Vita Labyrinthae Similis In Quo Umbrae Vagamus

CHAPTER 18

Vita labyrinthae similis
in quo umbrae vagamus

--Anon.

They left early in the morning, taking a Portkey from Dumbledore's office. The Headmaster had smiled at them, sadly, and wished them good luck.

It was raining again, softly, in London. The grey front of the Ministry building seemed ancient and forbidding in the sourceless light. Draco took Hermione's hand and walked steadily into the building, moving with the peculiar grace that Hermione knew meant he was afraid. The receptionist directed them to the chamber Snape and Nadezhda had entered, some months before, and they took their seats in the centre of the room.

The judge leaned forward and regarded them, his bushy eyebrows raised, and began to question Draco.

It was long, and bits of it were painful. Hermione listened quietly as Draco told his story, beginning with his father's preparations for making him a Death Eater and ending with Hermione's preventing him from committing suicide. Somehow, it sounded even worse in his quiet, silky voice, emotionless, recounting the facts; it made it more appalling to be told in that steady and unchanging tone. She answered their questions about the Vita Reflectus as best she could, although she only remembered snatches of that night, shards of images that hurt the eye. "Did you have any prior knowledge of the Vita Reflectus spell?" inquired the counsel.

"No, sir. Professor Snape performed the actual incantation. Professor Serenskaya and I repeated the words he said."

"And when did you first start noticing these...strange powers?"

"A few weeks after the spell was performed." She told them about her wandless Curatio. "I've been consciously trying not to use those abilities," she said. "Until I've been trained."

"Very wise," said the judge. "Your training will be arranged shortly. Your powers may prove extremely useful to the Ministry." He sighed, returned his attention to Draco. "Mr. Malfoy," he said. "Having heard and understood the testimony of Severus Snape and Nastasya Serenskaya, and now yours and Miss Granger's, the decision of this court is that you are all free from guilt in the matter of Lucius Malfoy's death. The only remaining matter is the disposal of the Malfoy possessions." Hermione squeezed Draco's hand. He was looking a bit white.

A wizard in black court robes stood and began to read off a list. Malfoy Manor and its contents were on it, as were three Bentleys, a flat in Paris, a mansion in Wiltshire and a quite astonishing amount of money. "This is what remains," said the judge, "after our investigation into Lucius Malfoy's nefarious activities." Draco swallowed hard. He had known Lucius was rich, of course, but the full extent of his riches was a bit shocking. "You will want to reside in Malfoy Manor, of course," said the judge, not looking up.

"No," said Draco quietly, "actually, I'd rather not, your honour. It's not a very pleasant memory." He paused, looked down. "I want to sell it."

"Sell it?" said the judge, and several other wizards. Malfoy Manor had been the seat of the Malfoy family since about 1457.

"Yes," said Draco. "I will have it put on the market immediately. I want to keep some of the furnishings, of course, and the cars. But I never want to set foot in Malfoy Manor again."

Hermione swallowed, looking at him, at the set white face. There went his entire family name, his history, his....

His memories of a cold and hateful childhood. His memories of Lucius.

She understood.

He took a deep breath. "I'd rather take the house in Wiltshire and live there."

"Very well," said the judge. "However, until you reach the age of eighteen, you are still a minor, Mr. Malfoy. The Ministry has set Headmaster Dumbledore as your guardian until then. You will have to discuss the sale of Malfoy Manor with him."

Draco nodded. He slumped back in the chair. Memories of Malfoy Manor were swirling around him, like a headache. Hermione pressed his hand.

"If that is all, this court is concluded. Our counsels are available to assist you in the legal aspect of your real estate dealings, Mr. Malfoy. Miss Granger, if you please, come with me."

Hermione glanced at Draco, who gave her a little smile, and rose. The judge swept her out of the room, down a long corridor. She looked back as they left the room. He looked deadly tired.

"Miss Granger, your abilities mark you as a possible candidate for Archmagus training," he said warmly, knocking on a white door with TESTING written on it. "You will have to be examined closely, of course, to determine the extent of your powers."

"How long is this going to take?" Hermione asked, not quite able to keep a quaver from her voice.

"About an hour." The door opened, and he released her into the custody of several white-robed wizards with Ministry badges on their hats. "Good luck, Miss Granger." He swept out again. Hermione almost cried out "Wait," but sighed instead, and followed the Ministry wizards into a little room with a bare steel table on it.

Draco paced. He had spoken with the lawyers, and had agreed to talk to Dumbledore before going ahead and putting Malfoy Manor on the market. He wondered vaguely what being Dumbledore's ward might mean. Would he be allowed to live at Dark Heart, in Wiltshire, or would the Ministry want him to live with Dumbledore?

And what about Hermione? He had last seen her being swept away by the judge, so quickly he hadn't really known she was going to be tested until they'd told him. He wondered if it hurt.

