Hiding My Heart

By Tinsadisaster

Summary: Dumbledore says Hermione's story isn't over yet. He was right. HG/DM

Author's Note:

You know when you have sudden bouts of inspiration to write? For example, you're in shower, lathering your hair and then suddenly, it happens? Well, that hasn't happened for months for my other stories. Though I desperately want to complete them, the inspiration just isn't there.

However, as I was studying for an anatomy quiz this early Monday morning, something popped into my head and this is the result.

This will be a short story, less than ten chapters at the most. You might be able to tell, but it focuses on Hermione Granger and the status of her life post-War.

And like the majority of my stories, she ends up with Draco, maybe.

So don't expect too much, but expect just enough to be entertaining. It's a curious story, to say the least.

And also, please review!

So this is how the story went

I met someone by accident

Who blew me away

Who blew me away

Brandie Carlisle

Chapter I: Words From A Dead Man

"I've had enough trouble for a lifetime," Harry said, pocketing the Elder Wand. I nodded, moving slightly to grab his hand and give it a friendly squeeze.

"You've made the right decision, Harry," I said, smiling at my best friend.

"Hermione, I don't want to be a killjoy but do you mind if I skip out on the celebration and head up to bed? I feel like death," he joked, laughing weakly.

I pushed him towards the door, insisting that he go straight to the dorms, or what was left of it. He walked out like a zombie.

"I should probably go check up on mum and them," Ron stammered.

It had only been hours since he lost a brother. I could understand his need to see to his family. We danced around each other awkwardly in a tangle of arms and shuffled feet, before finally landing into each other's arms. He was dirty and smelled a bit like sweat and blood, but he was warm and very much alive.

I couldn't be any happier. After a few beats, he disengaged from our embrace. He leaned down quickly to kiss my cheek and ran off.

His footsteps echoed and disappeared in time.

I felt a wave of exhaustion hit me. After years of trying to save Harry's life from Lord Voldemort, months of searching for Horcruxes, and the grueling hours of the Battle at Hogwarts, I could finally breathe.

I dragged my weary body to Professor Dumbledore's desk and dropped like a bag of bones onto his cushioned seat. I felt something dig into my skin and reached behind to remove it. My fingers grabbed the edges of what felt like a book, and with some effort, I moved the object onto the desk. The Tales of Beedle The Bard stared back at me.

"Miss Granger, I do hope my present turned out to be quite a read," Professor Dumbledore's voice rang out. I turned to his portrait, having almost forgotten that he was still there.

"Yes, Professor, it really was. Who would've known that a fairy tale would save us all?"

"The story isn't over yet, Miss Granger," he said keenly, with that ever present twinkle in his eyes.

"What do you mean, Professor? Isn't it? Harry killed Lord Voldemort. The Light Side has won the war. Harry's still alive!"

"What I meant to say was, Miss Granger, the story isn't over yet… for you."

"Wait. What do you - " I started to ask, before realizing that Professor Dumbledore had already left his portrait. I let out a frustrated breath before sinking lower into the seat. The wounds and injuries I received during the battle were finally starting to reveal themselves, in dull yet painful waves.

The story isn't over yet… for you.

"What is that old man on about?" I asked myself. I could feel my eyelids slowly closing. I nearly fell asleep, but someone walked into the office before I could.

Dirty black robes, stormy gray eyes, and the distinct blonde hair. I jumped out of the seat. All instances of fatigue were gone. My body was in ready-to-attack mode.

The last time I was in close proximity with this wizard, I had been writhing on his living room floor because his deranged aunt was torturing me. It was an unpleasant memory to say the least.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" I yelled, reaching for my wand.

He was alone. I could swear he was with his parents in the Great Hall, along with the other families. I wondered if his father was near. Though I merely disliked Draco, I feared his father.

"I was looking for Snape, Granger. Put your wand away. I am unarmed," he stated.

"As you can see, he isn't here. So leave, Malfoy." My wand was still in my hand, but I slowly put it back into my back pocket. I could not trust his word.

"This is his office. Obviously, I would look here. The better question is why are you here, and especially alone? Did Potter and Weasel go off to celebrate with their whores? But then that wouldn't make sense, would it, considering you are Weasel's whore. Normally, I would say that is such a disgrace, but from your stance, it's actually an improvement."

"You made your point, Malfoy. Snape's not here. Move along."

"Why would you risk being alone? Just because the battle is over, doesn't mean there aren't bad guys roaming this castle, waiting to get revenge," he stated, reaching into his cloak pocket.

My eyes caught the sudden movement, and my hands flew to my wand automatically.

I did not survive the War to die by the hands of this boy.

