Disclaimer: Hi. I'm not JK Rowling. Cover art for this story is a piece by Dimitra Milan. She is an INCREDIBLE artist.

AN: It's been two years since I wrote this story, and after a lot in between, I wanted to come back to it. So some things have changed (the title, some details, descriptions, etc.) but the plotline will be the same. Mostly. Maybe. Here we go, round 2. I'll be reposting the edited chapters as I get through them.

The Unforgiven

Chapter One

Time flies over us,

but leaves its shadow behind.

Nathaniel Hawthorne

The snow flurried down around the courtyard like a dance with no pattern, covering the ground in an image of fragile lace. Everyone was inside on a day like this, how could they not be? Coldness seemed to turn people to a heat that could burn away the memory of it. But Hermione Granger sat on a stone bench, her face turned toward the sky as snowflakes adorned themselves upon her hair. She knew she should go inside, knew it and felt it in the tremble of her skin, but her limbs wouldn't move. Like a statue, she watched the winter storm place itself at her feet, assailing the earth with feather light kisses.

She used to despise the winter, the way it chilled her bones with its icy fingers, reaching inside her like a gloved hand to create shiver upon shiver, as if she were the sea, as if she could be so easily moved. She used to despise it. But now, all she seemed to do was sit in the cold and grate her lungs with freezing air as thoughts came crashing down on her as harshly and as quietly as the snow fell from the sky. Nothing had turned out like she thought it would.

She had come back to Hogwarts after the war, but it wasn't at all the way it was supposed to be. The thought almost made her smile, almost. As if there was a 'supposed to be'. Deftly, she felt hands curl into fists, her numb fingertips pressing into her palms too hard, but she didn't feel it. She didn't care. Harry Potter was dead. So was Voldemort, but somehow the thought didn't comfort her. She had lost her closest friend. Swallowing the lump in her throat that seemed to appear every time she thought of him she shook her head, as if she could physically dislodge that image, that image of him – no. She knew she wasn't the only one who had lost someone, that her pain wasn't special. So many people had lost someone, too many people. Their whole sixth year had been spent fighting in a grueling battle that took countless lives, carved like notches into the very skin of those who dared to survive.

In the end though, Harry, Ron and Hermione had destroyed every horcrux, evaded every trap, and it still wasn't enough. Every night it seemed she saw the same fucking thing replayed in her mind again and again. Ginny, struck down by a curse that shredded apart her lungs. What was it like to be choked by your own blood? Harry charging across a courtyard strewn with fallen stones and slain bodies. Voldemort laughing maniacally as Harry threw both of their bodies off the edge of the cliff while she stood there, useless, watching, unable to save the people she cared about most.

Her fist slammed down against the stone bench. Thinking about these things wouldn't get her anywhere. It wouldn't bring them. Nothing could. She opened her eyes, watching her breath disband in the air above her. She saw death in everything. She used to despise the winter, and now it was the only time she felt like herself. Maybe that was because the world around her finally reflected how she felt inside – cold and frozen in time. She smiled cruelly at the thought.

"Hermione." A voice from behind her made her turn.

"What are you doing out here, its freezing." Ron stood by the stone archway leading out into the courtyard, bundled in a scarf and mittens, a gray hat pulled down over his ears. A long scar ran down the side of his face and onto his neck. Hermione stood up, shaking her head and watching the snowflakes fall from her hair like glitter. Looking up again she walked over to him, silent. She didn't need to say a word, though, not anymore. He pulled her into his arms.

"I know," he whispered, "I miss him too."

Damnit, she didn't want to cry. She wanted to be strong, the way she used to be. So she clenched her jaw hard, squeezing her eyes shut. Everyone else seemed to be moving on, comforted by the living, not haunted by the dead like she was. For a moment, Ron held her tighter. He was the only family she had left now that her parents no longer knew who she was. Harry was dead. Ginny was gone. It seemed like everyone she had been close to except for Ron had slipped away into darkness and as desperately as she reached out for them, she knew her hands would never find theirs.

"I'm okay, I swear."

She pulled away from him, putting on a smile, a mask she had grown so talented at wearing these days. He smiled back at her, believing her lie so easily because he wanted it to be true. They walked together back into the castle, side by side, but to Hermione, it felt like miles between them. The younger students laughed down the hallways, moving easily through halls that they would fill with memories. Hermione couldn't help but to their faces, smiling and talking excitedly to each other. She had been just like them. Now she could barely look herself in the mirror, afraid to see the girl that would look back at her.

