He didn't interrupt, listening to the tale with unwavering focus. The tea remained on the table, untouched, and was still warm by the time she finished.

"So about 3 months? That's what you remember?" he asked after a contemplative silence.

"Yes," she confirmed. "The airport in Moscow, that's where it begins for me. Then I was in Heathrow, and I didn't even know who I was."

"And the muggle authorities…"

"...were useless. Complete pisspots. No one even took me seriously, no matter on how many doors I knocked. One even called me an attention-seeking… well, he said he'd have me put in jail if I continued purposefully wasting his time."

She swirled her tea with a spoon.

"Not a single doctor - back when I still had the money for consultations and exams, and I had to pay out-of-pocket for most because the NHS is a residence-based system, and my residency status was questionable at best - could find anything physically wrong with me. Several psychologists had the brilliant deduction," she added, rolling her eyes, "that the amnesia was a symptom of some recent trauma, but whatever money I had ran out before any therapy could take effect. And so I'm here," she concluded with a resentful sigh.

"So, please." She looked at him with wide, pleading, caramel-colored eyes. "Tell me. Where I'm from. Who I am; what I did; who's searching for me. Why do I always feel like an outsider, why do I not belong anywhere, and why do I feel that everything normal is not; why did this happen to me, why?! Why?! Help me, please!"

Her voice came out as half-formed sobs by the end, as she channeled months of loneliness and fear into a single plea.

"Please," she begged. "Please, just… I want to know. I need to know… I…"

The man was her side suddenly, kneeling on the floor, his hand resting on her back.

"I'll tell you," he whispered in a rush. "Shhh, Granger, shhh. I can show you. You don't need to be afraid anymore. I'll take you. To your friends, to Potter, to Weasley. St. Mungo's. That's a hospital. I know you don't remember yet, but you will. It sounds like an obliviate charm; it should be reversible. You can have your life back."

He emphasized his words by rubbing soothing circles into her back, and she quieted, sniffling softly.

"I'm sorry," she croaked finally, embarrassed at her emotional outburst. She rubbed the tears from her eyes, turning away from him. "I must look awful," she said, suddenly acutely aware of his closeness.

"Nothing a good and proper bath won't fix." His hand was still on her back. "We can go tonight, if you want."

Tensing, she whirled to meet his eyes.

"Tonight? Right now?"

"Well, yeah. Why wait? We'll have to go to the Manor first, though, and from there I can owl Potter. He'll come running quick."

"Owl?" She stared at him incredulously, and he chuckled.

"Do I have a story to tell you, Granger. But we'll have to get going first. There's a house - I have an address - where I stash my broom."

"Broom?"

Her one word questions must make her sound like an idiot, but what else could she respond with. Owls and brooms, really. She suddenly remembered one her dreams, where she was escaping a fiery hell on a broomstick, dodging flaming gorgon heads between huge columns of rubbish. She'd woken up gasping, drenched in sweat, her heart beating erratically.

"I'll get us there. Don't worry about it."

Does saying 'don't worry about it' ever pacify anyone?

"First, you need to find us a… one of those cars that ferry people. I can't apparate us right now."

"You mean a cab?" It was difficult, but she managed to dam the deluge of questions that was about to drown him. Owls? Broomsticks? Apparate? What's the Manor? Who's Potter, how do I know him, and why does he feel like a brother? Is…

"GRANGER! Stay in the present. You'll remember everything soon enough, so explaining all of it to you now will just be a waste of time. Just… trust me, ok?"

Trust him. It was as easy as that, wasn't it? Decided to just accept whatever this night threw at her, Hermione grabbed a phone from her purse and made the call to a cab service.

Meanwhile, the man sniffed his tea and took a tentative sip, immediately scowling and dumping several teaspoons worth of sugar in. He swirled it aggressively into the tea, muttering something under his breath, and only stopped when he realized she was staring at him. He raised his eyebrows at her in a silent query, and she blushed.

"It's just… I never even asked your name."

