"You look tired, mate," Harry said.

Ron Weasley shrugged. "Mum's been a bit run down lately. More than usual. Christmas is a difficult time for her anyway, but this year was worse."

Harry nodded. They were sitting in the kitchen at Harry's house one Saturday morning shortly after the New Year. He and Ginny and James had spent Christmas day at the Burrow but Molly had been nowhere in sight. Ginny was getting worried.

"Is there anything…?"

Ron shook his head. "Nothing for it, not unless you can take us back seven years and keep my brother out of the fighting and the rest of us out of the war, her included."

"Like she wouldn't have fought," Harry said.

"I know. She finds it hard to forgive herself for what she did, yet she also would never forgive herself for not doing it." Ron was referring to the killing curse Molly had fired at Bellatrix during the battle. Hardened and tough as Molly Weasley was, and as red-blooded as she became when one of her children was threatened, taking a life always affected a person. The strain of Avada Kedavra along with losing a child and coming perilously close to losing the others was, well, more than the average witch or wizard would be able to bear.

"Ginny wants to help, Ron, but every time she tries to see her your mum shuts her out."

Ron shrugged. "I tried to keep her from finding out what you and Hermione have been doing, but she demanded to know why you left the Auror office and what you were doing instead and when she heard it was for… their children… I think she lost it a bit."

Harry looked away. To think that he had a hand in any of this…

"Don't do that, mate," Ron said firmly. "You haven't done anything wrong."

He shook his head. "Your mum is the closest thing to a mother I've ever known, Ron. Is there nothing we can do?"

Ron shook his head. "Take care of my sister, mate, that's the best thing you can do."

-------

Severus had threatened to hex her if she acknowledged his birthday in any way, but Hermione called his bluff and ventured to Flourish and Blotts. She found what she came for, purchased it, and shrunk it to fit in her pocket.

She had toyed with the idea of slipping over to Knockturn Alley to visit the girls, but the flash of a photographer's camera as she stepped out of the book shop made the decision for her. Severus had told her not to go anywhere near the graduates, and she was rudely reminded why. If she was seen at all in Knockturn Alley, particularly there, it would attract attention she did not want. Glaring at the photographer, who just grinned, winked, and Apparated away, she turned quickly and made her way to the Leaky to floo back to Grimmauld.

Hermione was halfway there when she nearly tripped over what looked like a mass of dirty rags in the street.

It was a man, Hermione could tell, and for a fleeting moment thought it might be Mundungus Fletcher, but on closer inspection it was someone taller, thinner, and much younger. The man was sitting up and spouting off swear words. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. His bleach blonde hair was longer and stringier than she had ever seen it. His face was gaunt and his eyes bloodshot. His skin was almost as grey as his irises. She gasped as she recognised the man and he, in exchange, stilled and gaped at her.

"Malfoy?" Hermione said finally.

Draco Malfoy flinched; clearly she had said the name too loudly and he did not seem to want to attract attention. Never mind that he was sleeping in one of the busiest alleys in Wizarding Britain, if not the busiest, on a Saturday morning. Perhaps he had passed out there. Given the amount of alcohol she smelled on his breath, that was not out of the realm of possibility.

The Malfoy family had fallen hard and fast after the war. Narcissa's lie to the Dark Lord at the last minute had exonerated from any wrongdoing officially, but much of the Wizarding World believed them to be guilty, something with which Hermione had once agreed. She had been tortured within an inch of her life at Malfoy Manor, and none of the Malfoys had done anything to stop it or lessen it. In fact, they seemed to wholeheartedly support it. Harry said that Draco appeared to have tried to help them by refusing to confirm that Harry was there at first, and Hermione supposed that he could have immediately named Harry, that Lucius would have called the Dark Lord then, and that would have been the end of everything—for them, for the Order, and for the Wizarding World. Malfoy's Expelliarmis bought him the Elder Wand's allegiance and eventually allowed Harry to master it at the crucial moment.

