The room was an icy chill.

Perhaps it was the lack of heat – as the fire had been prematurely put out in the scuffle earlier, or perhaps it was the lack of feeling in the tiny bedroom. There was a singular body, slumped over and unmoving at the foot of the bed. Silence echoed the peeling wallpaper and drawn curtains. Just briefly, a face appeared in the window, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

Some time passed, the room and its inhabitant frozen as though it were a painting or an elaborate museum display. Finally, there came the gentle pitter-patter of little footsteps running up the stairs, down the hall.

A little girl walked up to the ajar door, poking the broken door handle as it fell off in a thud, only barely holding on before.

She spotted the figure sprawled at the edge of the bed, and with timid steps she approached the silhouette. Rolling it over, the little girl eyed the face curiously, and after some time, concluded that she should go downstairs and inform someone that the boy who lived in the corner room was now dead.

It all started after the War.

Draco Malfoy had been left to mop up the ruins of his last name, taking generous amounts of blows in the wake of the battle at Hogwarts. It seemed people forgot that he, too, had lost friends, and he, too had suffered through a war. Though, he was not so bold as to blame them. Lucius Malfoy was very stern with his son when he reminded him that, above all else, the Malfoy name is dignified. Lord Voldemort had stripped their crest of this, but now was an opportunity to return it to its rightful glory.

Lucius Malfoy was not too concerned about appearances anymore; perhaps that was because he had never expected his entire family to come out of this mess alive.

Draco received his diploma from Hogwarts after some months, once the Ministry decided to allow Slytherins to graduate (they made very few exceptions, and Draco was the only Death Eater given permission); in the meantime he had searched fruitlessly for work. The Magical World was not kind and understanding of Draco's position. No one cared that he was nearly forced to kill the former Headmaster – that his family had been threatened if he did not comply. No one cared that, in the smallest yet most significant moment of his seven years at Hogwarts, he had saved Hermione Granger from a killing spell.

It had happened so fast that Draco did not think, he only reacted, and his instinct was to save her.

There might have been a hero in there after all, but he would not see the light of day. That was just Draco Malfoy.

A month before his diploma was mailed, during the final deliberations at the Ministry, Draco managed to find a paying job. It was minimum wage, and in the muggle world, but after almost all of his family's assets were seized there was no other option. His mother had moved in with a distant relative, and his father had been gone for the past month and a half, supposedly looking for work as well.

Draco feared he had abandoned them, but who knew? War changes people.

Though he would not admit, his biggest worry was that Lucius Malfoy was off somewhere in the deep mountains of an obscure eastern European country, coaching the next Dark Lord.

After wrestling with this possibility for a while, Draco concluded that, if it turned out to be true, he would commit a very dramatic suicide. Something to make them think.

He would be the punch line of a recurring joke on the wizarding world, and yet he could not help but wonder who the next Saint Potter would be.

His job was an after hours janitor at a facility in North London. It was surprisingly solitary for an institution that sat in the heart of a big city, but Draco did not complain. The more obscurity the better, he thought. Although, the outfit was a bit much for him – having his name embroidered on the breast-pocket, as though he were a personal greeting card, was almost as bad as having the Dark Mark branded on his arm.

And, Draco Malfoy does not repeat his worst mistakes twice.

One dark and stormy Friday night, Draco arrived at his job to find the entire facility deserted. Even the midnight security guard had left his post. Despite being shunned from the wizarding world, he still did not leave his house without a wand, and therefore decided whatever sinister lurkings were going on did not intimidate him.

After all, he had fought with (and against) Lord Voldemort; what more was there to fear?

He put on his brown button up uniform – the name "Bob" stitched on the side – and began mopping the basement floor. There was a lab just around the corner, and sometimes researchers stayed late so Draco did not bother himself with little noises.

What he heard, however, was far from little.

Just as he finished the first section, a crash and a girlish scream came from the lab down the hall. Instinctively, Draco snapped the tasseled end off the mop by kicking it with his foot, and pointed the broken end forward as he walked towards the door.

"Who's there?" Draco called out gruffly, poking the door open with the mop.

"S-sorry!" A timid voice came from the shadows, and slowly a petite silhouette appeared.

"…Granger?" Draco said, after some silence.

The partly obscured figure seemed to trip, and after some more silence there was a response.

"You look different."

