And with this evening's chapter, we are at an end. Please read the author notes at the end, which explain the prompts we had to work with, as well as how the idea for this story began. Thank you all for reading, and for your great comments.


Lucius looked up from the paperwork on his desk as his secretary escorted Auror Philip Jupiter into his office. The older man greeted Lucius with a perfunctory bow. "Excellency."

"Good morning, Auror Jupiter. Your office said you wanted an appointment at the earliest. I gather this is a matter of extreme urgency. Do sit down." He waved at one of the less comfortable guest chairs.

The older man sat down rather stiffly, glancing around the palatial suite as if he'd rather be anywhere else. He spoke without preamble. "I'm afraid we have bad news concerning Rodolphus and Rastaban Lestrange."

"Oh?" Lucius sighed. "I suppose my newly-sworn Probation Officers have been a bit heavy-handed with their charge, eh?"

"I wouldn't know about that, sir. I'm here to inform you the Lestranges are dead."

"What?" Lucius stood abruptly, knocking over a teacup. "When did this happen?"

"Some time yesterday, sir." The Auror settled back in his seat and drew a parchment from his robes. "We received a report at 4:00 p.m. yesterday that Parolee Hermione Granger had not shown up to work and was presumed missing. Her former Parole Officer stated she had not seen the parolee all day, and the current Parole Officers could not be reached. At 6:00 p.m. we visited her flat at 11B Mormont Mews and found signs of forced entry. We immediately noticed the premises were not secured, and Homenum Revelio revealed no living persons in the residence."

Lucius made an impatient gesture, but the Auror simply trained a jaded eye on the Minister. Lucius sat back down and controlled his temper with an effort. There would be no hastening Jupiter in the recitation of his report.

"We entered the premises and noticed evidence of physical disturbance. The entire premises had been ransacked. Back-up teams began a sweep of the building. When we reached the cellar, we found two bodies on the floor, dead. They were subsequently identified as Rabastan Lestrange and Rodolphus Lestrange."

Lucius sat back and shook his head incredulously. "How in Merlin's name did they die?" He knew the Lestranges to be the toughest and most ruthless of wizards. That they could both be dead...

Jupiter consulted his notes. "It appears that they murdered one another by casting simultaneous Killing Curses. Priori Incantatum shows the last spell cast by both victims' wands was Avada." He folded his notes and returned them to his pocket. "As of this morning, there has been no sign of the parolee. Her Trace is missing, suggesting she may be a fugitive. As you know, the Trace would have stayed in effect even if she were dead. No arrests have been made. We will continue to investigate and search for the missing parolee."

Lucius frowned. "Thank you, Auror Jupiter. Please keep this office apprised."

Soon after the Auror took his leave, Lucius stood, crossed to his liquor cabinet and poured himself a large whisky, downing it quickly before pouring another. He sat down at his desk, and tried to get his head around the morning's revelations.

He did not, could not believe the two Lestrange brothers had killed each other, even out of some perverse need to duel over the witch. Rabastan and Rodolphus were Death Eaters and hard men, but they were from a venerable family line. A tradition of preservation had always been drilled into the Lestrange children from birth: one never spilled family blood—only other's.

And on top of it all, there was Granger, gone missing. Did she manage to murder her Parole Officers and escape on her own? Highly doubtful. For one thing, it was impossible for her to have removed the Trace herself. And it was inconceivable she could have overwhelmed and killed two such dangerous wizards. No, she couldn't have done it—or at least, not alone. Someone had to have helped her. Only a very clever and formidable wizard could have gotten the drop on Rab and Dolph Lestrange—and there was only one wizard close enough to Granger who would bother to. Severus.

He stopped and idly picked up the letter he'd found on the floor of his office first thing that morning in front of the Floo.

Dear Lucius:
I quit.
Good luck with the Ukraine.
S.S.

Lucius closed his eyes. "Godsdammit," he swore softly, under his breath. "This is jolly inconvenient."

He looked down at his left arm and considered his Dark Mark. It had not been activated in over a year; the Dark Lord preferred other methods of communication now. He could have Severus' head on a platter in a matter of hours; all that was needed were a few whispered words and his wand stroking the Mark.

Lucius pondered the repercussions of that. If he informed the Dark Lord of Severus' defection with Granger—for he was now certain that was exactly what had happened—how much of the blame for the debacle would be visited on his own head?

