Warning : This story may cause you to tear while binging on ice cream.

I don't own any of HP characters or any songs by the Beatles. Though I wish I did.

Enjoy.

Chapter 1 : A Day in the Life

Hermione Granger sat at her desk, humming happily as she filled another report about the mistreatment of magical creatures; she knew this time she would get those sadistic bustards, who abused House Elves, behind bars. With a sharp movement of her wrist she dipped her quill in the glittering ink, and wrote the conclusion and recommendation on how to treat those who are guilty of such crimes. She had worked her way up at the ministry ranks during the past ten years, and now held a very respected, influencing position, allowing her to alter all the wrongs she swore to correct when she was an adolescent.

The sun shone brightly outside her office, the birds were singing and the wind whistled a cheerful melody; it was one of these days where nothing can go wrong, Hermione felt as if a cheering charm was casted on her. She almost hopped to the cafeteria to grab a cup of coffee when she bumped into Harry, who demanded her presence for dinner that evening; Ginny and the kids were missing her. She was so joyful that even thoughts of Ron had not corrupted her mood; she was not upset over their ugly breakup, not jealous for the family he had started with another woman. She was content as everything in her life seemed to fall in the right place.

An ominous looking raven awaited her at the office when she returned, and not recognizing its owner she wryly took the letter it held. If Hermione was not a composed, self controlled woman she would probably drop her cup of coffee on the floor, creating a sticky brown pool on her fancy white carpet. Of course, she was not composed and stoic all of her life; she was quite hysteric in her youth, but the war effected her. Facing death each day changed her perspectives, caused her to develop a solid composure not easily unsettled and improved her abilities to deal with surprising situations to the point of near perfection. The thirty year old Hermione was nothing like the anxious know-it-all she had been in school.

Her eyes moved frantically across the letters, suddenly doubting her ability to form them correctly into sensible words, but the green ink passed a clear message. She sighed, her eyebrows furrowed and the angles of her mouth pulled down, writing a response. She would rather spend a lovely evening with Harry and Ginny but it seemed like she would have to cancel, her cursed curiosity making the decision for her. She collapsed into her comfortable chair, memories of the past popping in her mind, taking her so many years back. She was not unnerved by hearing from him after all these years, that what she had told herself, it was just shockingly surprising.

She tried to return to her reports, but the rest of them did not seem to go so smoothly as the previous ones, and a chill ran through her body as the clouds hid the sun behind a grey wall of dolefulness. She had to jump and catch the flying papers before it would land as a mess on the floor when the wind stormed into her office with an agonized moan. The birds were not singing anymore. She sighed heavily and took a last sip of her coffee, so much for a day where nothing goes wrong.

She left her office a few hours later; the sky was already dark and the air was chilly, even though it was barely autumn. She made her way to the park near the ministry searching with her eyes for a certain someone; he was easy to spot, even after all those years. She saw him sitting on one of the benches, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes locked on a certain point in the horizon, lost in thoughts. He was just the same but nothing alike all at once, and she could feel the difference from thirty feet away.

He jumped to his legs when he noticed her coming by; beyond his obnoxious approach he hid prefect manners his mother had taught him. He was as lean and handsome as she remembered, radiating that aristocratic arrogance with every fiber of his being and yet, something was off, like a light that was shut down inside of him.

"Malfoy." Hermione said dryly, her lips pressed tightly. She still held some ancient grudge against him, a hint of hostile mistrust like many of her friends still felt. She never accepted the claim that as cruel and corrupted as Draco Malfoy was, he was a victim of sorry consequences and had his fair share of suffering and lost like all of them did.

"Granger," he said snidely, giving her an invasive look, and she was comforted by the notion he was still the git she had known years ago. But the comfort shortly disappeared when he spoke again, "I'm glad you came. Would you take a walk with me?" he said in a charming voice she had never heard him use, especially not towards her.

Caught off guard she managed to let out a formal, "Certainly," and he linked their arms, walking her through the breathtaking magical gardens. They walked in silence for what seemed like eternity, enough time for her to get used to his close presence and to lose the unease that plagued her in the beginning. They stopped in front of the lake, watching the moon reflected on its calm water, he had let go of her arm and instead shoved his hands into his pockets, looking almost uncertain in a Malfoy scale.

"You probably wonder why I had asked to see you." He said quietly, looking ahead of them. He was distant, which was not surprising, but after the temporary closeness they shared, it was almost saddening.

"I do." She confirmed his suspicions.

"I must ask you first that the content of our conversation would remain private," he said while turning his grey eyes to watch her.

"If you want me to get you out of trouble since I work at the ministry…" Hermione said, very much annoyed but he did not let her finish.

