Of Love and War

There was a bright half moon out that lit the early morning hours with a luminous glow. It turned the treetops sliver and reflected off the lake, causing the ripples there to look more like the surface of a pensieve; and in this quicksilver world you could just make out the silhouettes of two black figures stealing across the grounds towards the massive castle that is Hogwarts.

These figures had emerged from the Forbidden Forest and were moving with such subtlety that if it weren't for the moon they surely would have seemed invisible. It was apparent that this had been the objective as one slinked fluidly across the grounds like an animal; and the other with a grace afforded by practice. When they finally reached the heavy wooden doors they set quickly to work, one figure working on the door while the other scanned the grounds with skilled eyes.

The figure at the door gave a small sound of triumph as it gave way under his hands, and with a final look over his shoulder walked across the threshold pulling his companion with him. The two stood inside the foyer of the school looking tall and intimidating in their stature. Once they saw they were alone both pulled away the hoods of their dark cloaks, once hiding their features, to reveal themselves as Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

The two looked around the large entrance and then at each other before Remus addressed his old friend.

"Do you think they are still out?"

"I doubt it, considering the hour- even the Ministry would be done investigating the station by this time. My guess is that they're all asleep," responded Sirius.

"Shall we wait till morning then, or go and try to find someone?"

"There is no way I'm waiting any longer, Moony. I don't think my nerves could take the suspense. We'll just have to go and bang down the door to Albus' office."

"I don't think that will be necessary, gentlemen," came a kind voice from behind them.

Remus and Sirius turned to find Dumbledore standing on the main staircase in his bathrobe and nightcap, looking relieved to see them.

"I was expecting you both much earlier. Did you have trouble getting here?"

"No, Albus," Remus spoke up. "We were out for most of the day with Alastor Moody and only just heard about it a few hours ago."

Sirius, who had been fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot with obvious impatience apparently couldn't wait any longer to mention what he had to say, because at that moment he had an outburst.

"Where is he, is he okay? We have to talk to him, Albus - he needs to know what's going on."

Dumbledore fixed Sirius with a tolerant gaze and then smiled wanly. "Perhaps the both of you would care to join me in the kitchens for a bit of a snack."

"I don't want to eat, damn it! I just want to know where Harry is and if he is okay!"

Dumbledore descended the rest of the stairs and walked up to Sirius. Once there he rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry is fine, Sirius, he is at the Weasley's with his friends and is perfectly safe. He wasn't even around for most of it. Apparently Ronald Weasley portkeyed them both out of there as soon as he realized what was going on. He, Ron, and Hermione are quite safe." A sad look passed over his face then. "Though I can not say the same about some of our other families. Now, please, join me in the kitchens and we will discuss this further.

The three wizards made their way down the corridor in silence, each lost in their own contemplation, until they reached the large picture guarding the entrance to the kitchens. Dumbledore reached up to the pear and tickled it until it swung open for them. It was quiet in the kitchen when they entered. Many of the house elves were curled up in front of the large hearth, which was still burning merrily. It, and a few candles were the only illumination in the room and they made for a warm and cozy atmosphere. The three wizards were soon greeted though, by Winky the house elf, who looked rather surprised to see them.

"Professor Dumbledore, what is you doing down here? Why didn't you call from your bedchamber? Winky would have brought whatever sir wanted to his room. Please return there and allow Winky to bring you what you want."

Dumbledore smiled a placating smile at the creature, and spoke to her with a similar tone to his voice, "Thank you, Winky, but that won't be necessary. I was already up receiving these gentlemen and we decided to stop by for a spot of tea and perhaps one of those lovely pumpkin pasties you served this evening."

"Of course, if the sirs would like to sit Winky will be back in a flash. Winky is a good house elf and will be back fast."

And with that she was off, leaving the three companions to arrange themselves at a large scrubbed wood table. It wasn't but a moment before Winky was back with the tea. She was indeed very prompt, as promised, and she came with two other elves, each carrying a tray of arranged pastries. They all bowed deeply and left their charges to themselves.

"Now then," said Dumbledore. "I suppose the issue of Harry is what brought you two out here at such an odd hour. So, what are your inquires regarding him?"

Sirius, who looked like he hadn't eaten in a couple of days, was busy stuffing food down his throat. He looked up at Dumbledore now with bulging cheeks and blinked. Remus sighed and rolled his eyes before plunging in for the both of them.

"We needed to know if he was all right. We also wanted to be here when he finds out about the role he will play in the Order. You will tell him the whole truth now won't you, Albus?"

"I can't see any other way to do it. I was hoping Voldemort would hold out for another year so Harry would be of age when I told him, but that is not to be apparently," sighed Dumbledore.

Remus considered him for a moment before continuing, "We were wondering how you are going to address the issue of his age within the Order?"