"Hermione, are you listening to me?" Ron nudged her shoulder and she nodded faintly.

"Huh? Yeah. Food. Sounds good." He shook his head, rolling his eyes at her. She knew he worried, that he had grown anxious from her stunted replies, and emotionless demeanor, but god, a part of her didn't even care. What was so horribly wrong with feeling loss? She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He would never leave her side, but a part of her knew he was tired of constantly being afraid for her. He wanted so badly for her to just be okay. Why couldn't she be? She swallowed hard around the realization that maybe she didn't want to be okay. Maybe she never would be again. Would he stay with her then?

"I'm sorry, I was just a little distracted. Honestly, food sounds great. I'm starving." She tried to sound sincere, but she could hear the robotic undertone of her words. Damnit. She didn't even feel like a person anymore. But Ron's shoulders seemed to relax at her words, and he looked over at her and smiled.

"Don't worry about it. I know you're trying Hermione. That's all I need." Looking up at him, she wondered to herself if he had always been so intuitive. Then, she felt something slam into her shoulder causing her to stumble backwards, nearly falling.

"Watch it, Granger," a low, icy voice said, close to her ear. Draco Malfoy strode past her, tall and fair haired and colder than the bloody winter. Whatever, let him play his little games. But before she could turn away, her breath caught in her throat. No way. No fucking way. There it was, glimmering like the wink of the damn devil on his chest. The Head Boy badge.

With all the repairs the school had needed after the war, term had been postponed until late in the winter and Hermione hadn't even known she was appointed Head Girl until she had arrived back at Hogwarts. She had spent the first few nights bunked in the Gryffindor tower, afraid to sleep on her own after spending the summer in the safe warmth of the Weasley family's home. Head duties wouldn't begin until the following week with all the chaos surrounding repairs, so she hadn't had a chance to find out who would be sharing the honor with her, and more importantly, the Head dormitories. Well, she certainly knew now.

"Hermione, don't even give that asshole a second thought." Ron pulled her arm, hassling her to go. She let herself be dragged down the hall by him, still too shocked to speak.

"Ron," she finally managed. "Ron, Malfoy is Head Boy." At this, Ron stopped in his tracks too, wrenching her around so that she stood in front of him, his hand gripping her arm.

"Oh. Oh no!" He couldn't help the laugh that overlaid his words. "You've got to live with that git for the whole year?!" He looked her up and down, wide eyed, as if gauging whether she would survive it. Eventually he let go of her arm and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"You're done for." Rolling her eyes, she shoved his hands off of her.

"Oh, really, Ronald. I can handle Malfoy. He's a prat, but, and correct me if I'm wrong, I think I might have faced worse than his immature, slimy attempts at bullying." She looked fiercely up at Ron, who, to her surprise, was smiling wildly at her.

"What?" She said blatantly.

"Nothing," he said, scooping his arm around her shoulder and hauling her once more down the hallway.

"It's just, I haven't seen you so fired up in a long time. It's nice. I thought I'd lost you there for a second." Hermione felt a wave of shock race through her mind. Had her mask really been so transparent? She again shoved Ron off of her, smiling over at his antics.

"Shut up," she mumbled, but found herself laughing. And for the first time in a long time, it was sincere.

xxxxx

Her footsteps echoed like empty words down the long hallway as Hermione left the Gryffindor common room. After dinner, Ron had forced her along to yet another back to school party, seemingly encouraged by her brief moment of animation over the Malfoy Misfortune, as they were calling it. Admittedly, the party hadn't been as bad as she thought it would be. Maybe the reason she felt so isolated was because she had been pushing everyone away. She had wanted to be alone, she knew that, it was easier that way. But there was a spark now, buried in her chest, and she had to keep trying to be happy, if only for Ron.

Without realizing it, her footsteps had quickened and she was racing up the stairs towards the Head dormitory. She suddenly felt so light as she dashed down hallways, her hair flying behind her like a banner of curls. A smile broke across her face as she tore around corners faster and faster. She felt free, the air pushing past her face, cool and sweet and musty. Her feet hit the ground like wing beats, the soft snapping noise of freedom. She rounded the last corner already shouting "Arcturus", the password to her dormitory, when she felt herself collide hard with something and topple to the ground.

