A/N - This is for Eriamaude. I am so sorry this took so long.

Hopefully this works as a stand-alone piece, but I have plans to extend this into an MC at some point in the future as there's a lot that I didn't get to include here.

He watched from the shadows as she approached, her head downcast and her nose firmly embedded in her book. It was a mystery to him how she managed to avoid walking into anything, but he made a conscious decision not to dwell on that as she passed his hiding spot, completely oblivious, and continued down the path to the old castle.

Apparently – during the time of his great-grandparents, perhaps, though likely even before then – it had once been a school, but the building had remained abandoned for centuries now and had long since fallen into disrepair. He couldn't think of any business she might have at the castle – he was sure, in fact, that the path cut out before reaching it – and so, naturally, he decided to follow her.

He was sure to be quiet, even going to far as to keep to the shadows when possible, but she didn't once lift her head from the book. Somehow, she managed to traverse the overgrown path without stumbling, while he himself caught his feet in the overgrowth on a few occasions, which only served to increase his curiosity – and irritation – towards the stranger.

They were reaching the section of the path he could remember stoping at years ago, back when the castle ruins had still held some interest to him, where the last remnants of the path disappeared. There was the rotting carcass of some creature – he daren't look close enough to determine its species – whose huge bones blocked what little of the path might have remained.

Only then did she close her book, though she began to rummage through her bag without once looking up. After a moment – seemingly longer than she should have needed for such a small bag – she pulled out another book, this one slightly smaller but looking no less well-read than the last. She opened it to a page she must have already had marked, held it out in front of her at arms length, and began to read.

The bones shifted slightly, almost enough that he would have thought it simply his imagination had it not been for the displacement of the dry leaves surrounding them, but they quickly settled. She took a deep breath, clearly not pleased with the results of her effort, and tried again.

This time, it felt as though the very ground was shaking and he sunk back further into the shadows, grabbing hold of the crumbling wall in an effort to steady himself. The bones rose unsteadily into the air, debris falling to the ground. He could see the concentration on her face, even from such a distance, and her arms were shaking with the effort.

He turned his attention back to the bones; watched as they turned around in the air, slowly. They were far bigger than he had originally thought, and a large portion of them must have been buried. He wondered if it had been an attempt at a grave, before someone had realised how huge the job was and given up.

The bones dropped suddenly, falling to the ground with a loud crack, and it was only his fast reflexes that got him out of the way in time. He quickly regained his composure and, now standing in the middle of the path, stood straight.

"Well, that was impressive," he said with his best attempt at feigned nonchalance. He heard her gasp, and she spun around to face him, wild hair whipping around her face.

"Who are you?" she asked, eyes wide. "How long have you been there."

"Long enough," he said with a smirk. "Draco Malfoy." He gave an exaggerated bow. "At your service."

"H-hermione," she said. "Hermione Granger." She paused for a moment, before a slew of words escaped her mouth. "What you just saw, it wasn't– I mean, I don't– I was just–"

"You're a witch," he said, a little insulted at the look of surprise his comment earned. "Where's your wand?" he asked, almost as an afterthought.

"Oh, er… I don't have one," she muttered, looking at him through lowered lashes, seeming almost embarrassed.

"Why not?" he asked, tilting his chin up and giving her his best haughty stare. "Every witch and wizard gets a wand for their eleventh birthday."

"Why eleven?" She raised her head quickly, all embarrassment forgotten. "Why not ten? Or sixteen, or even eighteen?"

"Well, I–" he sputtered, never having thought about this. "It's just always been that way."

"I read that young witches and wizards used to get their wands before starting school," she said.

"That's ridiculous," he scoffed. "There is no school. Hasn't been for centuries. Our parents teach us everything we know."

"What if you don't have parents, or–" She paused for a moment, as if debating something. "Or what if your parents don't have magic?"

"That's a myth. Something parents tell their children to get them to behave – that badly behaved children can have their magic stolen. No one actually believes that. Magic is inherited."

"Oh," she said quietly. "So, um… Draco, was it?"

"Malfoy," he corrected quickly.

"Sorry. Malfoy," she said.

"Do you really not have a wand?" he asked, not wanting to seem too interested but unable to stop the question.

"No, I– My parents, they're… dead," she said, eyes darting anywhere but him. "Is it really that impressive?" she asked.

"No, of course not," he lied quickly. "It's closer to accidental magic than real magic. The real test of a wizard's skill – or a witch's skill," he added hastily. "– is being able to channel that magic."

"Oh," she said, looking disappointed for a moment. "Where can I get one?" He watched her, thinking.

"What are you doing here?" he asked instead of answering her question.

"Oh!" Her face lit up, and she closed the book she was still holding, shoving it back into her bag. "I found these," she said, rummaging through her bag. "When I was trying to find out about– Here it is!" she interrupted her own sentence, pulling the first book from her bag. "It talks about Hogwarts, and–"

"Hogwarts?" he asked.

"Yes, the school." She spoke as though she were used to – or at the very least enjoyed – imparting knowledge, so he made sure to reply before she could get another word in.

"You mean the old castle? The ruins?"

"Well, I suppose," she said, her face falling a little. "It's in this book, see." She flicked to a marked page, holding it out for him to see. The ink was a little faded, almost unreadable in places, and the bottom corner was missing from the page, but he could clearly make out the image of the castle.

He used to imagine, as a child, what it would have been like when people still cared for it, but all his daydreams fell short of even this simple image. He tried to conceal his emotions, to keep up the mask of indifference he'd perfected over the years, but something must have slipped through. Her smile returned, and she was already flipping through pages.

"And, look, the ceiling, see," she said. "Of the… Great Hall, I think it's called. It's painted– charmed to look like the stars. And this–" He tuned out her excited babbling; he'd learnt long ago that it was never worth it to dwell on the past.

"Well, it's all gone now," he said, watching her face fall once more. "Nothing but ruins. So why are you here?"

"Well, I–" she began. "I thought maybe– I just–"

"By all means, lead the way," he said, tired of her stuttered attempts at reasoning. She'd see soon enough that this was a wasted journey.

"You're coming?" she asked, looking hopeful. That hadn't been a part of his plan, but maybe if he helped her she would help him. And a small part of him wanted to see her reactions to the ruins of the old castle. They were certainly nothing to write home about.

"I don't see why not."