"What we were wondering is if you were going to alter the magic of the bind, and if you are, I would like to take this opportunity to say that it is a horrible idea and I won't be a part of it!"

Remus sighed at Sirius' outburst and opened his mouth to speak again before Dumbledore held up a hand to stop him.

"That won't be necessary Remus, Sirius is entitled to his opinion. As for an answer to your question, I am afraid I don't have one tonight. Right now I am trying to get my school up and running again. The Order is being considered and I would appreciate it if the two of you could call a meeting, perhaps for early October, but I won't be able to do anything about it just now. Would you like a crumpet, Remus?" said Dumbledore holding out a plate to him.

"But-," Sirius started.

"Do you know who showed up in my office this afternoon?" interrupted Dumbledore. Sirius scowled.

"No, who?" asked Remus. He had taken the crumpet and was now buttering it.

"Draco Malfoy."

Remus raised an eyebrow of interest at this information. Sirius just continued to scowl.

"Apparently he bore witness to the execution of his mother at his father's hand, an act that was prompted by Voldemort himself. He was very upset about it, as one would expect." Dumbledore had a slightly thoughtful and sad look on his face at the memory of it.

"I don't like that kid," said a petulant Sirius. "His father is evil and I am sure whatever misfortune befalls the lot of them is more than deserved. He certainly wasn't the only child who lost a parent today."

"Sirius, there is no reason to be unfeeling," chastised Remus.

Dumbledore met Sirius' eyes across the table before continuing.

"The boy is looking at it like he has lost his entire family. I get the feeling that he was close to his mother, despite any posturing he may have done to make it seem otherwise. Today he asked to help our side, I thought this was noteworthy for several reasons."

Sirius had the good grace to look sorry for his outburst. Then Remus spoke.

"Are you thinking of replacing Snape with him then? They are on to Severus, Albus. We had no idea about what was going to happen today and I fear it may be dangerous for him to continue on as he has."

"I was thinking the same thing myself, Remus. If we were to use Draco though, it would only be more reason to alter the bind. I could not, in good conscience, send him in there without some kind of magical protection. These are all matters that we will not be able to solve tonight, however. It has been a most trying day and I am very tired. I think I may retire to bed. You are both welcome to stay here tonight and then tomorrow I would ask that you gather the members, so we can all discuss it further."

Dumbledore did indeed look exhausted. He also looked old and slightly defeated. Remus could feel his own age seeping into his bones as he sat there looking at his two companions. There was no way he and Sirius were not taking Dumbledore up on his offer. They both needed rest and a square meal, so he answered for the both of them before Sirius could open his mouth.

"That would be very nice, thank you. Will we talk to you in the morning then?"

"At breakfast, if you will stay long enough to have some. I will have Winky take you to guest accommodations and see you then. Good night, gentlemen."

And with that he was gone.

*****

Padma Patil awoke to a room still unfamiliar to her. It was filled with early morning sunlight streaming through the windows she had neglected to close the blinds on the night before. As she slowly registered the environment around her it became clear once again in which room she had spent the previous night. Between the shade of lavender covering the walls and bed, and the light smell of perfume on the air that was so familiar to her, it was unmistakably her sister Pavarti's room. And as the knowledge of where she was came sinking into her head, so did the knowledge of what she was doing there.

Padma remembered only fragments of that day now. She remembered appearing in a warm but run down living room. She remembered voices that sounded like they were coming from somewhere underwater. She remembered Ron Weasley sinking to his knees next to her, Hermione watching them both, her kind eyes full of anguish. She remembered Ron had cried, but she had just sat there. Mostly she remembered her sister's face. Parvati's eyes had been open and lifeless, fixed in an expression of surprise. The healthy glow that resided on her dark skin was gone. The contrast was shocking when compared to the way she had looked during their argument with her eyes flashing and her cheeks red.

At some point someone moved Padma to a bedroom and made her lie down. She supposed now she must have been in shock. As she lay there she kept running that flash of green light over and over in her head. She still hadn't cried. This was how her parents found her an hour later when they had come to collect her.

Once they had arrived home she had headed straight to her own room; no one tried to stop her or talk to her, and they had yet to attempt it. She understood on a logical level why her parents had not come to her, she could only guess at the kind of grief they were experiencing. She knew that it couldn't hurt any more than what she herself was feeling (she was convinced that to hurt anymore than she was would kill a person) but she also knew that it had to feel different - to lose a child and to lose a sister were two different things. So she had sat in her room quiet and unmoving, in a blanket that she had acquired at the Burrow, waiting for someone to come to her. To tell her that it was all a big joke, that it would be all right, that they were going to be there for her.

She waited until the early morning hours and no one came. Finally she couldn't take anymore, and was unable to keep her emotions in check any longer. She finally allowed herself to break down and cry; it didn't take long before crying gave way to sobbing, and then it escalated into something more. She had never wept like that in her life, her whole body heaved with the tears, her grief so overwhelming that it had made her ill.