Really, she supposed, they owed Draco Malfoy more than they would ever care to admit. And here he was, on the street.

"Malfoy?" she asked again, but Draco did nothing but sneer at her. "Malfoy, what happened to you?"

Draco snorted. "What happened to me? You and your friends, Granger." Well, at least he wasn't calling her a Mudblood; that was progress. She hoped that the time for such epithets had passed in that world, though she was not naïve enough to expect long-held prejudices to disappear overnight. Probably their generation would have to pass before it would truly be gone.

"I should help you get home," Hermione said tentatively.

"You should take that bushy head and buck-toothed face of yours and go back where you came from," he spat. He struggled to his feet and began to stagger away. "Just leave me the hell alone."

Hermione wondered if he didn't have a place to go home to. She had heard that the Manor was razed by the Ministry a couple of years ago to avoid anyone constructing a shrine to either Voldemort or the Death Eaters, and the rest of their property had been confiscated to pay for war reparations. Perhaps they had nowhere else to go after that.

"Draco," Hermione called after him tentatively. He continued walking, so she sighed and followed after him. She did not know what made her do it. Years of mutual loathing should make her revel in the schadenfreude and do nothing more for him. Still, she thought about what he had done for their sakes; he might not have done many overt acts to help them, but what he had done had been enough. She thought of Severus's graduates, many of whom seemed to live the same way. She could hold onto a petty grudge, but then how would that make her any different from those who castigated the children she was now devoting her life to caring for? She couldn't just let him go.

"Draco," she said again, softly, catching up to him and taking his arm. "You need help. Let me help you. Please."

"I'm not a bloody house-elf," he spat, tearing his arm out of her grip.

Hermione sighed. Never mind that she had been part of the Golden Trio, never mind that she currently held the record for highest grade average at Hogwarts in its entire thousand year history, and never mind that she had helped bring down Voldemort more than just about anyone else, second only to Harry, Dumbledore, and Severus. When she died, her alliterative epitaph would read: Here lies Hermione, Helper of House-Elves. Oh well, there were worse things to be remembered for.

"I know that, but please, let me help you."

"I don't need your help, I don't need your time, and I don't need your fucking pity, Granger!" he nearly shouted. Draco clearly had not lost his pride, and she could see that it hurt him to be recognised by her. Clearly he had not meant to stay in Diagon Alley overnight, and he only wanted to get away.

Well, if he wasn't going to do what was best for him, she was going to make him. Grabbing his arm again, this time more tightly, she thought of the topmost step of Grimmauld Place and Disapparated with him. Severus had added her to the Fidelius charm as a secret-keeper in case of an emergency or, as he put it, "in the event of my death." She only hoped that he wouldn't be too upset. She knew that he had always had a soft spot for the boy, that his protectionism hadn't been entirely a byproduct of his work as a spy and his need to favour the children of Death Eaters. She didn't expect him to admit as much, but she suspected that he would be grateful that she had found him and sought protection for him.

"What the bloody hell have you done?" Draco hissed angrily. "Let go of me. You had no right to Apparate me anywhere!"

"Malfoy, shut up and come inside," she hissed. If he was going to be a prat to her she could be one right back.

She opened the door to find Harry sitting by the fire, writing on some parchment. Lesson plans, if she had to guess. She had bothered him until he had agreed to at least plan out the maths lessons in advance. As the person teaching basic writing skills, she had always planned things out a week or more in advance, adjusting her syllabus based on how much progress they made in a given week. She was pleased to see that he had taken her advice. He looked up at her, smiled in acknowledgement, and returned to his parchment. A second later, he did a double-take and looked up at the man she had gripped in her arms. His face registered shock as he stood up, the parchment falling to the floor.

"Hermione, what's going on?" he asked, his voice filled with concern and his face screwed into a look of concern. He must have thought that Draco had somehow captured her or done something to her. He stepped forward quickly.

