[AN: So here we have the final chapter! Not to worry, my lovelies! There is an epilogue on the way. But, I just wanted to say my thanks for all the beautiful comments you all have left me. You are all amazing! Also, a huge thanks to Theuncreativehijabi for the cover. :D ]

Lover of the Light

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Way the Story Ends

It was not uncommon for her to feel left out in a crowd. It mattered not if she walked with her head held high, holier-than-thou attitude, strutting along with expensive clothes and shoes, or if she sulked with her head down, the collar of her coat turned up, blending in with the grey and gloomy shades of the typical British weather. There was a time in her life when she went full-speed to make sure that everyone saw her, that everyone knew who she was, how much better and exquisite she was, but that had changed three years ago. The reality was that she was lost in the crowd, drowning in the shadows, and no one stopped along their merry paths to help her.

Typically, Pansy did perfectly well surviving the crowd. She was an excellent swimmer, equipped to keep herself from completely sinking down into the well-known depths of despair by just splashing about, not making a single noise for help to avoid the judging eyes of people. Today, on this specific day, however, she found that the ocean of people was pulling her down. She was looking for an anchor—her very own protective anchor, made from her own blood and flesh—but it wasn't there. She scouted and scouted, splashing hysterically, swallowing water, eyes stinging, bones cramping up, cries crawling their way up her throat at the same time the waves of people started pushing her towards the dark, deep end.

This time, she knew, she was going to drown if she didn't act fast.

Pansy swam with whatever strength she had left and barely managed to make it to the nearest lavatory. She had no time to inspect it, to make sure that she was alone, that there weren't anymore treacherous waves of people that would end up destroying her. She closed the door behind her, fell to the floor, exhausted, and began gasping for air. Soon enough, that desperate inhaling turned into distraught sobbing.

Misery, abandonment, fury, fear, inferiority, shame, and outrage mixed together in a perfect emotional explosion. Tears rushed out of her eyes, tracing down her cheeks like waterfalls and collecting like small ponds on the floor. All those emotions, all those she practiced to keep hidden, were scratching and cutting her from the inside out with vengeance. They were taking their revenge for all the submerging she did, for all those times that she needed to confront them, but instead chose to evade and ignore them when they we demanding attention.

No one can run from reality; not even Slytherin witches with all their years of training to not feel anything at all. Sooner or later, they feel. And they feel it all; intensely and unforgivingly.

"Parkinson?"

Carefully and quietly, a brunette peeked her head in from outside of the lavatory. It took her less than a second to spot the dark-haired witch, and it took her absolutely no time at all to approach her.

"Parkinson, are you—"

Hermione Granger's voice was replaced within the wall of the girls lavatory when the deafening, heartbreaking cries of Pansy Parkinson echoed off with a force that knocked the Gryffindor down onto her knees and palms.

How did Hermione Granger have it all? How was it fair that the Gryffindor Princess, the righteous and bloody know-it-all, had absolutely everything? Was it karma? Was Granger really that loyal, that sweet, that noble that the world decided to pay her in kind? Even when things seemed terrible for her, Granger rose up mightier than ever. But what about her? Was Pansy really that much of a horrible, conniving, cowardly person that she had nothing at all? That she deserved nothing at all? Was there no chance of redemption, did she not get a chance to work for a better life?

Isn't she worth anything at all?

She isn't, is she? Maybe that was the reality that she has been denying and hiding from all this time. She isn't even worth a single, rusty sickle. No one wanted her.

That's why they left her.

All her life she was prepped for a future filled with obligation and honor. She was spoon-fed codes to live by, thoughts to think, actions to make, and superiority to feel. She was told that she was a princess. She was told that due to her impeccable pedigree, to the pure blood running through her veins that'd been cultivated for centuries, that she was worth absolutely every shiny galleon in the world. They told her she was precious, irreplaceable. All of it was nothing but a gigantic lie. All those times they told her that she was their pride, the best thing that they'd ever done, and...

After the Dark Lord's fall, her father went straight to Azkaban. There was no trial, no bargain deals, no attempts to offer a reduction of sentence. For his servitude to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, for his public attacks on muggle-borns, blood-traitors and muggles, it was a lifetime of prison for Patrick Parkinson.

It was inevitable, really. She'd known that the moment Potter won the war—the reason why she had been ready to hand him over to the Dark Lord in the midst of the battle. Better Potter than her father, she had believed then; partially now, even. In the end, it was clear that all Death Eaters were going to be locked and chained up without hesitation. It had done her father no good when he fled with fellow comrades, nor when he mortally injured an Auror when they raided their secure location.

What she hadn't foreseen was that Uma Parkinson was going to flee Britain the moment her husband became a fugitive.

