Dark Roast

Hermione sat at the mahogany desk, staring out the window. A ray of sun had peeked over the horizon at the moment she looked up from her paper, rubbing her eyes. Her work seemed to consume all her waking hours. Another all-nighter. Admiring the rising morning sun, she shuffled her papers around her desk.

"Does mistress wish for any breakfast?" a tiny house-elf, clad in a pink apron, popped into the room with a quick burst of light.

"No thank you, Chryssan," Hermione murmured. She leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms behind her head. Crack. Ahh, now that was better.

The study was now flooded with rays of sunlight; charms placed on the large bay windows magnified the pinks, purples, reds, and yellows of the sun's rays to radiance.

A slight breeze ruffled its way through the beach house. Hermione stood and walked to the window and admired the Channel's smooth waters.

It had been a year since the war's end. The Light had won. The Boy Who Lived had defeated Voldemort after her twentieth birthday, three years after finishing her seventh year at Hogwarts- but those three years had been two years too long. There had been far too many casualties. First, Cedric, Sirius, and Dumbledore. Charlie and a few of the professors had been next. Trelawny had leapt from the Astronomy Tower before the Death Eaters could take her. A feeble smile crossed Hermione's lips, remembering the daft, scatter-brained seer. Her moment of clarity had ensured the Light's monopoly on prophecies and information pertaining to the Dark Lord. The smile left the heroine's lips as she thought of the most recent casualty. Draco. He had turned to the Light during the final battle, after seeing his father mercilessly kill his mother. In the aftermath, it was found that Narcissa had been passing information to her estranged sister, Andromeda and, therefore, to Tonks. Draco had mortally wounded his father, leaving the left flank of Death Eaters in miserable disarray. It had been enough. Harry had killed Voldemort. Mortally wounded, Draco spent his final days in St. Mungo's, where he had passed with Harry, Ron, and Hermione at his bedside.

Still, many had lived. Nearly all of the Weasleys - even Percy - had survived to witness the New Era. Lupin and Tonks were married, Harry and Ginny engaged, Ron a happily single lady's man, and Neville too besotted with his greenhouse in Naples to have time for a woman.

Chryssan appeared again, handing Hermione a cup of dark roast. It was what Hermione drank every day, all day. It was with her to soothe and comfort in trying moments of research, to ward off hunger when a new discovery demanded the sacrifice of food, to assist her in her frequent sleepless nights, and to wake her up after a rare day of rest. Minerva's stash of dark roast was superior to any Hermione had ever tried, or so she thought.

This was one of Minerva's family homes, one on the coastal shore. Hermione had maintained her research on various curses and hexes - particularly Unforgivables - throughout the war, coalescing her knowledge of magical history, potions, and charms to keep the Order supplied with more antidotes and cures then they could possibly use. Her blood and tears, though, went into her specialized research project - developing preventative and protective potions for young children. She worked tirelessly at finding antidotes, charm-blocks, and cures that would protect children from mild to moderate hexes, jinxes, and - what she ultimately hoped to protect them from - Dark Curses, particularly the Unforgivable Cruciatus. Some - like Mr. Weasley - had cautioned her at the onset of project, saying that her goals were too lofty, even for such a brilliant witch as herself. Others - like Lupin - had encouraged her, saying that if a potion could be found to ward off the horrific transformations of Dark Creatures like Werewolves, then protective potions for children were certainly possible.

Her emotions were highly invested in her work. Bill and Fleur's daughter had, at the age of one, been hit with a Cruciatus. The war had been nearing its end, and Bellatrix Lestrange had led an eleventh-hour attack on the Weasley residence, attempting to strike and weaken Harry's emotional core. Molly had been knocked out, Fleur nailed with over a dozen hexes. Bellatrix had delivered the Unforgivable to Liette Elise Weasley.

As Bellatrix and other assorted Death Eaters ransacked the home, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Lupin had arrived.

It was Lupin who had the pleasure of killing Bellatrix, avenging the life of his beloved Marauder, Sirius Black.

Hermione had found Liette as Ron revived his mother and Ginny released Fleur from her many hexes. Liette's skin had been burned, her mouth frothing, body crumpled. Fleur's anguished cries haunted Hermione still.

It was for the Weasley family - and especially Fleur - that Hermione had worked for over a year on preventative and protective potions for young children. The Dark Lord was gone, to be sure, but dark practices - particularly those that stemmed from Knockturn Alley - frequently called for the blood of innocents, of virgins, of purebloods, and of children. The disappearance of magical babies for this purpose was great throughout the universal wizarding world, particularly in Eastern European countries, where the Olde Ways still flourished.

She was close - this she knew. Thus far, she had engineered potions that could, she was certain, protect young children from basic hexes - the kind that older siblings were sure to throw the young ones' way. Moderate jinxes, too, she had mastered. She had been greatly assisted by Fred and George, whose research into bruise, hex, and jinx removers was far more extensive then any living academic's. Hermione's recipe for a long-standing shield potion used many of the twins' materials. Her meticulous study had, over the past year, appropriated the proper amounts of each researched potion to be given to children, based on their weight, age, and sex. Over a dozen volumes of her finalized findings sat on her desk, waiting to be published - but which, at present, sat bathed in the morning dawn.

Alas, the potion to protect the innocent from the Crucio eluded Hermione. Her perfectionist nature was reluctant to release an unfinished collection of her findings. The potion for the Crucio was the crowning piece, the cherry on top - her personal Holy Grail.

Hermione broke away from her thoughts, and slowly found her way out to the sundeck. She chuckled. Minerva had certainly sent her to the right place to finish her brain-crunching research. The chaotic environment in her head was perfectly tempered with the tranquility of the surroundings.

She casually unbuttoned her white cotton shirt at the top and bottom, leaving three buttons in the middle fastened, allowing the collar and tails to move with the wind. The billowy cotton lounge pants wisped around her legs with the gentle breeze, and she soon felt the sand beneath her feet. She brought her dark roast to her lips, sipping her bliss as Heaven's chosen sunrise engulfed her. Nature washed away her academic concentration, her memories - both painful and pleasant ...

Hermione longed for her mind to reach that state of Nirvana, of blissful nothingness, as the three syllables she had fought for so long filled her mind.

Severus.