She ran to the bathroom that adjoined her room to Parvati's. It wasn't long before her stomach unleashed its contents. She sat there heaving off and on for several minutes, long after there was nothing left in her stomach, the time in between devoted to her tears. She eventually crawled over to the bath mat in front of the antique tub she and her sister had bathed in together when they were still small children. She lay down on the mat and remained that way, crying softly, until she fell into a fitful sleep. She awoke with a start several hours later and dragged herself into Parvati's room, seeking some kind of solace in being surrounded by her things.

That was yesterday, since then she had not left the bed where she currently resided. No one bothered her except for the occasional house elf, who would bring her meals that she wouldn't touch. She in fact didn't do much of anything, she didn't sleep as she was plagued by nightmares. She tried not to think much, for her thoughts were all the same and sent her into crying jags. She spent that day in solitude just trying to be still, so she passed the long hours staring.

Today was different though, and she knew that she would have to leave the soft confines of her sister's bed where she had perfected the art of not existing in her own mind and body. Today she had a funeral to attend.

Padma stayed in bed for several minutes with her eyes closed just listening; she could hear the sounds of the house below her. There were voices again...busy, if not cheerful. The sound of furniture scraping on the wood floors was prominent, as was the unmistakable clanks of cooking, somewhere there was music playing. She assumed that they were getting ready for the reception after the funeral. The familiar sounds of a house once again alive soothed her; it had been absent since her return.

For a moment she pretended that this was just a normal weekend, breakfast was being cooked and the house elves were cleaning. Her fantasy was soon interrupted though, as she picked up the sound of footsteps moving down the hallway. They traveled to the door and Padma heard a soft knocking. So someone had come at last. Well she didn't want to hear it now; all those reassurances wouldn't be comforting because none of them were true. She quickly closed her eyes and rolled away so her back was to the door. She heard it swing open, and soon after she felt the edge of the bed sag with the weight of a body.

"Padma?"

It was her mother. She didn't say anything, just pretended to continue to sleep.

"Padma," she tried again. "Honey, are you asleep or just ignoring me?"

Padma's mother reached out and shook her shoulder lightly. Padma just continued to lie there. She didn't want to talk. Her mother sighed and for several seconds no one moved. Then she tried again.

"I talked to your grandmother today. She is going to stay with us for a few days to help around the house and lend moral support. I know that you are close, so I thought you would be interested."

Padma didn't respond.

"An owl came for you today from school. Classes start on Monday, the sorting is Sunday, and they're letting all returning students arrive starting today. You don't have to go back right away if you don't want. You just let me know and I'll owl Professor Dumbledore to tell him. He said in the letter that if there was anything they could do to make your return easier that we should just ask."

Padma felt another shifting on the bed as her mother slid to the floor beside her, bringing them face to face, she then spoke again, this time with a soft voice, full of tears.

"Padma, I know that I haven't been a very good mother to you the past couple of days. I wasn't there and I know that you probably needed me. I don't know how to apologize for that. There is no apology that would fix it, but I am here now. I know that this is hard, it is hard for all of us but we can get through it. We just need to stick together and preserve what is left."

Padma felt a tear slide down her cheek at her mother's words, but did not open her eyes. Her mother then uttered the saddest sigh Padma had ever heard before pushing herself off the floor and moving towards the door. Padma was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of fear and loss. She didn't want her mother to leave; it spurred her into action. She sat upright with a sob.

"Mum!"

Her mother turned and Padma saw the tears on her cheeks.

"I miss her."

"I know darling, me too."

With that, her mother crossed the room and enveloped her in her arms, kissing the side of her head. For the first time in three days Padma felt safe again.

"We'll be okay," her mother said, smoothing hair away from her face.

They sat like that for several minutes. Clinging to each other, both crying and rocking slightly back and forth. Finally her mother pulled away and looked her in the face. She smiled wistfully at the sight of it.

"My beautiful girl."

Padma smiled back, though it was somewhat weak.

"Will you come downstairs and eat something? They tell me that you haven't eaten since we brought you home."

"Okay," sniffled Padma. "Just let me shower first?"

"Of course, darling. I'll see you down there."

With that, Padma's mother planted a soft kiss on her forehead and walked to the door again. When she reached it she paused with her hand on the knob and turned to her daughter again.

"I love you, you know that don't you?"

"I know; I love you too, Mum."

Her mum smiled at her and then walked out the door. Padma took a shaky breath and climbed out of bed, wiping tears from her face as she went. She walked over to the bathroom and started the bath. She then hazarded a look in the mirror and cringed at what she saw. Dark circles resided under her eyes, her hair was limp and oily, her complexion pale and waxy. She could almost hear her sister in her head admonishing her appearance. Parvati wouldn't have stood for it, so in honor of her sister Padma decided that she would do the one thing that never failed to please her. She was going to look beautiful today, even if she had to spend the whole morning in the bathroom to achieve it. It was the only thing her sister would have found acceptable on the day of her funeral. As she attempted a weak smile in the mirror Padma knew just whose wardrobe she would be dressing out of this morning.

