Year 2004. August 18th.

Hermione apparated next to Draco in front of what once was her house. Their house. It was still their house; but just looking at it on the outside, her heart raged. She shared it with Ron, along with the promises of building their family here. She did not know what possessed her to agree with Harry and survey the crime scene. At first, she was reluctant to do anything. She even tried her best to forget. But how could she ever forget?

Forgetting, Hermione realized, was easier when obliviated. She wished someone would just obliviate her; and everything would just go back to normal. What was normal anyway? Being a muggleborn, she knew what normal is. In her childhood, she fought herself to be anything other than normal. She didn't want to be normal. But now, it was all what she wanted. Her mind reeled through the memories that happened in that house.

Even if she wanted it enough, she knew in herself that it wouldn't change a thing. Ron would still be dead. The Weasleys would still be in grief. Her attackers would remain on the loose. The world was still a terrible place.

Draco looked at her, "Ready when you are, Granger," he said. Hermione took a deep breath. A few steps ahead of them, Harry stood with two other Aurors. Harry engaged in a serious conversation with his two companions, still unaware of their arrival, until Harry glimpsed to his side. His eye caught Hermione, and her breath hitched.

"Hello, Hermione," Harry greeted as he came. Hermione nodded. Then Harry turned to Draco, who he gave a small nudge. "Malfoy, thanks for taking her here." Hermione did not see Draco's reaction but she heard a soft snort from him. She did not know what that meant; perhaps he was just being smug again. "Hermione," Harry called, "thanks for… uh, doing this." Hermione heard his voice falter as if he couldn't find the right words to say.

Together, they walked to the front of the family home. It was a two-storey building with a small balcony on the top floor for the master's bedroom. The front lawn hasn't been mowed yet; and Hermione remembered that it was last week's time to mow again. Ron always mowed the lawn, Hermione remembered. Ron thought that using a mower was mad, but somehow, Hermione had convinced him that it was more convenient. Before she could venture far ahead, Hermione ignored her thoughts.

Draco stepped in first. He surveyed the living room, which was a wreck, before he allowed Hermione to enter. Once she walked in, the atmosphere around her changed. Her arms felt the heavy air that surrounded them. She saw almost everything in the living room had either been overturned or destroyed. The drapes had been torn. The couch had been soaked with blood. The kitchen door was removed from its hinges. There were shattered pieces of a broken vase scattered all over the ground.

"Granger," Draco called. "Panic attack?" The words came in a whisper. Hermione asked him a few days ago to keep quiet about it. She did not want Harry, or anyone else, to know. She was ashamed; she did not anyone to know that underneath all her armor was a frail child that cracks at the smallest detail. So, when Draco asked, Hermione only shook her head.

She was fine. She needed to be fine. I will be, Hermione assured herself. She couldn't break now. Not in front of Harry. She begged herself to keep it together.

Hermione took a round the living room. Behind her, Draco followed. His eyes also ventured to the place, perhaps he could lend a new pair of good eyes to look around the place. Hermione arrived at the stairs. But her last step seemed hesitant when the flashes came again. She winced as her head throbbed in pain—bombarding her with memories. Her memories fought their way into remembering, fitting with her nightmares, and Hermione did not know what to believe anymore. She stepped back with a hand to her temple. Her back bumped into Draco with his hands immediately grazing upon her arms to catch her.

But the memories did not stop.

"Granger," Draco called her again. "Hermione…"

"What's wrong with her, Malfoy?" Harry's voice. Hermione kept her eyes shut. Flashes of that night—Ron falling down with knives to his chest, beams of green and red light coming from different wands, the blood, her running. Stop, her chest heaved. Stop, please. "Hermione, what's wrong?"

Hermione shook her head. She waved a hand, and said, "I'm fine."

She heard Draco sigh. Of course, he did not believe her. Living with him for almost two weeks now, he had gotten better at reading her. She did not want herself to crack open in his presence; but these damn panic attacks always occurs at the worse time possible. Her nightmares also became more frequent. She'd wake up screaming. Draco would prepare her tea to calm her down; and with her request, he'd wait 'til she had fallen asleep again.

"Sit, Granger," Draco told her. So she did. She sat on the pile of wood and laid her back on the wall behind her.

"Does she always have this?" Harry asked. No, Draco, please lie, Hermione thought.

