Disclaimer: The characters and the Harry Potter universe don't belong to me; they were created by the amazing J.K. Rowling, who not only is a fantastic writer but also doesn't seem to mind fanfiction writers playing with her characters. I make no money from this story, which is intended as a work of tribute, and am very grateful for her generosity.

Thanks to the amazing MysticDew for all the support and suggestions!

Chapter 1

Reunion on Bermondsey Street

-oOo-

11PM, the 1st of February 2005 - Flat 11, 251 Bermondsey Street, London

Hermione kicked her shoes off and plonked her keys in the blue bowl that used to be Aunt Mildred's, one of few remains from her former life.

It had been a long day at the hotel with all sorts of disasters, from small (Jerome dropping a whole tray of canapes meant for the wedding reception that was in full swing) to large (she'd had to dismiss the night porter for being drunk on the job and harassing female late arrivals), and she was exhausted. She couldn't decide what to do first: have a shower, eat or just collapse on the couch. At this point all were equally attractive.

The choice was taken from her as she spotted a tall figure seated on one of the chairs around the dining table. He was sitting rigidly upright, as if to separate himself as far as possible from her prosaic Harvey Norman chair. Suddenly her sitting room filled with light from within, in a way she hadn't seen for years and that had nothing to do with light bulbs or electricity.

Hermione turned cold with fear and longing as she stared at the stranger in a fruitless attempt to place him. When he raised his chin in response to her mute scrutiny, it set her on the right trail.

Once she had the basic shape of his pointed face, it was easy to strip away the lines around his eyes (she had them too, even though both of them were only in their mid-twenties), the extra weight that had filled out the scrawny boy she had known, and the guarded expression on his face. The stranger waiting for her in her flat was none other than Draco Malfoy.

For one terror-inducing breath, she had thought he was his father.

Lucius Malfoy had seemed to be in perfect command of every situation until he fell out of favour with Voldemort. His son had somehow lacked the sort of polished, masterful confidence that seemed to relegate people around him to puppets on a string. Draco Malfoy had always constituted less of a threat than his deadly relations, and it had not been lost on Hermione that he had failed to do his worst on the last two occasions she had seen him.

No longer. Now Draco Malfoy was lethal and ready to strike, and his face gave her absolutely no clue to what he was thinking. His wand rested in his right hand, idle for the moment; she knew that he knew that she wouldn't be able to defend herself should he use it against her.

"What are you doing in my flat, Malfoy?" Anger won out against fear as she spat out her question. It was illegal for him to even be there; she found it hard to think of anyone for whom she would be more put out by breaking the law.

"I have a proposition for you, Granger."

He didn't flinch under her furious glare, further proving his mettle. He would be quite decorative as a statue, she thought; pity about his personality, really.

"What could you possibly have to propose to me?" And what would you want in return, she wondered silently.

"A mutual undertaking to both our advantages."

"An offer I can't refuse?" she asked.

The reference was lost on Malfoy, and he seemed pleased that she was becoming more amenable.

"Yes. Exactly."

"I'm not interested. Leave my flat now, or I'll call the police."

This had gone on long enough, and Hermione had better get him out as soon as possible. If she could; he probably had four stone on her, although it was hard to tell when he was sitting down. She was about as likely to successfully chuck him out on her own as the Chudley Cannons were to have won the League since she last checked.

Fervently hoping his disinterest in all things Muggle hadn't changed much over the years, she reached behind her to grab her mobile. Of course, if he chose he could use magic on her and she wouldn't stand a chance. Fear was winning out over anger now, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her frightened.

Their eyes remained locked on each other as she slowly, slowly edged her arm behind her towards her mobile and let it slide into her hand. Its familiar shape and the promise it carried of reinforcements from the normal world gave her faint comfort.

"I'll give you Weasley back. You'll be vindicated and your sentence overturned. Everyone will know why you really killed Potter, and you'd get your magic back."

Hermione held her phone limply in her right hand, making no effort to use it. Why was he offering her this? She didn't entertain the thought that he was serious for a second; those things were simply not possible.

Then she looked at him again, looking properly at this unfamiliar, implacable face of the man who had grown out of the boy she had known, and she wasn't so sure anymore. He must want something quite badly since he had found her here, and he hadn't hexed her yet.

"And why would you do that? What's in it for you?" she asked him, ever direct.

A ghost of a smile traversed his face and made him look a little more like he used to, before his features set back into the smooth mask again.

"Revenge, restoration of the family name and a return to our rightful place in society."

She snorted. What could Hermione Granger, banished from the wizarding world and living as a Muggle, possibly have to offer Draco Malfoy to achieve all that?

In short, clipped sentences he laid out the current state of affairs to her.

