House: Slytherin

Prompt: Hold

Summary: The story of what happened to Hermione straight after the end of the Second Wizarding War. Very mild hints at femslash. Slightly AU.

Author Note: This story hasn't been beta'd so all mistakes are my own.

Pink Roses and Regrets

Tears streamed down Hermione's face as she ran through the corridors in the aftermath of the battle. People called her back but she carried on regardless; she'd never felt more alone in her entire life. Ron was with his family as they started to come to terms with the loss of Fred, and Harry had gone upto the dormitory – or what was left of it – to get some peace and quiet. Through it all it had been just the three of them, and though she'd occasionally deplored never having any quiet time in which to sit and reflect, or read a book, Hermione had gotten used to it. Now it was quiet, too quiet. Once all the repair work had been carried out, however long that may take, she'd travel to Australia and lift the charm off her parents, but for now she had no one.

She ran outside and blinked twice as her eyes adjusted to the light. The sun was already high in the sky by this point, mocking the sobriety of the situation. Hermione threw herself onto the grass beside the Black Lake and cried; for everyone who'd given their lives for the wizarding world, but for herself, and her friends too. The bright sunlight reflected off the water, a fine mist made contact with her skin in the gentle breeze, and in her mind she was transported back to happier days spent here – relaxing with her friends after exams, and after finishing early on Friday afternoons.

Watching from one of the only demolished towers, from her private quarters, was Professor McGonagall, stood looking dejectedly out over the balcony at what remained of the school grounds. Smoke still billowed from the Forbidden Forest, grey clouds fusing with clear blue skies. Although the fires in the trees had since been extinguished, the scent of charred wood lingered in the air. The grounds were the most deserted that she'd ever seen them, and as she reflected on the events of the last twelve hours she felt older than she ever had before. Minerva's eyes trained on the lake and on the girl sat alone beside it. She recognised Hermione immediately and watched as she transfigured pebbles into dusky pink roses, before pulling off the petals, dropping them into the water and watching as they drifted away.

A tear slipped down the headmistress' cheek. She'd observed Hermione silently over her years as a student and watched as she blossomed from a shy, bushy haired young girl into the confident, ambitious young adult she was today. She'd always possessed an admirable work ethic and throughout her education, always strived to know everything she possibly could. Minerva had no problem admitting that the girl's intelligence matched her own and it had been a welcome pleasure to have a conversation with whom she considered an equal, despite the noticeable age difference. She'd missed their weekely chats over tea and biscuits when Hermione hadn't returned for her final year. Maybe that was why she felt so much towards her now, although deep down she knew there was more to it than that. She'd long since acknowledged that her feelings for the young girl ran deeper than was strictly professional, however she could never have imagined acting on them.

The Professor watched as Hermione tucked her legs under herself and rocked gently; she couldn't see properly from her position at the balcony but she could tell she was crying. Her heart went out to the broken young girl, who'd faced so much more than her years would ever have let on, endured the worst terrors imaginable, all so future generations would have the chance to live in a world where they had a choice, and a chance to be who they wanted to be. Minerva McGonagall had never been prouder of a Gryffindor student than she was of Harry, Ron and Hermione today. She held them all in the greatest respect.

Hermione didn't know how long she'd sat there but when she dried her eyes the sun had disappeared behind a cloud. She shivered; the wind had picked up considerably but she still didn't move. A sudden movement behind her made her jump up. On instinct, she grabbed her wand and whirled around, still hearing people screaming and seeing objects exploding in her mind. Shaking off that feeling, Hermione looked up coming face to face with Narcissa Malfoy. It took a second for her to recognise the woman - who was covered in dust and grime with bruises tainting her porcelain face - in comparison to the elegant, well dressed lady they knew. "My apologies Miss Granger, I merely sought a place to be alone; it seems we had much the same idea. I shall leave you to continue your musings in peace."

Hermione couldn't help but to stare at her; her eyes were rimmed red from crying and the lines etched on her face made her appear old beyond her years. Her robes were torn, and blood still leaked from a nasty gash on her forearm. It was the first time she'd seen Narcissa look anything other than perfect. "Where are your husband and your son?" She asked curiously, wiping her eyes on her sleeve as she wondered why the Malfoys' were still hanging around at Hogwarts, when she thought that'd be the last place they'd want to be.

Narcissa sat on the grass beside her, making Hermione feel slightly uncomfortable at her presence, but she didn't say anything. "Lucius has been taken away to Azkaban to await trial for his many years of misdeeds." The older witch's voice thickened and tears welled up in her eyes which Hermione pretended not to notice and looked away. "And Draco-" The blonde's voice petered and broke, silent tears which she'd been holding in rolled down her cheeks. "Draco was killed whilst in battle against Dolohov!" Her tone rose hysterically and she turned away from Hermione. Pride; it had always been her greatest weakness and a Black family trait which she and Bellatrix shared, at that. Even now, she still couldn't seem to let it go, but what else did she have left?

The young witch was shocked at the implication of Narcissa's words. Draco, after seven years of worshipping his father, had tried for the first, and last time in his life to do the right thing. Dumbledore had seen the good in him and he'd been right; he really could change. In the end it just wasn't enough to save him. "I - I- don't know what to say," She started faintly. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Narcissa's shoulders shook and she gave a hollow laugh that made the hairs on the back of Hermione's neck stand up. "You don't have to pretend you care," she managed, tears still coursing down her cheeks. "Mr Potter, Weasley and yourself hated Draco from the moment you started school. He and his father were Death Eaters-"

"Hate is a strong word Mrs Malfoy," Hermione cut her off, "And at the end of his life he knew what was right - he just made his choice too late. Regardless of that, he was your son and whatever else he may have been is irrelevant. Your loss is no less inconsequential than ours."

Narcissa wiped her eyes on a dusty sleeve, "Draco always said you were the smartest witch in your year; privately I always thought he was jealous." She stood up from the grass, "thank you for your kindness," she said sincerely. "It's more than I deserve and I thank you."

Hermione shook her head, "It was a very brave thing you did last night; Harry told me you saved his life and I'll always be greatful to you for that." She replied, waving away Narcissa's thank you.

"Somehow it doesn't feel like enough; I doubt it ever will." The elder woman looked dazed, unshed grief was reflected in her eyes and she knew she needed to leave. "I need to be alone now," she said. "I bid you good day and I hope we can meet again sometime."

Hermione gave her a sad half smile, "you can count on it," she answered quietly. "And I really am sorry for your losses,"she said after another minute had passed, for she suddenly remembered that she'd not only lost a son, but a sister as well. She wasn't sorry that Bellatrix was dead; she just felt for Narcissa, which was strange when she thought about all that had happened. She wondered how many others would be quite so forgiving. Hermione silently transfigured a handful of pebbles into the same pink roses she'd tossed into the lake and cast a spell over them so that they'd never wither. She gave them to Narcissa to hold, "for Draco," she explained, "So that the world will never forget how he changed. Overcome with sobs, Narcissa hurried away; she couldn't say as much but she was grateful and Hermione knew it.

"That was a very decent thing you just did Miss Granger." A lilting Scottish accent came from behind, and she tried to smile but it never quite reached her eyes in light of the tragedy that had taken place. "That said, I don't know why I was surprised; I'd have expected nothing less from you." Hermione's face broke into a proper smile, and Professor McGonagall was relieved. She knew she was going to get through it; not for weeks - or maybe even months, but in the end she'd be just fine. And that was all Minerva wanted for her. To be happy.