His hand paused, the sugar only half-dissolved in the lukewarm tea. He met her eyes for a brief second, and then his gaze shifted beyond: it lingered on the cabinets and the checkered floor, it took in the rumbling refrigerator and the busted toaster, it froze on the smoke-stained walls. What was going through that blond head, she wondered, and then he spoke, his voice hesitant and distant.

"We've known each other for years, Granger. For most of that time, our relationship could be categorized as a stable mutual hatred. I know I'm to blame for most it, and despite all of that, you… you don't remember it now, but you did something that I never would have expected, and it left me in your debt. And now, talking with you almost amicably, you asking my name… it's so strange; like a new beginning, fresh with the morning dew."

"Well then," she answered, sticking her hand out with a smile, "let's make it a good one. I'm Hermione."

She felt his fingers twine around hers; his palm cool. His expression was almost vulnerable.

"Draco. Draco Malfoy."

"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Draco Malfoy."

They held each other's hands, lost in the moment, until her phone rang, notifying the cabby's arrival.

They were almost out of the door when she remembered she'd once again forgotten her umbrella. She asked him for a second, explaining what she wanted to grab, but he stopped her.

"You don't need it. Listen." He put up a finger to his lips, mentioning for her to be quiet.

She really didn't hear anything and then realized what that meant.

"The rain," she whispered. "It stopped."

And so it had.

The cab ride didn't take long; at this hour, traffic was nonexistent. Draco paid the driver, and they found themselves standing beside a three story house with a pointed roof, its red-bricked facade lost behind twining vines. The clouds had dispersed, and the moon's silver light reflected off windows and puddles, bathing the street below in mystical shadows.

"This way." He mentioned for her to follow him onto a path that hugged the house, leading them to a courtyard with a small shed, concealed beneath the wide branches of an old oak. Their footsteps, softened by a carpet of freshly-fallen leaves, were slow and peaceful. Hermione breathed in deep the smells of moss, oak, and dirt; the grayness of the city was forgotten, a quickly fading memory receding under the sighing wind.

"This place is amazing," she whispered, as raising her voice any higher seemed blasphemous.

"One of our old properties," he replied just as quietly. "You should see inside. There's quite a library here - you would love it."

He fiddled with the lock a moment, and the doors of the shed sprung open without a single creak. Stepping inside, he reached for a long broom with a curved handle that was propped up against a wall.

"The V-1 series. Publicly, it hasn't been released yet." He sounded both smug and content at the same time, which did nothing to decrease her bewilderment. He was serious about the broom; it wasn't some prank. She gulped, nervous. What had she gotten herself into?

"Oh, don't look so anxious, Granger. It's perfectly safe."

That's exactly what people said about unsafe things, so she took a step back.

"How about you actually tell me why you're holding a broom and just what, exactly, are you planning with it?"

"Fly." He said it as the most nonchalant thing in the world.

"Fly?!"

"Yeah, like in the sky. Like a bird."

"But, but… it doesn't have any wings!"

His laugh echoed along the cobblestone path, deep and unrestrained.

"This is-"

"Magic." His voice was soft, a natural fit into the serenity of this courtyard. "You'll be seeing a lot more very soon. Don't be afraid, because, as much as my adolescent self would hate to admit it, you're a part of it too."

She accepted his explanation as if it were the most usual thing in the world; it felt like a certain missing part of her had just clicked into place, completing her on some subconscious level.

He closed the shed, glanced around the courtyard and mounted his broom, mentioning for her to do the same. Despite copious amounts of apprehension, she obeyed, lifting her legs to position herself behind him, circling her arms around his waist.

This was crazy, the last rational part of her thought. Insane even. She should be locked inside an asylum for following this maniac, for surely, there was no way in hell this would ever-

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

Her shriek pierced the moonlit sky, and the git's chuckle was cut short when her arms squeezed the breath out of him.

"Let go," Malfoy choked out. "Merlin, Granger, you're suffocating me."

She paid him no heed, because she was flying on a broomstick! Everything he told her, all her conflicting emotions - they were real! Magic was real! This was her place in the world! This was where she belonged! This was…

He sped up, the few streetlights below turning into streaks of molten gold, and she screamed again.