"Where's Severus?" she asked, trying to convey with her tone and body language that this had been her idea. But, as Severus had lamented many times, subtlety was not exactly Harry's speciality.

"Upstairs," Harry replied, neither making a move to get him or taking his eyes off Draco.

"Be a dear and fetch him?" she asked too sweetly. His eyes narrowed. "Please?"

Harry eyed her warily and she gave a nod to try to reassure him that she really was all right. Really, Harry should know that Severus's Fidelius Charm would have expelled Draco halfway across London unless he came with Hermione's express permission. She sighed.

Harry tried to exude coolness but his rapid (and noisy) ascent to the attic betrayed that. Not more than thirty seconds later he was running downstairs, Severus on his heels, wands drawn.

"What's wrong?" Severus asked, eyes like steel. "What's the emergency?"

Hermione rolled her eyes while Harry gestured at Draco. "Him."

"And?" Severus asked impatiently.

Harry gestured at Draco again, this time more emphatically. Severus lowered his wand.

"Potter," he said irritably, "You bring me down here and the 'emergency' is the presence of Draco Malfoy?"

Harry nodded, thinking that it was perfectly obvious.

"Upstairs, Potter," Severus said in his most dangerous Professor Snape voice.

"Why are you calling me Pot—"

"Upstairs!" Severus snapped, his tone of voice so commanding that it made Harry forget that he was still the owner of Number Twelve. Harry complied, casting one last glance at the three remaining people downstairs before disappearing. He stopped on the first floor landing and peered over the edge, monitoring everything below him.

Severus said nothing as he sized up Draco Malfoy. He could not say he was surprised to see him in this state, but he would be lying if he said he was not shocked to see him standing in Grimmauld Place. Then again, with Hermione's hand grasped around Draco's arm and a pleading look on her face, perhaps it was not so surprising. Perhaps it had only been a matter of time before she would want to rescue him too.

What could he say to the boy? There was nothing to say. Draco refused to meet his former Head of House's eye, focusing firmly on the floor. He was destitute and probably on the streets. If what Severus had heard was accurate, Lucius drank himself to death a few years ago and Narcissa had taken her own life shortly thereafter. The fall of the Malfoys was due in no small part to Severus and Hermione. What does one say in such a situation?

Hermione, per usual, found words when no one else would or could.

"We can help you," she offered.

Pale grey eyes met warm brown ones as he sneered at her, "Granger, I do not want your help. Now get your filthy Gryffindor hands off of me, I am leaving." He spared Severus not one look as he wrenched his arm out of Hermione's grip, stormed out the door, and Disapparated.

Not two seconds later Severus's face was inches from Hermione's and he had her shoulders tightly gripped in his hands. "What the hell do you think you were doing?"

"I—"

"You brought another person into this house, into the Fidelius Charm's protection, without warning me or asking me or telling anyone of what you were doing. Have you lost your fucking mind?"

Harry, watching from above, couldn't say he approved of Severus's language or methods, but did agree with the sentiment. Even though he knew Draco was but a shade of his former self, it was still Malfoy, and he didn't trust him.

"Don't talk to me like that," Hermione said warningly. "I was not reckless about this. He posed no harm to me or anyone—"

"You don't know that for certain!" Snape seethed.

"You think I cannot judge a person's character or danger? I lived through that war too, Severus."

"He may not have posed a risk to you, but do you have any idea what his sudden appearance would have done to them?"

"He's a war orphan, like Harry, like me, like them, and like you." She emphasised the last word on purpose.

He faltered for a moment and stepped backward, hands still gripping Hermione's shoulders. "What did you say?"

"Draco Malfoy lost his parents due to the war, same as everyone else in this house did."

"You know damn well what I meant."

Harry debated going downstairs but decided against it.