There was a letter once a week from her mother when she left. It was nothing of importance, mindless chatter as if they were having tea together, sulking in an awkward atmosphere, as if she wasn't talking to her daughter but a stranger she'd just acquainted. When Pansy replied to one of her letters, telling her of her father's arrest, the letters became scarce. Every time Pansy asked when she was returning, her mother avoided the question. Ultimately, she ignored Pansy all together.

She hadn't heard from her mother in eight months.

For a year, Pansy lived alone and neglected. There were no letters from her mother, limited replies from her father, and no relatives alive to worry about her well-being. There was no one in the world that had her in their thoughts. In the holidays during the school year, a cryptic, empty mansion waited for her. Her only interaction with society was during school, or with her loyal house-elf that locked herself away in the cage of loneliness beside her. She was eighteen, but she felt like a lost, terrified five year-old child that was desperately searching for her parents in the middle of a dark thunderstorm in unknown territory.

"She's not here," cried Pansy when she felt a hand on her back.

Hermione rubbed circles with her left palm on the girl's back as she brought herself a little closer to her.

"She needed to be here, but she's not." With tears still flowing, with the havoc those overdue, dangerous emotions caused on her being, reflecting off her face, making her eyes burn and irritated, Pansy glared hopelessly at the brunette. "Why isn't she here?!"

When Ron told her about Parkinson, when he tried explaining to her and Harry why he was so protective of her, why he followed after her, why there was affection in his eyes for her, Hermione had just assumed Ron was naive as always and wasn't seeing things clearly. He painted an image of a fragile and neglected Parkinson, lonely and terrified to the core that was hard to believe. Hermione and Harry had imagined and known to an extent that Parkinson had demons of her own to sort out, but to feel that amount of pain? Nor Harry or Hermione could have ever pictured the girl to be completely human.

Parkinson had become someone else, that was certain all year long, but she still retained parts of her former self that made others dubious on just how altering the war had been for her. She had stopped bullying people, but she still laughed with malice on occasions. She stopped glaring at people like they were the scum of the earth, but she still frowned or kept a mask of cruel indifference. She had become tolerant to be around, but that'd been the warning sign that something was wrong and no one saw it.

Regardless of her old tendencies, whether they all had faded away or became altered in some sense, the truth was that all this year Parkinson had been living a lie. For an entire year the girl had been alone; suffering, miserable, and scared.

"She should be here!" Pansy removed her hands from the tiled flooring of the lavatory, rising up a few inches and looking at the brunette through blurred eyes.

"Parkinson—"

"I sent her the notice ages ago," the Slytherin girl interrupted the Gryffindor, her red and puffy blue eyes staring questioningly at the girl who had all the answers, "but she still didn't show! It's my graduation day, how can she not be here?! She's my mother, for fuck sakes!"

Hermione's lips were shut. Here was Pansy Parkinson, completely vulnerable and on the verge of flooding the room with her tears. Comforting one of her old tormentors wasn't the problem, it was that she didn't know what to say. What could she say? What could she tell a girl who was sobbing with a broken heart because her mother had abandoned her?

"I thought that I was going to walk into the Great Hall and see her..." Pansy's voice was nothing but broken whispers now. "I thought that after months of ignoring my letters, of not contacting me, that she'd still be a mother and show up...That she'd be here to celebrate my accomplishments, that she'd be waiting with a proud smile on her face...But all I found was empty seats beside my name of guests."

Shoving Hermione's hand away from her, Pansy stood from the floor and kicked the door of the toilet cubicle nearest to her. "She left me alone!" She kicked another stall. "She left me alone when Father fled! She left me alone to deal with his incarceration, to watch the Ministry ransack our home, when piles and piles of legal papers started being owled to me, and when I was scared to leave the house! I'm just a girl; why did she do this to me?!"

Pansy spun away from the stalls, her tortured blue eyes finding the brown ones of Hermione. "I needed her, Granger! My life fell apart and I just needed someone to tell me that it was going to be okay after everything went to shit! I didn't deserve this! I didn't!" She placed her hands on her chest like she wanted to claw out her heart for the disaster it was causing. Her shoulders shook with more force, her cries loud and unbearable to hear.

The Gryffindor watched her with painful sympathy, her eyes watering, too.

"Why doesn't she love me?" Pansy gripped her black ceremonial robes as she shed more waves of desperation. "Why doesn't she want me?"

That was it. Hermione rushed to her and embraced her with the speed and strength she was known to have. She wrapped her tightly in her arms, squeezing her.

"Why doesn't anyone love me?" Far from being collected or proud, Pansy sobbed onto the girl's shoulder with petty resignation.

"You're wrong, Park—Pansy," Hermione responded in a careful whisper. "I...I don't know what to tell you about your mother, but I do know that you are never not loved." She pulled away slightly to look into her eyes. "People care about you."