*****

It was unacceptably early in the morning for any decent Slytherin to be rushing about the halls of Hogwarts. Or so thought Draco as he hurried to be on time to an appointment with the Head Master, the topic of which he had been waiting to resolve since he had stumbled through the doors of the main the day before.

After he had watched his father strike his mother down without a second thought, he did what his instincts told him and had got away as far and fast as possible. He had Apparated, which was illegal for a wizard his age and was something he had only known how to do for about a year now. His father had taught him this, along with a great many other things he wasn't supposed to know, in preparation for Draco's eventual acceptance into the fold of Death Eaters. He had in fact spent most of his life preparing for this eventuality. Apparently, Voldemort didn't like to have to train his minions himself, and preferred if they came to him with skills in hand. Draco certainly wasn't unique in this situation; many Slytherins besides himself knew things that they most surely weren't supposed to. This knowledge often came in handy; it had certainly served a purpose the other day.

In any instance, he had Apparated into an alley just outside of the Three Broomsticks, the local pub in the village of Hogsmeade, which resided just outside of the protective wards of the school. This had been his ultimate destination and he wasted no time in getting on the path that led to it.

It had been raining in Hogsmeade that day and Draco was underdressed for the weather, so he had hurried up the path. Within an hour the school entrance came into view. Soaked with rainwater and a little out of breath, Draco sprinted the last hundred yards, feeling suddenly eager to reach the safety of the castle. He entered the main hall, clothes plastered to his body, his hair dripping water into his eyes. Ordinarily, such a state of dishevelment would have harassed and bothered him, but he was single-minded in his task.

He hurried, still panting, to the gargoyle that stood guard over Dumbledore's office and surreptitiously whispered the password he had been given mere hours before as he and McGonagall had stood awaiting the arrival of Granger.

It wasn't long before he was riding the stairs up to the office he had coveted being in since that green flash of light. He closed his eyes and saw the scene replaying in his mind again. The cold steel glint in his father's eyes, his mother's shout of surprise before crumbling to the floor. Draco felt a tear make its way down the side of his face and was startled that it was there.

Suddenly the stairs weren't moving nearly fast enough for him and Draco started to take them two at a time. He was so frantic as he reached the top he didn't count on the step he was aiming for disappearing into the floor as it continued its upward spiral. Draco stepped down hard and, with a shout, lost his balance, falling forward onto the stone floor of the entrance. His momentum kept him moving until he fetched up against the door of the office.

Draco had hit the floor hard and lay for a moment trying to catch his breath and assess what damage he had done to his body. Just as he was pulling himself onto his knees the door in front of him opened revealing the Headmaster with his wand pulled and an expression of surprise he was sure mirrored his own. It wasn't there for long though, as the old man took in the scene before him. Draco Malfoy, soaking through, water dripping off his hair and mingling with what looked suspiciously like tears on his face. He was on his knees gripping his right shoulder in pain, and when he stood he revealed a torn knee in his trousers, blood could be seen oozing slowly from a gash there. Dumbledore regained his composure and put his wand away before addressing the boy with a concerned frown.

"Mr. Malfoy, I was expecting you on the train with the others."

"Yes sir, I Apparated here from King's Cross."

If Dumbledore had been surprised by this revelation he certainly didn't show it. He merely nodded his head and after a thoughtful expression he spoke again.

"Why don't you come in and we can talk about whatever it was that brought you to my doorstep."

Draco nodded his consent to this idea and sat in a chair facing the Headmaster's desk.

"Would you like some tea?"

Draco accepted and was actually rather relieved with the momentary delay. In his haste to get here he hadn't bothered to think about what he was going to say to Dumbledore, he had been too consumed with getting away.

Draco was still considering possible statements when a kind voice broke through his thoughts.

"Here you are," Dumbledore handed him a cup. "Now then, what is it I can help you with?"

Draco fixed Dumbledore with a slightly confused expression, he opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out. He really couldn't think of anything to say. He wasn't even sure why he was here. It had just seemed like the right place to be. But what could Dumbledore do other than offer kind words and sympathy?

Dumbledore looked at him with puzzled concern. "Mr. Malfoy?"

"I don't actually know, Professor. I just couldn't think of anywhere else to go."

Dumbledore nodded his head as if considering something and then tried again. "Draco," he paused here "May I call you Draco?"

Draco nodded his head.

"Well why don't you tell me what it is that has you so visibly upset."

Draco frowned at the thought of being visibly upset and then closed his eyes again as the memories came flooding back - green light, cold eyes, a lifeless body. His stomach lurched and he ground his teeth against the emotions that were running rampantly through his body. He opened his eyes again and set his gaze upon the Headmaster's.

