"It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake." - Frederick Douglass

Draco Malfoy took a deep breath. He watched the children hug their parents and felt a moment of peace bloom in the screaming chaos around him. Working with the emergency evacuation team was difficult but rewarding. He liked being able to help people, liked reuniting families and helping shelter those that needed someplace safe.

It was also a relief to be working in the Americas. No one looked askance at his auror robes or refused his help. He was just one of many faceless helpers.

"Malfoy." He turned to see another wizard approaching quickly. "They tell me your good on a broom."

"I am, sir." Draco nodded his head.

"This last group only got out because some crazy witch is holding the storm back with a shield. Chances are she'll be dead before we can get there on foot." The older wizard looked around them. "It's dangerous. I can't order you to do this, but..."

"I'll try sir. Low and fast, I can cut half the time off." Draco nodded. "Anyone willing to die to help strangers is worth the effort."

Draco was on his broom and skirting the fine grasses as he raced toward the barrier island. His emergency portkey was taped to his skin. One of the muggle born relief workers had insisted, and it was bloody brilliant. If he could get to her, he could save her, and he wouldn't have to fumble for a damn thing.

Getting there would be the biggest problem. The wind was vicious. Innocuous items became more dangerous than any bludger. A flower put missed him by inches, but he managed to hold steady. The deserted buildings of the local wizarding community came into view. Stretching his body out along the handle of his broom, he pressed it for every bit of power it had. He could feel the charms waning in the wood. The stirrups weren't as stable as they should be. It simply wasn't built to survive in this environment.

He poured his own magic into the broom. He knew it wouldn't make the distance without help, but he didn't have time for focused spell work. The broom surged forward as he fed it, and it would have to be enough.

He flew close to the buildings, darting into covered porches and using larger structures to hold the wind off and give him some relief. Each second counted. Every inch closer might make a difference.

The figure on the beach came into view. She was standing before a giant wall of water. Her robes and hair whipped around her in a chaotic dance. She looked more like a goddess of old than a witch. There was no wand in her hand. The force of her magic arced between her hands and pushed out in an ever widening stream of silver light. It was as if her patronus was a giant monster of a wall.

The broom shook under him and jerked as it gave its last and sent him tumbling onto the wet sand. He rolled on the wet sand trying to protect himself from the disintegrating wood. Pushing up, he sighted the witch and ran toward her. The winds ripped at his clothing, but he didn't falter. There was no point calling out to her, the raging storm was too bloody loud.

He pushed his body and leapt. He pulled her tight to his body wrapping one arm around her waist.

Reaching around her with his free hand to clasp his portkey, he felt a tingle of magic and something, some spell, was spinning them arse over tit through a wall of power. She gripped his arm as if she was trying to protect him. He saw a flash of sunlight and then they crashed down. He hoped they were safe as he collapsed onto the ground. The white sand beneath him stretched out to a calm turquoise sea. He pulled the witch a little further from the water before he gave into his exhaustion.

He heard someone humming. He wasn't planted on a beach any longer. He felt the smooth glide of sheets under his skin. He took a deep breath and felt a twinge in his side.

"You bruised your ribs." A familiar voice spoke from across the room. "I pulled the splinters out of you and treated the wounds. I'm brewing some bruise paste and a pain elixir, but it will be a few minutes."

He forced his eyes open and assessed the room. It was mostly white. The sheets were white. The walls were white. There were touches of blues and greens, but the pristine whiteness of it all was still far too funereal.

"You do know what we wear white for in the wizarding world, right?" Draco looked over at the witch.

"I am aware." Granger sighed and looked around. "I don't have much time for decorating."

"Where are we?" Draco followed Granger with his eyes. She moved between the two cauldrons with confidence. She'd always been a dab hand at potions. "I know I didn't activate my portkey."

He caught the slight drop in her shoulders and wondered at her reaction.

"This is my home." She took a deep breath. "I don't get much company, but I've got a fair library and the weather is always perfect."

She flicked her fingers and three drops of something splashed into the cauldron on the left.

"Why didn't you dump me off on the aurors?" Draco winced and pushed himself to a sitting position. "There's no need for you to take care of me."