Moreover, what would it mean for Hermione, if it turned out she did have powers the Ministry needed? Would they take her out of Hogwarts? He sighed, slumped into a chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The hearing had brought back the old grief over his mother, which he had more or less been able to set aside, these last few months.

He wondered where she was buried.

When Hermione came out of the examination rooms, shaking, her hair damp with sweat, Draco was waiting for her. He took one look at her white, exhausted face and pulled her into his arms. "My God," he said. "What did they do to you?"

"They tested me," she said idiotically. "They made me try to reproduce the effect I had before. The wandless Curatio, and a bunch of other spells I didn't know."

He sighed. "And what did they say?"

"They need to do more tests, but they think the Vita Reflectus awoke my, um, latent Archmagus powers. That I really am something different."

"Are they going to train you?"

"Yes. They'll start when term lets out. I have to spend the summer with them." She looked up at him. "Are you all right?"

He blinked. "I'm fine. Old memories, you know."

"Let's go home."

Days passed, again, and the slow, steady routine of week after week took them over. Draco's conversation with the Slytherins seemed to have had an effect, for none of them said another word about Hermione to him; they shot looks of death at both Hermione and Draco, but not another word was spoken, and there were no more threats in broom closets. Hermione, for herself, took several days to muster up the courage to answer Parvati's and Lavender's questions with the truth.

"It's true," she said, quietly. "Draco and I."

Parvati squealed. "Are you serious? But he's a Slytherin!"

"I know." Hermione looked steadily at the other girls. "A lot has changed. You know when Dumbledore said he was in an accident that killed his parents?"

"Yeah," said Lavender, her eyes alight with the prospect of scandal. "So?"

"It wasn't all true. His father tried to kill him. In the process of reversing the spell he'd set on Draco, he died."

"Oh my God," said Parvati. "You mean his dad...the dad he's always been saying he'd call to get us all expelled....was trying to kill him?"

"Exactly. Draco nearly died. He's gone through a lot of pain, guys. I mean it. He's not the same jerk we knew before."

They were silent for a moment. "But...he's still a Slytherin."

"Yeah. He's been getting shit from them about it. So have I."

Lavender flopped back on her bed. "Do you love him, Hermione?"

She paused before answering. "Yeah. I think I do."

"That's so romantic! Unrequited love! Like Romeo and Juliet, you know, your houses are at war..."

"Thank you for that image, Parvati," said Hermione dryly. "I wanted you guys to know because I bet the Slytherins won't keep quiet much longer, and it's better if you hear it from me."

Having the two biggest gossips in the school living in her dorm had never seemed like much of a privilege to Hermione, but she now realized how useful their loquacious tendencies could be. "I trust you to keep this quiet," she said, knowing full well it would be all over the school, and out of her hands, by tomorrow. "All you need to know is that I love Draco, and he loves me, and it doesn't matter what house we're in."

"Wow, Hermione," said Parvati, sounding a bit jealous. "You...well...um...congratulations."

"Thanks. I only wish it could have come at a more opportune time."

"Even better!" cried Lavender, in ecstasy. "Star-crossed lovers! Politics!"

"Um, yes," said Hermione. "Quite." She turned over, pulled Parvati's copy of Young and Magic off the night table. "Hey, you wanna take this quiz?"

Neatly derailed, the girls clustered around Hermione and lost themselves in the purple writings of the magazine.

As expected, the news took the castle by storm. Hermione found herself being besieged all day with inquiries about her and Draco, and the Gryffindor boys gave her the coldest of all possible shoulders at breakfast. Sitting down at the other end of the table, she watched Harry and Ron try to fix the situation.

"But she's...with Draco Malfoy!"

"I know, I know," soothed Harry. "I know. But you have to understand that he's not like he used to be. He nearly died. I think it changed him."

"But she...her House loyalties!"

"Fuck house loyalties," said a seventh-year Gryffindor boy. "If she wants to be with Draco, then let her. When we graduate from here, we're all in one big house anyway. Leave her alone."

"Thank you," said Ron, shrugging. "See? That's just what we've been saying. It's her choice, and we shouldn't bitch at her for it."

"Whatever," said Fred and George, spearing waffles with their forks. "Hermione's a traitor. I don't trust her anymore."

"Guys...don't be thick," said Ron. "Come on. She's our friend."

"Not anymore." George glared down the table. "When I think of all the times we've tried to get that ferrety little git expelled...and now she's with him?"

"He's not the ferrety little git anymore," said Harry desperately. "You have to understand that. He's changed."

"I'll believe it when I see it," said Fred.

"Come on, Fred," said Ron quietly. "He saved Ginny's life."

"He what?"

"He saved Ginny. That day when we were playing in the snow. Her broom died, and she was about to fall to her death when he Levitated her. I talked to him. He said he didn't know what else to do. She was going to die. He saved her."

"He did?"

"Yeah," put in Harry. "You guys were already inside. Remember when Ginny came in with us to dinner?"

"Yeah," said Fred quietly. "He saved her? Really?"

"Probably some kind of plot," said George.

