Author Notes: Well, here it is finally, the sequel! I realize it's been much longer a wait than I had originally anticipated. To make a long story short, I had some plot problems that kept me from jumping right into this story after I'd finished TEoS. There was a huge event that really defined the story, which happened around the middle of the fic, which I decided to take out, because it was really too angsty and depressing (even for me). It touched on some subject matter which I'd rather not get into. But this left me with a huge gaping hole in the plot, which I had to fix. Luckily, I think I've come up with a good solution, and it will even introduce a promising new villain.

That said, I also put off writing this fic for so long because I kept thinking I didn't have enough time. Finally I decided to stop with that excuse and just write it, even if it took me a while. So, chapters for this may not get out as quickly as they did with TEoS. It could be a chapter once every two weeks.

As in TEoS, there is no D/G interaction in this short prologue, though one of them does appear in it. I promise both Draco and Ginny in the next chapter, which should already be posted.

Prologue

September, 2005

Hermione shifted her bag of groceries into her left arm, struggling to keep a hold of it as she dug for her keys in her pocket. She was so harried, trying to keep a grip on everything as she stood on the stoop outside of her apartment, that she didn't quite realize how easily her key slid back in the lock. In fact, she had already stepped inside and shut the door before she realized that the door hadn't actually been locked.

She didn't have any reason to be on her guard, after all. She supposed there were still many Death Eaters out there who wouldn't mind seeing her dead, but Death Eaters hadn't really been a problem for Hermione for over two years now. When she'd disappeared into the Muggle world after the battle of the Ministry…after Ron had—gone—no one, not even the Death Eaters, had shown any interest in really trying to find her. It was difficult to keep the thought from her mind that, perhaps, this was because the Death Eaters had found what they wanted. That they'd gotten information from Ron, that they'd found Harry. This was something Hermione refused to believe, both because she didn't want to and because it really wasn't likely. Because surely, even as immersed in the Muggle world as Hermione now was, she would have heard if Harry Potter had been defeated.

She hadn't entirely let her guard down, of course. In fact, the main reason she remained so deeply in hiding even now, these two years later, was because she had important work to do, and knew there were many in the wizarding world who would like to hinder that work. She had delved briefly back into the wizarding world, in total secrecy, not ten months ago, in order to obtain a new wand. She'd lived without one for quite a while, and had never encountered any dangerous situation in which she would have needed one. But then, in all that time, she hadn't been actively searching for Harry. As she was now.

Still, she had lived so long without any encounter or threat from the wizarding world that she hadn't thought to bring her wand along on a run to the grocery store. In fact, her wand was currently sitting in her sock drawer in her bedroom—a fact she was all too aware of as she stepped into her apartment, groceries in hand, and found a man standing in her kitchen.

A rush of alarm surged through her, and for a moment, she could only stand there, struck still in panic. But she fought that down and struggled to think, struggled to remain composed. The stranger stood with his back to her, stooped down, peering at the contents of her refridgerator. She hadn't been exactly quiet in shutting the door, yet he didn't seem aware of her presence. So, moving as quickly and silently as she could, she set her groceries down on an armchair. Perhaps she could get down the hall and get to her wand, and maybe—

But then the man straightened and turned around to face her, shutting the fridge door as he did so. And any thoughts Hermione had about her wand flew out of her head, she was so stunned.

Because of all the wizards she might've expected to find in her kitchen, Draco Malfoy was not one of them.

"Hullo, Granger." Malfoy did not sound particularly surprised or even interested to see her; the only expression on his face was a rather familiar smirk. He squinted up at a container of food which he had taken from the refridgerator. "What is this?" He wrinkled his nose. "Some kind of chicken?"

Hermione barely heard this. A sense of alarm was gradually returning to her, seeping past the shock of seeing him here. Sure, the last time she had seen Draco Malfoy, he had been harping off to save Ginny Weasley and his son from a Death Eater-controlled France, but then, his only motives had been regaining his son and winning a few points with the Order in doing so. So now, she could think of only a few reasons Malfoy might have to be tracking her down, and none of them were good.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" she demanded, and she was pleased that her voice came out cold and calm, no trace of panic in her tone. "I can't think of any reason you should want to come find me, so you may as well get out before I hex you within an inch of your—"

"Hex me?" Malfoy threw another smirk her way, and now, some of her panic really did dissolve in a wave of annoyance. He picked up something from the kitchen counter, and a moment later, she realized it was a wand. "And how do you propose to do that, Granger? Without a wand? Because if you'll recall, you gave me yours more than two years ago."

Hermione peered at the wand in his hands. "That's not my old wand."

"Well, no. Yours didn't work very well for me, so I got a new one." Malfoy put his wand down and opened the lid of the tupperware container in his hand. He sniffed at the cold food inside it, paused, and then shrugged. "But since you've clearly been living as a Muggle all this time, I doubt you procured a new wand for yourself."

He was wrong about that, but Hermione wasn't going to let him know it. She folded her arms over her chest, nonplussed. "Even without a wand, Malfoy, I'm hardly afraid of you," she said dryly.