Severus let go of her and separated himself further from her. "You speak of what you do not understand," he said in a very controlled voice. It was obvious that it was taking every ounce of his self-control to refrain from shouting at her. Severus Snape did not shout, not if he could help it. Dangerous things happened when he shouted. He could not let himself do that in front of Hermione. Rather than tempt fate, he simply turned on his heel and trudged down to the cellar below, slamming the door behind him.

The cellar had, in another lifetime, held rows upon rows of elf-made wine, oak-matured mead, firewhisky, and other Wizarding libations. Sirius Black's months of house arrest had reduced the stock considerably, particularly when Remus Lupin had joined him here for several months. In its place, the cellar was magically enlarged to hold rows upon rows of brewing tables, holding cauldrons and potions stores and all manner of brewing equipment. The effect was quite like his old potions classroom back in the dungeons at Hogwarts—torches on the walls, cold stone walls, a controlled temperature. It felt like home in a strange way to him.

It was a necessity in this house—not only did the children require a lot of medicinal potions, potion-making kept Severus sane during his most stressful times. He had been infamous at Hogwarts for applying for the DADA post every year, but few knew that potions were his rock. He associated the art with the most treasured people in his life: his mother had been gifted in the subject, it was the subject he and Lily had been most gifted in, and it was where he had met Hermione, albeit when she was a child and he her professor. Potions required concentration, a cool head, and above all else, precision. Severus found peace in precision, always had. With potions, he could go on auto-pilot and clear his head of everything but chopping, stirring, and grinding. The potions cellar kept him calm and the children stocked in their potions, although Severus often wondered how much longer his stamina would last to brew them. He could ask Hermione to help, he supposed, but he had already handed off so much of his responsibility to her and her friends that he wanted to keep this part to himself. He saw help as a sign of weakness, and he did not like to feel weak. Particularly not about potions.

He did not ward the door shut; he needed to be able to leave in a flash if there was some sort of emergency with one of the children, and he trusted Hermione knew him well enough to know that he wanted to be left alone. He knew she likely knew this. Unfortunately for him, she didn't seem to care, and he heard her stomp down the stairway after him.

He did not turn around when he heard her enter. He waited for her to say something, do something, preferably to leave. Severus was very good at waiting for things, even the impossible.

"It was wrong of me to bring up your parents," she said softly from behind him. From the volume of her voice he could tell that she had gone no further than the doorway. Taking his silence as encouragement, she continued. "Andromeda told me. I'm so sorry, I know you would have told me had you wanted me to know, but now I do and I just… I'm so sorry."

He couldn't tell if she was apologising for knowing it or for saying it or for the fact that it happened at all. Knowing her, it was probably all three.

"You're right, it was reckless of me to bring Malfoy here," she continued. "I didn't think that he would be a threat, he's so broken, and so alone, and he reminded me of your graduates that I wanted to save him too." She risked a step closer to him. If he was going to hex her he would have done so by now, and even then, she knew that he wouldn't hex someone he loved. "I guess you're right—I'm addicted to saving wretched things."

He had said that to her once, months earlier, in a joking manner whilst lying tangled in sheets in the early hours of the morning. He had said it in reference to himself. For she had saved him, almost as much as the children had saved him.

In caring for them he cared for himself. In helping him care for them, she cared for him.

"I guess I was a bit taken aback," she said. "I mean, you didn't seem that worried once you saw him. You sent Harry away and lowered your wand. I thought you of all people would understand that he isn't his father, and that like these children he too needs to be looked after."

He heard her take another step closer. Much as he would like to ignore her, to leave, to pretend this never happened, he knew that she would not rest until they had discussed it to death. Moreover, he owed her an explanation. He had acted calm, cool, and collected when he first saw Draco, only to explode the moment he left. Much as he thought her behaviour reckless and potentially dangerous, he understood that she did have the best intentions at heart. And he knew better than anyone what paved the road to hell.

With a sigh he turned around and met her eye. He willed himself to keep his voice even and controlled as he spoke.