More tears fell from Pansy. "They don't, Granger. People love you, they avoid me like I'm the foulest creature. After...After everything that I've done, the way that I am..."

"You're important to Daphne Greengrass," reminded the brunette. "Despite the odd way in which you two show it, she loves you. You're her best friend. If you haven't noticed, Pansy, she's the only girl who has stuck by you all this year. I've seen her loyally by you, joining you when you're eating alone, when others ignore you. People from other Houses are nicer to you and you to them, that's something... People are seeing you as someone different, Pansy. And Blaise? He cares about you. I know my brother; he wouldn't keep you close if he didn't care. The same with Malfoy. And Ron—"

"Ron loves you."

In unison, Hermione and Pansy turned to the door of the girls lavatory. Only Pansy was surprised to see Potter's famous sidekick, yet both girls had their distinctive eyes wide with sentiment at what had just left the redhead's mouth.

Ron cleared his throat, ears suddenly as red as his hair as a few more seconds ticked by in silence. "I...erm...I care enough about you to have my best friend follow you here to check on you after I saw you storm away from the Great Hall. And...I love you enough to come here myself to tell you that...that you're important."

Hermione stepped away from the Slytherin witch, becoming a shadow. The brunette headed for the exit, but not before she stopped beside her best friend. She looked into his blue eyes and saw a sincere serenity—mixed with a dash of nervousness—and she smiled reassuringly at him. He was finally going for something he wanted, she was proud of that.

After getting a squeeze to his fingers from Hermione, waiting until she departed, Ron took a deep breath and commanded his feet to approach the dark-haired girl that waited with tears in her eyes a few feet from him.

"I'm scared," Pansy murmured, her hands shaking at her sides as the redheaded Gryffindor was close enough that she could smell his unique scent of freshly mown grass, new parchment, and spearmint toothpaste. That smell that stayed in her bedroom in that lonely mansion she's forced to call home, in the jumper he made her wear one night they hid in the grounds together and that she now called hers. "She's really...She's really never coming back, Weasley."

Daring himself to place his hands on her sides, Ron also used that same daring courage to stare her deeply in the eyes with unwavering resolution. "Good," he spoke. "She doesn't deserve you, Parkinson. You're...You're fantastic. And you have me. I promised you that you'll never be alone, and I intend to keep that promise. You have me, Parkinson."

"Not forever," she hissed at him, a sudden anger taking up her facial features and in the tremble of her voice. "You'll get better soon, Weasley, and you'll find someone as noble, loyal, and...someone better than me. What will I have then?"

"There's no one better than you," he retorted back, his forehead creasing. "There's only one Pansy Parkinson, and as messed up as she is, that's the girl I want. I'm not going anywhere."

More tears fell from her terrified eyes, splashing on her pale cheeks. Nothing was said for a moment; in a moment when Ron took his thumbs and rubbed away the revealing tears.

She didn't know how this thing with Weasley was going to work out when she first took notice of his demons at the start of the year. She was intrigued by it, how someone so good-hearted could become so twisted and warped by tragedy. She was intrigued by his loneliness because it called out for hers. Inside the massive castle, amongst a wide population of people, on different sides of House tables, Pansy's misery found his. She hadn't taught it twice, she'd just known that he was going to need her as much as she was going to need him. At the start of it all, she knew that he needed real help, but she was selfish and neglected enough to grip onto whatever fucked up soul was left to keep her company.

In the end she found that she'd truly helped him and that, unexpectedly, he was all the company she craved. There was a calmness, an ease, a sense of security that only he could give her.

It was a revelation she'd never been able to voice.

"Don't ever leave me," but she finally found words with sentiment forming together and escaping from her lips. "I couldn't possibly bear it if you did, Ron."

"I won't," he told her as his hands gently traveled down to the sides of her wet cheeks and held on. "And you'll never leave me, Pansy?"

"I don't think I can ever have a life without you."

With the ridiculous smile she recalled making fun of years before, Pansy now allowed her heart to melt and start mending itself when Ron looked at her like she was something special. He leaned into her and kissed her like she was worth something. She couldn't help but to wrap her arms around his neck and let him destroy her fears with his lips, his stupid Gryffindor loyalty, and his new-found hope.

One day she will feel strong and worth more than gold, and she'll know it was because of Ron Weasley and the bond they found in being broken together.

                                                                       XXXXXXXXXXXX

Cling. Cling. Cling.

"I propose a toast." Standing from a posh, cream-colored armchair, Jenoah Zabini looked around from inside one of the many sitting rooms in his older brother's mansion. Though it was the second time that he'd ever stepped foot onto Deon's property, it felt absolutely right. It felt like somewhere he was welcomed with a full heart.