"Goddamn it," said Ron with choler. "Will you stop thinking everything is a plot! Malfoy saved Ginny. The end."

"He saved me, too," said Hermione, quietly, from behind them. Everyone turned. Fred and George went red.

"What?"

"I know you don't like me very much at the moment," she said. "But you have to listen to me. The Slytherins caught me a few weeks ago. They thought I'd bewitched Draco for some evil plot, or something like that. They were about to hurt me when Draco found us, and stopped them. He scared them off." She paused, looked down at the table. "He saved me."

"And you saved him, so you're even," said Harry tiredly. "Please, can't we all just get on with our lives? Hermione, I'm happy for you and Draco. Now go away and let me eat my breakfast."

She gave him a little smile. "Thank you, Harry."

After that, it was easier. The Gryffindors no longer muttered insults at her in the halls, and she found mealtimes less painful. Nevertheless it wasn't pleasant. Her relationship with Harry and with Ron had changed, permanently. They still enjoyed working together, and studying, in the Gryffindor common room; and she was glad for their presence, as a kind of buffer from the rest of the school, but the easy camaraderie of the early years was gone. Her mind was mostly fixed on her studies, which was also comforting; she threw herself into the work with a single-minded energy she had never known before. Her parents knew only that the Ministry had called her up as a possible candidate for summer training, and were supportive, in a bewildered kind of way. All of this was new to them.

And to her.

She saw Draco whenever she could, alone, and they were glad of each other. It wasn't exactly romantic to have to hide in broom closets or atop the Astronomy Tower at midnight, but they didn't care. Life trundled along, slowly.

March turned into April, and once again she found herself studying like mad for finals. She and Draco had ensconced themselves in the library, behind piles of books. This time, they weren't alone, and this time they had more warning that the tests were coming up. Other students had drifted to them as study-group friends, setting aside inter-House politics for the sake of passing the tests. They found themselves alone, however, in late April, as a light spring rain fell outside the wide library windows.

Draco closed his Transfiguration book with a thump. "Look," he said. "I've been thinking."

"About what?" Hermione couldn't help fearing the finality of that statement.

"The deal with Malfoy Manor's gone through. It's up for sale. But....I've been talking to Dumbledore. He says if I can find someone else to be my guardian, he's willing to turn over custody of me. I was wondering..." He trailed off. "Do you think Professor Snape might agree?"

Hermione closed her own book, staring at him. Snape had been an incredible help to them both, as had Professor Serenskaya. Both of the teachers had been unchangingly fair to Hermione and Draco, despite the muttering of the other students, and both had always been available to talk, when no one else would. Hermione knew about their impending marriage, and part of her...a part that didn't feel old and dried-up and ill-used....was happy for them.

"I don't see why not," she said slowly. "He's always liked you. But...Draco...he and Professor Serenskaya..."

"I know. I don't want to make it awkward. But..." He paused, staring down at the ancient, scarred table. "I really think I'd like to have him as my guardian."

"He understands," said Hermione simply. "Talk to him. What do you have to lose?"

* * *

Nadezhda rolled over, flicking the sheet over herself. "I've got class in half an hour," she gasped. "So do you."

"So, we've got half an hour." Severus gave her a wolf's grin. She sighed, melting back into the pillows.

"You know Draco went to see the Ministry today?" she said, distractedly, as Severus's dark hair flowed over her breasts. "Stop it, I'm trying to think."

He raised his head. "They called him up?"

"Apparently. I talked to Dumbledore this morning, just after they'd left. It's not been easy for them."

"I know," said Severus, seriously, folding his arms over her belly and resting his chin on his hands. "Draco brought Hermione to me back in March with a bad sprain of her right hand. Apparently Pansy Parkinson did her best to break it."

Nadezhda sat up, dislodging him. "What?"

"I know. The Slytherins caught her and tried to get her to tell what spell she'd used to bewitch Draco."

"If it wasn't so serious it'd be funny," she sighed. "Nothing else like that has happened, though?"

"Not to my knowledge." He gave up and rolled over, propping himself on an elbow. "But I'm worried about Draco. Dumbledore's his de facto guardian, but he's got no one else. I think he's going to sell Malfoy Manor."

"Good," said Nadezhda vehemently. "I hate that place."

"So does he. I can't blame him." Severus's eyes went darker, and she knew he was seeing the charnel-house of Lucius's study. "I can't imagine there are very good memories associated with that house."

"So what's he going to do?"

"He said there's another house, in Wiltshire somewhere. Fairfax Chase."

"Shit," said Nadezhda. "Dark Heart House. I read about that place in school. One of the more elegant of Inigo Montoya-Jones's early designs, and the most haunted house in the county."

"Lovely," said Snape, and bent his head to her navel, tracing a circle around it with his tongue. "I am wondering, my darling," he continued after a moment, "if Draco might consider.... no. It's too far-fetched."

"What is?" said Nadezhda, trying to concentrate on the conversation. He wasn't making it easy.