"She's fine, Potter. No need to worry…"

"Malfoy—"

"Potter," Draco snapped. She heard his tone was stern. Her eyes remained closed; and slowly, flashes of that night almost ended. Her breathing normalized. "Leave her alone. For now."

Hermione slowly opened her eyes. She saw the place again. In front of her, Draco stood. Harry walked away to investigate. Then her eyes fixed on Draco's. He looked down at her. Her mouth opened to whisper, "Thank you." What Draco only did was nod.

Ten minutes later, Draco decided to look further. Hermione watched as he strode to the dining room. He pushed away the wreckage. He surveyed through walls. But he then walked out of the dining room unsuccessful. Later, he picked up a photo frame that had been buried until the pile; so he walked over to Hermione. In his hand, he held the moving photo of her and Ron in their engagement party.

Hermione remembered that day. She wore a purple dress that reached her knees. Her heels killed her that night. Ginny had managed to pin her bushy hair into a nice clip; and how, Hermione would never know. She was happy that day. Not her happiest; but happy enough. Everyone congratulated them. They danced a couple of songs until she decided that she hated heels. She even remembered that Draco was there.

"Thank you," Hermione said. Her voice croaked.

Then, she saw his eyes dart behind her. She followed what he was looking at. Then he reached down to touch the end of the torn wallpaper. "This has been placed again. This was torn before," Draco muttered.

"How'd you know?" Hermione frowned. She did not even notice it before.

"It was not placed back properly. The creases are visible," Draco assumed. Later, Harry and the two Aurors walked over to them, curious as to what Draco found. "Potter, did anyone touch this wallpaper? This particular wall during your first investigation?"

Harry shook his head.

"I asked my team to leave everything in its original place. Only to take pictures," Harry replied.

Draco turned back to the paper. Hermione stood from her seat and went next to Harry. Draco pulled the wallpaper off the wall in one swing. The large portion of the wallpaper came with Draco's hand, revealing a word scribbled in blood behind it, and Hermione gasped. Hermione threw a hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs.

YOU.

Harry placed a hand over Hermione's shoulders. But her shoulders stiffened as he touched her. He immediately removed his hand before Hermione retreated. She ran outside the house. As fast as she ran when she came to Diagon Alley. She picked up her feet. Memories of her running bare feet and in her nightgown resurfaced. But this time, she cried. Tears slid to her cheeks, down to her neck, and she wasn't scared of whimpering anymore.

Before she could go far, she felt a hand pull her back from running. Hermione immediately turned to face Draco Malfoy, who immediately followed after she took off. She wasn't sure why he even bothered. She looked at him, her eyes watered and red, before she hid her face in her hands. She remained in between his hands. He held her for a moment, not an embrace but a reassuring touch; and for a moment, she felt… safe.

Once they came back, Harry asked Draco escort her home. Hermione shook. Her shoulders trembled; every fiber of her being trembled. She was agitated. She panted. She muffled sobs. She didn't know what to do. Then, Draco took her arm and disapparated with her.


Padma Patil walked by the corridor leading to her laboratory. In her hand, she scanned through the lab results of a DNA test for a recent case. Padma nearly reached the door when she found Harry Potter sweating in his seat. She could only guess what he needed from her. She was the head forensic researcher in the Ministry of Magic after all.

The Ministry of Magic took a delicate turn after the war. Minister Shacklebolt decided that it was best and most convenient to mix muggle form of research to replace their ancient ones. Padma thought that it was surprising but agreed that it would be best. Not that she despised traditions, but she hated how it made her job difficult when it could've been solved easier through muggle research.

When she narrowed the gap between her and Harry, she remained standing without batting an eye at him. He raised his head and jumped up when he saw her. "Hey, Padma. How's it been?" He asked her out of courtesy.

She smiled, and said quietly, "Peachy. How's Ginny?"

"Fine," Harry said. He looked down at his shoes while his left foot started kicking the floor. Padma took this as a sign of uncertainty. She felt it in his movements. She was also not ignorant as to recent events in the last week. Lavender Brown was her flatmate after all. Lavender had a big mouth; she blabbered at everything.

"How is she?" Padma asked. This time, she did not refer to Ginny. She referred to Hermione Granger, who had recently been accused of murdering Ron Weasley. Padma did not think that she was even capable to hurting anyone without remorse, but Ron Weasley? That was beyond her nature.