This time—unlike the first time when the mansion was crammed with hundreds of people to celebrate Aria Zabini's return—he felt a sense of comfort. He felt as if he was inside his brother's home, not another building used as a ball location. He looked around and spotted his parents, old and gray, powerful and poised, and noticed a sparkle in their eyes. In his mother's emerald gaze, specifically, he saw hope and peace. She'd spent almost twenty years kept away from her child, pretending that Deon never existed, but now she had a sense of a new beginning. His father, well, that's a different matter. Though the man had to be practically begged to forgive and forget what happened so long ago, though his dark eyes were indifferent, Jenoah knew that by him being present in Deon's home was sign that he too was ready for a new beginning.

Bianca was seated not far from him, a happy and beautiful smile pulling on her lips. It was the first time in years that Jenoah saw sincerity behind it and it pleased his heart that his little sister was finally getting the product of her faith. Standing behind her, a thick glass of alcohol in his grip, was Stefano. His black eyes reflected the same mask of coolness that their father wore at all times, one that Stefano had spent all his life imitating and trying to perfect. But there was something that he couldn't hide behind his gaze of nothingness, behind his tensed shoulders, and that was the truth. A truth that was fairly simple: Stefano loved Deon and cared for the family he had created in Britain. Though Stefano had been the one who'd been more enraged and betrayed by Deon's choice to flee Italy, publicly disgracing him from the family, it was clear that personally and very intimately, Deon would always be his brother.

The reason why Stefano hid his hurt behind anger was a story that only he knew. Jenoah could only hope that maybe one day Deon would get to hear it when Stefano chose to reveal it so that both could work on healing old wounds. It was a longshot, seeing as how serious and emotionally-unattached the two men were when it came to one another; still Jenoah hoped his big brothers would one day learn the power of words.

Referring to old wounds, Theodore and Benjamin Nott were also present inside the Zabini mansion. They sat close together, one brother protecting another, loving each other, clinging onto each other like there was no one else in the room. All in silence, all in three or four inches of separation between their seats, the Nott brothers were an example of a family in shambles that could not be torn apart because of their loyalty and affection for one another. It was brotherhood at its finest. Jenoah admired that for such young wizards.

Another thing that the Zabini man admired was the presence of Jennifer and Richard Granger, his niece's adoptive, muggle parents. They sat beside the famous Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

It was a surprise when he waltz into Deon's home to find that the sitting room of Allegra's choice had been occupied by several other people. He had assumed that the celebration was going to be kept strictly within the family, a private affair, but when he was introduced and greeted by the other occupants, he found that it was a family matter. It was his niece's family, blood related and not.

Jenoah could only guess how difficult it was for Deon to have the man and woman who raised his daughter for eighteen years in such a close proximity. Deon's thoughts must be torturous in some level, knowing that these two muggles are the ones whom his daughter respects and loves dearly, who saw her grow up and turn into the courageous, noble woman that she is, and who were the only parents she'd ever known. It must've taken real power to allow their presence, but it must've taken even more cajones to have the muggles present along with the company at hand. It was a risky play Deon took, especially because he knew that Domenico and Roma Zabini—his own ancient, bigoted parents—were going to be present.

In this throng of odd guests, Jenoah didn't miss that blonde, silver-eyed teenage boy who had never left his niece's hospital bed the day she escaped her kidnappers. Jenoah knew he was a Malfoy, clear by the stormy-colored orbs and that severely serious expression. He'd been curious for the young Malfoy's presence, but he'd been extremely intrigued to know why there had been such hopelessness within him. He had looked like someone on the verge of death, then; like he was living his last minutes of life in complete and utter agony. It was even more intriguing that now, beside his parents, that he was the exact opposite. Draco Malfoy looked fully alive; thriving on every second like he was breathing in golden bliss.

"I propose a toast," repeated Jenoah, "for the young ragazzi in this room who have completed seven years of schooling at Hogwarts School."

Glasses rose up in the air.

"It's technically eight," there was a whimsical voice in the air that halted the cheers. "Blaise, Theodore, and Parkinson have actually spent eight years at Hogwarts. Of course, I was taken by Death Eaters halfway through my Sixth Year, but I think it—"

"Ignore her." Putting a hand over Luna Lovegood's mouth, Blaise smiled sheepishly at every person giving the blonde witch their attention. "She just came back from a mad-tea drinking party with her father. She's drunk."

Harry frowned at the Slytherin's direction. "She is not," he snapped. "Dirigible plum tea does not have alcohol in it, Zabini."

"Potter, just shut the—Ow!" Removing his hand from Luna's mouth, Blaise gaped at her. "You bit me, Lovegood!"

Luna smiled charmingly at Blaise for a quick second before turning to Harry. "Oh, it's all good fun, Harry. He fancies me and I was being imprudent in front of his pureblood family and guests."

