Seventh year at Hogwarts

Seventh year at Hogwarts. Summer has come early. Harry and Hermione wander the grounds hand in hand, laughing, talking, feeding the giant squid— it's not keen on breadcrumbs so Harry has raided Snape's stores for a supply of dried frogs.

Hermione is the happiest she can ever remember being. Their N.E.W.T.s are approaching but she doesn't care much—she's not even the top student anymore, that honour goes to Draco Malfoy who is forever in the library with a strained expression on his face, nose buried in his books.

Only one thing can spoil this summer for Hermione—the shadow of Lord Voldemort is looming on the horizon, and everyone knows he's ready to strike again…

Six years later

Hermione loved long train journeys; they were her favourite time to read. She especially loved this one, up to Scotland; it reminded her of her schooldays. Sometimes she missed Hogwarts so hard it hurt.

It had been difficult, to leave the wizarding world. It was the only place she'd ever really felt at home in: a place where she'd finally realised that she was accepted, that she had nothing to prove and nothing to struggle for. She could be herself: she could make mistakes and fail, and nothing terrible happened. Seven years it had taken her to learn that lesson: one nightmarish, surreal moment to unlearn it.

Sometimes when you make a mistake something terrible does happen.

Sometimes you make a mistake and the world comes to an end.

For Harry it had.

Harry had killed Voldemort. Harry had saved the world.

And—and she had killed Harry.

No you didn't. Stop being so melodramatic and self-pitying, scolded the bossy voice in her head whom Hermione thought of as Everybody's Mother. Anyone can make a mistake—stop wallowing! It was years ago!

But I want to wallow, thought Hermione. Everyone had been so nice, no-one had blamed her, if just one person had been as angry with her as she'd been with herself, maybe she wouldn't have had to run away…

She put her book down and stared out the window, ready once again to replay those final, fatal moments of Harry's life, when the enemy she'd thought accounted for had broken free to kill him, once again to indulge in an orgy of self-recrimination and guilt…

The door of the carriage opened. Oh good, maybe the chocolate trolley. You needed chocolate to deal with memories like this properly.

But it was just a fellow-passenger, a thin man with heavy bags and a thick overcoat. He dumped the bags at the end of the carriage and walked along the rows of seats. Although the carriage was nearly empty he sat down facing Hermione.

He was pale, he had jet-black hair and glasses. He looked like— she closed her eyes, awaiting the usual jolt of pain from her everything-reminds-me-of-Harry moods.

But the pain didn't come. Instead she felt—alert. Interested. There was something about this man—was she finally getting over Harry, after all these years?

About time too, interjected Everybody's Mother. Look at this man as himself, not as a person-who-looks-like-Harry. Who knows, you might even take a fancy to him…

She opened her eyes and looked at the man—and realised. He was indeed the person she'd been waiting for all these years. He was watching her from behind his glasses with cold grey eyes.

She ducked hastily out of his gaze, fumbling around in her overlarge handbag where it lay on the floor. She kept her handbag-sized, compact wand disguised in the triangular box of a Toblerone bar, so people wouldn't wonder why she carried a large stick of rowan wood in her bag at all times. She grabbed it triumphantly and brandished it at the man. Revenge, now. Revenge, and perhaps peace of mind…

"Petrificus totalicus supinus, Malfoy!" she said, waving the Toblerone box at him. The grey eyes widened in startlement as the Sitting Body Bind took effect.

Or… what was wrong? He was reaching into his overcoat pocket, he was laughing. He shouldn't be able to do either. She shook the box frantically; something silver wrapped and heavy fell into her lap.

It was a real Toblerone. Hermione couldn't think of any other occasion when unexpected chocolate had come as such an unpleasant surprise. The wand must be still in her bag. And in the meantime Malfoy, with a tiny twitch of his wand through his overcoat, and a gentle mutter of the same curse she'd tried to use earlier, had frozen her to her seat.

I told you to clean out that handbag a month ago, said Everybody's Mother. And I warned you about eating too much chocolate…

Malfoy was still laughing. "Chocolate? Don't mind if I do, thank you!" he said. He took the Toblerone out of her lap, broke off a tiangle and munched it.

