking to what looked like a younger version of herself. It was a grown-up Ginny, as petite and stylish as ever. The image of the two fair women dressed in black resonated with something deep within her memory, giving her the strangest sensation of having seen this exact situation before. Then it dawned, in fact she had. It was at Dumbledore's funeral – that was where she had seen Mrs. Weasley and Ginny last.

'Ah, Professor McGonagall, I'm so pleased you could make it.' Mrs. Weasley stood up, and the two women kissed each other on the cheek.

'I'm so sorry for your loss, Molly. If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know,' said Professor McGonagall sympathetically, squeezing Mrs. Weasley's hand.

Mrs. Weasley nodded, her eyes filling with tears. Ginny quickly stood, putting a comforting arm around her mother.

'You are already doing so much, Professor.'

'No. I can never do too much. And you, too, Ginny,' Professor McGonagall added gently.

'Thank you,' Ginny replied sadly. 'And thank you for everything.'

Mrs. Weasley noticed Hermione standing next to Professor McGonagall. 'And who is this young lady you've brought with you, Professor? I don't think we've met.

'Well, Molly, this young lady is Hermione.'

'What? Hermione? Our Hermione? No, it can't be – well, by Merlin, so it is – you look so different.'

'I'm so sorry to hear about Ron, Mrs. Weasley.' Hermione's eyes welled up.

Hermione was pulled into the shorter woman's embrace and looked up to see Ginny giving her an assessing look, so she smiled and mouthed a friendly 'hi'.

'You've come back to us after all these years; wait 'til Harry hears. Gin, run and tell Harry to come out. Oh, this is a surprise seeing you after all this time. The Professor here kept telling me you were enjoying living down with her sister, but I'm so pleased you are back. We have missed you.' Mrs. Weasley gave Hermione an affectionate press.

'Hermione!' Harry boomed across the room. Conversation stilled at the sudden noise. Hermione saw a grown-up, filled-out looking Harry. He bounded up to the witch and scooped her into his arms, his green eyes sparkling behind his glasses. 'Wow, I can't believe it's you.'

'Oh, Harry, I'm so pleased to see you.' She beamed up at him and noticed his flushed face. 'And look at you -- all grown up... I'd still recognize you anywhere though.'

'Yeah, you and the entire wizarding world,' he said, smiling ruefully, running his hand through his already sticking-up, black hair.

Ginny was beside him, and Hermione embraced her, feeling her stiffen. 'I'm so sorry to hear about Ron.' Ginny looked at her and politely nodded.

'Would you like to come and sit with Ron for a while?' Mrs. Weasley asked.

Hermione glanced about, and seeing Professor McGonagall drawn into conversation with an older witch, Harry and Ginny whispering quietly to each other, she nodded. Mrs. Weasley led her to an adjoining room that was hushed, dimmed and had an underlying smell of camphor and wood. It was empty of all furniture, except for a wooden casket in the middle that was raised slightly off the carpeted floor. Hermione hesitated at the door for a moment, adjusting her headscarf firmly and taking off her shoes.

'Would you like some time alone with him?' the older woman inquired softly.

Hermione nodded, her throat tightening and her mouth becoming dry. At an unspoken signal, the room emptied of people, all quietly filing out and politely averting their eyes. She padded in and saw Bill, who nodded warmly in recognition. He squeezed her shoulder gently as he walked past to sit against the farthest wall, dropping his eyes to give her privacy.

As she knelt down next to the casket, Hermione felt the wrongness of seeing Ron lying there, completely still, as he never was in life, and realized how he'd grown into a handsome man. No, it wasn't how it was meant to be – it just wasn't right. She fiercely resisted the finality of it. The young woman thought in desperation, It's not actually real – it's not actually true. He's just going to wake up; it's really one of his pranks, and then everything is going to be all right again. She numbly stared at his still form for an unknown amount of time. Hermione gave a start. Yes, she thought she saw his little finger move. She was right. It was a trick. But as she sat there for longer, she knew it wasn't so. Sadness rolled up from deep within her and overtook her thoughts. Images started flowing with her tears, and they seemed to take on a life of their own, flowing faster and faster into a spiraling whirl of emotions. The images came at her until she felt consumed by them, engulfed in the meaning of each one:

A scruffy boy with dirt on his face, looking at her and rolling his eyes...

The triumphant look on his face when he, yet again, completely annihilated her in chess...

The wringing of his familiar white, sturdy hands when he was worried...

The warm glow of protective love in his eyes when he looked at her...

The feel of him slinging his arms around Harry and her when he was happy...

The anticipation of their first almost kiss, disrupted by an oblivious Harry...

The knot of grief in her stomach when she was at Dumbledore's funeral...