Pansy, who was also invited to the Zabini mansion—who'd been invited to spend the week with Granger, actually—grinned mockingly along with Ron. They waited until Nott and Potter were smirking too until they all sent them towards the blushing Zabini.

Stuttering, Blaise only managed a huff of panicked air before someone else spoke.

"You are Xenophilius Lovegood's daughter, correct?" Roma Zabini, the matriarch of the original Zabini family, spoke and it caused a thick silence throughout the sitting room. Luna responded and the woman said, "you have his personality, but you look incredibly like your mother."

"Estella Nubis." When Domenico Zabini spoke, it was as if everyone was hearing Merlin himself speak. The guests stopped breathing and focused their hearing on him. It wasn't that the elderly man was something extraordinary, but his aura personified intimidating power. Everything about him demanded silence and respect; right down from every line on his dark facial features, his white-as-snow hair, and his black-as-night gaze. "Yes, I see Estella in her."

"Ella," breathed Bianca. "I remember her. She worked in our laboratories for years. She was seven months pregnant last time she worked for us. What a beautiful, sweet woman. We missed her terribly when she followed Xenophilius to Britain."

"She was an exceptional woman, absolutely ingenious."

"And a risk-taker," added Domenico after his wife. "We knew one day her experiments were going to be too much. What a terrible loss, carissima Luna. She was absolute talent."

Luna smiled at the elder wizard. "Grazie."

Snapping his neck back and forth between his grandparents and the Ravenclaw witch, Blaise settled on staring at his father with appalled eyes. "You knew Luna's mother worked for our family?"

"She went to school with us," replied Deon. "She was the daughter of the Head Healer in the hospital our family donates to. She was the only British girl in our boarding school, and the only one with a knack for setting things on fire—purposely, that is."

"All in the name of research she used to say," finished Jenoah.

"Is that why you offered me an internship in your hospital, Mister Zabini?" Luna's voice sounded calmly around the sitting room, asking for Jenoah's attention.

Jenoah had his teddy-bear smile on. "You were highly recommended by your Headmistress, Miss Lovegood. Of course, I won't have you experimenting with spells and chemicals, but working with plants and things of that nature."

"For the summer it seems appropriate, thank you. After, however, I have arranged to go exploring the Amazonas for rare creatures."

Blaise grinned as he put an arm around Luna's shoulder. "My girlfriend, an adventurer."

"Oh, she's your girlfriend now, is she?" asked Deon with parental mock.

"Of course she—"

"I haven't decided," interrupted the Ravenclaw before the Slytherin boy beside her could affirm his father's question. "He hasn't asked properly yet. Ginny and Hermione say that these things have to have a formality to it, so I'm still waiting."

As Blaise pulled on a horrified expression that caused many to burst out laughing at his expense, the sitting room was invaded by two women that had made a hasty departure more than thirty minutes ago. It took a few seconds for the laughter to simmer down and the two witches to be noticed.

"What is it?" Deon was the first to ask as he zeroed in on their matching somber expressions.

Allegra, ever the poised beauty, had an arm carefully around her daughter's shoulders. It was protective and supportive. The look in the woman's golden eyes was determined for everyone to see, but her husband, knowing her to the core as he did, could see a nervous anticipation in them as well. He knew something important must've been discussed and decided.

Deon expected his wife's voice to fill the room and solve the mystery that was being created, but it was Hermione's that was heard. She was nervous and concerned, that was clear by the way she swallowed and her hands shook.

"Though today is a day of celebration, I specifically wanted all of you present because you all mean something to me. You are all my family, no matter how distant, near, good, or bad. You are all people that I know I'm going to have in my life for a long time and I...I decided something yesterday night that could be an impact on you as much as it will be for me. It is my reality, one that I share with you."

"You're not moving back to the muggle world, are you?" asked Blaise. "I will never forgive you if you are, Hermione. I was planning a holiday to Isle of Hydra for us—which, none of you are invited to." He turned and eyed at his classmates.

The brunette took a deep breath. "No, Blaise, it's not. It's..."

"It's okay, tesoro," whispered Allegra to her daughter with assurance. "If you cannot, it is your choice."

But Hermione was not one to back down. When Hermione had a thought, when she had the initiative to do something, she did it. Hermione followed things right to the very end. So, with a deep breath, collecting her courage, she looked back at the people waiting for her to speak. "I've decided to remove the Glamour Charm."

Silence spread through the sitting room like fiendfyre.

Harry and Ron stared back at their best friend with confusion, hesitance, and a slight fear. They loved her as they always have, the revelation of her actually being a Zabini never changed anything because she was still who she was, who they loved, but this? Would this be different? If she lost the shell of Hermione Granger, would the inside still be that kind soul they adored?