"Didn't expect you to be." He raised an eyebrow.

Hermione took a moment to study him. He cut an odd figure in her very small kitchen, examining cold food from her fridge. He was dressed in full Muggle attire, in slacks and a crisp shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. His hair was not so neatly combed as she remembered it being, and while he seemed to be enjoying unsettling her, there was something not nearly as…unpleasant…about him, as he used to be. Normally, she would have expected him to be standing stiffly, dripping with disdain at being in such a small, Muggle establishment, not to mention horror at having to even endure her presence.

And yet…instead, he seemed…adjusted. As though he was quite familiar being in a place like this. And as though he was now used to having to endure the presence of someone he didn't like very much.

"How did you find me?" Hermione asked abruptly, still not moving from where she was, still refusing to take her eyes from him. She was no longer quite alarmed by him being in her apartment, and now, in a more reasonable state of mind, it occurred to her that learning how he had tracked her down was vital. She couldn't have anyone else doing the same thing.

Malfoy shrugged a shoulder. "Ginny," he said laconically, turning his back on her.

Hermione blinked. That was certainly not what she had expected him to say. "Excuse me?"

"Ginny Weasley?" he said, anunciating every syllable as though she were too stupid to understand. "You write her letters. By Muggle post."

"And—you've…read them?" Hermione was still too confused to really piece out what he saying. This was all making less and less sense by the minute.

"Here and there. She doesn't really approve of my reading her mail, so I had to do it in secret, of course."

Hermione huffed in exasperation. "Yes, most people don't like to have their mail read by other people, particularly gits like you! Anyway, I never said anything to Ginny about where I was in those letters, and how did you get your hand on her mail in the first place?"

"Well, it wasn't really that hard," Malfoy drawled, peering down at her microwave. "Seeing as I live with her. And from there, it was a simple matter of visiting a few Muggle post offices, since you send all your mail the Muggle way. And, by the way, it's really very easy to trace mail through the Muggle post office, even if you don't write a return address."

Hermione gaped at him. She wasn't sure which piece of this ridiculous reply shocked her more. No, actually, she did know, and she dealt with it by avoiding the matter entirely for the moment. Instead, she said, "And you actually deigned to visit a Muggle post office? I can't credit it."

"In case you hadn't noticed, Granger—" Malfoy shoved the container of chicken into the microwave, shut it, and then frowned at the buttons "—I've been forced to become rather familiar with some of the Muggle way of things. I even own a television."

"Yes, and you seem entirely sure of how to operate my microwave."

"Well, this one is different thans ours," Malfoy muttered. There was a touch of petulance in his tone, reminding her a bit of the Malfoy she remembered. With a skeptical expression on his face, he punched a few buttons and then stood back, looking satisfied, as he got the machine going.

Hermione stared at him. Instict was telling her, by now, that there really was no threat from Malfoy's being here, though she still had no idea why he had deemed it necessary to find her. Feeling rather resigned to the whole situation, she sighed and perched on the arm of her easy chair. "And what is all this nonsense about you living with Ginny? Do you actually expect me to believe that?"

Now, Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest. His flippant smirk was gone from his face, and he eyed her quite seriously. "She takes care of my son," was all he said.

Hermione frowned. "Yes, I remember, before I left, she mentioned she would be taking care of him…while you were in hospital. I'd rather think that had ended by now, though."

"Well, it didn't." Malfoy shrugged, half-turning away from her, and she got the distinct impression that he was uncomfortable about something. "She moved in as my governess. Or something. That's really a term too dignified to be applied to Weasley."

"Malfoy—" Hermione briefly shut her eyes and waved an indifferent hand. All this ridiculous piffle about Ginny living with him aside—she supposed it was possible—really didn't matter to her at the moment. "None of this explains what you are doing here. And why."

The microwave went beep-beep-beep! signaling the end of its warming, but Malfoy didn't seem to notice. He leaned forward on the counter, his gaze still sober. "I'm here," he said, "to help you."

Hermione blinked. "Excuse me?"

"It occurred to me that I never paid you back for giving me your wand and helping me get to Ginny and my son, after the battle at the Ministry," Malfoy said lightly. "And, well, I'm sure you remember how little I like the idea of being in your debt."

"That was a long time ago, Malfoy." Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"And yet somehow, all that time doesn't make me any more comfortable with the idea."

Hermione rubbed a hand over her eyes. "And what exactly do you think you could help me with? And why now, all of a sudden?" Anger welled up in her, frustration at this prat for showing up and upsetting her life like this. Without waiting for his answer, she barreled on, "And why should I trust you, Malfoy? It seems far more likely that this is some kind of Death Eater trick, than that you actually are here to help me."

"I'm not a Death Eater anymore," Malfoy said, and she was surprised to hear the adamant note in his quiet words, to see the glittering affront in his eyes.

"You'll always have the Mark," Hermione said coolly.

"Which doesn't make me a Death Eater," Malfoy shot back, though there was a note of uncertainty in his voice, as if he didn't quite trust himself. He shook his head and went on, his voice strengthening, "If you don't want my help, you don't have to take it. I can for look Weasley all on my own, thanks."

