Note: Skip to the very beginning of chapter 3 just for a moment to read my note about strikethroughs before you read this chapter.


Part I

1

Hermione Granger stepped off the Hogwarts Express into the bright summer sun and squinted her eyes against the onslaught. She glanced around the platform and waved when she saw three familiar faces.

"So how does it feel?" Harry Potter asked, his hair black and messy as always, his green eyes significantly less haunted from the last time Hermione had seen him about three months previous during the last Hogsmeade visit of the year.

It had been a year of recovery for the group of them: Hermione, Harry, their best friend Ron Weasley, and Ron's sister—Harry's fiancée—Ginny Weasley. After Harry, Ron, and Hermione had worked to finally bring down Voldemort, the three of them weren't really sure what to do next. On the run for a year, plotting Voldemort's demise for even longer than that, and six years of magical education before that, each of them wasn't really sure what it meant to live their lives outside of the things that had occupied their existence for such an enormous portion of their lives. What would it be like to go back into the world after the year they had just had, the things they had experienced, the trauma they had faced?

What was Harry to do after he had looked inside the head of a man he believed to have betrayed one of the people he thought he knew most in the world, accepted the fate he saw inside that head, and walked to his death only to discover that he couldn't be killed by Voldemort as long as the Elder Wand did not answer to him? What was Ron to do after facing down some of his biggest fears and insecurities at hands of a vile piece of Voldemort's soul? What was Hermione to do after being tortured for information by a maniacal, evil, zealot-for-the-cause witch who would stop at nothing to please her master?

Well. They would survive. They would move on. They would live.

Harry became an Auror like he had wanted ever since he understood what exactly it meant to have such a profession. His nightmares were violent and terrible at first, drenching him in a cold sweat, lingering throughout the days, but then slowly diminishing over time. The happiness returned to his eyes as the memories faded, though never fully left, never would, and Ginny helped him find his way with her love and support. He had his arm around her shoulders now as they stood on the platform, holding her a bit more closely and a bit more tightly than he would have had he not gone through what he had gone through. He always held her like that—with love and care and tenderness, with the underlying feelings of desperation and fear that had not gone and would not go for years to come. Ginny was a professional Quidditch player for the Holyhead Harpies—an all-female team—and it was obvious that she had been out in the sun practicing a lot lately. Her skin was more tanned and her freckles were more pronounced than Hermione had ever seen them.

Ron had spent the year working at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement along with Harry to hunt down the last of Voldemort's followers. Hermione had been, naturally, skeptical about this endeavor, fearing that it would set back the ability to recover from the previous year for both of them, until she realized that Harry thrived as an Auror, and the only way he would ever be able to fully move on was if he knew every last Death Eater was either dead or in Azkaban. Ron was different, though. He had chosen this path primarily to support Harry and to go on another great adventure—Ron had always been very, well, Slytherin about his quest for fame and glory—but Hermione knew it wouldn't and couldn't last, and she was right. About two months ago, Ron had decided that he was going to start working with his brother George at the joke shop he had started with their brother Fred a few years ago. Fred had died in the war, and George was struggling without him, so Ron decided that instead of being an Auror, he would take the time off and work with his brother, something that would do both of them a world of good.

For her part, Hermione had returned to Hogwarts. She just knew she would never be able to feel fully accomplished without completing her wizarding education, something she had dreamed of doing since she learned she was a witch when she was eleven years old. Ginny hadn't returned either, despite not finishing her seventh year completely, opting instead to fly with the Harpies, so it was strange to be at Hogwarts without any of her friends or anyone she knew really. She had known some of the younger Gryffindors, but without Harry and Ron to force her to be social, she had kept primarily to her books and studies, and she knew without question that it would pay off when she got her N.E.W.T. results in a few weeks. It had been a lonely and difficult year, but Harry, Ron, and Ginny had visited in Hogsmeade as often as possible. Hermione had gone to the Burrow for Christmas, and with her intense studying, the year had gone by quickly. But, bloody hell, was she happy to be back.