Stormy grey eyes stared up at her in surprise. It only took her a second to realize she had fallen on top of Draco Malfoy. Her eyes met his and suddenly she felt like an electric wire had been strung through her arteries. All at once she couldn't look away and wanted nothing more than to do so. She felt a heavy blush color her cheeks at the intensity of his eyes on hers. She hung suspended in the moment, suddenly aware of the heat of his body pressed beneath her. Suddenly, and completely inappropriately, she began to laugh. Hard. Her forehead fell against his chest, and she could feel his breathing hitch at her complete lack of sanity, lying on top of him, laughing like a lunatic. Gripping his shoulders she looked up into his face again, and had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing again at the utter shock she found there.

Recovering herself, and realizing that she was sprawled upon and holding onto Draco Motherfucking Malfoys body in a way intimate enough to make her blush, she quickly scrambled off of him. What was she thinking? This was Malfoy - ruthless, cruel, former death eater Malfoy. Whatever had just happened, it was obviously a side effect of the jungle juice she had delightfully discovered at the Gryffindor party. Obviously Malfoy was coming to the same conclusion, that she was drunk and unmanageably crazy, as he had pushed himself up and sat glaring at her menacingly.

"What the fuck, Granger?" He growled at her.

His words broke apart her blank expression as she returned full force the glare he was giving her. She stood up, looking away from him and walking towards the portrait that marked the entrance to their dormitory.

"To put it in your own words, Malfoy, watch it."

"Are you kidding me? You're the one who bolted around the corner like a lunatic and pinned me to the ground laughing."

She heard his footsteps come up behind her and suddenly, with a wrench of her arm, he shoved her into the wall, holding her there with both hands on her wrists. A prickle of fear ran down her spine as she met his eyes again. They flashed with anger as he stared down at her, a murderous expression on his face. She had never seen Malfoy like this. Before the war he had been a dick, sure, but he always seemed hesitant and unthreatening somehow. But now, staring down at her, he seemed solid, unbreakable, and dangerous.

No way in hell was she about to take this from him. She felt herself smile sweetly up at him as she thrust her knee up as hard as she could, hitting him where, she was sure, it hurt. He crumpled in front of her, cursing under his breath. For a moment, she almost felt guilty, his white hair falling over his face as he doubled over. His mother had been killed by Voldemort, and his father had been sent to Azkaban. Like her, he was all alone, nowhere to go home to, no one to call family, but worse, he had no friends to speak of. But she pushed the thought away. Regardless, he was still the same malicious person who took pleasure from causing other people pain.

"Don't ever touch me again," she said in a low voice, stepping around him. She walked up to the portrait, called out the password, and strode inside, leaving him there in the hallway.

She heard the portrait swing shut behind her and she stopped in the middle of the room, breathing in the quiet. A large brown couch and two matching armchairs sat around a low wooden table in front of a large and ornately carved stone fireplace at the far end of the room. Two big windows sat on either side, allowing moonlight to pool into the space and mix with the orange haze of the fire. To her right, a round table with two chairs sat near the corner, a crystal chandelier hanging over its center. A small kitchen was inlaid in the wall next to it. Bookcases filled with volumes of every genre lined the walls. On each side of the room, and short set of stairs led up to the separate quarters of the Head Boy and Head Girl.

Hermione stood there for a moment, her mind reeling. What in the hell had Malfoy been thinking? Why had he grabbed her like that? She swallowed hard, forcing the thought of his piercing grey eyes from her mind. No use thinking about useless things. She stomped off to the room on the right, locking the door behind her and falling onto her bed, not even bothering to change her clothes before falling asleep.

xxxxx

Screaming filled the air like it was built into the very molecules, rushing into her ears, unstoppable. All around her, lights flashed and voices shouted vicious words. It was as if she had stopped being Hermione and was stuck on autopilot, diving through the crowd, flinging curses and blocking spells. She couldn't let herself look, not truly, because she knew what would meet her eyes – cold hands lying on the ground, lifeless faces turned toward the sky, blood and wounds and agony and questions why? Why? Why? Why? Please, someone tell me why they're gone. I'll do anything, just bring them back. Why? Why? Why? So she didn't look, her mind hazed through the battle, only seeing the spells as they flew out of her mouth and wand. Bang. A sound rang out like a gunshot, and suddenly time slowed down. Her head whipped around, and there was Ginny – Ginny falling to her knees. Ginny with blood pouring out of her mouth. Ginny with her hands clutched to her chest. Ginny with tears running down her face, covered in dirt and sweat and fear. Hermione felt her wand lower. She felt her feet carrying her towards the girl she had thought of as her little sister.