He thought about Granger. Too clever for her own good, she was. Cunning, secretive, willing to fight dirty... He snorted. Merlin, he might as well be describing Severus. Perhaps the two deserved one another.

Lucius had always been rather fond of Severus, though fuck knew why; the man had always been more trouble than he was worth. But he had saved Draco's life during those dark moments in the days before their final victory. He owed Severus, but being the consummate Slytherin, Severus had never called in his debt. Unless, of course, he was tacitly calling it in now.

Lucius' mouth twisted into an ironic smirk. Even though he saw Severus every day, in his mind, he was still the same, skinny little black-eyed oik skulking around the Slytherin Common Room. Well, somehow, that skinny little black-eyed oik had got the drop on both Lestranges - a feat not to be taken lightly. It spoke of someone who felt he had little to lose. That kind of wizard could be dangerous if cornered.

But then, so can I, he thought.

Making his decision, Lucius strode to the Floo to summon press secretaries and assistants. There were official reports to alter, press releases to write and state funeral services to arrange.

For this crime, Severus Snape was as good as dead; so was Granger. The Ministry would merely report their obituaries a little prematurely.


November 20, 2000

From the Office of the Minister for Magic, The Honourable Gentleman Lucius Malfoy, Order of Voldemort, First Class:

Ministry Officials Involved in Fatal Accident

The Ministry of Magic is sad to report that, during an important meeting regarding the upcoming foreign summit of the European Magical Community, Foreign Minister Severus Tobias Snape (OoV, 2nd Cl) and Muggleborn Liaison Ambassador Hermione Jean Granger were involved in a fatal Splinching during a multi-Apparation accident. Mr. Snape was 40; Miss Granger was 21.

"I am simply devastated not only to have lost one of my oldest and dearest friends, but also a young witch cut down in the very bloom of youth," said Lucius Malfoy, Minister for Magic. "Apparition is very exact magic, and should not be attempted by more than three people at a time. Let this be a lesson to us all."

The foreign minister, formerly Headmaster at the former Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was instrumental in the defeat of The-Boy-Who-Didn't-Live. Miss Granger, a former leader of the failed rebellion, had performed two years of community service before joining the Ministry as the Public Relations Liaison Ambassador. Mr. Snape and Miss Granger left no surviving relatives.

A memorial fund in their names has been established, and all donations should be made via Gringotts account to the Pureblood Orphans of the Rebellion Education Legacy, and sent to the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Ministry of Magic, London.


November 20, 2000

The Daily Prophet, Page 10, Column 4:

Ministry Officials Involved in Fatal Hunting Accident

The Azkaban Office of the Warden reported today that two Azkaban Detention Officers died while on holiday. Rabastan Lestrange and Rodolphus Lestrange were killed in what Aurors have determined was a "tragic accident" during a hunting trip in Luxembourg. Rodolphus Lestrange is survived by his former wife, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, sister in-law of Minister for Magic Lucius Malfoy. The family was not available for comment.


Draco used his wand to slice through the tape that crisscrossed the door to Hermione's flat. The door opened, but neither he nor Pansy moved to enter the flat. After several seconds, Draco risked a glance at his former fiancée. She looked quickly away, unable to meet his eyes.

"Truth to tell, Pans, I can't bear the thought of doing this," Draco said quietly, and waited for her derisory laughter.

To his surprise, a warm hand landed gently on his shoulder. "I'm not thrilled about it, either, but such a thing ought to be done by ... people close to her." She tried a smile, but it didn't quite seem to make the cut. "Come on. The sooner we start, the sooner it's done."

He nodded, and together they entered Hermione's flat. Draco grimaced. "Merlin, you'd think they would have tidied the place up! It's not right the way they've left it."

Pansy looked around dispassionately. "Yeah, well, the Aurors aren't exactly known for their housekeeping skills, are they?" She headed for the bedroom. "I'm going to start in here. I'll help you with the bigger stuff."

For several moments, they set to their task, enlarging boxes, packing up the many items Hermione had managed to amass during her short time in the flat. Pansy came out of the bedroom with four shrunken boxes.

"I guess we can send these to charity."

"What is it?"

"Clothes, shoes, knickers. Personal effects. Nothing special." She snorted. "Granger wasn't exactly the last word in fashion. I hate to inflict them on the poor, but it seems a shame to put them to waste."