Hermione felt a warm flush in her heart at seeing all them. She stood on her toes to place a soft kiss on Ron's lips. They had decided to take things slow—very slow—since they would hardly be able see each other during the time when Hermione was finishing up her education and Ron was hunting Death Eaters. They couldn't really be considered boyfriend and girlfriend, but they had a relationship of sorts, and Hermione was happy to see him.

"It feels good," Hermione said as she gave Harry a hug and then turned to Ginny to do the same.

"I still don't know why you felt like you had to finish your seventh year," Ron said with a shrug as he took Hermione's trunk and started to load her things onto a cart. "You could do anything you want without it."

"School is important to her," Harry said with a laugh. "Surely you must know that by now."

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said with a look at Ron. "It's over anyway, Ronald, so you don't have to hurt your head wondering about it anymore." Ginny and Harry laughed while Ron scowled.

"We thought we'd take you to dinner," Harry said as they started to walk toward the entrance to Platform 9 ¾. He had moved away from Ginny only to throw an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "I made reservations at that place you like in London. I hope that's okay."

"I told them you would be tired—"

"No, it's fine," Hermione interrupted Ginny. "That sounds great." She glanced around Harry to where Ginny was on his other side, holding Crookshanks, who she'd taken out of his cage the moment she'd seen him. "Ginny, how's everything coming along?"

"Why are you asking her and not me?" Harry looked down at Hermione, looking faux-wounded.

Hermione laughed. "Okay, Harry, how is the wedding planning coming?"

He shrugged and looked ahead, his arm around her tightening a bit. "I don't know, ask Ginny." He smirked, and Hermione threw her head back in laughter.

It really was incredible to be back with them again.


July 10, 1999 11:42 pm

I'm not really sure what the hell the bloody point of this is. But that woman insists that it will be "good for me" to "reflect" and "express my feelings."

Bollocks.

There's nothing to reflect on or express. Everything is pretty fucking straightforward.

My parents attached themselves to a bloody maniac. I, being a stupid child who didn't know any better and who didn't understand anything in the world other than bringing pride and glory to the family, idiotically, attached myself to that maniac as well. That maniac started a war. He did horrible things to everyone. /To me\

Bloody hell.

I spilled tea all over this page and I can't get the stain out. I was never very good at cleaning spells. I didn't want to talk about the Dark Lord. But she insists that I talk about it. And then she freaks the hell out when I talk about him and my hands shake or my eyes "go blank" as she insists they do. Well, who cares if my hands shake a little when I talk about the Dark Lord? He was bloody scary. It's not that big of a deal. But now she's got me all worried about a little hand shaking and I dropped my tea. She I didn't even want to hire this woman. My mother insisted.

My mother. Jesus, isn't that ever the topic that this woman always wants to talk about. My mother and my father.

"Tell me about your childhood?"

"Do you feel like your parents forced you to be a Death Eater?"

"Did your father ever harm you?"

"Would you say your mother was your rock?"

I mean, Christ. I told mum that a shrink—"A therapist, Draco, call her a therapist."—well, I told her that getting a shrink was a stupid idea. But her and father aren't around, and as much as mum makes overtures that they won't be gone forever, I know—as they do—that they aren't coming back. So mum says "you should talk to someone" when she floos. And I tell her it's ridiculous—that I'm fine in the Manor with the house elves that don't want to leave, but mum bloody well insists that that's not good enough.

I talk to her. Isn't that enough? I told her about the nightmares. I admitted that I hardly ever leave the manor. I even bloody admitted to her that I cry, well, more than is strictly necessary. I talk to her. Isn't that enough?

"No, Draco, it's not enough. Your father and I are all the way in France. I can't always be there for you when you need me."

And when I told her that it was unbecoming of a Malfoy to see a shrink, she told me to grow up.

Can you believe that? My mother told me to grow up for just reciting all the shit that she and father have been hammering into my brain since birth!

I guess I'll have to tell the therapist about that at some point. She's always asking about my parents. Did I mention that? I would say that's probably the main thing she asks about. I tried to find somebody else, but my mother said she was the most highly recommended therapist for wizards and witches in Europe. Please. Like there's such a huge market for magical shrinks.