She stopped as her stomach contracted and her vision lurched. All she could do was watch. Harry was suddenly by the young girls side, too young. His hands were tangled in her hair. Hermione saw his mouth moving, shouting, screaming why, why, why, but she couldn't hear a thing. Her mind was replaying that moment she had overheard between the two of them. It had been earlier in the year, before they had become inseparable. Everyone in the Order was staying at the Burrow. Hermione had crept down the stairs, unable to sleep with the thoughts of impending war crowding her mind. She had stopped when she heard voices from below her. It was Harry's voice, he was talking to Ginny. Hermione had crouched down, knowing it was wrong to listen but being unable to stop herself all the same. She just wanted to hear him be happy.

"I don't care if we're at war, Harry. If anything, it makes me want to say it all the more. You know how I feel about you." She could hear the fierceness in Ginny's whisper. Hermione had always admired the way that she ceaselessly plunged forward, always so sure and confident, always reaching towards something hopeful.

"Ginny." Harry's low voice crept up the stairs to her, filled with care and concern and longing.

"I want nothing more than to be with you, nothing more. But we can't ignore that we are heading into a battle for our lives. It's not going to be easy for anyone. Starting something now, it would only be painful. And if there are ten words I never want to have to say to you they're 'I love you, I love you, I love you, goodbye.'" She could hear the sadness deep in his words. It made her want to cry. She had climbed back up the stairs after that, unwilling to listen to the rest.

It was all Hermione could think of when she saw Ginny's crumpled body in Harry's arms. I love you, I love you, I love you, goodbye. She wanted to scream, to fall apart and cry. Harry gently laid her on the ground, and she saw the words there on his lips, those words he never wanted to say. He rose, so slowly, so painfully slowly, as if dragging the weight of the whole world with him. In the moment she thought he must have been. Hermione could only follow as he ran towards Voldemort, their spells colliding, then their bodies colliding, forced over the edge of the cliff, neither one able to fight the fall. Hermione fell to her knees at the edge, watching them go down, forever down, neither able to move, locked in an eternal embrace, both knowing it was over, and that it would never end. She couldn't look away from their mangled bodies on the rocks below. She couldn't reconcile the silence that followed as the Death Eaters dropped their fights, deflated, shocked, defeated with their master. She couldn't find comfort in the hands that pulled her away from the cliff and held her close. She couldn't breath. She was drowning and she couldn't breath –

Hermione's eyes flew open as she gasped for air, pushing the tangled sheets and blankets off of her body. She was covered in sweat. Her pulse raced, and she stumbled over to the balcony door in her suite and shoved open the glass, feeling the cool night air tumble over her. Her hands caught the stone railing as she steadied herself in the moonlight. She held herself there, in the cold and the quiet, as her breathing returned to normal, and only then did she reach up to tuck her hair behind her ear. It had gotten so long, falling just past her ribcage. She didn't care, though, it looked better this way, less bushy and tangled.

Her eyes pulled out across the Hogwarts grounds. A thin sheet of snow covered the grass, turning it to glittering stone. Perhaps this place was a shelter once more, but it would never be scrubbed clean of the horrible memories. Raking her hands through her hair, she turned to the side to see Malfoy casually leaning against his balcony, staring at her. Surprised she stood there looking back at him. He looked wary and unsure, as if some terror in the night had woken him up as well. She turned and walked back inside, closing the door behind her and climbing back into bed.

She pulled the blankets closer around her, unable to shake the image of his eyes, silver like they held the moon within them. She was unsure why she felt so disconcerted around him. He seemed so different from the boy she had grown up with. But the cruelty, that was still there. And suddenly she felt furious - the war was over. He had even switched sides at the end, betraying his father and Voldemort. Why did he still feel the need to be so foul to her? She had vowed long ago that she wouldn't let anyone treat her like some undesirable being to be weeded out of the world. If Malfoy wanted to play mean, he would find out just who he was dealing with. She smiled, remembering that time in her third year when she had punched him in the face. She hoped he remembered it as well.