Draco quirked a brow, and then let out a small grunt. "Oh, you mean the uniform? Yes, well, I've decided to explore the inner workings of the proletariat." He put the pointed end of the mop down, leaning against the doorframe. "I lost my legion of adoring fans, but – that's the price of suffering in the name of art," he gave a sarcastic smirk, and then turned to leave.

"Wait," Hermione Granger called after him. He had remembered her to be a small girl in school, but Draco had not missed the fact that she appeared almost emaciated.

"Wait," she repeated, "I need your help."

Draco simply could not resist. Spinning back around on his heel, he folded his arms and raised a brow, and just for a moment his signature Malfoy sneer appeared. It felt strange on a face that was so used to frowning now. "Oh, this is precious. Spill, Granger." He narrowed his gaze.

"Look," she began, now stepping out of the shadows entirely. Draco cringed, surprisingly affected by how haggard she looked. "I don't really know how to explain…" Hermione trailed off, and he suddenly began to notice how nervous she was.

Perhaps it was because Draco Malfoy had just recently learned he had a heart, or perhaps it was because he saved her in the battle and now felt responsible to see that life through, but Draco found himself moving towards her, his hand outstretched.

"Come on, come with me," he said in a quiet voice, and she did not protest.

The Malfoy Manor was barren after the Ministry finished stripping it of almost every piece of furniture and family heirloom, but to Draco it was still his home.

Never did he imagine he would bring Hermione Granger there, but he also never pictured himself working a muggle job as a janitor, and it seemed the two things happened simultaneously. He had given Granger his jacket upon leaving the facility, and hailed down a cab for them. She appeared too weak to travel by magical means, and Draco was weary of using the Floo Network.

Although it was not legal, he knew the Ministry kept an eye on the Malfoy fireplace's comings and goings.

They were in an almost robotic silence until he brought them to the kitchen, making Granger a sandwich himself.

This seemed to break her tongue, and she quipped, "you… you can make your own food?"

Draco raised a brow but he did not look up from the peanut butter spread he was sticking a knife into. "Yes, well, as you can see the Ministry took everything," he gestured grandly to the empty kitchen, "so I adapted." He finally turned to her, sliding the plate in front of her and twirling the knife between his fingers. "And Malfoys are anything if not adaptable." He made no effort to hide his bitter tone.

"So, what is it Granger? Get into it with a bad lot? Owe some Goblins money? Did Potter finally break up with you?" Draco paused to gasp dramatically, "is he dating Weasley now? I always knew there was something—."

"My family doesn't know who I am."

Draco froze, his mouth still open from his sentence.

"What?" He finally said.

"Before we left to hunt down the rest of the horcruxes, I used a memory charm on them. It was the most powerful one I could find – I had to make sure it could withstand torture if the… the Death Eaters came for them," she said those two words with a sudden defiance, as if she still needed to prove herself. "And now I can't find a way to reverse it. Ron's gone off on a bender, and Harry won't speak to me."

He crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter. His expression was a contemplative, unwavering stare. Hermione shifted in her seat, reaching to take a bite from her sandwich but watching Draco the entire time.

"So, you mean to tell me that the golden trio did not survive?" He sounded dubious. "You fought a War together, you spent seven years fighting off the same man – he really was relentless – and yet somehow you three cannot overcome basic things." Draco paused to toss up his hands, "like, oh, I don't know, coping skills."

He walked over to the nearest window and peered out, his back to Hermione now. "To think."

Hermione had been silent the whole time, but her appetite had disappeared. Putting down the sandwich, she slid off the chair, wincing as she did so, and cleared her throat. "Thanks for the sandwich, I think I'm alright though. I'm gonna go."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"What?"

Draco turned to her, eyes flicking from the untouched food then back to her thinning frame. "Eat the sandwich. Take a bath. There's a guest bedroom at the end of the hall, and there's a shower through the second double door. Just… don't open the dresser. I think there's a—oh, nevermind," he rolled his eyes at Hermione's skeptical expression and walked towards her.

They stood, just inches apart, and Draco noticed just how much taller he was. Looking down at the girl he once hated, the young Malfoy found himself feeling something entirely foreign.

Pity.

"I'm sorry about your family, Granger."

Hermione blinked slowly, unsure if she should respond at all. It had been hard enough to come to Draco for help (not that she'd known it would be him who was the after hours janitor, but a source had told her there was a wizard working in a nearby Scientific Facility that might be able to help her, she was informed that he'd "taken in strays before"…)

"I have breakfast every morning at ten o'clock. Join me tomorrow if you wish."