Unsurprisingly, the Malfoys hadn't done well after the war. The cabal now ruling the wizarding world consisted of a core of highly-placed Ministry bureaucrats from solid wizarding families, who previously had been overshadowed by the pure-blood aristocrats in the race to high office. They had run the nuts and bolts of the Ministry behind the scenes for the last few centuries. As Voldemort fell and the depleted Order of the Phoenix failed to pick up the pieces, they rose to prominence.

Someone had to run the wizarding world, and who better than the ladies and gentlemen who knew the minutiae of the administration?

They were generally able, ambitious and fed up with being stuck between Voldemort and the mercurial, uncontrollable and independent Order of the Phoenix. Order was required to restore the wizarding world, and order would be had at all costs.

The first order of the day was tidying up after the Battle of Hogwarts; sentencing Hermione Granger to lose her magic and be banished from the wizarding world neatly disposed of the only obvious hero still standing to rally around. It also helped with discrediting the Order of the Phoenix, placing it under suspicion for being complicit in the demise of the Boy-Who-Died. Stowing Ronald Weasley in the Janus Thickey ward at St Mungo's ensured that no objections to this version of events would be raised.

Most of the more influential members of the Order had fallen in the battle, and those with sufficient clout to investigate why Hermione Granger had turned on Harry Potter had to fight to save their own skins instead. Quite convincingly, they painted her as a traitor who probably got off too lightly.

The general population was too busy dusting themselves off and seeing who else had survived to notice what was happening. The new administration swiftly took control of the narrative of the war, and over the years the Ministry subtly extended its influence.

Hermione was sitting opposite Malfoy at her dinner table as he spoke, not taking her eyes off him for a moment. Whether it was true or not, his summary of events betrayed that he had learnt something since their sixth year, the last time she had spent much time around him. The old Draco Malfoy had been bright enough, but she couldn't recall him being so dispassionate and clinical in his analysis at Hogwarts.

"So where are you in this brave new world, Malfoy?" she wondered, itching to ask if he was sleeping rough in Knockturn Alley but judging it imprudent. He held all the cards, and he knew it.

"I am persona non grata with the Ministry, the Manor has been confiscated, as has most of our fortune, and my mother is still under house arrest."

Hermione forbore from pointing out that they only had themselves to blame, and wondered briefly what had happened to his father. Better not ask this tight-lipped, self-assured stranger.

"That's all very interesting, but it doesn't explain why you're here. Breaking the law, I might add." This time he wouldn't be able to escape the consequences by way of a timely bribe, she thought with satisfaction. She would prefer not to be involved in anything illegal, but she had to hear him out before she would try to kick him out again. Mentioning Ron had ensured that, which the bastard probably had counted on.

"I intend to restore our reputation through restoring yours."

"And how do you plan to achieve that? What does my reputation have to do with your family, anyway?"

"My plan has several phases. I hope you'll be able to keep up," he drawled. Obviously he felt better trading insults, back on familiar ground.

"I shall do my best," she replied sweetly, refusing to be sucked in.

For a second Malfoy almost looked disappointed.

"First, you marry me." Hermione almost flew off her chair to protest, but his raised hand and cold eyes kept her seated. "In secret," he added, lest she would want to send an announcement to the morning papers on the spot. "Secondly, I shall put certain… events in motion, to ensure Ronald Weasley wakes up in St. Mungo's. His happy recovery will be widely publicised. I trust that he'll be in possession of sufficient proof to exonerate you from killing Potter for any other than the purest of motives?"

Hermione almost didn't flinch. She had killed Harry, and that was that. However, if Ron could share his memories and tell someone where Harry's memories had been hidden at Hogwarts, the Wizengamot would have to overturn her sentence.

"Yes, as long as there's enough pressure for the case to be reviewed again," she confirmed calmly, meeting Malfoy's gaze. Tell me what you want, you bastard, or so help me God you're leaving head first, she thought, keeping her temper tightly reined in but on a sufferance.

"Thirdly, you'll return to the wizarding world, which at this stage will be falling over its feet to welcome you back…" They shared a look conveying their mutual disgust for the utter stupidity of the masses that made this outcome entirely predictable. However different they may be, neither of them would have their opinions spoon-fed to them by the Daily Prophet.

"Finally you reunite with me, during your quest to free the house-elves or some such. Romance blossoms between us, culminating in our wedding – in public this time. Together, we reform the wizarding world, and the manor and our confiscated assets are restored to my family." Malfoy calmly outlined this… this fantasy, and even as Hermione dismissed it as outrageous, his quiet conviction that this was going to happen almost convinced her that it was possible.

"Why in the world would you want to marry me?" she asked, in disbelief.

His faint smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Because you're the only way I can seem to regain what we've lost."

"Why on earth would I want to marry you?" Malfoy must have some sort of answer for that; she certainly didn't have any.