"Nothing. Forget I even thought of it."

"You know, we probably should give some thought to the wedding," she said, after a while. "It's not going to plan itself."

He looked up at her, hair tumbling over his face. She loved the sweet whisper of that hair over her skin, loved the toss of his head that flung it out of his way. "I figured we'd have a quick registry office ceremony, and proceed to get magnificently drunk at the Savoy, or somewhere. Please tell me you don't want a huge white wedding."

She laughed, a low deep laugh. "Don't be stupid. I'd look ridiculous in one of those meringue dresses, and I can't see you in a silver ascot tie. No, the registry office will do. But we've got to invite two people to act as witnesses."

"Shit, you're right." He rolled off her again. "Who do you want to be there?"

She thought about it. "My parents are dead, and I've not got many deep friends, at least not ones who like you. Do you have anyone in mind?"

"No," he sighed. "Dumbledore would probably agree to come. He's been very good to me, you know."

"I know. He's a better man than we know."

"But...."

"Yes. But."

Snape's office door was partways open. Draco knocked, apprehensively.

There was a pause, and Snape's voice, a little breathless. "Who is it?"

"Draco," said Draco. "Can I come in? I've got to talk to you."

"Hold on a moment," said Snape's voice. There was a quiet mutter of conversation, and a rustle of fabric. Then Snape pulled the door open, looking tousled and very much alive.

"I'm sorry, sir, is this a bad time? I'll come back..."

"No," said Professor Serenskaya's voice, "come in. It's fine. What do you need?"

He looked at them. She was wearing her teaching robes; he was wrapped in a black silk dressing gown. He felt suddenly that he should not be there. "I..." he began.

"It's all right, Draco," said Severus, sitting down behind his desk. "Go on."

"I was wondering...I have no real guardian, you see...no. This is a bad time. I'll go."

"Draco," said Severus, with steel in his voice. "Speak."

"I-was-wondering-if-you-might-possibly-agree-to-be-my-guardian," said Draco in a rush, and stared at the floor.

There was a long, warm silence. Professor Serenskaya perched herself on the edge of the desk and put her arm around Snape's shoulders. They shared a long, meaningful glance. This is what I meant. Images of the past year's trials and tribulations shivered through all three of their minds, flickering like a Muggle film, pain and desire and sorrow and joy, too quick to speak of.

"Yes," said Severus, very quietly. "I would be honoured to act as your guardian, Draco."

"Thank you," said Draco, helplessly; the words came out of him without his control. "Thank you so much."

"My pleasure," said Severus. "Actually, Nastasya and I were wondering something ourselves." He steepled his fingers, regaining a little of his professorial air. "You know we're to be married soon."

"Yes, sir."

"And drop the sir. I think we're beyond that. The point is that we require two people to act as witnesses to make the registry-office ceremony valid. Would you and Miss Granger perform that act?"

Draco stared at his teachers, and for the first time saw them as really real people, as real as he was, as vulnerable and as powerful as any other human being, and more compelling therefore. He felt a little smile tugging at his mouth. "I'd love to. I believe Hermione would agree."

"Excellent." Snape tapped his fingers together. "The wedding will be..." he trailed off, and looked up at Nastasya Serenskaya. "When, exactly?"

She laughed, a low rough sweet laugh. "That's up to you, my love."

"Then the wedding will be in a week's time. At the end of April."

"I'd be proud to attend, Professor Snape," said Draco, and the smile broke wide open into a grin. "Thank you. Thank you both. For everything."

The week ground by slowly and agonizingly. Draco had related his intelligence to Hermione, who had squealed a most un-Hermione-like squeal and hugged him. "I'm so glad," she said. "So glad."

"So am I," said Draco. "Hopefully they'll want to live at Dark Heart. I'd like that."

"I've never seen Dark Heart," said Hermione, sobering. "I'd like to."

"Then you shall," Draco said quietly, taking her in his arms. "I'll take you there. I'll show you the maze. There's a stone moondial at the centre with a motto in Latin engraved around the rim. I remember, when I was a kid, I wanted to learn Latin—this was when I was being forced into multiple language lessons-- to translate that one motto. I don't remember what it said."

"We'll see it." Hermione kissed him. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he said, and as always the words felt strange, and yet right, in his mouth. He should have been able to say them long ago. He was only now realizing just what Lucius's restrictions had deprived him of.

The day of the wedding dawned bright and clear, with the brilliant sunlight Nadezhda had always associated with spring. Every clichÂŽ was present, from the blue jays singing raucously outside her window to the dew dripping fresh from every new leaf.

"Now," she said to nobody, slithering out of bed, "all we need is bunnies and bluebirds flocking to my touch, and possibly Severus dressed in a tunic and leggings singing underneath my window."

The thought tickled her so badly that she curled up on the floor, laughing helplessly, until one of the house-elves knocked on the door. "Professor Serenskaya?"

She giggled. "Yes?"

