Not In Kansas Anymore

Epilogue: After the Tornado

Precariously Hermione stood at the edge of a chasm in a pure sleeveless shroud of moonlit white. Her bare feet perched calmly on the edge, her breathing even and normal, a slight breeze blowing the light material around her form, and she was full of happy snow white once upon a time butterflies.

When she was young she used to fear butterflies.

Smiling faces framed the edges of the cliff, truly believing the miracle happiness they were seeing. A kindergarten child so triumphant at the feet of cut and paste, except the glow radiating through Hermione was anything but jagged and false. Not so dry faces winked at her from both the unknown skies above and from the chasm arms along her sides as she thought about beginning to fall.

Across the dark nightmare valley waited her horseman with a head, sent to carry her across the ravine. God she was so damned lucky. It was probably a good thing she wasn't having these thoughts in a church. Draco said churches were mundane; that explained why they were in the middle of nowhere, in what Ron affectionately called two steps off the end of the world.

But Ron was wrong, again, Hermione knew that there was never an end if you had walked off the edge of the world. Walking off the edge of the world was a bad thing and she knew that if the ending wasn't good then it simply wasn't the ending. Draco had promised her that once.

The ironic thing was though that Hermione could easily call this the end right now and feel so totally a peace she would never look back, no regrets.

So she stepped off the side of that chasm and fell. You have to have fate that when you're falling toward the ground at break-neck speed with a thin sheet of snowflake silk cloaking you that either a bed of lilies waits below or you'll be given a chance to catch that snitch on the way down.

A mirror watched calmly as Hermione Granger bounced upward in her bed. Slowing her breathing she shook away the vestiges of an excellent dream, rubbing her left ring finger in a new habit.

An owl hooted softly from the other side of her single bedroom at number 12. Ginny would be next door snoozing lightly. Molly had separated them when she heard the nervous giggles that had been repeatedly waking the poltergeists. On padded feet Hermione slid from under her duvet, shocked to see she was wearing a blue plaid pair of boxers and her abdomen ached slightly in a new and lovely way.

Gasping she looked to see Draco Malfoy groan as he sat up in bed...in her bed, watching her with blearily eyed focus and tousled hair. Oh, she remembered that suddenly, the spark of pain, rush of blood, and the first names.

Smiling hesitantly she gestured to the owl on the hard backed chair where her favorite jeans lie, waiting to be worn under her robes the next day when they departed for Hogwarts for their sixth year.

On the wall hung a tattered chart with all the days marked off. Mountains of books climbed to the ceiling as she made an effort to turn this one room in to a literary labyrinth. Pictures of summer events, many instituted by Fred and George, sat on her current light reading book, waiting to be tucked into the secret compartment where she kept the pages of potions she didn't want anyone to know about.

No one, not Ron, the boyfriend she was ashamed of. Not Draco, the stranger she'd lost her virginity to hours before. And especially not the six to eight adults sitting at the kitchen table, talking in a low hum, drinking Molly's tea spiked with just enough rum to keep them awake until the next shift came and it was time to wake the students for a train trip to change their lives.

There were three boys, almost too long for their beds, and two girls, almost too small for bear hugs as death was escaped again. Harry didn't do much sleeping anymore, and his insomnia seemed almost contagious. Hermione had surprised herself by falling asleep with Malfoy...or does she call him Draco now...most nights she reads half the night, reading passages at least twice to imprint the knowledge in her memory, and then sleeping double when she gets the off chance to escape Molly.

The hooting owl reminded Hermione to keep walking. Trying to recall which pattern of floorboards creaked. She stepped tentatively until she plucked the message from the bird's beak. As though it knew what was in the envelope the bird fled feverishly, flying out the cracked window and into the downpour that had begun to splatter H20 bullets on the notepad that was the roof, like a teenager who can't deal.

Her eyes welled up instantly and Draco knew what bad news that letter brought. Hermione climbed into her jeans several hours early and grabbed the nasty shirt off the ground, digging her wand out from under her pillow. Her jaw locked itself firmly into place and her belated scream woke the few portraits that were alone sleeping.

Draco snatched the letter and feigned ignorance when he caught up with Harry, Ron, and Ginny wafting after Hermione as she pounds her way down the stairs, dodging the umbrella rack and blowing the door open with just the force of a glance. With a fierce shutter she Apparated herself to her parent's village and began plowing though the mud. So what, she shouldn't be able to do that without splitting herself, but love is an awfully powerful defiance of natural law.

Draco shoved the letter to Harry who stops Ron; maybe she can do something he would never be able to. Maybe, if she were lucky, she would be able to say good-bye to her parents.

That ice rain slapped her face and daggers cut between her ribs. Hermione Granger had finally woken up.