Dumbledore looked back at him with kindness, concern, and not a little curiosity. Draco had hoped that the Headmaster would be able to help; the man had a reputation for being eerily perceptive and solution oriented, so Draco decided the best thing to do was to tell him everything. He started in an anguished voice.

"It's my father Professor...or my mother...or rather what my father did to my mother. He...he killed her...he didn't even think twice about it, he just uttered the spell and...killed her. I didn't know what else to do or where else to go, so I just came here."

Sympathy was written all over the old man's face and Draco cringed slightly. If there was one thing he abhorred it was pity.

"I am very sorry to hear this Draco, that is a great personal loss and no one should have to witness such a thing. Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Draco was staring at the wall with a far off expression on his face and took a moment to respond, "I don't know what to do...I just..."

"Draco, this has obviously been a very trying day for you and I think it may be a good idea for you to get some rest; it should help you collect your thoughts a little. I wish I could spend a little more time with you, but I have a train full of students and their families to meet and sort out."

Draco nodded, still very distracted.

"Is there anyone I should owl? Would you like to speak to Professor Snape perhaps?"

"No, I don't want to talk to anyone."

"Well, why don't you go down to your room, I will send a House Elf along to assist you however you need. I think we should meet here again tomorrow and discuss this further."

Draco had agreed readily to this, suddenly needing to get away. He spent that night thinking about what he was doing there.

As he made his way to Dumbledore's office this morning he knew what he wanted to do. Draco was no more foolish than Dumbldore was and knew that the old wizard probably had some kind of resistance working against the Dark Lord, even as Fudge had deemed it unnecessary. Yesterday night it occurred to him why he had come, he had decided he wanted to aid this resistance, which was an odd experience for him.

There was very little in this world that Draco believed in or cared about. In one moment his father had destroyed two of those things, one being his family and the other being his admiration for Lucius. He had always viewed his father as intimidating and powerful, had always wanted to emulate those things, for they had won his father respect and approval from many people, from many more he had just gained fear which was considered the same thing with in the Malfoy family. What he had witnessed the other day had erased that perception for him.

His father was nothing more than a servant, a lap dog to a master. When he had been told to jump he had asked for directions to the nearest cliff. It was weak and pathetic.

Draco had viewed his own fate in that moment and had hated what he saw. He knew that he had to fight against it and that the way to do that was to make a decision that he never thought he would make; the morally correct one.

Draco decided to be the man he had always thought his father was, decided to get revenge against the murderer of his mother, decided that he would for the first time in his life step out of the protective shadow of his family name and status and do what was right. It made him cringe internally - he sounded like a bloody Gryffindor.

By this time he had reached the stone gargoyle and gave it the password. When he arrived he found Dumbledore seated behind his desk reading some kind of parchment.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, so nice to see you. Please sit."

Draco took the seat across from him as indicated.

"I trust that you were adequately taken care of during your stay."

"Yes, I was quite comfortable."

"Good, I hope that you are feeling better this morning. I would like to discuss options with you today. If you like, we can owl the Ministry and press charges against your father using you as a witness to the event. I am quite sure that they would be most gratified to have a lead into who was responsible for some of this, and I am sure you wish to see him punished in some way."

"No. I don't want to call the Ministry."

Dumbledore eyed him thoughtfully, "No? Well do you have something else in mind then?"

Draco shifted a little uncomfortably, "Well, I assume that there is some kind of opposition to Voldemort and the Death Eaters. I also assume that you have some kind of role or contact with them. I want to help."

Dumbledore considered Draco carefully, "Never let anyone tell you that you're not perceptive, Mr. Malfoy. You're absolutely right; there is a resistance movement against Voldemort, though it is largely unknown to those outside of it. It is an organization that has been around for many ages and has it's own intricacies, history and traditions, but it's primary objective has been to protect the people of the wizarding world from those who would tyrannize and promote dark magic.

"Well then, I want to help them."

"Unfortunately, Mr. Malfoy, you cannot. There is a strict age limitation placed on potential members. You must be of the age of consent to be considered and you are only seventeen."

Draco looked unmoved, "There must be some way I can help."

"Well, there might be, but it is rather dangerous, especially without the protection that the Order can offer you."

"Why don't you tell me about it and then I will decide if it is too dangerous."

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, I can offer you a position as a spy. You would have to become a Death Eater and infiltrate their ranks. The name Malfoy holds much power within the wizarding world - Voldemort will not overlook this. You will surely be brought to the inside quickly. Our inside spy now is having some trouble so this would be a good time to find another. It is, of course, entirely up to you, we would make it as safe as possible but still..."

Draco looked a little taken aback. A spy - if he was found out there was no doubt in his mind that he would be killed immediately.