"Ringo has a delivery for you. Please to unlock the door."

She slipped on a dressing gown, belting it hurriedly, and reversed the wards on the door. The house-elf, dressed as usual in a pillowcase with the Hogwarts emblem on the corner, bowed and scraped to her before presenting an enormous brown-paper parcel. "From Professor Snape."

"Oh yes?" said Nadezhda. "I wonder." She tipped the house-elf a sickle, out of the goodness of her heart and the beauty of the spring morning, and shut the door again. Left alone, with the parcel, she tipped her head on one side and regarded it.

"Now, what could you be?"

A paper-knife danced across her desk and attacked the string holding the parcel together. With one slash, it fell open, disclosing a waterfall of white gems and silk.

Nadezhda drew in a long shuddering breath, and caught up the folds of the fabric. It was a set of glittering dress robes, tailored to nip in at the waist and fall in luminous folds from her hips to the floor. A faint silver embroidery glittered in the patterns of the silk, and scatterings of opals and white gems gleamed at collar, sleeves and hem.

As she pulled the robes from the remains of the package, a note fell from the folds. She caught it up. In Severus's trademark green ink, it read: My love, I know you didn't want a white wedding. But I had a dream of you in white, and it stayed after I woke, and I couldn't help it. I believe this will fit, as I made it to my memories of your body.

And I know you'll be self-deprecating and modest about everything. But I have one demand: wear this, for me.

--Severus

She sighed, buried her face in the folds of silk. Softer than velvet, the fabric caressed her skin. She wondered vaguely what she had done to deserve such riches.

We have reached the open seas, with some charts, and the firmament.

Despite her great and native desire to leave Muggle customs behind, she and Severus did not see each other before the ceremony. Hermione arrived, flushed and wearing gold velvet dress robes, at her door, and helped her fasten the white silk robes and beat her hair into some semblance of obedience. "You've got nothing on me," said Hermione comfortably, shaking SleekEazy Potion into her hands. "Your hair's not frizzy. This will take no time at all."

And it was true. Under Hermione's admittedly practiced hands, Nadezhda's blood-coloured mane submitted itself to be braided and pinned into a sleek coronet atop her skull, with elegant tendrils cascading over her shoulders. Hermione, her face pink with excitement and happiness, pinned a single white lily into the coronet. "Beautiful," she pronounced.

Nadezhda regarded the effect in the mirror. "Hermione, you're a genius," she said. "I'm afraid this won't affect your DaDA grade, however."

For a long solemn moment both of them regarded each other, before bursting into laughter.

They Apparated, Hermione clinging to Nadezhda's white-gloved hand, to the London Ministry Register's Office. They were slightly early, and Nadezhda found herself pacing up and down the foyer, itching for a cigarette. "Can I smoke in here?" she demanded of the receptionist.

"By all means," said the young blonde witch, pushing her glasses up on her nose. She pulled an ashtray out of a drawer and proffered it.

"Thank you, Miss..." Nadezhda peered at her nametag. "Bamford."

"My pleasure." The receptionist smiled warmly. "It's good to see you back here, Miss Serenskaya."

"Thank you," Nadezhda said, and lit her cigarette. "It's been a few months."

Hermione sat down in an excruciatingly uncomfortable chair, and regarded her teacher. She had never noticed the classic figure under the heavy teaching robes, nor had she realized the beauty of that mane of cascading red waves, tied as it normally was into a messy bun. She suddenly felt rather privileged to be a part of this event, and all it meant to the people she cared about.

For she had begun to care about Snape, and about Serenskaya. They had been rocks in a helpless stream, people to hold on to and to cling to in the midst of chaos. Professor Serenskaya....she realized the honorific still held true, in her mind...had always been there to talk to her, to help her work through her sorrow and her grief and her anger. She had lent an ear to Hermione's rants against the hidebound Gryffindors and the prejudiced Slytherins. She had always held out a comforting arm, as the exercises the Ministry had suggested had wrung Hermione dry and left her shuddering and weak, in search of someone to help her. She had lent her the Restricted Section, through a carte blanche signature, and she had allowed Hermione the use of the DaDA classroom to practice her powers.

Nadezhda sighed out smoke, wreathing herself in fragrant clouds. "He's late."

"He's a man," said the receptionist blandly. "They do this."

A moment later, Severus Snape Apparated into the foyer, holding Draco's hand. He was wearing dark Slytherin green robes, in velvet, with silver embroidery at cuffs and hem, and a scattering of tiny winking emeralds catching the light in the folds of the fabric. Draco wore high-collared black, and Hermione noticed the variegated form of Naga curled around his throat. He caught her eye, and smiled, sharply. She smiled back, a smile of utter contentment.

"Shall we?"

"Of course." The receptionist led them into the little room before the Registrar's desk. A huge red-bound tome lay open on the desk, and a silver inkwell with a black quill lay ready for use.

They stood before the desk. The door closed with a bang behind them. All four of them were suddenly aware that great and momentous things were afoot in the room, things much bigger and more important than they were.