"Because otherwise you'll be stuck here forever. Scraping a living in the Muggle world, never really belonging. Cut off from everything that should be yours." Before Hermione could protest that he didn't even believe that himself, that he had wanted her to go back to the Muggle world from the first time he met her, he continued. "The Weasel won't hang in there indefinitely. Sooner or later, his family won't be in a position to make enough fuss about his death to be a deterrent for the Ministry. He's also at risk for organ failure from being kept unconscious artificially."

He correctly anticipated her next objection, and she suddenly remembered that his mentor had been an accomplished Legilimens.

"Merely knowing his coma is artificial is not enough to release him from it. In the event of suspicions being raised, someone within the hospital will quickly and quietly dispatch him to the great hereafter. The Weasleys would be none the wiser, of course," he said blandly, and Hermione was torn between anger and abject fear. "If you want to get him out alive, you need my help."

"But why do I have to marry you? If I promise I will help restore the Malfoy name," she almost laughed at the absurdity of what she was saying but refrained, as it hardly would be helpful at this juncture, "and get your money and Malfoy Manor back, why would we need to get married?" She went quiet before continuing, trying to summon every little bit of sincerity she was capable of. "If you know anything about me, you know I keep my word."

Malfoy almost looked regretful.

"No. That's not enough. You could change your mind."

"What if we made an Unbreakable Vow?" She was getting desperate now, but was careful not to let it show.

"You don't have any magic, so we can't."

"A legally-binding contract?" Hermione ventured, but he didn't even bother responding to that.

"But we couldn't get a divorce…" she said slowly, remembering long-forgotten customs from her adoptive society. Long before the Statute of Secrecy, the wizarding world had looked with disdain at the dangerous liberalism rampant in the Muggle world. "We would have to stay married until one of us dies."

Hermione was struggling to keep her face impassive, and the room seemed to swerve around her for a moment when she drew the logical conclusion. Good God, he always had hated her. It would be deliciously ironic to use her to restore his reputation and fortune and then quietly dispose of her to marry one of his own and father little pure-blood Malfoy heirs.

"Granger?"

Any doubts that he was not using Legilimency on her were dispelled as she looked up into his grey eyes. Malfoy's face was contorted in rage, and she was suddenly more afraid than she had been for a long time.

"I will not kill you, Granger," he said between clenched teeth. Obviously that hit a nerve; she could only hope it was because he never actually had killed anyone. "If you want, I will swear an Unbreakable Vow to that effect. My mother can be the Bonder."

"I think I would like to draft that Vow." Hermione tried to regain her confidence and managed to sound matter-of-fact rather than wobbly as she spoke, although her heart still seemed to be beating loud enough for the neighbours to hear.

"Agreed." He seemed to calm down as well, returning to his smooth demeanour from earlier on. "If you manage to reform our society to the point of introducing divorce, I will consent. Regard it as an incentive." It sounded almost as if he was making a joke.

"Now that that's settled, will you agree to my proposal?"

She had the urge to laugh like a maniac again, as she realised that it really was a proper proposal. "It would be a marriage in name only," Hermione said, testing the limits of his madness.

"Yes," he confirmed, his haughty look making it clear that he had no wish to sully his hands more than absolutely necessary.

"This is stupid, Malfoy. Did you have a nervous breakdown while I was away?" His only response was to glare at her. "You must really be down on your luck."

"Be that as it may, these are my terms. You are of course free to decline my offer."

Malfoy had her at his mercy, and they both knew it. Even if Hermione had had no desire to return to their world or be vindicated for her part in Harry's death, there was no way she could turn him down and condemn Ron to linger in St. Mungo's until some bureaucrat decided to pull the plug.

"Be careful, Malfoy," she said evenly, surprising him. "Your tide might be high now, and you can get it all your way, but you won't have the upper hand all the time."

He looked at her, an elegantly-raised eyebrow succinctly conveying his scepticism. He was so handsome as an adult; it made her trust him even less. Too smooth for the everyday world, he threw everything else into shade in comparison. She felt small and mousy and ordinary opposite him, but fought it with all her power.

"You're using the people I love against me, and I won't forgive you for that. We could be married for a very long time. There will come a time when you'll be at my mercy, and I promise you I'll do my very worst to you then." Hermione did her best to sound intimidating; she might have nothing to her name right now, but he couldn't have forgotten that she had always got the better of him in the past.

"No," he said abruptly. "I won't change my terms."

"Then you'll get what's coming to you, Draco Malfoy, and I'll show you the same consideration as you have shown me now, when the time comes."

His shrug seemed to communicate that it was only natural that he would use it against her, if she insisted on foolish Gryffindor sentimentality.

"So you agree to my terms?" he said.

"Yes."

What else could she do? It felt like she had sold her soul, had she had one left to sell.