But I figure everyone is going to want to know about my parents. And everyone is going to think it's odd that I live all alone in the manor, but what do they know? This is my home. I'm not about to go run away and hide in France like my parents are doing. Dr. Blazer (not her real name, but she always wears these two bloody blazers, a tan one and a navy blue one. I swear to Merlin that she doesn't have a single other article of clothing but those two bloody jackets), she would say that what I'm doing at the manor is no better than what my parents are doing in France, but she's wrong. I'm here, aren't I? Sure I make the servants get me everything I need when I need anything that requires traveling into Diagon Alley or anywhere else wizards might be, but I go out. I mean, hell, I consort with muggles. Tell me that's not healing and moving on and overcoming adversity, or whatever other shit she spouts off.

Being on my own has given me time to do other things I enjoy. Who knew anyone could get such singular pleasure from doing something so muggle and so common as lifting weights or punching a bag that hangs from your ceiling. I mean, hitting that bag feels absolutely bloody amazing. So I do that. And I read. And I see Dr. Blazer. I even got one of those muggle contraptions that plays moves. Or movIEs I think they're called. In fact, I was watching this movie called "Rocky" that inspired me to get those muggle weights and that bag.

But Dr. Blazer says that isn't good enough. So she insists that I write down my feelings. So here's how I feel today.

I'm tired.

I'm bored.

I miss my parents.

I wish I had been able to go back to Hogwarts. They just finished a few weeks ago. It's not that I want to see any of them or anything like that. I just

/I think I would like to be in the halls and feel\

I just like to finish things that I start. It's nothing more than that.

The house is quiet today.

Perhaps I'll go for a walk.


"I made pancakes," Hermione called over her shoulder as she heard footsteps behind her entering into the kitchen of Ginny's flat. She saw Harry coming in and she smiled as he toweled off his wet hair. "Good morning," she said.

Although Harry had his own tiny, disgusting flat in London, he spent most of his time at Ginny's, which was also where Hermione had been staying for the past month. It had been sort of an unspoken thing, that Hermione would stay with her friend—unspoken because no one wanted to mention the fact that Hermione's parents were still in Australia with no idea that a "Hermione Granger" even existed, and their house was still where it was, but Hermione hadn't been back since she left it almost two years ago—and Ginny had just sort of ordered Harry to take all of Hermione's things to her flat that day a few weeks ago when Hermione had returned from Hogwarts. And she had been there ever since. And every time Hermione made any mention of looking for her own place, both Ginny and Harry waved her off like it was absolutely nothing.

"You don't have to make us breakfast every morning, Hermione," Harry said as he flicked his wand at the tea kettle and it automatically started boiling.

"I like doing it," she responded with a shrug. "After going so long without being able to cook for myself, it's kind of fun."

"Well, what did you put in those pancakes this morning?" Harry asked, steeping his tea bag in the mug of hot water he'd just poured. He emphasized the word because Hermione had had a habit of putting strange things in the pancakes she often made for them. Well, it wasn't that strange, it was fun and new, and unless you tried a pancake with bacon and cheese in it, or maybe kale or mint, how would you know if you liked it or not?

"Just blueberries."

"Oh, thank god," Harry breathed in relief.

"Oi! You've liked all my pancakes!"

"True, but he'll eat basically anything," Ginny said after she entered the kitchen and sat down next to Harry, taking his cup out of his hands and taking a long swallow. Hermione blushed and turned back to the stove when she noticed that Ginny's hair was also wet and fresh from the shower, as she realized exactly what that must have meant.

A few minutes later, Hermione had finished with their breakfast and was placing the pancakes on plates for the three of them. When she turned toward the table, two plates in her hand, she noticed that Ginny was giving Harry a firm look, and Harry looked like he was trying to tell her silently to back off.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, heart beating a bit faster as she put the plates in front of them and looked between the two of them. "Have I finally overstayed my welcome?" she asked, turning to grab her plate and simultaneously trying to hide her hurt expression.

"No!"

"What? No way, Hermione."

"Then what is it?" she asked as she sat down next to Ginny, instantly relieved.

"Harry," Ginny said sternly.

Harry sighed. "Do you want to come work at the Department?"

Hermione frowned, confused, and took a bite of her pancakes. "What dep—oh." It dawned. "Oh."