"How much contact have you and Malfoy had since the war?"

She looked confused by his question.

"How many times have you seen Malfoy since the war ended?"

"I… I haven't."

He nodded; he'd expected that answer. "How much do you know about Malfoy's life before and during the war? Who were his friends? What was his life like? What was his relationship like with his parents? With his parents' friends?"

"I—"

"And before you answer that," he continued, "I mean what do you know for certain, not what you have extrapolated based on how you perceived him during your teenage years as students in rival Houses from different backgrounds at Hogwarts?"

"I—"

"What do you know of the Malfoy family," he pressed, "other than what you read in the Prophet or heard from people who had every incentive to disparage the family?"

"I—"

"And finally," Severus pushed, "What do you know about the true motivations of anyone in the war? Their prejudices? Their agendas? You know your friends, but what of everyone else? What would Minerva McGonagall think of your little project here? Molly Weasley? Do you know what, if any, prejudices they hold in their hearts towards the children of Death Eaters? Would Molly Weasley be as warm and open to you desperately trying to get Valentina Rookwood out of that brothel, knowing that her son died by her father's hand? Would she understand you caring for Sergei Dolohov, knowing that her brothers were killed by his father? You know that she can kill; she was the one who killed Bellatrix Lestrange to protect Ginevra. Can you say for certain that she would not try to harm any of them?"

"Molly Weasley would never—"

"You're far too trusting!" Severus spat. "You approach this too much as a Gryffindor."

Hermione sighed. "Must you bring House politics into absolutely everything? We're not at school anymore. I fail to see how any of it is relevant anymore."

"Yes! It is a handy way of classifying the true nature of people and is a system with which both you and I are very familiar. And after nearly two decades as a Head of House I cannot help but view the entire Wizarding world through that prism. It served me very well as both a teacher and a spy and I have no intention of stopping.

"But getting back to the matter at hand, I bring up your Gryffindor tendencies for a reason. Gryffindors must, absolutely must, see the best in everybody. They are unflinchingly noble and have almost a compulsive need to try to rescue others they perceive to be in peril. They assume that anyone who seems halfway normal or who could, at a glance, appear to be from similar circumstances will of course share their views on just about anything in this world and act accordingly, betraying vital information.

"Slytherins, on the other hand, hold back. They examine the situation from all angles. They consider the motivations and proclivities of all those they interact with, including those closest to them. To do anything less is to expose oneself to the whims of another, and a Slytherin would make damn sure that there was little to no risk involved before making a move.

"I screened each and every one of you before allowing you anywhere near these children, Hermione. I know I told you that I would not enter your mind without your permission, and to that I hold moving forward. However, I used Legilimency on you and on Harry and on Luna and on Longbottom. Each and every one of you. I apologise for nothing and I would do it again in an instant. The risk is far too great to do anything less.

"You assumed that Malfoy would be on 'our side' because of his and his parents' actions during the war. You assumed so because he is destitute and orphaned and on the street. Therefore, he must both want your help and share your point of view with regard to these children.

"Did it occur to you that they, " he gestured overhead, "might not take kindly to seeing him? Remember that his parents kept their liberty, despite having more blood on their hands and being higher up in the Dark Lord's ranks than any of their parents. Do not forget that most of them know that their parents died or were killed or were Kissed while his parents walked free. Remember that many of them are just as outraged by it as the general Wizarding public was.

"Do not forget that there is much about him that you do not know, Hermione," he said in a dangerous voice. "There is much that I do not know about him. He would not meet my eye so I could not perform Legilimency. If he had not left of his own volition, I would have thrown him out and Obliviated him myself. It is simply too risky to let those we cannot trust in here. And we will use my standard of who is and who is not trustworthy before allowing any person to set foot inside of this house."