"I thought you said you lived with Ginny," Hermione said, a trace of irritation coloring her words. "Why should you need to look for her?"

"I'm not talking about Ginny, Mudblood. I'm talking about the other one. What's-his-name. Ron."

Hermione felt as if her heart stopped, as if all the blood in her veins turned to ice. She was sure her face had gone absolutely white. Denial washed over her in spades, but it couldn't quite stop the feeling of being bowled over, forcing her to slump sideways into her armchair. "Wh-what?" she said shakily. "Malfoy, what are you talking about? Ron is—" She swallowed. "He's dead."

"Yes, that seems to be the general opinion," Malfoy said, his tone rather blasé. "I have reason to think otherwise."

"Malfoy, this isn't funny."

"I'm not trying to be, Granger."

"What possible—reason—" Hermione stopped herself for a moment, pausing to take a deep breath, to try and calm her shaking. "How could you think that?"

In response, Malfoy merely reached into his pocket. Hermione tensed for a moment, before remembering that he'd placed his wand out in the open, on her kitchen counter. Instead, he removed from his pocket a small scrap of parchment. Wordlessly, he came around the counter and crossed to her side in a few short steps and, still silent, handed her the parchment. As soon as it was in her trembling hands, he retreated to the other side of the room. She wasn't sure if this was to make her feel safer, or because he so detested being close to her.

Hermione clenched her teeth together as she spread a hand over the wrinkled parchment, straightening it out. She felt as though she could fly apart at any moment, the pain and sadness she'd locked up inside herself threatening to burst forth. It was actually difficult to force her eyes over the words, taking them in with some confusion. The note on the parchment read—

Draco,

Should anything happen to me, it lies to you to do this important task. You absolutely must make sure that this vial gets to Potter. I don't care how much you detest him. You must put that aside in this, because if Potter does not receive this information, then none of this will matter.

Severus Snape

Hermione read the note twice before looking up to stare at Malfoy. "This is a note from Snape," she said slowly, wondering if she had missed something.

Malfoy snorted in impatience. "I'm aware, Granger. Turn it over."

Hermione flipped the scrap of parchment over and saw, now, that another, much shorter message was scrawled on the back. Whatever had been used to write it was quite faint, and she squinted to read the words. She read the brief note aloud, "Malfoy, you are a…git. Signed—" She caught her breath "—Ron Weasley," she ended faintly.

"There." Malfoy nodded, though he looked faintly annoyed at being called a git. "You see?"

Hermione couldn't answer for a moment. She stared at the note, scrawled in Ron's sloppy handwriting, she stared at his name—Ron Weasley —for several moments before she could finally speak. Then she stared up at Malfoy, frustration mounting within her. "No, Malfoy, I don't see! What—what is this? What does it mean, what—where did you get this?"

"At the old Riddle House—" Malfoy leaned against the doorframe leading into the kitchen "—in Little Hangleton. Snape hid me out there after sixth year, before it became the Death Eaters' new base for prisoners. He left me that note, along with a vial of his own memories." He shrugged. "When I went back and found the note, though, the vial was gone, and the weasel king had left me that message."

"I don't understand."

Malfoy sighed. "Granger, the Riddle House was Death Eater headquarters for a while. If they took Weasley prisoner after the battle at the Ministry, which seems likely by that note, they would have taken him there. It seems to me that he escaped, stumbled upon that note and the vial, and took off with the vial. Probably to find Potter."

Hermione stared at the note, trying to make sense of this in her mind. "Because you didn't."

"Well, no. Snape never did me any favors, and I wasn't about to lift a finger to help Potter."

"Then you are a git, Malfoy!" Hermione said angrily. "This was obviously important!"

"Well, at the time, I was going to prison, so I didn't much care."

Hermione shook her head. She let her head fall back against the armchair, and shut her eyes. Vestiges of hope were awakening within her, and that frightened her far more than this barmy version of Malfoy showing up at her apartment. "This doesn't mean that he's alive."

"Well, no, he could still be long dead by now." Malfoy shrugged indifferently when Hermione opened her eyes to glare at him for this heartless comment. "But this is the first thing I've seen to convince me that maybe he isn't."

"And if you didn't care then, why should you care now?" Hermione demanded furiously. She forced herself to her feet and took several steps forward, facing Malfoy down. "You've never cared anything about Harry, or me, or Ron. What is this about, Malfoy? What's wrong with you?"

Malfoy flinched as if she'd slapped him. An odd look passed over his face, there and gone so quickly that she almost thought she'd imagined it. He looked away. "I told you, didn't I? I owe you, and I don't much care for the idea of you coming to collect whenever you like."

"Malfoy—" Hermione let out a breath of disbelieving laughter "—I gave you my wand. I looked up a missing Portkey in the Ministry's registry! And you want to pay me back for that by doing this?" Her eyes narrowed on him, but he was closed to her now, guarded in his profile. "Something else is going on here."

"Think whatever you want, Mudblood," Malfoy said, and his harsh voice sounded much more like his old self. "Do you want to find Ron Weasley or not?"