The look of her Mum at breakfast, whose last words had been an inconsequential, 'Can you go to the corner store for some milk?'...

The smirk of anticipation on her Dad's face when he'd knowingly riled her by reading out the horoscope from the morning paper, waiting for her tirade on the stupidity of fortune telling...

The deep smell of house fire smoke when she turned the corner and saw her home ablaze...

The sounds of terror in their screams...

The feeling of absolute powerlessness to save them.

Eventually her tears lessened, the visions releasing her from their vicious grip. Hermione found herself sitting in the dimmed room again next to a wooden casket with Ron in it – completely still.

She looked around as Bill pressed a handkerchief into her hand and sat down next to her – he'd hardly changed and was as ruggedly handsome as before. Bill hesitantly put a comforting arm around her.

'It's so hard, isn't it? No matter how many times you lose someone, it never gets any easier,' he said in no more than a whisper. 'Maybe it's because you know it doesn't actually get better. You just learn to live with the loss and the sadness, but you know it never really goes away. You just learn to deal with it better.'

Hermione nodded mutely in agreement, wiping her tears away.

'I was so sorry to hear about your parents, Hermione. I never got a chance to tell you that then – it must have been hard for you, not having any other family.'

Hermione felt a lump in her throat. Nobody had talked about her Mum and Dad in such a long time with her – she was momentarily at a loss to what to say. 'Thanks, Bill, that means a lot to me. Yeah, it was a really hard time. I'm so sorry to hear about Mr. Weasley and Percy. I only found out when I arrived. I honestly didn't know, or I'd have been here for you all.'

'Yeah, I know you would have been – it was a really tough time for everyone. Mum went through a rough patch, so Fleur and I moved back home not long after. It was important for Mum to have more of us around at home, and now with Katie Rose, I don't...'

'Who?'

'Of course you wouldn't know about her. Our daughter Katie Rose – she's almost two years old now.'

'Oh, Bill, I'm so happy for you both – that's such wonderful news! I can't wait to meet her.' Hermione turned and gave Bill a hug of delight.

Bill grinned and flushed, his eyes filled with pleasure.

'Yeah, she's been a burst of light into our family –that's for sure – and she walks around thinking it's entirely normal to have a huge fan base before you're two,' Bill said jokingly. His face became serious, and he looked directly at her. 'I'm pleased you're back, Hermione. To be honest, there were some mumblings a while back of you abandoning your friends and the cause and all that sort of rot.'

'Hmmm, I wondered if some would look at it like that – like I'd abandoned them or something, but it wasn't like that at all,' Hermione commented sadly, casting her eyes down.