"It would give you the opportunity to do great things, Draco. You could change the outcome of this war single handedly by the work you would be doing, and I dare say there would be some resolution to your personal quarrels at the end if you are successful. This has to be your decision though, tell me what you think about this."

Draco looked into the concerned face before him. Then he pictured the face of his mother, so like his own, smiling at him, admonishing him about his manners, laughing at something that had amused her, even disdainful at all the Quidditch matches his father had dragged her to despite her loathing of the sport. He could not let her death go unpunished.

"I'll do it."

*****

It was a bright autumn afternoon. The sun was warm enough that a jacket was almost unnecessary. The light filtered through the gold of turning leaves and a breeze was playing with those that had already fallen. All in all it was quite horrible. Or so thought Ron Weasley.

He was standing outside in the lovely warmth but felt unmoved by it. The reason for his indifference was laid before him in the shape of a freshly dug grave, a casket resting in front of him encasing the first girl he ever loved.

Hermione was on his left, her arm threaded through his. She was sniffling quietly next to him, handkerchief in hand, an occasional tear making its way down her cheek. She would periodically squeeze his arm, a sign of support in his misery. To his right Harry stood with a hand on his shoulder. He didn't cry, merely stared stoically ahead, a sigh escaping from him now and then. Ron knew he wasn't present at this funeral; he was too busy feeling responsible for its existence. Ron, however, found himself not caring - Harry could spontaneously combust with guilt today and Ron would be horrified tomorrow. Today was about his heartache, his loss. He felt like he spent so much of his time worrying about others, today he would worry about himself.

Truth be told, he wasn't really present today either. The words being spoken by the vicar swarmed around in his head until they made no more sense than gibberish. Ron was currently scanning the crowd assembled. There were many faces he didn't know among them. There were several that he recognized from the halls of school. His eyes, however, came to rest on the one face that could make him forget the rest were there that day.

Padma, he hadn't even thought about Padma. He felt his heart give a painful wrench in his chest at the sight of her. He held back a gasp and made a funny noise in his throat in place of it. That got Hermione's attention, she looked up at him with a question in her eyes. He shook his head in reassurance, and once she was satisfied he was okay, he immediately turned his attention back to Padma.

She looked breathtaking that day; she was in a black dress that he recognized as the one Parvati had worn on that fateful last night of their holiday. Her hair was pulled back in an elastic band; she wore minimal makeup and was silhouetted against the afternoon sun. If someone had taken her style and Parvati's and meshed them this would have been the result, and it was beautiful. She wore her sister well.

Ron was both floored and a little guilty about his reaction. But then she did look just like Parvati, if he didn't know any better he wasn't sure if he could tell them apart. The only thing marring the effect was the grief etched on her face. It made her look defeated and crushed. It looked like it might be a challenge for her to continue standing there the way she was. Tears were coming down her face unchecked, dripping from her chin where they were collecting. Ron felt his chest give another painful twist. As sad as he was, he knew it must be much worse for Padma. This was an unpleasant thought for him, he liked Padma very much, considered her a friend, and he hated to see his friends in pain.

Movement penetrated his thoughts and caused him to retrain his attention to the present moment, he wished it hadn't as he saw the casket being lowered into the ground. He felt the tears then, welling behind his eyes, a couple leaked out of the side and he made no attempt to get rid of them. He watched as her parents each grabbed a handful of dirt and tossed it into the grave, then it was Padma's turn. She walked forward slowly, radiating grace as she stooped to take her handful of earth. Instead of tossing it, she allowed it to sift through her fingers slowly. She watched intently until it was all gone, and when it was, she stepped back into line next to her crying parents. And with that, it was over. It finally hit him then, and as mourners began to head back to their cars, Ron felt the grief building fresh again in his chest and he was soon engulfed in the arms of Hermione, his head bowed down to her shoulder. She shushed him and stroked his head reassuringly while he wept without restraint or shame.

*****

Draco was in his private Head Boy room pacing and waiting for his escort to come to him. He was returning home for the duration of the weekend - his mother's funeral was tomorrow and he certainly had some fast-talking to do before then in order to convince his father that his allegiance did in fact belong to him and the Dark Lord.

Draco wondered at the irony of the fact that for the first time he was sure what side of this conflict he resided on, and he would spend most his time convincing people otherwise. He had accepted Dumbledore's offer, though it was with a certain amount of disbelief at what Dumbledore had asked him to do. In retrospect, he supposed that he shouldn't be surprised he was given the title of spy. Apparently Snape had been their undercover operative since the resurrection two years ago, but Voldemort was growing suspicious of him and he was becoming less and less privy to inside information. Hence the total lack of preparation for the attack on Kings Cross Station.

Draco had accepted the offer made to him, but mixed in with the initial surprise, and quite frankly anxiety, was a small amount of relief. He had, in his mind's eye, seen himself defying his father in a grand show of contempt, full of drama and gauntlet throwing. It was valiant and noble and made him cringe at the imagery.