The spell was broken when the Registrar appeared out of an anteroom, in dusty Ministry robes. "Are we all present?"

"Yes," said Severus quietly.

"Then let us begin."

The ceremony was quick and to the point. Severus Antonius Snape and Nastasya Kallikrevna Serenskaya were pronounced wizard and wife at four minutes past eleven in the morning, signed their names in the register with due flourish, and were witnessed by Draco and Hermione. It was all over so fast that Nadezhda's head was spinning. The plain silver band of her wedding ring lay against Snape's emerald engagement band, warming to blood-heat. It felt heavy on her finger, heavy and important, but somehow right, as though it had been missing for a long time and had just recently been restored to her.

Severus took her hand. "Well," he said a little breathlessly, "thank God that's over."

Hours later, all four of them sat around a glittering table in the wizarding Excelsior Hotel. The remains of a feast lay on the gilt plates; several empty champagne bottles sat listing slightly in buckets full of melting ice. Hermione, thinking back over the year, reflected that if anyone had told her in September that she'd be sitting beside Draco Malfoy in the Excelsior celebrating the marriage of Professor Snape, she'd have thought them mad. It was as if the entire year had been engineered to bring all four of them to this point. As if something larger and more intelligent than all of them had been in control, from the very beginning.

For the first time since Harry's fifth-year defeat of Voldemort, and the Dark Lord's subsequent retreat from the wizarding world, Hermione felt the chill of that old fear. They hadn't seen or heard anything from Voldemort for so long that she was beginning to wonder about his next return. And there was something else. Professor Serenskaya had said something to her once about a Revelation Charm that had shown her an ominous picture of Draco, and of Snape. She couldn't help wondering what exactly the future held for them all.

Because they weren't finished with Voldemort. Hermione knew that very well. That war was yet to come.

With an effort she pulled her mind away from the terror of those reptilian red eyes and redirected it at the conversation. Draco was earnestly discussing the house in Wiltshire.

"It's going to need a bit of repair," he said wryly, swirling the dregs of champagne in his glass. "Lucius let the place go to ruin. He never liked it there."

"Dark Heart is built over one of the old Light places," said Nadezhda, a little unsteadily. "Used to be an old standing stone circle there. The stones all fell down, and were buried, long before Montoya-Jones built the house."

"Really?" Draco was interested. "I didn't know that."

"Oh, yes. It shows up on every occult map of Wiltshire almost as strongly as Old Sarum does, with the Giants' Dance....what we now call Stonehenge." She grinned. "Sorry, I'm lecturing again."

"It may interest you to note," Severus put in, his eyes half-lidded like a sleepy cat, "that Malfoy Manor is built over an ancient religious site, as well. I think that was intentional, however. Your ancestor Cristophe de Malfoi was well aware of the history of pagan sacrifices and blood rituals held on the spot; he wrote several treatises on them. Back in the forties, there was still the remains of the ancient taurobolium pit on the grounds. I believe your great-uncle dabbled in archaeology?...Well, there was quite a collection of ancient flint knives and, I think, at least one altar. They used to have it all displayed in the trophy room." He regarded Draco. "That was before your father's time. He didn't hold with such ancient relics."

"How do you know all this?" Hermione wanted to know.

"When I was Lucius's errand-boy," he sighed, "I did a lot of research on the family and its possessions. I wanted to know more about them. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "So Malfoy Manor is built on the site of a lot of sacrificial rites, and Dark Heart is built over an ancient stronghold of the Light. Well. That explains a lot."

His tone was mocking, but his eyes were serious. Severus pulled the last bottle of champagne out of the bucket, found it was empty, and let it fall back. "It does indeed. Sensitive people have difficulty going near Malfoy Manor, or the grounds. It makes them feel strange and fearful."

"And I always had the best memories of Dark Heart. I think Mother liked it better there, too." Draco pulled a sliver of roast duck from the debris on his plate, ate it meditatively. "Lucius was always glad to leave."

"It probably did to him what Malfoy Manor does to...." Nadezhda had been going to say normal people, but decided against it. "...us."

"I wish I'd known all this before," said Draco, not referring to the historical background of his houses. They all knew he meant Lucius, and the truth of what Lucius had been.

"Well," said Severus wryly, "you didn't. There's no use regretting that now. You can't change it."

The tone was just what Draco needed. He stiffened briefly before relaxing back into the seat and nodding. "I know. I know what I need to do."

Weeks later, after the term ground to its close, as a team of carpenters, pipe-fitters and carpet-layers swarmed over the ivy-clad house called Dark Heart, Nadezhda and Severus found themselves standing in the old whitewashed kitchen of the mansion. They were moving in as soon as the work was finished, but they had come down to check on the progress of the refurbishments. And because Draco wanted to.