"Mmm, the honey and nougat flavour's my favourite," he said, taking another triangle. Hermione could only watch. Her mind was in a whirl. There was some way to break out of the Bind, but she had hardly done any magic in years, her skills had gone very rusty. She couldn't remember what to do... Was Malfoy going to kill her? Or was he just planning to eat all her chocolate slowly, bit by bit, in front of her helpless eyes, and then leave her in the Bind?

He took another triangle and chewed it, naking little appreciative sucking noises that made Hermione want to kill him, even more than she already did. He caught her eye and grinned.

"I bet you're wondring what I'm going to do with you," he said quietly, so that the Muggles sitting at the opposite window wouldn't overhear.

"So am I, to tell you the truth," he went on. "Contrary to what you probably think, I don't actually enjoy killing people. Especially not someone who's just tried to attack me with a chocolate bar… not only are you too pathetic to kill but I actually love this stuff." He ate another piece.

Hermione would probably have ground her teeth in fury, but she couldn't move a muscle. All these years carrying her wand around with her, waiting for revenge, and as soon as she got the chance she… she cringed back from the memory. The embarrassment of that moment was going to follow her around for the rest of her life. Looking on the bright side of course, that probably wouldn't be very long.

She looked at Malfoy. He's more than half-finished the bar, the pig! What was he planning?

"No, I'm definitely not going to kill you," said Malfoy looking thoughtful. "In fact, I might go so far as to say it's a good thing I ran into you—you might be able to help me."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond angrily, except she didn't. Goddamn Body Bind. Goddamn Malfoy. She tried to funnel her fury out through her eyes, willing her stare to strike him dead like a Basilisk's.

It didn't of course, instead he seemed to find her expression amusing. "Shall I fill in your side of the converstion for you?" Putting on a shrewish, petulant squeak he said loudly "Help you? Why should I help you? You're an evil Dark Wizard and you killed Harry!"

The elderly Muggle couple opposite turned round to stare at him.

"Oops," said Malfoy looking sheepish. He lowered his voice again. "Well I'll answer your question—I didn't kill Harry. I don't think he's dead."

Hermione's eyes widened. Of course Harry was dead—had Malfoy gone insane?

Malfoy did the squeaky thing again. "Of course he's dead, we all saw the smoking little heap of ash on the floor!"

Hermione squeezed her eyes tight shut in pain.

"Or something less graphic than that, sorry," said Malfoy sounding insincere. "But I really don't think he's dead. He's gone—lost, somehow. I keep dreaming about him, he keeps haunting me. And you. I bet he's got you too. You haven't been able to forget him either have you? You're doing some pathetic badly paid Muggle job, you've abandoned everyone you ever knew when you were with him, you're substituting chocolate for love…"

Hermione rolled her eyes towards the empty silver Toblerone wrapper on his lap.

"Touché," said Malfoy following her gaze. "You see, I need to get him back too—no," he corrected himself hastily, "not as a er, substitute for chocolate. But he's haunting me, he won't leave me alone. He's put some kind of curse on me, nothing's ever going to go right till I get him back from wherever he is. Plus I'm a fugitive living among Muggles—" he broke off with a grimace.

Hermione tried to imagine Malfoy living among Muggles, and would grinned if she'd been able to.

Malfoy had recovered himself.

"And I want to take off this stupid disguise"— he fingered his glasses. "So—you'll help me, won't you? You want Harry back. Blink once for yes and twice for no," he finished with a grin.

Hermione hesitated. Malfoy was clearly mad. But—but—

He is alive, said a small voice in her head. I always knew it.

Nothing but wishful thinking, said Everybody's Mother. That way madness lies. Play along with the lunatic, though, it's safer.

Malfoy was staring at her as if trying to read her thoughts.

"The other reason you should help me is of course that I'll kill you if you don't." The Muggles turned to stare at him again.

"It's all right," he said cheerfully to them. "We're drama students. Rehearsing."

The couple broke into brays of idiotic laughter. Malfoy joined in. He pointed at Hermione. "She's going to play the corpse," he said.

"She's very good," said the Muggle woman after a critical inspection.

Malfoy laughed again and turned back to Hermione.

"Well?" he said.

Hermione blinked. Once.

