(AN)
I spent a lot of time deliberating on whether or no to type this story, let alone publish it. It's been growing in my mind forever and just begging to be written. I hope that you enjoy it as much as I do. Now, I love criticism, but please, lets not be nasty. I will upload when I can. I have class and a new family so I spend a lot of time with them, but I am committed to my readers. Please do give me feedback, because it gives me better lures to fish with in the pool that is my creative genius. (Or lack thereof) Either way, enjoy, and review if you feel so inclined.

There rests a time and place for all things; each minute of every passing hour of every day, forever, had a purpose. This was Hermione Granger's creed. Past days have fallen into shadow and the memory of happiness has begun to fog. The only thing that Hermione could remember with startling clarity was that there was pain and that the War had ended. With that end, brought happiness to all others, except for Hermione; her pain seemed to be everlasting.

There was a deep and resounding ache in her chest that she knew not if it was a natural aliment or something deeper; something spiritual. She felt this pain echo in her bones and ring in her head. She soon came to realize that her pain wouldn't recover, that it was getting worse and she couldn't for the life of her understand why. One thing that she did know was that she did not intend to see anyone about it. St. Mungo's be damned. The last thing she needed was that sort of bad publicity for herself and the boys. She couldn't handle that type of attention. If she were to be honest with herself (which she always was) she didn't want any attention at all.

Her old friends couldn't understand her reclusion; they refused to remember, so she'd removed herself entirely. She remembered. She remembered everything. And it was because she remembered everything that she kept very much to herself. Hermione lived in a small cottage of in the middle of Nowhere (which was actually a twenty minutes' walk to Clovelly); Nowhere was a name she lovingly gave the rolling green hills she chose to house her little home. It was a lovely one room abode with a fireplace, a large, blissfully comfortable bed, a small table, and a cozy kitchen. Of course, every available surface was covered in books.

Self-made bookshelves were bowing with the weight of all her glorious books; she had even taken up to reading fiction, anything to take up the time, and to keep her mind full with anything but that echo. With a small garden of vegetables and herbs to tend to and a weekly visit she made to the village market, she needed nothing else.

Aside from her now very old cat, Crookshanks, she was alone. And on some days, she wondered if being alone was good enough.

Sighing to herself, she gathered her cloak about her shoulders and slipped her wand into a secure pocket stitched with thread enchanted with a concealing charm. Disregarding her shoes and leaving her hair free in a mass of coiled copper. Her white shirt shone bright in the noon-day light and her tan traveling pants bunched up about her knees as she strode out her door. If there was one thing that Hermione still had absolute confidence in, it was her mind. She smirked to herself and fingered the pendant in her pocket as she crested the hill.

Draco Malfoy was a reasonable man. That is to say as reasonable as he could be. Every so often he could feel his old sneer slip onto his cool features and his temper would rise. He found himself in this current predicament as he stared down into the beady eyes of the red-faced, flustered man before him. This portly man was currently sweating more than seemingly possible and was stuttering and sputtering to the point where Draco was about to need to step away from him to avoid getting drenched in the poor man's saliva.

He ran a hand through his silver-blond hair and then over his face before he sighed and collected his thoughts, while pinching the bridge of his nose. The man in front of him was trying desperately to explain how he had exactly he'd managed to lose the Nef'tae Pendant. He was going on and on about how he had been conned. His con man, the very man who could silver-tongue his way into the pants of the Queen herself if he wanted to, had been out-witted, allegedly, by a plain peasant girl in some village on the coast, a small place called Clovelly. He'd managed to lose a priceless and important artifact for pocket change. He'd be better off hiring this wench on.

Draco had sent him on business to collect a book, a very rare novel written by Professor Vindictus Viridian, the same man who wrote Curses and Countercurses, who happened to write another series of books, a trilogy about wandless magic, the true power of your familiar, and a very complicated history and detailed explanation on the Eye of Truth. It is a very old novel and no one has ever really heard about it. Curses and Countercurses was a book written to discredit him from the realm of serious literature, and thus, his trilogy went unnoticed when published.

The trilogy: Magic of the Mind, Familiar Power, and The Truth within the Eye are books that, in the wrong hands can be foolishly used or even used for evil purposes, and the world has had about enough of its fair share of that. No, Draco was not the same boy he was at Hogwarts. He was a man now with priorities and an open mind. Along with that, he had money and free reign over Malfoy enterprises since the death of his father. His role as president was one he passed over to his good friend Blaise Zabini. Like Malfoy, Blaise's mindset of muggle-borns had changed during the War, and he was now an advocate of Protective Services of Muggle Born Witches and Wizards.

With Blaise at the helm, Malfoy was given time to locate and keep under lock, key, and heavy wards, all potentially lethal magical items. It was a mission to keep the remaining Death Eaters as powerless as possible. Yet, even with his attempts, they were still growing more powerful, and with these books in the hands of some unsuspecting girl in Clovelly, not only was that village in danger, but the balance he was trying to maintain was. Lucky that his con man, Mumford Bleast had at least managed to get the sodding things, right?

"Please tell me you at least have the bloody books, Ford. You may have let the Nef'tae pendant slip from your greedy hands, but at least give me some good news."

Mumford looked up at Draco with pleading, frightened eyes and his stomach dropped.

"That's what I was getting to, Draco. She still has them, she took the bloody piece of jewelry and wouldn't let go of the books. One second I was scanning the village book store like you told me to for the sodding books, and the next, she was right there next to me, torn cloak and shoeless no less! Asked me if I had something shinny to sell."

Mumford wrung his hands and glanced up at Draco again, only to see that same stoic face, and took in a steady breath and continuing.

"She was a right beauty she was, I was hoping that if I flashed that pretty pedant of yers that she'd say yes to a mug of butter beer. So I showed it to her. She got this bright smile on her face and the next thing I knew, she was handing me the coins and I was handing it to her."

Draco's sneer was back and it was quickly fading into a scowl. Mumford rushed to continue, avoiding Draco's eyes and taking an unconscious step back.

"On her way out she smirked at me, and in a very superior way mind you, said that I wouldn't find the books there and that she had them, she did. Then she left."

Something about that sounded very familiar to Draco, but he didn't have much time to think about it. Now he had to get the pendant and the books and with this idiot he'd be likely to lose something else.

With a sigh Draco shoved Mumford out of the way and grabbed his coat from the back of his office chair. He slung it over his shoulders and the cool silk lining slid along his white button up shirt.

"I will retrieve the bloody things myself, Ford. I expect a report on my desk by morning on your stupidity."

With that, Draco stepped into his fireplace and snarled 'Clovelly Inn' before thrusting down the magical dust and disappearing with a burst of green flame and a faint crackling of heated air.