The words came out of my mouth before I could stop myself. I watched Draco fly into a bookcase and drop with a thud to the ground, taking a few heavy books to his bleach blonde skull.

"Bloody hell, Granger! I told you I was unarmed! Are you mad?" yelled Draco.

"You were reaching into your pocket! I am not stupid, Malfoy." At this point, I knew I could not risk staying. If Malfoy had a wand, I was the prime target for his wrath. If he was telling the truth and was unarmed, his father could still be a few seconds away and I would be a dead Mudblood, to put in their terms.

I ran out of the room and navigated my way through the castle, back to the Gryffindor common room, where I assumed Harry and Ron would be. I was received by a party of people, mostly Gryffindors and some other familiar faces. I couldn't find Harry or Ron.

I asked Dean, who pointed to a dark corner where I saw Harry exchanging soft words and hard kisses with Ginny, whose red eyes spelled grief for her fallen brother. I resisted the urge to walk over to them and scold Harry for not going to bed, but even I could not take this special moment from them.

I asked a few other people if they had seen Ron. Lavender glared at me but I walked away before I did any damage to her. We still hadn't settled our differences about the red-headed boy.

Just then, Ron burst into the room, carrying a few bottles in his hands. The room roared and soon, the bottles were being passed around. When Ginny passed the bottle to me, I paused. Ron looked at me, ready to rag on me for being a wet blanket at the party.

I knew this, so I did the unexpected.

I put my lips to the bottle and felt the Firewhiskey slither down my throat, leaving a disgusting and fiery trail before pooling into my stomach, creating a reassurring warmth at my core. Ron laughed, put his arms around me, and loudly announced, "That's my girl!"

I took one or two more swigs before handing it over to someone else. I turned into Ron's hug. I dug my fingers into his back and held onto him tightly. The alcohol had hit me quickly, probably because I hadn't eaten much and I was an incredible lightweight.

Ron's arms engulfed me and we exchanged a few sloppy kisses. His lips felt amazing against mine, and my heart climbed into my throat. I could barely hear the joking taunts around us claiming that we should "get a room".

No. We just saved the magical world. We deserved this public display of intoxicated affection.

"I'm so glad you're still alive, Mione," Ron whispered into my ear. I moved my hands to encircle his neck and lifted myself up on my toes. I slurred that I was glad he was alive too.

My cheeks felt warm, like the rest of my body. Ron dragged us both to a small corner, away from the rowdy party.

My mind wandered to the nights after he had abandoned Harry and I. I remember feeling sad, wondering if I'd ever see him again. I remember Harry doing his hardest to make me smile, even resorting to dancing even though we both knew Harry was as much a dancer as I was a Pureblood.

This was my happy ending, right? We're all alive. We've got each other.

Still, as I clung to Ron like a vine, those words I heard from the portrait of my dead professor came back to me.

The story isn't over yet … for you.

And along with those words, I thought of the boy lying in a pool of dusty textbooks, the boy with stormy gray eyes.

"Oh no!"

I pulled myself away from Ron and stood up, startled at my discovery.

"What's wrong, Mione?"

"Ron, I forgot the book!"

Ron looked at me with a dumb face and said, frustratingly, "You're worried about a book right now? Seriously, Hermione, you need to set your priorities straight. You always bark at me for it, but it's time you take your own advice. Harry just saved the magical world. We're drunk and we were having a good time. Why think of books?"

"It wasn't just any book, Ron. It was the book that Professor Dumbledore gave me. It was the book that saved our lives."

"It's probably just where you last left it."

"You're right. It's probably just in Professor Dumbledore's office," I stated calmly, masking the horror that I was feeling beneath the surface.

"Well, do you want to fetch it?" Ron asked, annoyed.

"Yes, there's something really important in there," I said. Ron grabbed my hand and we walked back into the party and out the door. I ignored the "Ooo's" and "Remember to cast a protection spell!" and "Weasley is our King!" remarks as we retraced our steps back to the office.

Fortunately, Malfoy was gone. The scattered textbooks on the ground were a quiet reminder that he had been there.

I ran towards the desk.

"Oh no!"

"What, Mione? What's wrong?"

"It's not there!"

I crumpled onto the ground. Ron immediately came to my side.

"It's just a book, Mione. It doesn't have legs. It's probably somewhere in the office."

I tried to laugh at Ron's attempts to console me. It came out more like a choking gasp.

He was right. Books don't have legs, but gits with blonde hair and stormy gray eyes and sticky fingers did.

"Besides, what was so important about it anyways, Mione? I mean, it served its purpose. If anything, it's an artifact."

I shook my head, tears spilling from the corner of my eyes.

The last connection I had with my parents was hidden in that book.

And now Malfoy had it.

The story isn't over yet… for you.