'I think they didn't fully understand what you were going through or realize the dangers you were in. Anyway, I'm certainly pleased you're back, and I know that Ron would have wanted you to be here. You really did have a special place in his heart.'

~~~~~~~~~

The night progressed strangely; it was as if time had entered another dimension, and the hands of the clock were relegated to the sidelines. Hermione was swept along with the emotions of everybody there. Tonight was Ron's last night amongst them, and every person there followed the unconscious ebbing and flowing of sadness. Wizards and witches of all ages and from all walks of life came to pay their respects to the Weasleys and sit with Ron for a final time. There was a constant movement of people between the sitting room, where Ron was, and the adjoining dining room, where people sat around tables, eating and drinking. The firewhisky and wine flowed and were the natural aid in helping people cope with their sadness. It also helped in the telling of many ribald stories about Ron's antics that provided much needed light relief and laughter. Then there were quieter moments of absolute sadness – knowing yet another young man in his prime with all his power and potential had been taken from them.

Hermione desperately wanted to spend time with the Weasleys and Harry, but every time she made her way towards them, they were drawn away. However, Hermione did meet a lot of people she knew from school and the Order, and all were delighted at seeing her again. Everyone commented how different she looked, which surprised Hermione to no end. She thought she would have a closer look in the mirror when she got back to her rooms; the young witch couldn't imagine what it was people were noticing – it wasn't as if she'd dyed her hair blonde. Hermione was careful talking about her life, as she knew Northern witches and wizards looked down with considerable distaste on people from the South. She certainly was not ashamed at what she was or where she lived, but at the same time, she didn't want to upset already traumatised people. And besides, tonight was Ron's night, so it was natural for conversation to revolve around him and his impact on their lives.

Hermione enjoyed catching up with Luna and loved her uniquely truthful take on people and situations. A few times, Hermione had to disguise her chortles with poorly feigned coughs while Luna solemnly threw some unlikely images at her. She found herself thinking that Fudge could quite possibly have a walrus thing going on. It certainly wasn't a thought pattern she had even thought likely, but that was the joy of being around the serious, large-eyed woman. Luna, amongst other things, told her that Ron and Harry hadn't been getting on well for a while, and it was mostly to do to Harry's unchecked aggression and his dominating behavior. Luna hadn't seemed impressed with Harry.

And according to a very drunk and very slurry Professor Sprout, 'Ron was the best student she'd ever taught.' Though she did look at Hermione blearily, leaned across the table and added in a whoosh of alcoholic fumes, 'You weren't so bad either.'

Professor Flitwick, who was swaying on his stool next to them at the table, took up the conversation and somewhat nostalgically said, 'Oh, I remember when the three of you sat together in my class ... and now ... and now...'

He gave a wet sob and a hiccup.

'...Ron's dead ... You live in some god forsaken country a million miles away... and Harry... Harry...' he said, nodding towards Harry, holding court to a group of people. '... He's in the process of self-combusting at Hogwarts,' he finished somewhat theatrically.

'Now, now, Filius, that's a bit overstated, don't you think?' Professor Sprout asked reasonably.

Professor Flitwick turned towards her, somehow misjudged that simple movement, and almost fell off his stool. Both Hermione and Professor Sprout quickly leant forward to steady him. Professor Flitwick then carried on as if nothing had happened, leaning in close to Professor Sprout with the look of serious gossips everywhere.

'Well, then you obviously haven't heard the latest between Severus and Harry, my dear...'

Hermione felt a jolt of surprise and almost choked on her whisky. That was the last thing she expected to hear. All she knew about Snape was he'd murdered Dumbledore, and then her own life had disintegrated around her ears. Hermione had just assumed either he was living his life as a Death Eater, or he'd been captured and given the Kiss. But in all honesty, she hadn't given him any thought. But ... Snape ... here at Hogwarts? Now that's just bizarre.

The Professors, deeply engrossed in the intrigue, had carried on gossiping: '... Harry then tried to hex him across the staff room, which is not acceptable, and broke the lovely blue and white vase – you know the one next to the fireplace...?'

'Oh, no, not that vase – what a shame; they never do repair quite the same. Mind you, I have no doubt Severus provoked him. He's a nasty tongue on him...'

'Err ... Snape ... I mean Professor Snape?' Hermione interrupted inarticulately.

'Oh, yes, nothing's changed. Harry still absolutely hates Severus; only now, the battlefield is the staff room, not the classroom. Nobody likes it – it's all very predictable but very unpleasant all the same,' said Professor Flitwick, shaking his head.

Professor Spout picked up on Hermione's poorly stated underlying question and leaned over to pat the small man's arm.

'Oh, Filius, she wasn't meaning that,' she said impatiently. 'You won't know ... how long have you been away for? What is it? Seven years?' The disheveled woman looked at her surprisingly sharply.

Hermione nodded, the room swaying more than it should.

'Well, Severus was found and pardoned probably not long after you'd left to live with Minerva's sister,' Professor Sprout continued.

'What? Why? How?' came Hermione's surprised questions – at the same time she also thought she'd better slow down her drinking. Her thinking and talking patterns were becoming quite peculiar.

'Albus had left a Pensieve that exonerated Severus of any wrongdoing. The Ministry of Magic took it away, tested it and re tested it again to see if it had been manipulated in any way, which of course it couldn't have been. So the Ministry had to stand by Albus' statements and release Severus. But it was done reluctantly, as his capture had satisfied the public's desire for an arrest.'

Professor Flitwick, who Hermione thought was having a small doze, piped in unexpectedly and said in a stage whisper, 'Of course there is a small conspiracy theory that the Pensieve had been manipulated and the Ministry was in the pay and had covered it up.'

'Come now, Filius, if we are talking candidly, which we are, it's not just a small conspiracy theory, but a large one with a large group of people, led namely by one determined Harry Potter. They still think Severus has got a hand in with You-Know- Who, and now with what happened to poor Ron,' Professor Sprout waved her hand sadly towards the sitting room, 'it is just going to add fuel to the fire in that camp. Harry puts a lot of pressure on Minerva to get rid of Severus, but you know what she's like; nobody's going to push her around. She sees things very clearly, does our Minerva.'

~~~~~~~

Shortly before five, Professor McGonagall placed a sleepy arm over Hermione's shoulders.

'Come, we need to get some sleep before the service and let the Weasley's have these final hours alone with him.'

Hermione nodded and got up unsteadily. Professor McGonagall linked arms with her, and they supported each other as they walked slowly to the fireplace. Afterwards, Hermione wasn't even sure how she managed to Floo into Professor McGonagall's rooms, let alone how she got herself to her rooms. All she remembered was that she collapsed onto the bed, her head spinning, took the fragrant white flower from her hair, and breathed in its familiar fragrance before sleep swallowed her.