"It is nothing of that sort." He promised her, "Surely I have enough connections in the ministry and I would never dream of asking for your help." His voice was icy and somewhat accusing. For a moment she was ashamed of thinking he would ask her to do such thing.

"If so, this conversation will remain confident," Hermione said in a firm voice.

He was silent for a moment, struggling upon finding the right words. He looked very tired suddenly, his pale skin almost transparent and his eyes closed for a second. He linked their arms again and guided her to a nearby bench, sitting down beside her, not close enough to make her uncomfortable and not far enough to seem like he was afraid of infection. He appeared to be relieved when they sat, as if the long stroll along the park had left him drained of energy, which was odd because Hermione remembered him to be quite the athlete when they were younger.

"I wish to settle any dispute we might had in the past, before it's too late." He finally uttered.

"Too late?" she raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I'm dying." He stated emotionlessly and she gasped invulnerably, her eyes widening. "It took St. Mungo's forever to discover what was wrong with me, because I had a Muggle disease. The irony," he added with a tainted smirk, and she could not help but smile back.

"What do you have?" she asked, somewhat dreadful of the answer, though she really did not know why she was worried about Malfoy. She guessed it was one of those things that shook you even if it happened to your worst enemy.

"Cancer." He said dryly, "They diagnosed it too late, and it had spread." He informed her, avoiding eye contact, "I was thinking about suing their asses for medical malpractice, but another million Galleons would not help me when I'm dead," he said darkly and Hermione chuckle at his twisted humor.

"I'm sorry it happened to you," she said, honestly, not out of sheer politeness.

"Do go all Saint Potter on me," he barked, "I know you have despised me for many years, and rightfully so." He paused, watching her expression and she nodded approvingly, "However, I still have some time left to change your opinion of me."

"Why would you bother to do that?" Hermione questioned, "I could think of better things to do just before I die other than asking forgiveness from my foes."

He smirked at her in a very characteristic way which strangely soothed her. "You were never exactly my foe," he admitted, "I only disliked the fact that you were hanging with Potter and the redhead sidekick." He remarked and Hermione made an angry face, "I was actually rather…obsessed with you when we were in Hogwarts and your constant appearance in media and fast promotion in the ministry had always kept you in my mind, all these years," he said reluctantly, and she could feel herself blushing, "You are one of the few women I truly respect and thus I thought would be worthy of my last moments."

"That is a shocking discovery," Hermione said with a calm voice, "Quite complementing as well."

"Well, don't get too flustered over it," Malfoy cooled down her excitement, "It's only the weakness of a dying man."

She chuckled at his comment, somewhat glad that he had not lost his sharp edge. Suddenly the dimness that shadowed him, the gloomy aura was making sense; she thought he was handling the situation quite bravely.

"How are you planning to change the way I view you?" Hermione questioned, turning her head to look at his profile, admiring the strong line of his jaw.

"By spending time with you." He replied simply, looking back at her. And then she noticed one dramatic change in him; his arrogance gracefully transformed into an inborn, cool confidence. "Are you free tomorrow night?"

She was surprised by his straightforwardness; he was way too direct for a Slytherin, too honest for a Malfoy. "I don't have plans…" she admitted. Her life was pretty dull due to her very demanding work, and her picky choice of friends. She mainly associated with Harry and Ginny, and methodically avoided events that included Ron's company, so she spent many of her nights alone in her flat, with a good book. Not that she was complaining.

"Then dinner it is." He stated, with a cheeky smile, his face suddenly lighting up.

"Are Ron and Harry on your list as well?" curiosity took over her, imagining an encounter between them and Malfoy; it would probably end in a fist fight.

"No." he said, almost offended. She waited for him to give her a more detailed answer. "I really loathe them. We mutually mistreated each other, so I am free of guilt." He added, his eyes lingering on her in the most subtle way.

"I'm relieved," Hermione said with a tight smile, "If you said you were about to apologize to Ron, it would too much for me to handle."

"I think you have quite enough to handle as it is," Malfoy remarked, sounding cold and distant as he rose to his feet, "I admit it is more than challenging for me as well, being civil with you for so long," he said with a dark smirk, "I will owl you tomorrow," he promised, turned on his heels and walked away from her; his step was lighthearted, mollified as he moved further from her unnerving presence.

Hermione got off the bench, and looked around in wonder; could something even more bizarre happen to her? She dragged her legs around the park, pacing had always helped her to digest and accept new information, and she was way too shaken up to return to her flat. It took another hour of roaming the park before she was relatively settled and nearly ready to Apparate home. The next few months should be interesting.

Let me know what you think :)