Harry sighed. It was not of relief, but of defeat. He pursed his lips before saying, "Honestly? She isn't any better. She's hanging by a thread, so to speak." Padma hadn't realize that he would tell her the truth; but she didn't mind. If anything, she was thankful that he was honest.

"You tell her that she doesn't have to worry. She has at least one person who believes her," Padma smiled. Harry nodded in response. Then she asked, "So, what have you got?"

He pulled out a small bag from his pocket and handed it to her. She took it and examined the content before raising an eyebrow at Harry, "Is this from the crime scene?" She watched him nod again.

"We think its Ron's," Harry said. Padma's breath hitched. Lavender cried for a few days after the death of her beloved Ron Weasley. Of course, Padma knew that what Lavender felt was merely an obsession for her long lost love. "We're not sure; but we're fairly certain," Harry added.

"Where exactly did you find it?" Padma inquired. "I need to know if it's contaminated." Harry nodded in complete understanding.

Then he said, "It was written on the wall of Hermione's living room. The word was 'you'." Nodding, Padma invited him to follow her inside the laboratory.

Harry watched as she said the password to the laboratory door. It swung open, revealing a room filled with wizard and muggle researchers. He had only been in here once when he was following a trail of Death Eaters back when he first got his job as an Auror. He had managed to take an evidence and was asked to not leave the evidence at all costs. So he stayed. Then the trail of their Death Eater investigation had gone cold that Harry was forced to set it aside and examine other cases.

The laboratory was neither quiet nor loud. There were chatter, Mandrake roots crying, and machines wiring. Harry was fascinated at first that Minister Shacklebolt had managed to combine both wizard and muggle relations in most things. That had been the Minister's goal after the war, and in his words, Harry remembered that the Minister said, "It would heal the conflict between the magic and non-magic folks. No more discrimination." Of course, it worked—for some parts. However, there were still others who resisted and remained against the non-magic folk as if touching or talking to them would spread some deadly virus.

Harry followed Padma to her work area. She placed the sample of the blood from the wall that Malfoy found in their venture at the crime scene. Harry watched her work without question. He did not even understand what she was doing. Rather distracted by the noise behind him, Padma continued working on the blood sample. Later, Harry saw Padma pull out her wand and muttered a spell he hadn't heard of before; and after a while, the blood sample turned blue.

"You're right," Padma said without blinking. "It's Ron's blood, alright." Harry felt his insides burn. He wanted to pummel something; but at the same time, he wanted to vomit. He expected as much that it was right. However, perhaps deep down, he wished it wasn't Ron's. "It was fresh; as far as I can tell. Maybe taken about four to five days ago," Padma continued as she noted her findings.

Harry's head was spinning. Four to five days ago? Ron's body had been locked down at the forensic lab for more than a week now. The Minister issued that Ron's body to be examined before it were to be delivered back at the Weasleys for his burial. Molly lashed out at the Minister's office when the Minister wouldn't simply let go of Ron's body; but he managed to calm her down and persuade her that it would be helpful if they could trace the spells his body received to the attackers. So far, there weren't progress. But Harry was still lost. He frowned, "What do you mean? Ron's body is down for autopsy. Is he not?"

Padma sighed, "I know, Harry. But trust me, my employees are trustworthy. None of them would collect Ron's blood and use it for painting. That's just insane."

"You wouldn't know, Padma. You know that you're the only one who has access and permission to examine Ron's body. I trust that you didn't. So I ask you: who else do you think could've taken his blood?" Harry asked. His muscles were flexing under his skin.

"I have some people who look after his body whenever I'm gone," Padma admitted. "I won't be available twenty-four/seven to examine him. I need some people to continue my work; and trust me because I trust them, and I review their findings as soon as I get back." Harry paced. Not too slow, but not too fast to attract attention. "Look, Harry. My employees signed a confidentiality agreement. If they broke it, I could sue them for breach of contract. And you know that I would."

Harry sighed. He knew… He understood. But he couldn't wrap his mind around the situation. His head was spinning faster. The lead was fading and disappearing before he could even find the pattern. How was he gonna be able to solve this?

Leaning over the counter, Harry whispered, "Padma, you know your employees better. If you can find out anything about how this happened, please tell me. I'd hate to put you in a dangerous place, but I… I'm lost here. And please be careful. There's no one I would trust right now."

Padma looked up at Harry in the eyes and nodded.

"I better tell the Minister about this. Maybe he can shed some light on the issue," Harry said. "Don't… tell anyone about this yet."