And, with that, the first civil conversation between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger finished, leaving the latter horribly confused and yet grateful in its wake.

His diploma could not have come at a more inopportune moment.

The past month had been a blur, a strangely unbelievable circumstance that somehow felt like the most natural thing he'd ever experienced. Hermione Granger had become a permanent resident at the Malfoy Manor, and Draco found himself pleased to have company.

They stayed up late many nights, discussing things that Draco had previously thought were useless; for instance, if they could have done anything to change the outcome of the war. Hermione pried about their sixth year, but he could not bring himself to admit the truth of Voldemort's orders. His mother had been kept under magical lock at the Manor, and the Dark Lord periodically sent Draco animated letters of her being tortured.

The screams alone were enough.

After three weeks of living at the Manor, Hermione finally asked about those seven seconds during the battle at Hogwarts; those seven seconds where Draco had pushed Granger aside and deflected the jet of green light aimed at her.

"Why did you save me?"

They had been sipping after dinner tea.

Draco took his time to reply, taking intermittent sips as he considered the right words.

"Because," he shrugged, "you were worth saving."

As soon as Draco's diploma arrived, Lucius Malfoy sent word by owl that he would be returning to live at the Manor with his son, and his mother would join them shortly after. After a month of slowly forming a friendship with Harry Potter's best friend, Draco found himself kicking her out.

She was surprisingly understanding, which only irritated him more.

Draco was able to secure a Ministry job a month later, and after cozying up to his female boss (as Head of the Department of Interdepartmental Memos, she wasn't much to impress) he managed to extend a position offer to Hermione.

She had lost her credentials in the aftermath of the War, unable to keep track of her diploma and various records as she moved from space to space. The job was a step below Draco's, but it paid almost the same and it was an excuse to spend every day with someone who was now – quite strangely – her closest friend.

They ate lunch together every day, without fail.

"Did you bring—."

"Do I ever forget?"

Hermione Granger tossed the cup of peach yogurt she'd procured from a brown lunch bag across the table at Draco. He caught it gratefully, pulling off the aluminum cover and licking it clean. She had slowly begun introducing him to muggle traditions, and although he made fun of most of them, yogurt was his single golden nougat.

Muggles really knew how to indulge in their food, he reflected as he ate the yogurt slowly.

"You've got to start showing me some of your stuff. You know, things you grew up with." Hermione paused to take a bite out of her sandwich – peanut butter and jelly, like it was every day – and then spoke as she chewed, "did you have a favorite bedtime story growing up? I tried explaining Mother Goose to Ron and he thought it was ridic—what?"

Draco had been watching her, a smile slowly spreading across his face. It developed into small bursts of laughter.

"Granger," he snorted, "you've got… right there, hold on."

He reached out a hand and brushed his calloused thumb across the gentle crease of skin that separate her lips, where a chunk of peanut butter had attached itself. Lingering a moment, he watched Hermione intently and for a moment felt like she was doing the same, before finally dropping his hand.

"Do you ever eat anything else?" Draco laughed.

Hermione seemed to be slightly dazed, but she snapped to attention to answer him. "Don't you remember?"

"Hmn?" He used a napkin to wipe the peanut butter off his thumb.

"The kindness of a stranger." She smiled, blushing just slightly.

He squinted, something he did when reviewing memories, and like a file long lost in a cabinet somewhere, Draco pulled out the memory of the first night she spent at the Manor.

Draco Malfoy stood, his tall frame drawing attention in the Ministry cafeteria, and he leaned over and simply kissed Hermione Granger in front of everyone.

Six months after the Ministry hired him, Draco Malfoy was given a promotion.

He now worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (the irony was not lost on his boss, a former Gryffindor who was two years his junior at Hogwarts). Hermione had left the Ministry once she found a job at an independent Magical Book Publisher, though she and Draco still met every day for lunch – at least, their Patronuses did.

The kiss in the cafeteria of the Ministry had not been the only one they shared since, but it would always remain the most meaningful. They did not adopt pet names for each other, or stare longingly in each other's eyes for endless amounts of time, or even kiss more than once or twice in public.

They did, however, fall madly and irrevocably in love.