Severus's head and heart were heavy. "Hermione, I made you a fellow Secret Keeper for this house for two reasons: it was prudent to have a second Secret Keeper should something happen to me, and because I trusted your judgment. After this… I do not know whether or not I should. I want to, and I know your intentions were good, so I will not change that. I will continue to trust you. But I need you to understand… this cannot happen again."

Hermione felt wobbly and leaned against the cold stone wall for support. She could handle anger from him, she could take his insults and comments and sneers. But this was disappointment, and disappointment from Severus was, she discovered, something that was very difficult to stomach.

"Hermione, you know that I… what I feel for you. It is real and it will never waver. But I have to put them," he gestured over his head again, "first and foremost. I committed to them first. I have to put their safety and security first. If ever this relationship becomes incompatible with that, I will have to choose, and I will have to choose them."

He stepped toward her and pulled her shaking body into his arms. "Please, please, do not ever make me make that choice." He tightened his hold around her and kissed the top of her head. "Promise me you'll never make me make that choice," he whispered in a strangled voice.

She nodded against his chest and was rewarded with another kiss to the top of the head.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I was only trying to help."

"I know."

"And… what I said about your parents…"

He let out a long exhale. This was a part of his life that was both literally and figuratively buried and had been for a long time. He had had his annual day of mourning at Christmas and had neatly placed it all back in its place in the recesses of his mind. Occlumency was a way of life for Severus; he knew no other way to relate to the world. He couldn't unpack it all right now, and he did not want to.

"There is no need to apologise," he whispered to her. "But please do not speak of it. Not now."

She knew what he was really saying, and simply nodded.

For a very long time they merely stood there, holding each other, neither one saying anything to the other. Finally, Severus broke the embrace. He needed to brew, and she needed to teach.

He gave her a parting kiss good-bye and assured her that they would spend time together later that evening, after she read to the children; they still preferred her to read to them above all others.

"I love you," she whispered, cupping his face in her hands and staring him in the eye to underscore her sincerity. As if he had any doubt.

"You too," he said. It was still a little hard to say the words out loud. He couldn't say why. She said it daily and he loved hearing it—so much so that he had asked her specifically to say it each day. But for him to express it any more often than was absolutely necessary… that was asking a bit much. He had told her once. If anything changed, he would let her know.

As she made her way from the cellar to the attic Hermione considered her conversation and Severus's warning. It wasn't an ultimatum he had given her, not quite. She knew from the moment they came back into each other's lives that they were his priority and had to come first, no matter what, and that she had only been allowed in because she had shown a similar commitment to them and their safety and their wellbeing.

It occurred to Hermione that Severus's priorities were quite like that of a single father. No matter how taken he might be by a woman, if she wasn't any good for his children, she had to go. To think that Severus Snape of all people would have such priorities was a little strange, but warmed her heart all the same. What a complex man indeed.

------

As she reached the second floor she met Harry, who was walking down. After Draco left, he had gone back up to the attic, but when Hermione didn't reappear for a while, he felt the need to investigate. Some Auror training never went away.

"How is he?" Harry asked without preamble.

"Fine," Hermione said with a weak smile. She had a feeling her second lecture of the day was coming. "He said it was a risk to bring Malfoy here, and gave me some things to think about that I hadn't considered. I feel a bit foolish now doing it."

"I can't believe you brought him here," Harry said.

"I know, it was stupid, I understand."

"Why?" He looked at her searchingly. Harry may have been a font of forgiveness following the war, but something about Draco Malfoy set his teeth on edge still. Even broken down and left behind by the world, he still felt Malfoy was up to no good. It was not unlike Severus's relationship with Neville—no matter how much time passed, no matter how much Neville proved himself, Severus would always treat him the way he had since first year potions.

War may change everything, and yet some things never changed.

"I… because of our motto, Harry. What do we always say?"

"Without regard for the sins of the father."