"Of course, Harry," Padma assured him. She watched him turn him heel and leave. Then she pulled out another sample from a drawer in front of her. It was labeled as Hermione's.


The Minister took his tea cold. He didn't like it too hot because it burned his tongue and throat. So he prepared to wait for his tea to get cold after it's served. While he waited for his tea to chill, he heard a soft knock on his office door.

"Come in," he ordered. The door cracked open, revealing Harry Potter in his most stressful look. "Oh, Harry. Come in, come in. What brings you here?"

Harry came in. He shut the door quietly behind him before striding toward the desk. Before he could say anything, the Minister asked, "Would you like some tea?" The Minister didn't wait for an answer and called for his secretary, requesting for another cup of tea. A while later, the secretary came in with a warm cup of tea for Harry. Once they were left alone again, the Minister finally registered that Harry's visit was of importance and repeated his question, "So, what brings you here?"

Harry breathed in. And out. And in. How would he begin? He was slipping in his investigation. He hated that he wasn't getting anywhere close to solving this. The more that the suspects were out there, the more danger Hermione could be in. Not only Hermione, but the Weasleys too.

Harry began, "You remember that Hermione agreed to look at the crime scene again?"

"Oh, yes. Indeed. I remember," the Minister said. "How did it go?"

"We found something."

"Harry, you're stalling," the Minister confessed. But he waved his hand. He finally took a sip in his cold tea before nodding to Harry. "Continue, then."

"Malfoy found a part of the wallpaper in the living room that had been torn before and glued back again. There are visible creases that meant it was carelessly placed back in. Or it was intended to be careless for us to find the message," Harry explained.

"What message?"

"It was a word written in blood."

"What word?"

"You. Just 'you'," Harry looked down at his feet again. He remembered Hermione's reaction. He had expected her to cry, but when she ran, he almost took off after her. If only Malfoy hadn't followed her first, he would've. He didn't know what happened when they were outside for he gave orders to the other Aurors.

"Did you take a blood sample for forensic research?"

"I did," Harry nodded. "I just came from the lab. Padma Patil confirmed that it was Ron's blood. According to her, it had been taken about four or five days ago."

The Minister finally frowned. Harry knew that he thought of the same thing. "Isn't Mr. Weasley's body safely at the forensics lab?"

"Yes," Harry sighed. "That's what I told Padma. Do you think there's someone on the inside that might be responsible for all this?"

The Minister went silent. He didn't finish his tea. He didn't know if he could still finish his tea after what Harry had said. The Minister had his share of dead bodies to last a lifetime. He had hoped that he wouldn't be dealing with another; but it turned out, he was deep into this investigation after all.

"That's a likely possibility. However, we must be careful. We cannot just accuse anyone of doing such thing. That would be slanderous, and in turn, inflammatory," the Minister informed him.

"I know, Minister. That is why I seek your counsel regarding this matter," Harry said. Harry was lost; but so was the Minister. None of them knew what to do with this; now that there was a high probability of having a killer—or killers—inside the Ministry. "Could we add more security?"

"Where?" The Minister inquired.

"I don't know… At the forensics lab. To secure Ron's corpse and prevent this from happening again," Harry said.

"But that does not rule out the researchers. The killer might be inside the group of researchers," the Minister argued.

"I know," Harry sighed. What should he do? "I don't know what to do anymore. This investigation has gone bloody cold. There are no leads, no evidences, and no fucking suspects—"

The Minister raised his hand to warn Harry. Harry didn't realize that his voice rose and his choice of words had turned from formality to profanity. Frustration caught up with him quickly. He had been repressing his anger for quite a time now so he would stay positive and objective in his investigation. This event, however, triggered him to a breaking point.

"I apologize," Harry said. "I did not mean to say all that…"

"It's fine. I understand how distressed you must be," the Minister said. "Why don't you allow me to talk to Miss Patil regarding this matter? I'm sure we'll come up with an agreement. You should go home and probably rest."

Harry nodded.

"Should I tell Hermione about this?" Harry asked. He knew he should; but if he did, she would break again.

The Minister raised his eyes. His eyes were sad and in despair. But he remained his posture. So he shook his head and said, "It would be best if you did not. You could tell her that you have progress, but do not tell her anything specific. It might only frustrate her more; as much as you are." Harry knew that the Minister did not mean to hide anything from Hermione; rather he was only as protective of her as Harry.