"Some things are beyond my control." She turned around and glanced away from his bare torso, blushing. "I promise you will be safe here."

Draco assessed the witch. She was quiet and withdrawn. The dark blue dress that rippled when she moved was flattering, but she wasn't dressing to entice. There was a awkwardness to her that disturbed him.

"You really don't get much company, do you?" He pulled the sheet more securely around his waist.

"Luna has managed to visit a couple of times." Granger smiled. "It isn't easy."

"What isn't easy?" Draco wanted to cringe at his own intrusive question.

"My life is complicated." Granger shrugged. "It isn't some happily after fairytale."

Draco watched her closely as she moved around the room. It wasn't necessary. She was moving about to hide her anxiety. She fussed with a sheer curtain for a few minutes. The light flowing through it moved oddly scattering rainbows around the room.

"It's peaceful here." Draco wanted her to relax.

"It's a nice enough place." Hermione shrugged. "I know you've got questions. This place isn't quite normal. I'm sure you can sense it. I want you to be comfortable, so I'll try to answer them."

Draco frowned as she spun around. Her agitation was infectious.

"My home is a safe haven. Nothing will hurt you while you're here." Hermione twisted her hands together in front of her body. "We are not exactly in step with our world here. Your portkey won't work until my next task arises. It won't be long. It's usually days, but the longest span was just under a month."

"Next task?" Draco tilted his head.

"That doesn't matter." She crinkled her nose. "It's a tropical paradise this time round, so maybe you could view this as a vacation."

"This time round?" Every word just made him more curious.

"It's different every time. My things remain the same, but the..." He watched her struggle for the word. "Environment changes."

"What exactly is your home?" Draco looked around him. He watched her shift her weight from one bare foot to the other. She definitely had a story to tell, but he could tell she wasn't ready.

"You're going to thing I'm crazy." She flicked her hair over her shoulder and smiled widely. "Maybe I am, but I think it's a bubble."

Draco sat on the beach. It had been three days since he'd awakened here. It was oddly peaceful, but he'd be half mad if it weren't for Granger.

She wasn't intrusive, but she never turned him away. Whether he wanted to talk or simply sit, she was there. Warm and genuine, she drifted around him.

He'd never been allowed to just be. Malfoys had purpose. Even in the shadows of shame and ignominy cast by the war, he'd forged a path. He'd set goals.

"You're thinking deep thoughts." Hermione sat next to him.

"How do you do this?" He looked over at her. Her hair was smooth and looked like it was slick with water though he knew it would be dry to his touch. "You always had charts and color coded schedules. How can you just float here?"

"It's a long story." Hermione sighed. She glanced over at him. And he knew she was considering telling him something. "After the war, I was exhausted. Bellatrix did a lot of damage. The pain and the seizures weren't lessening. All the public appearances were draining me. Ron and Harry both wanted the fanfare and the freedom of it all. I just wanted to go home, but I didn't have one anymore."

She looked back out at the water. He could see the sadness in her, and, suddenly, he didn't want to know any more. He didn't need her dark secrets and her sorrows.

She opened her mouth and drew in a deep breath. The moist, fragrant air weighed on him. He knew she was going to tell him her tale of woe.

He looked at the lush greenery and the bright flowers that sat back from the shore. Here there was peace, but in her was a storm. He knew it.

He looked back at her, saw her look up at the oddly featureless sky, and knew the words were coming.

Panic pushed up from his own darkness, and he grabbed her. She blinked at him. Her shock at his sudden action stilled her words for a second, but they were still coming.

Draco saw her open her mouth as if the world had started to move more slowly than he. Once the words started, he was certain they wouldn't stop. Fear raged through him like a storm, and he did the only thing that came to mind.

He kissed her. He pressed her down into the sand and held her in place with his body. He buried her words with his tongue and his lips and his teeth.

Author's Note

Storms are a fact of life where I live. It isn't a question of if the storm will hit. It's merely a matter of when. They remain with you.

This story may owe its inspiration to Alison, Katrina, Rita, Ike, and Harvey, but it isn't about that kind of suffering.

Storms take many forms in our lives.

Some people lose everything. Please keep those people in your thoughts and prayers. They really need them now.

Thanks,

Anna