This was much more his style; it would require deceitfulness (in which he was well versed) and the kind of subtlety and cleverness for which Draco had been placed in Slytherin. It was something he was so good at that it had made him a kind of legend among his housemates. There were no friendships in his house, only alliances and a pecking order - of which he was the top. He knew that the game he was playing would only make him more so. They would admire his dedication to the cause, that he was so blatant about his allegiance at a place like Hogwarts, which was crawling with people in a position to not only oppose him but cause him a loss of some kind.

No doubt the Dark Lord would think the same; that is if he lived long enough to tell the tale. Voldemort would surely be displeased with what looked like a retreat several days ago. He would surely be punished in some kind of physical way. The Dark Lord was nothing if not predictable about how he dealt with disloyalty. But that was a small price to pay for what he would gain. He saw again the vision of his mother's body rigid and lifeless, the cold unremorseful eyes of his father staring back at him. They would pay if it was the very last thing Draco accomplished in his time on earth.

*****

Molly Weasley had just sat down in her living room with a set of Arthur's robes, which needed mending. It had been a trying couple of days to say the least, and she was dreadfully behind in her housework. Not that it really mattered, most of her children were no longer living in the house, and Ron and Ginny were only going to be here for the evening before heading back to school tomorrow. Arthur had been sleeping at the office ever since "the attack" as they had taken to calling it. So the only person around to notice the growing layer of dust on the furniture was herself, but it gave her a sense of normality to do the chores around the house that had taken up the hours of her day for so many years. Some habits died hard.

Molly was using her wand to thread her needle when she heard a ruckus coming from the hearth of her fireplace. It wasn't long before a lanky red head was extracting himself from the brick façade. Ron stood up to his full height and Molly was alarmed to see tears making tracts down his sooty face.

"Ron! Whatever is the matter, darling?"

"Nothing, Mum," he croaked out.

And before she could raise a protest he was running up the stairs, apparently headed for his room. It wasn't long after that another figure was emerging from her fireplace. This one was much shorter than Ron but still quite a bit taller than her five-foot frame. She immediately recognized the wild head of brown hair as Hermione, who only looked marginally less upset than Ron had.

"Hermione, dear, how was the funeral?"

Hermione's lip quivered lightly as she spoke, "It was fine, Mrs. Weasley. Would you please excuse me?"

"Of course, dear," Molly said with concern.

Hermione quickly fled to the kitchen and out the back door. Harry followed directly behind her. He didn't say anything, just threw Molly a look and retreated to the kitchen as well. She was getting up to join him when Ginny arrived looking disheveled and tired.

"Ginny, what is going on?" Molly asked with concern. "Ron, Harry, and Hermione just arrived here and didn't even say anything to each other. Did they quarrel, because if they did that is hardly acceptable decorum for a funeral."

Ginny sighed wearily, "No Mum, they didn't quarrel. They are all just upset."

"Well of course they are, but I have never seen them go separate ways before when they were upset. It's nearly impossible to separate them when one has a problem."

"I know, the only thing I can think of is that they have never all been in the same boat like this before. Usually it works that one of them is upset and the others try to comfort them, but this time..." Ginny faded at this, looking rather mournful herself. "I think I will go and try to talk to Ron. Is he upstairs?"

Molly nodded yes, and as Ginny ascended the stairs she tried to figure out this new phenomenon. She had never worried about Ron. Well, she worried about Ron but she was always confident that he would come out okay because she knew he would always have support in the form of his two best friends. This was how it was for Harry and Hermione as well, and she was thankful that they had found each other. This new idea that they weren't helping each other out alarmed her. She decided to do something about it and marched into the kitchen where she encountered Harry standing at the sink and staring blankly out the window. She wasn't sure what he was looking at but she had a guess.

"Why don't you go talk to her, dear, I am sure she would be thankful for the comfort."

"What could I possibly say to her?" he spoke with an anguished voice. "What could I possibly say to him? I've known Voldemort was back for two years and all I ever did was ignore it, in my head I always said I would be ready when he came and I could have lost them both that day because I wasn't."

Molly, who had cringed at the use of the Dark Lord's name, moved forward and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"But you didn't lose them, Harry. You are not expected to be the protector of the whole world, though I know it may not seem that way sometimes. You have many people who are helping you whether you know it or not. Even now there are people out there working to help you defeat You-Know-Who. You may not have been able to help Ron and Hermione in the way you wanted to the other day, but there is something you can do. Right now your friends need you, Harry. Not as a savior or a leader, but they need you nonetheless. So what are you going to do about it?"

Harry was quiet for a moment and then smiled down at her ruefully. Molly wondered when it had happened that Harry Potter had started looking down at her. Then he spoke.