The legal side of it had gone through days before. Severus had sworn on several books to act as legal guardian to Draco, before a panel of Ministry members including the judge who had presided over the inquiry into Lucius's death, and Draco was formally released from the custody of the Ministry and Dumbledore, as a legal ward. "You'll come and live at Dark Heart, of course," Draco had said autocratically. "I'm having it refitted."

"I..." Severus had protested, but he had given up after a moment. "Very well."

While they were at the Ministry, Hermione had gone for another set of tests and experiments. She was getting slowly more proficient at controlling the power, and she was able to call on it with more and more reliability, but it still drained her and left her shaky and drenched with sweat. The idea of having to spend the summer there at the Ministry undergoing more and more of the training....of having to spend the entire summer away from Draco...was constantly aching in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't see any way around it.

So it was with a jolt of considerable surprise that she found Draco and a few of the Ministry wizards waiting for her outside of the testing suite. "What's going on?" she asked. Draco's face was flushed a little with excitement.

"Well," he said, "the Ministry has agreed to let you stay at Dark Heart over the summer, provided you come in every day for your lessons. They've sent someone down to put the house on the Floo network."

Hermione stared at the set faces of the Ministry wizards, and thought that their "agreeing" to let her stay with Draco was probably more a case of Draco bullying them into it. He was rather good at the gentle art of persuasion.

"That's wonderful," she said, breathlessly. "Thank you. Thank you all so much."

They had gone to see her parents, too, and explained that Hermione's special training would require her to spend most of her time at the Ministry that summer. She had arranged to come for the occasional visit, of course, and Draco, once introduced, had suggested that Mr. and Mrs. Granger might like to come down to Dark Heart for a weekend or so. He painted a luminous picture of the country house and its park, and Hermione thought she saw her mother seriously considering the offer.

Back at Dark Heart, Nadezhda sat on the kitchen table and stared at her husband. "I can't believe it," she said. "All this happened so fast."

"That's the glory of money," Severus said comfortably. "It gets things done."

"No, I mean..." She trailed off, looking down at the silver band on her finger again. "So much happiness, so quickly."

He slid his arms around her. "I know. It's rather astonishing, isn't it?"

"It's more than that. It's wonderful." She leaned her head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat shake her gently. "Severus, this isn't the time to bring this up, but it's been worrying me. Why haven't we seen or heard anything about Voldemort all year?"

He drew a long breath, and she could hear the little rattle in his breath, the legacy of TB. "So you've been thinking about that too?" he said. "I'm not sure. I do know he's not gone forever, though. I'd know." He looked briefly down at the place on his left arm where the Dark Mark had burned. "I can still feel his presence, vaguely. It's weak, and it's a long way away, but it's far from gone."

"Dumbledore was right," she murmured. "Constant vigilance."

Severus laughed a little, the sound booming in her ear. "Quite." He kissed the top of her head. "My love, when Voldemort returns...as he most assuredly will....we will be waiting for him. Together. We've got Draco on our side, now, and he's a surprisingly clever little bastard when he's not being overly sarcastic or charming. And we've got Hermione, whose powers are still getting stronger. And you."

"And you," she reminded him. "The only ex-Death Eater to have escaped Voldemort's revenge, and not gone mad or ended up in Azkaban."

"And me," he sighed. "We have Dumbledore, who is worth more than the rest of us put together. And we have Potter, who has consistently sent Voldemort packing for no explainable reason. I think we stand a fairly good chance. Don't you?"

"We might," she murmured, feeling the warm strength of her husband's arms around her, the reassuring rhythm of his breath. She had the strangest feeling that she had, somehow, come home.

Hermione and Draco stood together in the grounds. A light spring rain was falling, lending the rolling landscaped park and the old house an elegant kind of melancholy.

"I told you there was something I wanted to show you," said Draco, pulling his collar up. "Come with me."

She followed him, away from the house and the wide terrace, down a set of overgrown steps and along a grey and misty avenue of laurels. Somewhere, a whitethroat was singing, on and on, like tears.

They came to a wall of dark, glistening leaves; a boxwood hedge left to grow untended, wild and disordered. The hedge was easily thirty feet tall. Draco looked up at it.

"I remember it seeming to reach the sky," he murmured. He paced along the wall of leaves until he came to a gap, and beckoned Hermione to follow him. They had to push aside the long branches of the boxwood to pass through, but she could tell that there had once been a paved path under their feet, and that the chaotic, reaching branches had once formed neat groomed walls to a corridor, open to the sky.

They were in a maze.

Hermione found herself thinking, over and over again, as Draco muttered under his breath and led her through the labyrinth, of the events that had brought her here, today, to this place with this boy. It seemed more than ever like some larger plan. First Professor Serenskaya comes back to Hogwarts, she thought, and to the man she once loved; then her old lover's ghost begins to drain the life out of everyone at the school, and she has to save us. That cannot have been easy. And then....she was thinking it out, clearly, now for the first time; she made connections that had not been evident to her before...and then, Professor Snape was ill, and I think she must have been the one who cured him, too. And perhaps it was during that time that they really began to talk to one another again.