Mister and Mrs. Granger looked saddened—especially Richard Granger. Though the muggle man had always known that Hermione was not theirs, he found great joy as he watched her grow to resemble his wife. By blood they were nothing, but by heart she was his little girl. He and his wife could never have children so they thrived on Hermione. They loved her like she was every bit theirs; and she was. Nonetheless, with all the honesty in his chest, Mister Granger forgot about her true identity when he looked into his daughter's brown eyes and saw his wife's beauty. Mrs. Granger, though she did feel slightly saddened by the decision, knew well enough that it was something important. Hermione had to deal with being Aria Zabini, but the girl must've never forgotten that every time she looked into the mirror it was a lie. She needed this.

Draco, silent and still, found Hermione's brown eyes and stared into them with great intensity. He had fallen for those eyes: the way they glittered with golden specks in the sunlight, the rich and very unique shade of brown they had, the thick lashes that rimmed them, their doe-like shape...

Blaise had waited ages for the day that Hermione finally stripped every bit of her past life to embrace her true title. It was selfish of him, but he had spent years longing the day that his sister returned fully. He knew Hermione had learned to accept her role in their family, but by holding on to the fictional appearance she would never entirely be her rightful self.

"Are you certain about this, Hermione?" The last person who was expected to ask this question asked it. Deon rose from his seat and walked to his wife and daughter. He looked at them with grave emerald eyes."You don't have to do this, you know that."

Hermione smiled dimly at the man. "I know that, Dad, but I...I want to know. And you and Allegra deserve this, too."

The man shook his head. "We have you with us now, Hermione. We don't require you to give this up. We just want you to be happy."

Hearing that perfectly well, Hermione still decided to look at her biological mother and say, "I'm ready."

Allegra pulled her arm from around her daughter's shoulders, moving a few steps to her right. She didn't miss Deon's conflicted and outraged gaze when she pulled out her wand. She knew that Deon would never do anything to compromise Hermione's happiness. They had lost her too many times for him to lose her over something like this. She knew that he didn't care about her physical appearance, what mattered was that she was finally with them. Allegra just didn't feel exactly the same...

Maybe it was selfish of her—and it most likely was—but she had dreamt of this day for eighteen years. When she had been pregnant with her daughter, she had a vision that she would get to see her child grow, that she would get to fawn over her beauty, brag about how Aria resembled the Vivaldi family, tease Deon about their daughter having his prominent features... She never got that. She wasn't looking nor wanting for Hermione to be what she had once craved, Hermione was perfection in her full glory, but Allegra did wonder.

With her tickling anticipation, the woman raised her wand and said, "Finite Incantatem."

Soon enough, Hermione was wrapped in dozens of thin, golden threads. They weaved around her as if to form a bubble, as if they were molding around her to form themselves to her every curve. The golden threads illuminated themselves, burning bright. It made it difficult to see as they swirled around her.

As soon as it had started, the counter-spell ended.

With eyes closed, Hermione Granger disappeared and in her place stood Aria Zabini. Where Hermione had been five feet four, Aria was relatively taller by four inches. Where Hermione had pale skin with a dash of freckles across her nose, Aria had inherited Allegra's golden skin. She had also gotten her mother's full, red-tint lips. When it came to noses, Hermione's was small and Aria's was of average size and well defined. Aria had something else that Hermione Granger didn't: high cheek bones and jet-black, wavy hair that she had inherited from Deon.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione opened her eyes. Long gone were those brown eyes that everyone present had memorized. Aria Zabini had inherited features of both her parents. Her eyes were wide, yet cat-shaped; she had thick, black eyelashes that made it seem like she had rimmed her eyes with eyeliner. When it came to the color, they were bright and intense like true emeralds, yet, surrounding the pupils, was a shade of gold that belonged to Allegra.

No one moved when Hermione walked over to the table where the tea was set up. They just watched her with care as she picked up the metallic tray and raised it to her face.

The new girl gasped. She was almost knocked down in surprise at how different she was. She knew exactly how a Glamour Charm, yet Hermione had believed like a child that she would still retain most of her old self. It cut her to see that Hermione Granger was gone.

"I hate it."

Hermione turned to the person who had spoken, her half-brother. "Yeah?"

Blaise nodded. "It's rubbish."

"Blaise," hissed Deon, "don't be—"

"It's true!" Blaise left Luna's side and walked over to his sister. "Don't get me wrong, Hermione, Aria's beautiful, but...It's not you. You are properly giving me the creeps."

"I thought you wanted this?" Even her voice was different. It wasn't all-knowing, bossy, and light. Aria had the voice of a confident young woman with years of experience and sass under her belt. It was so odd that she cringed when she heard herself.