Draco nodded. "I've finished in the kitchen, so all that's left is the front room."

They worked in companionable silence for several minutes. Pansy hefted a bust of Nimue. "Merlin, what on earth possessed her to buy this piece of tat? She might have been the so-called smartest witch of her age, but her taste in decor was shite."

"Funny, that's just what I told her." He remembered the day at the auction when she entreated him to buy the bust, and for a moment he thought he might cry. Knowing that showing any sort of emotion around Pansy would be fatal, he cleared his throat. "She loved her bric-a-brac, didn't she? She told me it was because she'd lost everything right before the war. She said she just wanted to feel like a normal witch again, surrounded by the things she loved." Draco's voice did break then, and he looked away. "She was alright for a Mudb—" He stopped, and looked down at the bust of Nimue. "For a Muggleborn."

Pansy nodded. "Yeah, she was." She picked up a stack of books. "Come on, Draco, let's finish up. This place is giving me the heebie jeebies."

'Yeah, sure," he said, unsmiling, and bent to his task once more.

Several moments passed. "Huh. That's odd," Pansy said.

"What is?" Draco asked. He looked up to see Pansy looking around the flat with a distracted frown.

"Well, call me mad, but I'm sure some stuff is missing." Pansy pointed to a stack of books on a shelf. "I'm positive she had these between these two heavy metal bookends." She held her hands out to describe them. "They were these huge ugly brass things." She looked around thoughtfully. "And I'm sure she had a painting here as well." She pointed to a spot on the floor. Frowning, she looked around. "You know, I'm positive some of her stuff has been taken."

Draco shrugged; he had no idea whether anything was missing, nor did he care. "Maybe someone broke in," he suggested dubiously. Neither of them cared to pursue that line of thought. The Aurory tape had been in place when they arrived. Accusing Aurors of theft would be akin to accusing the Dark Lord of flipping Pygmy Puffs over a rainbow, and would probably result in very similar injuries.

They quickly finished their unhappy task, and when they were done they shrank down the boxes for transport. Taking one last look around the empty flat, Draco ushered Pansy out and closed the door behind them with a sigh.


Severus and Hermione stood together on a hillside overlooking Muggle Brighton, breathing in the cold evening air. Behind them stood the tangled, wooded area that bordered the back end of the old Droxell estate. Just in front of that stand of trees—according to Hermione—was the place they sought, a place Severus had only ever touched the edges of with his Wizarding senses but had never laid eyes on.

Only one thing remained to be done. Hermione turned away from the view. "Are you ready to see it at last?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm ready," Severus replied. He reached in his sleeve and took out his own wand and handed it to her. "I imagine you'll be needing a proper wand for this."

She smiled at him tenderly. "You're right." Turning toward the trees, she drew in a deep breath and looked ahead, holding Severus' wand aloft. He stared ahead, too, not wanting to miss a thing.

At the whispered incantation, he felt a rush of whispery noise and a pressure on his eardrums, and the first of the wards fell away. Then the rest seemed to tumble down and the structure was revealed to his eyes at last.

It was a storybook castle—or rather, a model of one.

The folly was a square structure of granite blocks, approximately twenty-five feet on each side, and stood perhaps three stories tall. Miniature towers flanked all four corners, dotted with thin, arrow-slit windows and topped with intricate stone crenellations.

Weeds and saplings had grown around the castle in the two years since Hermione had cast her repellent spells here, but Severus thought he could see a shallow ditch that ran in a circle about the folly—an overgrown moat—with a small foot bridge before the wooden front door.

Still holding Hermione's hand, Severus levitated the trunk they had brought with them, and picked his way over the bridge rather than wade through the weeds on either side. The closed door was dark, weathered wood ostentatiously decorated with metal studs in the shape of a D. Above the door was a coat of arms done in the same grey stone.

"It's ... it's ghastly," murmured Severus.

"Oh, how unfair," Hermione giggled. "I camped here for a few nights and the place really grew on me."

He smirked. "It has a very sad story, you know."

"I know. I heard about it in this little tea room at the foot of the hill."

"Ah, yes, the tea room. I see I wasn't the only one fall under the spell of Mrs. Hope's charms, then."

