She stood there gazing longingly at the boy - no, man - she had never loved before. That she never could love. That she never wanted to love. She missed her husband and he'd only been gone for a couple of days. She wanted him back more than ever at that moment. She wanted him to hold her in his arms and lightly scold her about drinking too much. But he would never do that again.
She looked back to Draco and saw something she'd never seen before. Today, she saw everyone in a new light. She buried her husband that morning and buried her sorrows in firewhiskey that night. Now, at the pub, she stared at the man she'd detested her entire life.
"I hate you," she muttered at him, not lucid enough to realize he was way too far away to hear her. She knew that he knew about Ron. She was certain he was the one who ordered it. He'd taken over since his father had been killed a year back.
She had once thought that he was coming to the Light; that he realized that Darkness was never the way to go. She was wrong. It had only been a joke. A lie. A way to get in.
The messages he passed along to his father had ended so many innocent lives.
Remus Lupin and his son Patrick.
Percy Weasley.
Minerva McGonagall.
Oliver Wood.
Michael and Emily Granger.
The list of un-named muggles was uncountable. She didn't even want to try.
The body count was growing larger again since Draco's rise to power. She ached to end it. His life for Ron's. But she could barely move from her stool let alone come up with the energy to kill a man.
She didn't want to do it magically, either. She wanted to wrap her hands around his throat and squeeze. Remind him that he was the reason she would have to explain to her twin sons why Daddy wasn't there.
After knocking back another shot of firewhiskey, she slid herself off her stool and sauntered over to him.
"You killed my husband," she told him in a surprisingly calm and sober tone.
"I didn't," Malfoy said without looking up from his own drink.
"You ordered it," she said in a stronger tone.
"I didn't," he repeated as he continued to stare down into his glass.
"Can't even look me in the face?" she spat.
He looked up and her heart stopped. His right side was bloody and bruised, but it looked like the marks had been there for days. He didn't want her to see him like that because he knew - knew - that she wouldn't leave him alone until he told her why. And he really didn't want to tell her how he got like that.
"What's the matter, Draco? Run into a wall?" she asked in a sarcastic and nasty tone. She didn't care, not really, what had happened to him. But now she had to know. Her husband was dead; her best friends were grieving by taking off; she left her sons at her mother-in-laws house so she could go get drunk; she realized those little boys were the only reason she wanted to live. What was life without Ron?
"More like 5 or 6 fists," he muttered more to himself than her.
"Someone not so scared of the leader of the Dark?"
"Some more threatened by your husband than me, that's for sure."
"What are you talking about?" she asked.
"I tried to stop them," he muttered as he finished his drink and stood up. He walked to the door and stopped, looking back into her eyes. "They tried to kill me because I tried to save him." He pulled his cloak up over his head and walked into the cool March night.
Two months later she sat outside her home in suburban London with her twin now-5 year olds.
"Mummy," William asked, "When's Poppa coming home?"
"Oh," Hermione said with a gasp. "He's ... he's not, baby. Just like I told you a couple weeks ago."
"I miss him. Did he leave because he doesn't love us?" David asked.
"No, baby," she cooed as she wrapped her children in a hug. "Poppa didn't want to leave." A tear slid down her cheek. "He had to go. God needed him."
"Will God send him back?" William asked.
"No, baby. Poppa's not coming back."
"What about Unca Harry? And Auntie Ginny? Will they come back soon?" David asked.
"They sure will," Harry said from behind them as he approached. "Though Auntie Ginny's at the doctors."
"She okay?" Hermione asked she stood and hugged Harry tightly.
"Will be in a few months, we reckon," he laughed.
"You're going to be a daddy?" she asked him softly.
"Yeah," Harry whispered back as he tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear.
"He would be so happy," she whispered to him.
"He's going to be godfather," Harry told her. "I reckon he's watching right now."
"He'd love that."
"You'll be godmother."
She offered him a watery smile and kissed him on the cheek. "It's good to have you back, Harry."
"We know who it was," Draco Malfoy said as he walked out of Hermione's house and into the yard without noticing Harry. "I finally found out who gave the orders."
Hermione's eyes snapped up to Malfoy, who was dressed in casual khaki pants and a deep green shirt, hair falling into his eyes. Draco had been spending time with them - the Weasleys: Hermione, William, and David - a lot of time, if he really thought about it. He was there almost every day for a solid six weeks.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry spat as he draw his wand.
"Harry," Hermione said as she lowered his wand hand. "It's okay. Draco's proven that he wasn't the one to kill Ron - or to order his murder."
"How did he prove it?"
"I gave her - and the Auror Squad - every correspondence that I'd had with my group in the last year. Plus I submitted myself to a Veritaserum test."
"I was there the whole time, Harry," Hermione whispered. "He's been trying to help me ever since."
Hermione sat down on the bench they had in the back yard and Harry moved to sit next to her. Draco, who had moved to do the same thing, pulled over the blanket Hermione had been on the ground with and sat down, the boys climbing onto him immediately.
"Unca Draco, play with us!" William shouted.
"William, honey, why don't you and David go play in the sandbox? Mummy has to talk with Uncle Harry and Uncle Draco."
"Kay," the boy pouted as he and his brother went across the yard to the sandbox.
"I still don't trust you."
"I imagine you never will," Draco said calmly. "But after they tried to kill me I decided that if I'm going to die it won't be like that. By them. No, I would die for something I believed in."
"And you believed in saving my brother-in-law?" Harry asked with an unconvinced tone.
"Yes," Draco told him, his gray-blue eyes piercing Harry's vivid green ones. "I didn't want Ron to die. While we were not the best of friends, Ron knew I respected him." At Harry's scoff he continued, "I really did. I - I tried to warn him. I had heard about it through an informant ... that's why Ron lasted so long. They were after him for months before hand. They got to me right before him." He paused again. "I tried to help. I really did."
"I've gotten past it, Harry. I'm not healed but I trust him enough to know he's looking out for my family. He's ... he's protecting us."
"More like protecting himself. You have a Ministry guard, Hermione. You don't think he's hanging around so they can't get to him?" Harry asked, completely ignoring Malfoy.
"No," she told him easily. "He's proven himself to me, Harry," she said as her gaze turned on Draco. "You have nothing more to prove."
"I do. I have to prove that Oliver Wood killed Ron," Draco said strongly.
"Wood's dead," Harry said deadpan.
"His body was never found," Malfoy told him. "Father assumed that he was dead. I've found differently."
"What've you found?" Hermione asked as she got off the bench and sat beside Malfoy on the blanket. She didn't see the raised eyebrow that Harry directed at her.
"A friend in America told me they saw a guy with a Scottish accent that fit Wood's description. He used one of these jokester sketching pens that your brothers-in-law came up with and this," he said as he brandished the paper, "is what it came out as."
Harry too got up and joined them on the blanket. It was amazing how much the drawing looked like Wood. The drawing looked just a little older and with a scar across his left cheek.
"The first curse reflected off of Ron's wedding band and into the face of his killer," Hermione whispered.
Harry looked over at Malfoy to take in his smooth features, aside from a scar or two on his right cheek. He looked back to Hermione and then down to the parchment. There was no doubt in his mind that Malfoy didn't kill Ron. He still wasn't positive that Malfoy didn't order it. But now it raised a whole new question: Why would Oliver Wood want to kill Ron Weasley?