DISCLAIMER: I don't own HP. Obviously.

This story is entirely noncompliant with Deathly Hallows.

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No one knew, when they found us encrusted with grime and dried blood, how we had gone from enemies to companions, lovers. All they knew was that we were holding each other tight and we were embracing, no attempting strangulation. We've never told anyone the story, either, until now. It is the year two-thousand eleven. We have decided that our friends deserve to know how our relationship came about; after all, they've been awaiting an explanation for thirteen years. And since we're telling our story, we might as well begin our narrative with some background information…

All throughout school, first year through sixth, I knew he was waiting for me to mess up. I'd get back an essay with perfect or near perfect marks, and he'd raise an eyebrow slightly, staring at me from across the room. It was as if he were surprised I had continued to do so well.

Our first real, face-to-face interaction was we quite literally ran into each other in Diagon Alley, before the start of seventh year. We both apologized, gathering up our parcels and helping each other, until we looked up. We both dashed away from the scene rather quickly.

A part of me wished that wouldn't see him again, while another part hoped that I would. Because, for a small stretch of time, I had seen him as he is. Instead of being an arrogant, Pureblood elitist, he had crouched on the ground, gathering up his belongings and mine as well, helping me without knowing who I was. Yet, the discovery of my identity had put a stop to his politesse.

It was for that same reason that I wanted nothing more than to never run into her again. She would most likely want to talk about it if we met again, something I had absolutely no wish to do. It was dangerous to have shown courtesy to a Muggleborn. If she told anyone, or if anyone had seen… It would have greatly damaged my chances of survival.

Fate, however, caved to temptation and I did see her again, about an hour later, waiting in line at the apothecary.

'Hello,' she said, meeting my gaze steadily.

I didn't say a word until I had come to stand directly in front of her.

'Don't tell anyone,' I said.

She raised an eyebrow and looked at me more calculatingly. She wasn't blinking, and I shut my mind immediately.

'Nice trick,' I said quietly. 'Who taught you?'

'The very best,' she said with a smile. 'I won't tell, about earlier. You are going to speak to the Headmistress, though.'

'Why?' I demanded.

'If you do see her, you'll have discovered the reason why,' she said cryptically, before being taken at the counter.

I caught her outside the shop after she had completed her purchases.

'Dragon's liver? ' I asked, peering at her list as she stood to the side of the door. She shoved the bit of parchment into the pocket of her robes. 'We don't need that for school,' I hissed.'

'I know,' she replied, and walked away.

I admit that I was very curious as to whether he thought twice about our chance meetings that day. I wondered if he had or had not gone to see McGonagall.

The time from late August to early December passed excruciatingly slowly. Voldemort had made several open attacks on magical families. The remainder of Neville's family went into hiding after his uncle and aunt had been murdered. Neville himself came to stay at the Burrow, which had become Order Headquarters. It would become a popular refugee hideaway in the following months, before and after the defeat of Voldemort. In November, one of the Death Eaters took control of Padma's mind and forced her, under Imperius, to torture her twin by use the Cruciatus Curse. Parvati lost her mind and was sent to St. Mungo's. Padma's captor released her and she spends every waking moment at Parvati's bedside. Nearly fourteen years later, Parvati is now regaining her previous mental capacities, but progress is slow…

At any rate, close to the start of the Hogwarts Christmas holiday, I found myself in the village of Hogsmeade, talking with Tonks. She said it was getting more and more risky for students to be visiting the village and that the ministry was pushing for visits to be forbidden. I found that rather disturbing, but not entirely unexpected. After all, it was the only entirely wizarding village in Britain, and right next to Hogwarts: it was bound to be a target for Death Eater revelries. As I chatted with Tonks about more light-hearted subjects, such as where she and Remus went on their last date, I saw him watching me from inside a bookshop. I made my excuses to Tonks and entered the shop. I went to one of the back aisles in hopes that he would follow me, which he did.

'What on earth are you doing here?' he demanded in a low voice, nose still in his book. 'More to the point, why didn't you return to school?'

'I've been busy,' I said, shrugging. 'Did you do as I suggested?'

'Too risky,' he told me quietly, as I picked up my own dusty tome to pretend to read.

I laughed softly. 'How so?'

'Have you ever had to sleep in the same room as four other Slytherins?' he drawled, turning a page.

'It's your funeral,' I told him darkly. 'Not to mention the possibility of dozens of others.'

My funeral… And now she's blaming presently un-attempted murders on my unwillingness to speak to the Headmistress?

'That's hardly fair. And you're avoiding a direct response. Why did you, of all people, drop out of school?'

'I have more important things to do. And don't think I haven't been keeping up with lessons,' she added archly. 'I still top you.'

I smirked at her unintentional innuendo. She merely raised an eyebrow.

Maybe it wasn't so unintentional after all… Anyhow…

I decided to change tack.

'You're becoming a legend, you know,' I told her. 'One rumour is that you've skipped NEWTs and gone immediately to a high ranking Ministry job. Another is that you got too smart for the school and are off in Wales doing research to find the thirteenth use of dragon's blood. My own personal favourite, however, is that you had a mental breakdown and went to live in a quaint little cottage in the country and raise chickens.'

She nearly laughed at this.

'I've been dispelling that one,' I continued, 'because, of course, you'd be surrounded by cats, not poultry.'

She actually laughed at that point.

'If I were living in a cottage in the country,' she said, smiling.

'City, then?'

'I'm not telling you anything,' she denied. 'But I will say this: the only cat, singular, where I live is mine, and you were most correct about the absence of chickens.'

I smiled. It was the first time in months that I had done so.

She regarded me pensively.

'I'll talk to her,' whispered as I replaced my book on the shelf beside her head.

She looked solemn once more and nodded, putting her book back as well.

'You aren't as bad as you think you are,' she said.

'What?' I asked, slightly affronted, but not denying it.

A smile tugged at her lips once more.

'Who's the last Slytherin you heard making jokes involving a cottage and chickens, or cats for that matter, Zabini?'

I shook my head as she walked away. But she had a point.