Hermione's tone was wistful. "It was her scones I fell for. She gave me her leftovers at night. I think I might have starved if she hadn't helped me out."

Severus coaxed the rusty hinges to move creakily with a whispered charm. Inside, he found a plain stone floor and unfinished, bare walls. There was no ceiling above; the structure was hollow. The moonlight peeking in the tiny upper windows gave them just enough light to see by. Muttering a quick Lumos, Hermione led him to a shadowy corner, and uncovered a small rucksack hidden beneath bracken. She picked it up by the strap, shook some leaves off, then reached in and removed what looked like the largest and heaviest of the pieces. It was round and open at one end, like a wide-mouth vase. Thick, enameled black vines twisted across its face.

"I was shocked to find this in my pack the day I fled Hogwarts," she told him. "I had no idea what to make of it at first. Then tucked inside, I found a note explaining it was a piece of a larger invention, a weapon Professor Dumbledore had created when he was young. A weapon that could bring down Lord Voldemort himself."

Hermione frowned. "The note asked me to search out the other pieces from the most venerable of witnesses. That was all it said—'the most venerable of witnesses.' I had no idea what it meant. Only after I landed in prison did I have time to really think about it, and I realised—the venerable witnesses were the portraits of headmasters that lined Dumbledore's office. They had borne witness to everything he did.

"By then I'd met a thief in prison who had found and pawned some of my old possessions. He gave me a lead on the whereabouts of one of the headmaster portraits—Phineas Nigellus Black."

Hermione told Severus about her previous association with the curmudgeonly portrait, and how, after they were reunited, they put aside their differences to find the remaining dual portraits, as well as the pieces they guarded. "There have been days when Dumbledore's mission was the only thing that kept me going," she whispered. "Spokeswitch for the Ministry ... " she hitched a breath. "Oh, Severus, I sold out Muggleborns and half-bloods, all to buy me time to search. I pray that someday it will all be worth it."

"It will," he stated emphatically, his voice strong with conviction. "We'll make it so." Her smile of love and trust was her answer.

Soberly, Severus and Hermione contemplated the piece's exotic beauty, and the high price that had been paid in a quest to bring its fellow pieces back together again.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Hermione," he told her soberly, "We have to leave England now, as soon as we finish here. I'm afraid there's no time to search out this fifth piece."

She nodded wearily. "Yes, I know. But I will come back—" she amended herself when she caught the look in his eye. She took his hand. "We will come back, and finish what we started, and we'll find the fifth piece someday."

"Together," he finished.

She smiled. "Yes."

As Hermione opened the trunk to place the large piece with its companions, Severus felt a sudden, inexplicable warmth, like a small sun hovering near him. He glanced around. "Have you taken all your wards down?" he asked.

Hermione nodded. "I dropped them all before the folly appeared. Why?"

He looked around uneasily. "I'm not sure." He held himself still, trying to pinpoint the sudden change, but could sense nothing untoward. Hermione certainly seemed oblivious as she contemplated the piece that had started her on her journey.

"Headmaster Everard told me something important when we met. See, each piece is inlaid with black enamel on brass." She softly trailed a finger along the beautiful twisting vines, then reached inside the trunk and brought out a smaller piece. "But whenever two of them come within a few inches of each other..."

She demonstrated, and Severus watched in amazement as the vines on the face of each piece began to writhe and turn about themselves, finally resolving into what looked like script. He rubbed at his chest absently, trying to stifle the growing sensation of intense heat.

To distract himself, he ran a finger along the vines. "I don't recognize the language," he said finally, barely able to keep the strain from his voice. He was having difficulty breathing, as if he'd been exerting himself.

"It's a cuneiform variation, very similar to the runes we learned in school, but the vines connect the letters like cursive," she replied, watching the forms shift and writhe on the metal cylinders. "Every time a new piece came in contact, the letters resolved a little further. It will probably take all five pieces in order to finally read the whole thing." She sighed in frustration. "I've been studying it at home, and I think the words are instructions for putting together the device and using it. But I have no hope of reading the instructions—of finishing Dumbledore's mission for me—without that fifth piece—Severus, what in Merlin's name is wrong?"

Severus was gasping now and clutching his chest. His skin felt as if it was on fire, and he was sweating. The small sun had now turned into a blazing inferno pressing against his body. "Heat..." he gasped, struggling to breathe against the stupendous heat that was roasting him alive. "Burns... Something's wrong..."