# # #

Draco heaved a sigh of relief. Bloody Potter. He knew it was potter's doing, somehow, that he'd ended up on the same train as Granger. Just a mad impulse to go to Scotland, there wasn't any reason for it. Wasn't Potter ever going to leave him alone?

Look, I'm sorry I killed you, he told the invisible presence for the thousandth time. Now sod off!

And again it came back to him, not words, not images, just an idea: You didn't kill Harry Potter. He isn't dead.

Just that. No bloody treasure map or instruction sheet. No List of Things To Do To Rescue Potter. Just an obsession, that was running his life. Perhaps Granger would know what to do. He picked her handbag off the floor, and rifled through it. Old tissues. Small change that had spilled from her wallet. Several lipsticks, two of them without a lid. A packet of Chocolate Buttons, a tacky paperback he wouldn't have thought Hermione would be seen dead reading. There was a Filofax, but there were also many random scraps of paper with telephone numbers. Receipts, old train tickets, a leaky biro. Her wallet—he took the credit cards out before he put it back in the bag. If he had to work with this woman he wanted to establish from the beginning that he was the one in control here. And the wand, concealed in a battered triangular box. Compact and thick, made of rowanwood. He put it in the lining of his coat along with his own, and took the Body Bind off her. He didn't let go of the wand.

Hermione took a deep breath. She looked angry. Draco decided to go on the offensive.

"Your bag's a mess," he told her. "Bet your life is, too. You're verging on chubby, you know—I didn't even recognise you."

Hermione shrugged. "None of your business. You had no right to go through my things like that."

"I won the right," said Draco. "I put you under a Body-Bind—you couldn't get out of it."

Hermione winced. Draco had escaped from a far more complex spell than the Body-Bind to attack Harry. He supposed it was cruel to remind her. But he'd been cruel all his life and he wasn't about to stop now.

"Malfoy, just because you beat me in a duel—"

"and subsequently ate your wand—" interrupted Draco with a snigger.

"doesn't mean that you've suddenly got the right to treat me like a child and order me around."

"I had no intention of treating you like a child," said Draco with a leer. Hermione shrank back from him with a look of what could only be called revulsion.

Fair enough, he supposed, he had killed (or not-killed) the love-of-her-life after all. What had possessed him to say that anyway?

"I was only joking, I'm sorry," he said. "Anyway when Potter gets back you'll be able to complain to him about me—I'm too scared of him to be really mean to you."

"You –you really believe that we can get him back, don't you?" said Hermione. "I mean, Malfoy, he's dead." She burst into tears. The Muggle couple applauded.

"You were wasted as a corpse," said the man.

Draco glowered at them. "Don't interrupt, please, this is a very difficult bit to get right."

He wondered whether he should put his arm round the weeping girl or not. He tentatively reached out to touch her shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" she snapped and slapped him. "You're insane and you're evil. You killed Harry, and you can kill me as well for all I care…"

The Muggles watched with bated breath.

"… and you know the worst bit?" Hermione continued. "Just for a second, I believed you. I actually believed there was some chance of getting Harry back to life… Malfoy, that was the cruellest thing you ever did. The cruellest thing you ever could do."

"You believed me," said Draco in excitement. "That proves it! He's trying to get through to you as well. Stop being so bloody rational for a second, Granger, think with your heart. You know as well, you know he's alive."

Hermione paused.

"I… I do feel that."

"You see?" said Draco. "You're supposed to help me!"

"But it's insane!" she said. "I've got to forget him, I should get on with my life…"

"No, no, you won't be able to!" said Draco. "I tried it too…"

Hermione stared at him for a second, the suddenly relaxed, as if an inner struggle was over.

"It is insane," she said. "But the insanity feels so much happier than the rationality… I'll follow you, what do we do now?"

The train was pulling to a halt at a very small ramshackle station. GLENBUNION said the sign.

Draco felt a sudden pull.

"We get out here," he told Hermione, and together they lugged their luggage off the train, to the applause of the two Muggles.

# # #

Author's note: Everything I write turns out stranger than I expected, and this is no exception. I'm uploading it to see what kind of reaction it gets—if you like it then I'll write the rest, and the flashbacks, and tidy this bit up a lot. Otherwise I won't bother, it promises to be long and a lot of work.

DISCLAIMER:

As you know I did not create these characters or Hogwarts or any of the rest of it. JK Rowling did.