Blaise thought he did. He had waited to see Aria Zabini in the flesh—but the flesh was wrong. In another life, if the story had been different, then he would've grown up having the sister that was right before him. If the story had happened like Allegra and Deon had planned, if no Dark Lord business had occurred, then he would've learned to love the girl with the green eyes. But the truth was that Aria Zabini did not exist. Not by flesh, that is. He had learned to love and care for Hermione Granger, that short, bossy, and bushy-haired brunette that was far wiser than anyone he knew and would ever know.

Clearing her throat, Allegra also walked towards her daughter. There was a knot in her throat that she was trying hard to swallow. The emotion that was consuming her was that of a heartbroken mother. The girl, Aria Zabini, was dazzling, everything she had envisioned when she was pregnant—it just wasn't right. She saw the true appearance of her daughter, but she didn't know her.

Aria Zabini was the lie. Hermione Granger was the truth.

"You can go back."

Hermione turned to the woman. "I can learn to embrace this, Mum. For you."

"Do not do it for me, tesoro," murmured Allegra, looking deep into the green eyes of Aria. She found that she was looking for the noble, brown eyes of Hermione Granger. "It had been a dream of mine to see you off the Glamour Charm, but I realize now that this is not what makes you our daughter. You might not have your father's eyes, his hair, or my complexion...But that does not matter. Your happiness is what does."

Hermione could not lie, she felt instantly relieved. She had decided to remove the charm because she thought it was time she showed everyone close to her who she really was. She thought that the Zabinis deserved to see their daughter in the flesh. She thought she might finally reveal herself and find that the appearance and the title of Aria Zabini would finally complete something. But she had already been complete.

"Thank you," Hermione said to Allegra.

"No, thank you," replied the woman sweetly.

"We love you just the way you are," added Deon. And this time, it was his wand that was pointed at their daughter. Once again, the thin, golden threads proceeded to wrap around Aria to replace her with the rightful witch that they needed.

                                                                     XXXXXXXXXX

He was gazing at the midnight-blue sky with some concentration. He noticed something different about this night to all the other ones. There was once a time, before and during the war, when the sky was nothing but a blanket of darkness that reflected his life. It was empty and void of light, of hope. Nor the moon or the stars came out often in those days. It was almost as if they were punishing the world with shallow darkness for the havoc and murder-spree that was being spread from every corner of the planet. After the war, little by little, stars starting popping out in different spots in the sky. They weren't bright, but they were there. It was as if they were slowly forgiving those that survived at their own pace. In these current days of life, the sky was filled with stars and the giant, silver light of the moon. Nothing about the night sky caused him misery. On the contrary, the night sky lit up with intensity, with beauty, that he was starting to embrace.

"Well, that was beautiful."

Stirring by his left side, Draco found that his gorgeous brunette was extending to him the book she had just completed. "How was that beautiful? It was tragic."

Hermione huffed as she rolled onto his chest. "How was that tragic? It was a wonderful love story."

"Jane Eyre is not a love story."

The brunette further frowned. "Of course you would not see it as such. You've got no experience when it comes to love and relationships. Jane Eyre, though about many more compelling themes than just romance, is ultimately about love. There was no real tragedy, was there? She ended up with Rochester."

"Yeah, but Rochester lost his eyesight and a limb. Where's the beauty in that?"

Hermione raised herself off Malfoy's chest, not without pinching it in the process. "Jane fled Thornfield manor, leaving behind Rochester, gaining a possibility of a new romance with a man that adored her from the very start, but her love for Rochester was greater than herself. She returned to him and found him in his crippled state and chose to stay anyway. You know what that says about love, Malfoy? That it overcomes everything. Love is far more powerful than anything else in this world."

Draco sat himself upright as well. "Give me an example."

"Mrs. Potter gave her—"

"About romantic love, Hermione; not Potter's stupid, overhyped story."

She reached and pinched his arm. "Harry's story is not stupid, you ferret. It is the bases of all that is good."

Draco returned the pinch. "I don't care."

Hermione glared at him. "You're unbelievable. After all that has happened, I thought you could at least put aside your dislike for my friends. I know you are no longer that prejudice boy that I pitied with all my being, but you are still a git, Malfoy. Would it kill you to just be amicable about the entire thing?"

It probably would kill him, but Draco decided not to say that. He knew from experience, the shameful experience, that if you pushed the witch too far she'd retaliate with a killer punch. "If I am so hopeless," he questioned, "then why are you here with me?"

With resolution, Hermione raised her chin high enough as if she was about to start debating on a subject she was thoroughly passionate about. "Because you are not always so hopeless," she confessed. "You irritate me beyond belief sometimes, Malfoy, but you also intrigue me more than anyone else. There is a lot about you that I still need to discover, but I'm addicted to what I have learned. Every bit of you—though, perhaps not the prat side of you—is bewitching. You're tainted by darkness, but there is so much light in you. And...You make me unbelievably happy. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Draco knew he was hearing the absolute truth from Hermione's mouth, but what made him feel and accept it as reality was the emotions reflecting off her brown eyes. There was so much hope in them, so much affection, care, sincerity, love...