"Exactly. I saw him, Harry, so broken and disheveled and I thought… well, the impulse hit me. I realise now that it shouldn't, and that I'll have to temper it in the future, and that I honestly couldn't predict what he might have done had he known about or seen any of the children here, or what their reaction might have been to him."

It genuinely hadn't occurred to her that Malfoy and the children here might have some history, or that any history might be anything but positive. Just like Severus to make her understand how much she didn't know.

"But it's not all his father," Harry pointed out. "Lucius Malfoy of course was a despicable human being who died a broken man, but Draco Malfoy was not exactly a saint, Hermione. He is not like them," he jerked his head toward the staircase to indicate the children.

"But the result is the same."

"He deserves it!" Harry exclaimed. "You're losing sight here. Draco Malfoy chose to become a Death Eater. Yes, he was pushed to do it by his father, but he could have refused. Sirius did at his age, chose to leave home rather than pledge loyalty to Voldemort, and Malfoy could have done, too. They," he waved his hand overhead, "were in no such position. They were children, small children, babies, who had nothing to do with their parents' decisions. None of them took the Dark Mark. None of them agreed to commit murder. None of them tortured another human being. Not everyone who landed on the streets after the war was a victim, Hermione. Some of them, like Draco Malfoy, deserve it."

She sighed. "Isn't that the kind of thinking that led us to war in the first place—that some people deserve to live lesser lives than others in this world?"

"The two are not the same and you know it."

"I just…" she sighed again, "I just can't help but feel sometimes like we keep fighting the same old battles over and over. What has changed about the world since the war, other than the fall of the Dark Lord? Slytherin and Gryffindor are still bitter enemies. Pro-pureblood laws still are on the books. Social services are as scant as they ever were. Even my house-elf legislation only nominally changed things, even I have to admit that.

"I just… I guess that when I saw Malfoy I also saw a chance to change something. That the Princess of Gryffindor and the Prince of Slytherin could reconcile, and if they could do that, all other things would be possible."

"Always the optimist."

"Of course. To be anything else in this world, after everything we've seen, would be too soul-crushing, would it not?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't share your idealism for a lot of things, I never did, but I can understand the appeal."

"The saviour of the Wizarding World isn't idealistic?" she asked sarcastically. She snorted.

"Not about all the things you are," he said, nudging her with his arm.

With a sigh she led them up the stairs toward the attic.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think it'll ever get easier?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Does it feel worth it, any of it? Look at everything we've seen and experienced since the war, and in the last nine months alone. Hell, we're the Golden Trio but it's been split ever since. Had you known what the world would become, that the problems and the prejudice you fought to eradicate would still be there, would you have done it?"

"In a heartbeat," he said unflinchingly.

"How can you say that?"

"How can you ask it?" He stopped and grabbed her arm to make her stop and look at him. "Hermione, the world may not be perfect, but we at least have a shot at getting it right this time. Had you and I and Ron and Severus and Dumbledore and Neville and everyone else not done what we did, we would not have a chance. And a world in which we did not do what we had to do is not one I care to think about. I won't defend everything that the Ministry or Hogwarts or the Wizarding World has done in the years since, but if I did know, yes, I would do it again."

"You're right, I'm being stupid."

"Yes you are," Harry said, "Which is so strange because that's the last word I would ever associate with you. What's got into you?"

"Nothing," she said. "Nothing."

He quirked an eyebrow at her in disbelief. It was so reminiscent of Severus that she almost laughed.

"Just… some days the cost of the war slaps me in the face and I turn philosophical. I suppose it was naïve to believe that we'd live a utopian existence in the end."

"It's not the end yet," Harry said, playing the optimist this time. "It's only the beginning. We have lots of time to get it right. We just have to take it one step at a time. And I think for today, our powers are best served teaching some eager students their alphabet and their maths." He smiled at her and took her hand. "Agreed?"

She smiled and nodded at her best friend. "Agreed."

-----

Title is taken from a song in "Aladdin."

Coming up: We dip our toes into AU territory.