His knees buckled, his body contorting with the burning pain. Hermione supported him as he collapsed; her voice shook. "Is it—is it your Dark Mark?" she asked frantically. She looked around. "Shall I try to Apparate us—"

"No!" He tore at his coat front, seeking the source of the branding heat, and pulled his hand away with a curse. "It's my pin!" he hissed.

Hermione stared at him, confusion and fear warring in her expression. "Pin? Severus, what are you—" She jumped as he clutched his chest, then yanked his hand away with a cry. "Severus, talk to me—you're frightening me!"

"Bloody hell!" Severus flung his cloak from his shoulders. With a terse bark of pain, he plucked the ornate silver pin from his chest. "Fucking thing!" he spat, and flung the pin away; it felt as if it had been superheated. Immediately, the pain abated, and he took a deep breath.

To their amazement, instead of falling onto the ground, the pin flew through the air and stuck solidly to the smaller brass piece as though magnetized.

Stunned, he and Hermione watched, rapt, as the tiny face of Medusa on the cameo came to life. The serpents that made up her hair began to stretch and curl, writhing on the flat surface until they resembled the twisting black vines on the other pieces.

Hermione's eyes widened, and she gingerly touched the cameo with one wary finger. "It's the fifth piece! It has to be. I've seen it before—you were wearing it on your robes the night of the MInistry ball. Oh, Severus," she breathed. "Trust you to..." She shook her head. "How on earth did you come to be the owner of the last piece? Where did you get it?"

"Can't you guess? From Dumbledore," he murmured, equally surprised. "It was around Christmas, right before the end. Before the Forest of Dean." Their eyes met in mutual understanding. "His portrait directed me to where he had stored it in his office, and he gave it to me as a present. He said it was an heirloom, and he wanted me to have it. 'Keep it close at all times,' he said. So I did. I don't normally take to jewelry, but I tend to wear this all the time—as a memento, I suppose.

"That crafty old poof," he grumbled. "He can't even give a bloody Christmas gift without it being a plan within a plan."

Hermione's laughter was as much in relief as it was mirth. "I'll even bet he told you to be on the lookout for 'pumpkin pasties,' didn't he?"

His eyes flew open wide. "Yes! I thought the old fool had completely gone mad! He told me the pin was always good for a few pumpkin pasties." He rolled his eyes. "I got it in my head that the pin somehow triggered the house-elves to bring me sweets." He grimaced at her barely concealed smile. "Wonderful. I feel like a complete idiot now."

She shook her head. 'You mean you never tested your theory?"

He made a face. "Merlin, no! I hate pumpkin pasties." Hermione's laughter was beautiful to hear after so many laughter-less years, and he ruefully chuckled with her.

She couldn't take her eyes off the exquisitely-wrought pin. "So," she continued in a more thoughtful tone, "Dumbledore gave you the pin months before Professor McGonagall put the piece in my rucksack, the night of the Battle of Hogwarts. Maybe Dumbledore intended you to reassemble the device yourself after he and McGonagall put the pieces in the care of the dual portraits. But then you fled the school, and the night Harry died and Hogwarts was about to fall, he had no way to give you the remaining piece in his office, nor any instructions." She looked wistful. "So I was drafted for the job instead."

He experimentally levitated the pieces apart, and the silver pin drifted upward toward his waiting hand; it was cool to the touch again. He studied the innocuous pin sitting benignly in his palm. Thoughtfully, he said, "Seeing as we don't really know what this 'weapon' does once it's assembled, I think it would be wise to keep the pieces separate until we're more settled."

Hermione nodded. She, too, could not tear her gaze from the pin. "I know I'd feel better if we were in a safer place when we decide to find out what happens." She tried a shaky smile. "I'd rather you didn't spontaneously combust any time soon."

Severus chuckled darkly. "I'd rather I didn't as well, unless, of course, it's in bed with you." Her flush of pleasure was a joyful thing, and he tried not to smirk as he made a production of fastening the pin on his coat.

Now that it had been recognised for what it was, the pin seemed perfectly happy to ride on his breast without further incident. It gleamed softly in the waning light, looking no more dangerous than any other piece of jewelry. Damn Dumbledore. He could have at least pretended to trust me with yet another of his secrets, instead of having it burn me alive at the proper moment...

