Chapter 1

Removing a ring from your finger is not a physically difficult task, but psychologically, Hermione was finding it nearly impossible. It was over and a part of her hated Ron for cheating, but that didn't make it any easier. The ring had been there for five years, an extension of her very being, something she would turn around and around when she was lost in thought or when she encountered a particularly difficult problem at work. It was a reminder that no matter what happened at work and no matter what nonsense the Prophet might publish, she would go home to the cozy haven they had created together and find peace.

But none of that was true anymore. There was no more haven in the storm, no more loving arms to embrace her after a hard day. After she had walked in on Ron with Lavender (again! how could this happen again?), she had only returned home once. Just enough time to put all her belongings in her beaded bag. Just enough time to grab Crookshanks and apparate to Ginny and Harry's flat in London.

Ginny and Harry were trying to maintain their impartiality, though of course none of the Weasleys were particularly gifted at neutrality and Ginny couldn't help a few snide remarks about Ron being a dunderhead. It was comforting, to a certain extent, to know that even his family thought his actions were horrible, but it did nothing to change the fact that her marriage was now over.

Staring out the window of her office overlooking Hogsmeade, Hermione continued to twist her ring as she ran through these thoughts which she had already considered a hundred times before. She had accomplished very little work in the last week, but luckily she had no major projects at the moment. After the war, she had set up shop as a consultant and general problem solver known for combining different magical fields to find new solutions. Usually, the creativity and in-depth research her work required were more than enough to keep her occupied, but today the view from the window was more interesting (and required less intense focus). The town was bustling and the streets were flooded with Hogwarts students visiting the town on one of their trips. They scurried quickly from shop to shop, buying as many sweets as they could fit in their pockets. Like everything else these days, it only reminded Hermione of Ron.

But one figure walked more steadily, more purposefully. It was a tall man striding down the main road. Her eyes rested on him carelessly, listlessly. But as he marched with determination directly towards the apothecary below her office, she snapped back to the present and recognized him. It was none other than Draco Malfoy, her former nemesis and current potions professor at Hogwarts.

After the war, the Ministry had been lenient with any former Death Eaters who had shown remorse towards the end or helped the Order in any way. The hope was that focusing on rebuilding rather than revenge would be more beneficial for the wizarding world, now even smaller in the wake of the terrible war that had claimed so many lives. It was a controversial tactic, but one Hermione (with the support of Harry) had publicly helped by launching programs where pure bloods volunteered to help right some of the wrongs that had been committed. Though Malfoy had mostly kept a low profile, she had run in to him a few times at these events and they had managed to be civil in their brief encounters.

I suppose its normal for a potions professor to go to the apothecary, mused Hermione. But some intuition nagged at the back of her mind telling her that he was not there to buy ingredients.

Sure enough, moments after the bell on the downstairs door rang out, Hermione heard heavy footsteps on the stairs and her door swung open. Framed in the doorway, the hallway light behind him making his blond hair seem like an ethereal halo, Draco Malfoy looked strangely like a knight from a muggle fairytale. As he stepped into the room, however, the illusion was shattered. She could see the dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his cheeks, and the quiet desperation in his expression.

"Granger, I know I'm the last person on earth you want to see and that I have no right to ask for or expect anything from you, but I need your help."