She glanced up at the white sky. It was odd, surreal, seen through the latticework of branches. The whole place had the air of a dream.

What then? Lucius Malfoy gives Draco an ultimatum, and then almost a death. We save his body's life, and awake odd abilities in me I never knew I had; but his soul is lost, and he almost dies, and I realize...

I realize that I love him.

She did; she loved him, painfully and utterly. The sight of his slender form moving through the branches sent little waves of sweet pain through her body. His voice, his touch, his eyes...those astonishing silver eyes; what is it in his ancestry that gives him those inhuman eyes...

He turned. "We're almost there."

She nodded, again feeling the little tides move in her, and hurried to catch up. Just then, the branches thinned out in front of them, and they found themselves in a circular room made of leaves, open to the misting rain, with a stone pedestal standing in the centre of it. The boxwood had made a game attempt to fill up the space of the clearing, as it had filled up the corridors of the maze, but the branches were not yet long enough for that. Ten or twenty more years, thought Hermione, and this place will be gone completely.

The thought made her shiver. She joined Draco, standing by the pedestal. It had once been a sundial, she realized, seeing the markings on the top of the stone column. The blade of metal that had once thrown its shadow over those markings was long gone, but the markings remained, looking like the runic scratches of some prehistoric language.

"Read what it says around the dial," said Draco quietly. "I remember now."

She paced around the pedestal, slowly, deciphering the worn letters. "Vita...labyrinthae... similis in...quo...umbrae...vagamus?" She paused, thinking; years of Latin declensions lapped at the pilings of her mind. "Life is like a labyrinth; let us wander in the shade."

"I remember being here, very young, and asking one of my proliferating tutors what it said. He was shocked that I couldn't read it, and my Latin lessons were hell for a while after that. But I muddled it out with a dictionary, and I remember thinking how beautiful it was. Because my life was a labyrinth, but I couldn't wander in the shade, or enjoy myself, or rest: I had a mission, I was the Malfoy Heir, I was the one on whom all Lucius's hopes were riding. I thought how much I wanted to be able to be directionless. To float."

She took his hand. He met her gaze; the rain intensified, pattering down through the outflung arms of the branches, darkening the copper face of the old sundial. The whitethroat's song was closer now, more insistent, with the soft susurrus of the rainfall; the low sweet melancholy of the place seemed to swell around them. The air was cool against their faces, sharp and coloured by sadness, and they felt again the myriad grieves of the year they'd gone through; and, with the grieves, the breathless and stolen joys they had found together.

Hermione's hair was jeweled with rain; her eyelashes glinted with little drops. Draco's eyes were luminous in the cloud-light. His hand, shaking a little, reached out to touch her cheek; she covered it with hers. "And although I have only just begun, I think I can learn to...wander, now. If you're with me."

"I will be with you," she said, her voice low. "I will follow you to the ends of the earth, you know. I love you."

"I love you," he repeated, softly. "I love you, Hermione."

For a long moment they stood like that, Hermione's fingers holding his hand against her cheek, before he curled his other arm around her and pulled her to him and kissed her. The rain became a downpour, soaking their hair flat, plastering their cloaks to their bodies; neither cared. Not until Nadezhda's voice carried to them on the soft breeze, calling their names, did they break apart, and then reluctantly. "Let's go home," Draco murmured into her hair.

He took her hand, and together they left the old sundial to the misting rain, and the day it could no longer measure. The rain was already easing off as they left the maze, and it had stopped entirely by the time they reached the terrace. Nadezhda was standing there, waving to them. Before they went inside, Hermione looked back over her shoulder at the avenue of laurels that led to the maze. It was an old place, as Nadezhda had said, and a powerful one. She felt the weight of time passing on her suddenly, knew with a flash of certainty that she would never again be the same girl who had stood, months ago, with Harry by the lake at Hogwarts. The realization was not a painful one, exactly, but she found herself wishing she could have had a few more years of that innocence. She felt like a woman, now. She had done things she'd never dreamed she could do, seen things she never hoped to see, and they had changed her.

She drew a deep breath of the rain-washed air, and sighed. They had come through a storm, and now they were in sight of the land once more. The view of the misty grounds was so beautiful that it was hard to look at for very long, and she turned back to Draco and Nadezhda, and let them lead her home.

We are here. We will work together for what purpose seems to us right. We will work with calm, and with tolerance, and, please God, with saving laughter.

We know something of men. We know of evil, and of sloth, and of self-seeking ambition. We accept it, and will use what we have of wit and good faith to overcome it.

And if we do not overcome it, still we are the road; we are the bridge; we are the conduit. For something have we been brought here. And if we hold firm, the men who peopled our earth need not be ashamed, when the reckoning comes, to say, we worked for all we had been given; and for one another.

--Dorothy Dunnett, Checkmate

For now the winter it is past, likewise the drops of rain;

Come lie in the valley of lilies, with the roses of the plain.

--Fairport Convention

FIN