He took his left hand and cupped the side of her face. His thumb traced gently over a rogue freckle on her cheek. "I learned to respect and admire you for your talents, wisdom, and nobility. There is so much about you that is incredible, and I am glad that I got a chance to truly see it. I was rotting away inside after the war. I didn't know how I was going to survive with all the guilt and misery I carried, nor how I was going to spend another year at Hogwarts without wanting to off myself...But you came along, so bright and put together, and I'd spent the summer thinking of you, thinking that if I apologized to you then maybe I'd get some clarity, some grand epiphany...

"I got my forgiveness, but I was more confused than ever. You brought things out of me that I didn't know I had. You were just my friend, then. Maybe that was it. Maybe it was your friendship that started changing everything. Because the more I was near you, the more we spoke, the more I got to know you...I realized I wasn't entirely useless. There was a part of me that longed for something amazing and pure...You were exactly that.

"I wanted no part in the feelings that were starting to grow. The last thing I needed was to fall for you, but it was pointless. I put up a fight, but it was far from a strong one. Secretly, grudgingly, I let those feelings develop. The first time I kissed you I swore the universe died and came back to life with endless possibilities for me. Of course, that lasted about a minute. I hated you right after that."

Tears had begun to glaze over Hermione's eyes. There was a knot in her throat, a flood of emotions balling together as shudders licked her skin as the chilly night air blew. She knew that was she felt for Malfoy was returned, but she had never heard so much sincerity and concrete evidence from him before. She had felt it, sensed it every time they were together, but this was by far the greatest moment among them. His voice was the sound that had become the music of her heart.

"If I had any self respect, I would've fucked off and left you alone to deal with your wedding engagement to Nott," continued the blonde, still keeping his profound eye-contact with the brunette. He was seeing the magnitude of the stars in her orbs. "I was far gone at that point. I needed you. You had crawled your way over the walls I've spent my entire life building. The more I tried to forget about you, the more I tried to go back to hating you, the more I realized that it was never going to happen. You came back to me for a while, but right before my world could reignite itself, you were taken.

"Something happened to me that time you were missing. A revelation of a grand fucking magnitude took over me when I they said you had died. I realized that you were the light...you were my life."

His soul and heart were out, being highlighted by the moonlight for Hermione to see with clear vision. Every detail about what he kept silent, every little crack and scar, was visible for her to see. He was bearing his truths out. He was taking a step forward, ready to embark on something he had never embarked on before: a good life.

He whispered, "'I have for the first time found what I can truly love—I have found you. You are my sympathy—my better self, my good angel—I am bound to you with a strong attachment'."

The tears that had collected in Hermione's eyes fell. They splashed on her cheeks, marking traces of the first time in a long time that she shed tears of complete happiness. She stared right into those metallic orbs, so hauntingly beautiful and perfect, before she too reached to touch his face.

The gap that separated the graduated Gryffindor and Slytherin was closed by both in a swift, but smooth motion. Their lips met, and alike the first time they kissed, the sky burst into fireworks. The stars sparkled with glittering lights and the moon glowed with neon colors that were shot out in streams. Their entire world, as they moved their lips together in a share of pure emotions, was a kaleidoscope.

Once there was a possibility that what they had was never going to be something for the world to see, for them to embrace fully, but now there were endless possibilities of where to go. They could be anything, do anything, and go anywhere. She was free from a marriage contract and he was free from the darkness. They found something improbable with each other; something that destiny might have not even foreseen. In one another, Draco and Hermione found what they had been looking for all their lives.

It was far-fetched for people like them, but Draco and Hermione had fallen in love despite all the odds against them.

Pulling away from his addicting kiss, Hermione rested her forehead against his. She took a moment to catch her breath, to fill her lungs with oxygen before she decided to go in once more to devour his lips. As she did, she muttered, "I love you too, Draco."

Malfoy pecked her mouth in a gentle motion for saying it. "I've got perfect eyesight and all my limbs, this is a good ending."

Rolling her eyes briefly, Hermione smirked and responded with, "I wouldn't be so sure. Blaise released the dogs."

At a distance from where their spot on the grass was in the Zabini's west-end side of the garden, Blaise glared with an offended manner. He had the leashes of his four massive dogs in hand, the dogs not included as they charged towards their target. "Quit snogging my sister and go home!"

Most stories don't have an insanely jealous and overprotective brother, but theirs did. Malfoy would give anything so that Blaise simply stopped existing, but he reckoned Hermione needed her brother. Hermione would give anything for some peace among the people in her life, but there was still a long way to go before she gave up hope on that.

This was not the ending, just the beginning of another chapter.