"Kingsley wants to hire you," Ginny explained. "He told Harry when he found out your N.E.W.T. scores. Plus, I mean, with everything that happened… Well, his exact words were 'she's smarter than anyone we've got, she helped destroy Voldemort, and we could certainly use her expertise.'"

"I didn't want to say anything because I didn't think you'd want to," Harry said when Hermione didn't immediately respond. "I know you just got done with Hogwarts and… well, it's a lot, and I… Well, it's not because I didn't want you to work there, if that's what you're thinking. Of course I would want you there. It would be—well, it would be amazing to have you there, actually. Kingsley's right, you're definitely the smartest, and we've worked together on a mission like this before, you know, with the Horcruxes. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have been able to do it, and—"

"Harry," Hermione interrupted, laughing at Harry's rambling nervousness. "Stop, stop." Hermione held up a hand. "I appreciate the offer, tell Kingsley that, but no thanks."

Ginny frowned and Harry opened his mouth and closed it.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before—"

"It's not that," Hermione said, stopping Harry before he could go off again. She was flattered, she really was, and she knew that she could do some good work as an Auror, especially if she worked with Harry. And Harry was right, they had done this kind of thing before and they would absolutely be able to do it again, but she knew she couldn't. Not now, anyway. She was still having nightmares about that time. She still wore long sleeves because she didn't want anyone to see her scar. She still woke up in a fright, thinking that she was on the run, hunting Horcruxes, and she would wake up with some idea or plan for finding them only to realize that it was over, that they had won. She still looked over her shoulder when she walked anywhere, even at Hogwarts, and she still cried herself to sleep when she got too overwhelmed thinking about all of it. So Harry was right about that, too. It was a lot. Too much. And Hermione wasn't ready.

"Tell Kingsley I'm flattered, but I just can't," she said. "Not yet—"

"What do you—"

"Okay," Harry said, interrupting Ginny who looked confused and indignant. "I understand. But when you're ready," he said with a knowing look. "We could really use you."


August 18, 1999 3:04 pm

STOP TRYING TO DISTRACT YOURSELF FROM YOUR FEELINGS AND YOUR PAIN, DRACO.

Dr. Fucking Blazer insisted that I write that at the top of my next entry.

I thought that hag would be happy when I told her about reading War and Peace in a little over a month. I thought she would be happy when I told her I beat my own 5km running record. I thought she would laud me for planting a garden out in the yard behind the main house.

I thought it would show progress. I thought it would mean I was feeling better and moving on, but Blazer says that I'm only doing those things to distract myself. She says I've never come to terms with the things I did and the things that were done to me and the things that I did and saw and how I felt about everything and about Voldemort and blood purity and his bloody cause. She says until I face all of that I won't be able to live my life and I'll stay "hiding away in my family fortress for the rest of my life."

So I was ordered to write that ridiculous phrase at the top of my next bloody diary entry, which I don't even want to be fucking writing. And she said every day I have to acknowledge one thing that happened that scared me or upset me or made me question things—something that I still think about when I'm not "distracting myself." I have to write down at least one each day and talk about how it made me fucking feel. Good lord.

So here goes I guess.

/One thing\

/There was this one\

Jesus, I don't even know how to start this. It's weird, yeah? I mean, who the hell does stuff like this? And no matter how I say it, it's not going to seem real. It's not going to seem genuine or feel authentic, and this needs to feel real because it was real. All of it. And I felt all of it. And I know I'll never be able to put on this bloody paper how scared or angry or conflicted or messed up I was at times, and I don't want to write it down because I don't want that feeling to be diminished.

Jesus, I sound like a poof.

3:40pm

My mother would go insane if she knew I was smoking. I wonder what she would do if she told me that smoking was unbecoming of a Malfoy and I told her to grow up.

It doesn't matter anyway. I haven't seen my mother since last Christmas, and I doubt I'll see her again until next Christmas. By then I'll have kicked the habit.

Just now when I went outside to have a fag, the thing I wanted to write about—to please Blazer—suddenly came to my mind. I think about this a lot. Well, I try not to think about it, but sometimes it will just pop into my head, unbidden and unwanted. Like I'll be reading a book and it's just THERE, like it was always there and trying to come out and it was finally able to break free and it's right there. I dream about it. /Nightmares, really, with the sound of her\ I've never told Dr. Blazer about it. I haven't spoken of it since it happened, and I just, well, I really try not to think about it. I think I already said that. /It was\ Well I try not to think about any of what happened then. But I guess that's the problem, isn't it?