It was the subtle things that she did; Draco could watch her read for hours, as strange as it seemed. She would become so fixated with the book that, even if he cast hexes above her head, she would not flinch. It amazed him, that type of discipline and focus. His father had instilled those values – but they came with a price.

Many scars, and a complex.

Hermione seemed to have learned them effortlessly. Part of him was jealous, but the other part (a much smaller and yet the more important of the two) was proud.

He could now understand why Potter and Weasley relied on her so heavily; it was a miracle they survived any situation when she was not present, no matter how brave or headstrong either was.

Draco settled into his new job fine, despite the nasty rumors that circulated and the constant whispers that suddenly stopped as he turned every corner. It became a game to him, in some ways, and he would try to sneak up on groups of people to see if he could catch tidbits.

The Ministry seemed to be really good at being obvious while gossiping, but keeping their actual words rather secretive. It irked Draco.

Perhaps the Slytherin in him felt slighted.

He begun saving after his first month's pay, and a year later he had enough to ask Hermione to move in with him. Draco wanted to make sure he could afford a flat that made her just as proud of him as he (secretly) was of her. Hermione insisted that money was no object, but Draco Malfoy was raised with the mantra that you buy who you love.

They argued over how it was archaic, but ultimately Draco would not be swayed. He wanted dignity, and she could not debate against that.

Finally he surprised her at work with an extra set of keys, and an animated picture of him standing outside a modest but beautifully old house in Ottery St. Catchpole. She was expecting an apartment – perhaps a studio or a one bedroom, but Draco had gone to the Minister of Magic and demanded compensation for all the family heirlooms taken from the Malfoy Manor that were not of dark magic origin.

"Is this you asking?" She joked, as he pulled her into a hug.

"Not quite yet," Draco had whispered softly against her hair, but she did not hear, and that was just what he intended. Smiling, he closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, finding that for the first time in his life he felt safe.

It did not take long for Harry Potter to hear the news.

Despite being absent from Hermione's life for the past two years, he seemed to suddenly want everything to do with her. Draco was irritated, but he refused to have any conversations about it.

He knew that bringing up Potter would cause a rift between them, so he skillfully ignored it. At first, Hermione agreed, but as Harry pressured her to spend more time with him, and eventually talk about what on earth she was doing with Malfoy, she began talking about it constantly.

Somewhere deep inside Draco knew she wasn't to blame; he would react the same, if not more extreme if the roles were reversed, but he could not tell her that. Instead he directed his anger at her.

She may have loved him, but he was still a Malfoy, still a Slytherin. Some things were habits.

They fought almost every day, but Draco vowed to never go to bed angry at Hermione. His father was oblivious to the new living situation, but the slowly aging blond found himself owling Lucius Malfoy for conversation every time Hermione went to visit Harry.

One particular Sunday evening, Hermione came back hours after she said she would.

Draco had stayed up, sitting idly in the kitchen with The Daily Prophet in front of him, flipping through it gradually.

Entering the kitchen, Hermione stumbled in surprise when she saw Draco.

"I thought you'd be in bed by now." Her voice was quiet, almost guilty.

"Couldn't sleep." He did not look up at her.

"Well, as long as you're awake, we need to talk…"

Draco folded the newspaper shut, throwing it on the counter in front of him. "Alright," he said plainly.

"Draco, I need you to know that I love you, I really mean that. Please don't forget that." She began wringing her hands nervously, still standing by the entrance.

"But you just can't do this anymore?" His voice was monotone, and his eyes were fixated on the newspaper's front page.

"There's just too much that has happened. We've been living in a bubble. Draco," she moved to take a seat across from him, and he leaned away from her. "I didn't talk to Ron or Harry for two years, I thought… I don't know. I just thought—."

"We'd be okay?" He snorted.

"You seem to have this entire conversation figured out," Hermione snapped, suddenly irritated.

"It was only a matter of time," he lied, gritting his teeth. "After all, you are a mudblood."

And with that, Draco stood and walked around the counter to Hermione, holding his hand out. She hesitated, at first moving to place her palm in his, but he tutted, shaking is head slowly. Hermione finally understood, and she reached into her pocket and pulled out the extra set of keys he'd given her, and dropped them into his outstretched hand.

Draco exited the kitchen, and Hermione rested her head on the counter and squeezed her eyes shut until she was certain all the tears had finished.