"Is Ginny with Ron? I didn't see her down here."

"Yes, I believe that was where she was headed."

Harry seemed to have come to some kind of decision and then he leaned down and kissed her cheek before walking out the back door to seek out the girl he had been watching from the window before. Molly sighed and went to check on dinner.

*****

Outside of the Burrow signs of the approaching autumn were everywhere. The small garden was ripe with its final harvest of vegetables, the usual choir of frogs and crickets that accompanied summer nights had waned, the green shade trees surrounding the yard were dotted with the yellow of turning leaves, and the evenings that had been balmy and warm were now chilly. A slight breeze was blowing through the back yard, and as Harry approached the familiar figure of Hermione he shivered slightly in its wake. He saw shudders running through her body as he approached, but the sound of quiet crying told him they were not from the wind.

Hermione was seated on one side of the picnic table the family used on warm summer nights. She was facing out and staring off into the distance, quiet tears making their way down her cheeks, as soft cries emanated from her mouth. Harry was slightly alarmed to see her tears. He hated it when she cried - he never knew what to say to her, and when Hermione was sad everything seemed bleaker to him.

"Hermione?" She raised a tear stained face to him as he took a seat on the bench. "Hermione, what's the matter?"

Harry cringed internally at the stupidity of his question. "What's the matter indeed," he thought.

Hermione quickly swiped at the tears on her face and plastered a weak smile upon it.

"Nothing, Harry. I was just upset by the funeral, that's all."

Harry gave her a doubtful look.

"I don't believe that's all that is bothering you, Hermione."

"You don't?" she asked weakly.

"No."

Harry reached an arm around her and pulled her into his side, and it wasn't long before she was crying again. They stayed this way for several minutes before she pulled back and took in a shuddering sigh, apparently trying to pull herself together. She sat back on the bench and fixed her eyes on that faraway spot on the horizon again. Harry was about to say something to her but she beat him to it and began talking.

"I'm a terrible person, Harry," she said quietly.

"Impossible," he said. "You are one of the best people I know."

"No, I'm not. Not really, not when it gets important."

Harry watched her watery eyes closely as she took in another shuddering breath. He saw pain there and some fear, and most surprisingly, shame.

"Tell me about it."

Hermione looked down at her feet, hesitating but a moment before she began her tale. How she went to look for Ron and him, all the awful things she saw, running into Parvati, and finally into Mr. Weasley. Then the heart-stopping moment when she turned back around and found them face to face with a Death Eater. She stopped momentarily, a new wave of silent tears tracking their way slowly down her cheeks. She began again in a wavering voice.

"I froze, Harry. I couldn't believe what I was seeing in front of me. I saw him begin the spell and it took me forever to react. If I had just reacted sooner she might still be alive, but that isn't even the worst part."

Harry reached out a hand and twined his fingers through hers, before giving it a squeeze, encouraging her without words to continue.

"When he finally left and I was kneeling beside her and watching her lifeless face, all I could think of was how relieved I was it was her and not you or Ron. If I had been successful in finding either of you I would have been looking at your dead body; but it wasn't you and I was grateful. Then Padma showed up and her face...she was devastated and all I could think was how grateful I was not to be in her position. Parvati was my friend and my roommate for six years and I watched her murder and all I could do was be grateful that it was her and not one of you. I was glad she was the one, Harry, because I couldn't imagine the alternative."

She was crying outright now and Harry pulled her to him again, a sigh escaping from his chest.

"You see, I am a terrible person, I let her die and then I was happy that it had been her and not someone else."

"Hermione, that does not make you a terrible person, just a fallible one. If I had been in your situation I would have felt the same way. I am sad that Parvati died and I am sorry for Padma because I can imagine very vividly what she must be going through. As you sat here and told me this I was relieved that it wasn't you who was on the end of that curse. Does that make me a bad person?"

"No," she said quietly. "But poor Ron, he is devastated."

"Hermione, that situation would have ended badly for Ron no matter which one of you was on the other end of that wand. Let me ask you a question, if you had taken me or Ron out of that equation would you still be feeling that way about Parvati?"

"No."

"So you aren't glad that she is dead?"

"No, of course not."

"Did you perform the spell that killed her?"

"Well, obviously not."

"Then it is not your fault and being relieved that people you love are safe does not make you a bad person. All we can do is mourn her death and then we have to move on because even though her time may have been up ours is not and we have a lot of work left to do."

She sniffled and he moved back to gaze into her eyes.

"We're not near finished yet, this all has only just started and I need you with me to stop all this. You have to help me, it's the only thing we can do."

She looked back into his eyes for several seconds, both just holding the stare, before she nodded her consent. Harry leaned forward and kissed her forehead lightly. Then Hermione stood to make her way back into the house. She stopped briefly at the door.

"Are you coming in?"

"I'll be there in a second."

"Okay. Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

And with that she walked through the door.