It's the sound of her screams that I'll always remember. I remember it because it wasn't just a scream of pain. That's what really got to me. It wasn't even just a scream of fear. I mean… There was pain and fear and all of that, yeah, of course. Yeah. But it was the sound of confusion that I'll always remember. It wasn't just pain and fear and PLEASE STOP, it was WHY. I heard it. I can still hear it. Underneath the pain and the fear, her screams were also why are you doing this to me?

That's what I'll always remember.

I remember the other stuff. I remember Aunt Bella screaming at me, saying "WATCH. THIS DOESN'T EVEN COME CLOSE TO WHAT THE DARK LORD WILL DO TO YOU—TO ALL OF US—IF HE FINDS OUT. WATCH, DRACO, WATCH WATCH WATCH WATCH."

Watch.

I can still hear her voice. Bella's, I mean. She was angry and she was scared, but Granger…

She was confused.

Why are you doing this to me?

She never said it. But it was there.

And after it was all over—Cruciatus, sectumsempra—broken skin healed over and over again, becoming more tender, easier to slice, each time the curse was performed again—spells I had never seen before or heard of, designed to torture a person out of their mind—wouldn't be the first time she'd done it—I saw her. She looked so small. So frail. So gentle and fragile and pale and small. And her arm was bleeding where Aunt Bella had made the cut, where she had carved.

"You're one of us now." She'd said that after she lifted her sleeve and sneered and showed Granger her dark mark. You're one of us now. I don't know why she said that.

But Granger looked so small, and I knew that mark would be there her entire life.

MUDBLOOD

I had never felt regret like I had in that moment. It was searing and painful and heavy. It was heavy. Yeah, that's the best way to describe it. It was like an elephant was sitting on my shoulders. A bloody elephant of regret. I hadn't made the mark, and that wasn't what the regret was about, like I didn't feel guilty. Well. I don't know. I mean, I hated—HATED—what Bella had done. I was shaking with rage that my parents and my aunt mistook for fear. It wasn't completely off base for them to think it was fear because back then I—all of us, really—lived in constant fear. But I wasn't shaking from fear. I was enraged. But I didn't make the mark. That wasn't where the regret came from. Seeing Granger there, the blood on her arm, the mark that would be there for life, I regretted ever calling her that. That's where the regret came from. I regretted it because I knew, somehow I knew, that she would look at that and she would hear my voice. She would hear me calling her that, and I wished I never had—called her that, I mean—because I didn't want her to hear my voice. I didn't want her to look at that mark and think of me. I didn't want Granger to think I would have done something like that or that I was like Bella—cruel and evil and maniacal. I didn't want Granger to think that I was okay with that my aunt had done. I guess… Well I just didn't want Granger to think that I was one of them.

But I was.

I was one of them. And I guess, in a way, I always will be.


A/N: It's finally here - the Dramione prequel/spin-off that I promised you (at least that I promised those who didn't despise chapter 10 of And So They Spoke...). This story was meant to be MUCH shorter than it's turning out to be, but I just can't help myself. It will definitely be shorter than the story that it stems from, but it won't be as short as I intended. I haven't explored these two characters in YEARS, and the first ever Dramione I wrote was... well it was bad, at least to me. But thankfully for all of us I've grown as a writer, and I get to explore these two when I'm NOT a total n00b.

For those who didn't read Words Unspoken or And So They Spoke: You definitely DO NOT have to read those stories before you read this one. Obviously I want you to read them, but I recognize that they are insanely long so you don't have to. Everything from those stories that is necessary for this one will be in here in some form or another. The only thing I will say is that if you ever plan to read those, you should read them first because this story will spoil a huge story line that explains the end of Words Unspoken and most of And So They Spoke. So if you like Scorose and you want to read those at some point, definitely read those first. But if you just like Dramione and don't give a hell, then stick with me for this one!

Thank you so much for starting this new journey with me - I hope you all enjoy this story as much as I do!