Disclaimer: you know the drill

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Prologue

The people just looked like ants from up here, wandering around the grounds as a breeze blew past the branches of the Forbidden Forest. Did it ever have another name, a real name?

Guess I'll never know now, Hermione thought vaguely. Though the thought didn't seem too terrible. She was absolutely, undeniably compelled to launch herself off the top of the East Tower, aside from that little voice in her head that seemed to go hoarse with yelling…

No, no, no…

Step up onto the ledge. It's a beautiful view, isn't it?

No, no, no…

You want to be part of that, don't you?

... no…

Yes… step forward. Doesn't the wind feel wonderful?

…no… no…no…

Let it carry you. Jump now.

No…

NOW!

NO!

The result was something along the lines of what Harry had done in fourth year. The mixed signals led to a conflict of neurons… and so Hermione's legs buckled, breaking the control of the Imperious, but leaving her a bit off-balance.

A bit off-everything really, as she now found herself gaining speed as she hurtled towards the ground. Luckily for our story, time slows down during a crisis, and so Hermione had a brief moment to wonder why she couldn't remember the past eight months, and recalled only vaguely the process of falling from the top of Hogwarts. She wondered why she was there, exactly, seeing as she had graduated following the war five years ago. She did not know that it was five years to the day, and that the people wandering the grounds below her were celebrating the anniversary of Lord Voldemort's defeat. She then concluded, somewhere around ten stories above the festivities, that rescue seemed impossible, and though she was quite young, she had a good life and would be missed by her friends and colleagues.

Luckily for Hermione, someone from the grounds below had screeched loudly enough for someone next to a high window to hear and wonder what the hell was going on. Draco Malfoy was always a nosy bastard, and so popped his head out the window. He looked down, left, right: nothing. He looked up.

In the interest of saving his own neck (from being broken by a falling body), he sputtered out a wingardium leviosa. Hermione stopped.

Am I flying?

Nothing happened. She was invisibly suspended from below, and so glanced down.

It was then that Draco Malfoy realized that the suicidal maniac who decided to launch herself off the building was none other than his fiancé.

"Blaise?" he muttered weakly, head and wand still out the window. His friend looked up from the mirror and tilted his head questioningly. "It seems that Persephone has decided to take the jump."

"You told me she accepted your proposal last week," Blaise responded blankly.

"From the tower."

Blaise hustled over to the window to look up. "Ah." He glanced at Draco. "Are you going to bring her inside, or no?"

"Oh, yes." Draco blinked, slowly moving his wand to bring her down to his level. "Of course." He tilted slightly to let her peer inside and set her down on the solid stone floor, which she stepped onto like a ballerina landing a grand jeté. She was in the boys' bathroom.

Draco took her hand nervously. "Are you all right?"

Hermione looked at him with all the warmth of a first meeting with Aragon.

"Persephone," he muttered, and giving a nearly watery smirk, enveloped her in a hug. "Why would you ever do that? You had me terribly worried."

Blaise snorted in agreement. "Persephone?" Hermione wondered aloud.

"Yes, you," Draco replied, suddenly businesslike. "You're all out of sorts. Here, take a look at yourself."

Hermione looked in the mirror. Staring back at her was a woman with light blonde hair and a somewhat sharper face, who was maybe twenty pounds lighter than she remembered being. It didn't look like her at all, apart from the brown eyes that met hers perfectly, widened, and rolled back. She landed with an echoing thunk on the bathroom floor.

"Well it wasn't that bad," Blaise remarked conversationally, looking at the now-unconscious woman. "Honestly, a bit of rouge and she would have been perfectly fine."

"Only whores and muggle-borns wear rouge, Blaise," Draco replied. He wet a handkerchief under the faucet and patted Hermione's forehead. "She'll be fine, though do you think that Madam Pomfrey will be in the Hospital Wing?

Blaise sighed. "We might as well check," he resigned. Draco nodded, stood, and levitated his fiancé for the second time that day.

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a/n: we never get to see fics that start mid-action, so I thought I'd give it a go. The plot is still rolling around in my head though, so let me know if there's anything you'd like in there. Thanks!