They packed the other pieces and left the folly, walking carefully back across the bridge, their trunk following obediently.

"Now what?" she asked somewhat rhetorically.

He took her hand as they made their way back down the steep slope. "Now we plan. We learn, we decipher the writing, and one day, we'll return. One day, we'll come back here for good, and our children will be free."

They turned back as one and looked back at the folly, standing stark and lonely in the moonlight. Severus thought it tragic that it had been built for a woman who had never understood or appreciated its significance. At one time, he knew exactly how it felt. Droxy, I'm honestly sorry she didn't love you back. But she didn't deserve you. She didn't know what she had..

Hermione rose on tiptoe and gently kissed his cold lips. "No, but I do," she whispered, and he realised he'd spoken aloud.
Looking down into her intelligent eyes, Severus mused, "After the war, Lucius told me we were making history." He held up her tiny hand, wrapped trustingly in his, and kissed it; a pledge and a vow. "We will make the real history, Hermione. This isn't over by any means."

Severus took one last look at the Folly, and took a deep breath of England. He was renewed with life and purpose, and his heart pounded with excitement. Gods, he was glad to be alive. He looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, grasped her hand more firmly, and together they disappeared, leaving Droxy's Folly silent and waiting under the light of the harvest moon.

~fin


Authors' Notes:

TeddyRadiator: In January 2010, Droxy won a TPP Every Flavour Auction for a fic from me. I spent the last eighteen months feeling so guilty that I could not get this story written - but the truth was it was just waiting for stgulik as well. Events always conspired to keep this fic from coming together, until the fearless and resourceful stgulik said, "Let's write it together." Never have I had so much fun writing a fic, nor felt so good about one as well. Droxy deserves the best. She is a catalyst, a cosplayer, a nurturer of all things SSHG, and above all, a great friend. This story is dedicated to her prompt, her presence, and her patience. I would like to thank stgulik for this great ride - I had the time of my life, as I always do when we work together. I would also like to thank toblass for her sterling beta work - without her, this story would not be here. And I would like to thank DMuse, who simply waited for me to get it through my thick skull that this story would be written when it was time to write it. Here is Droxy's original prompt. It took a long time to get here, but it's right on time:

"Voldemort won and understands that a content population is easier to govern, even if he can't love. His administration is not stupid; they made their enemies loyal to Voldemort. However you see this loyalty program implemented, or managed, HG isn't loyal, but acts loyal. How has she avoided detection and why isn't she impacted by the loyalty scheme? Harry is dead.

Provide a "happy ending" for SS and HG in this AU environment. I want UST that makes readers scream at their monitors and demand your head on a platter. Resolve the UST with at least a hot kiss. Also, I want dueling and seductive dialog.

HG has a job equal to her brains (no prostitute or helpless!HG). SS and HG don't work in the same organization. Voldemort trusts and values SS a great deal, and orders SS to "get a life". What did SS do to have Voldemort intervene? Was he mopey, lonely? hexing Death Eaters?

How do SS/HG fall in love, resolve the loyalty situation, and growing UST? No one overthrows or kills Voldemort, you can't change the loyalty scheme."

stgulik: Last spring, Teddy was lamenting the fact she hadn't written Droxy's prompts into a story yet. We marveled at how tough they were to put together. Voldemort lives and the populace is (beginning to be) loyal to him, yet Severus and Hermione live HEA? How could that possibly happen? I finally found a loophole: they wind up leaving England. But not to run away - to regroup so they can fight another day. And that's when the story began to take shape. The working title was "Droxy's Folly" because we were sure that it was utter folly to believe poor Droxy would ever have her prompts realized. Then one day, we were about three chapters in, and things were actually taking shape, and Teddy said, "Did you know there is actually such a thing as a folly?" One trip to Wikipedia later, we knew we had to create a folly to hide Hermione's first piece in. I think it became a character in its own right. Thank you, Teddy, for believing I could write and for putting up with my mad need for color-coded To-Do lists. Special thanks to toblass for your valuable suggestions and your eye for detail and continuity. We couldn't have done without you!

A gifted artist, slr2moons, created a luminous, amazing illustration for this chapter of Droxy's Folly as her entry in the lj het_bigbang challenge! Please visit the link on my profile page to view her picture of Hermione, Severus, and old Droxy's Folly.