He did not wait to see if she would leave that night, or the next morning. Draco retreated to the basement, locking the door and adding a few charms to make sure she would not be able to find him. Grabbing his cloak as he ascended to the tiny room he'd built for himself after moving in (it was decorated in dark greens and grey hues), Draco pointed his wand at the only carpeted area in the room and whispered, "Accio Time Turner."

There was no thought that went into it, no planning or careful consideration of the facts. Of the consequences.

Instead, Draco secured his wand and put the golden chain over his neck, turning the hourglass as many times as he could while focusing on the exact moment he wanted to return to.

Every evil had a beginning.

Draco could not think of any single thing that frightened him more than the Dark Lord, but he also knew that even the most vile of creatures had a past.

He remembered hearing stories after the War from other Death Eaters; the ones that remained who were close to the Dark Lord relished in spilling his most coveted secrets. Draco managed to discover that before he was the Dark Lord, he was Thomas Marvolo Riddle, and he resided at a muggle orphanage in London.

In a whirlwind of sand and magic, Draco materialized in the young Tom Riddle's room; the boy was eight years old, doe-eyed and curious, yet still there was something menacing about him.

Clenching his jaw, Draco raised his wand and began to speak the words, "Avada…"

"Who are you?" The young boy squinted.

"…Kedavra."

There was a burst of green light, so strong that it sent the boy flying into one of the posts by the edge of his bed, and Draco stood for a moment.

Tom Riddle was slumped over the wrinkled sheets, his eyes black and glazed over.

Not bothering to give even a moment to the ramifications of what he had just done, Draco turned the hourglass around his neck again and shut his eyes, focusing hard on the house in Ottery St. Catchpole, and hoping to arrive just a few minutes earlier than he'd left, so he could find Hermione.

He returned to find the basement was piled with old bikes and useless trinkets; Draco almost tripped as he reappeared amongst the litter of boxes and muggle toys.

"What the bloody f—."

"Mum!" He heard children shouting upstairs. "Mum! Can we go to Uncle Ernie's for dinner? Please? Mum!"

Draco cursed, and as he Apparated out of there a sliver of guilt crossed his face. What had he done?

For two weeks Draco wandered, in a drunken stupor, from tavern to tavern until he could find someone who would explain to him the world for the last twenty years. It seemed without Lord Voldemort the magical community had lived through its most prosperous era yet, though in recent years there had been some talk of a new Dark Lord collecting followers.

Draco could not find anyone at the Leaky Cauldron who was willing to talk about this person, but Knockturn Alley proved to be the only thing consistent in its nature after Draco drastically altered history. He found a starved man wandering the streets, and offered him three galleons in exchange for information.

"'Ee's not really evil," the man said as he admired the galleons in his hand, "just misunderstood, is all. I 'eard he went to Hogwarts, 'ee did. Fellah by the name of Potter."

The young Malfoy's face blanched, and before the elderly man could give him any more answers he was gone.

Without thinking, Draco Apparated to the village of Hogsmeade , moving so quickly that he knocked over a couple as he brushed past, running towards the station. As he rounded the corner, the tall towers of Hogwarts castle made themselves known in the night sky, and Draco breathed a single sigh of relief.

At least the school was still there.

Eying the curvy road that led up to the castle, Draco suddenly realized that he had no idea how to get there without the traditional buggy that took him to and from Hogwarts during his schooldays.

"Excuse me?" A polite voice interrupted his thoughts – one that he recognized all too well.

Spinning around, Draco raised his wand and prepared for whatever atrocity would meet him (everything else had gone wrong, it would only make sense…)

"Oh, Draco? Is that you?"

A very different, and yet somehow exactly the same looking Hermione Granger greeted him with… was that… excitement?

She pulled him into a hug.

"It's been, what, two years hasn't it?" She smiled, squeezing his shoulder. "How are you? How's Pansy?"

"Pansy?" Draco's face contorted into involuntary disgust.

Hermione blushed, "I'm sorry, did you two break up? I didn't mean to pry…"

"No, no, it's fine," Draco replied slowly. "In fact, we did break up. I'm pretty torn up about it as well. Could really use a friend."

He whistled, purposely avoiding eye contact as he rocked back on his heels.

"Well, I've got some time. The Merry Antelope is right around the corner. Shall we?"

"We shall," Draco smirked, offering his arm as the two began walking towards town, a small trickle of snow descending on Hogsmeade as they did.

And, despite his best efforts, Draco Malfoy had turned the entire world upside down. For what?

Love.