"Of course," Harry said. He sighed and adjusted his stance. "Well, I better be off. Thank you for the help, Minister. Good day." Without another glance, Harry left the office with a deep breath.


Draco Malfoy flipped through the next page of the Daily Prophet. He wasn't exactly sure as to why he even bothered to read the newspaper since it wasn't exactly a credible source for news. Maybe he had hoped that there was news about the case; but so far, all he read were speculations. He hadn't read anything he didn't already know. In fact, he knew better.

From the corner of his eye, the door to Hermione's room remained closed. When he took her home after their visit at the crime scene, she hasn't said anything. Not even a single word. He did not need to ask. He already knew that she was far from fine. Even she knew that he knew. None of them had to say anything more than what their eyes conveyed. The sadness in Hermione's eyes was enough to say something; and Draco's silence was enough to tell her he understood.

Rita Skeeter made a fool out of herself with all these speculations. None of it were even close to facts, Draco thought as he perused through the pages. He would've have allowed Skeeter to interview him just to clear everything up; but that would defeat the purpose of protecting Hermione. If he gave away a piece of information from the investigation, there was a high probability that Hermione's attackers would know. Plus, why would he even do something as that? That would be madness. He wasn't someone who would take lengths for someone he barely cared about—especially her.

But did he really not care for her?

Sod it, Draco thought. I don't care…

Even in his thoughts, he couldn't convince himself. Words tasted like rotten fruit; an old soliloquy to make himself believe that it were true. What is wrong with him?

His inner thoughts shattered at the loud rapping at the front door. So Draco dropped the papers on the coffee table before taking a stride to open it. Of course, as he had expected, he saw Harry Potter standing outside. This time, Potter looked as if he had seen a ghost. He was paler than he usually was, even paler than Draco himself, which Draco thought was rather odd. But he did not ask; instead, he invited him in.

"News, Potter?" Draco asked, shutting the door behind him.

Potter nodded. His eyes wandered all over the place. It was as if he couldn't focus on one thing; or he did not want to focus on one thing. Draco was lost at Potter's sudden arrival and unusual behavior.

"I'll call Granger," Draco informed. He walked to Hermione's bedroom, and as softly as he could, he knocked on her door. For a moment, he didn't hear anything other than light movements behind. "Granger? Potter's here. I think he might've some news," Draco explained. He saw Potter watching him, waiting for something to happen.

Draco heard her say, "I'll be out in a minute. Just… give me a minute."

He didn't ask what she was doing behind the door. He would rather not know. He did not care, right? But curiosity seemed to poke his arse to ask. He nearly bit his tongue off as he tried his best to keep his questions to himself. He did not fully understand what made him so curious about Hermione; perhaps it was because of her reservation. They were similar, Draco noticed; he kept things to himself just as she kept things to herself.

There was only a time when I stepped out of the line, Draco remembered. She walked out on me.

But why would he want to break her reservation if he did not want anyone to break his? He hated having to think this through.

It took five minutes before Hermione finally decided to come out. Her eyes were red and swollen revealing the fact that she had been crying the entire time. Even her nose was red as a tomato. Potter might not notice but Draco did as his eyes darted to her hands. They were balled into tight fists—perhaps the tightest she can do. He knew. She was stopping herself from exploding.

Hermione hiccupped, "Hello, Harry."

Potter nodded. He had his hands buried in his pockets. Draco expected him to close the gap between him and Hermione, but Potter remained at his post. He did not move. Neither did Hermione. Draco wondered what was going to happen now.

"I just came to tell you that we've confirmed that it was Ron's blood. But that's all I can tell you right now," Potter said. He bowed his head down. "Sorry, Hermione."

Draco only watched Hermione. Her shaking had gone from unnoticeable to terrible suppression. She could not contain it any longer. She was going to explode. He stepped forward, but his step was not fast enough to stop her from exploding. She erupted, "I deserve to know, Harry! Everything! I was there! I have every right to know… Why can't anybody just bloody tell me anything?"

Her words came out cracked. Like glass stuck in her throat.

Draco saw tears slid one at a time from the corner of her eyes. It soaked her once-dried face again, making her cheeks blotchier than it had been when she came out, and now, her entire body was shaking. Draco didn't take another step. She needed to do this on her own. She needed to face this.

Potter said, "Kingsley didn't want me to tell you. He doesn't want to scare you—"

"You don't think I'm not scared right now?" Hermione snapped. She threw her hands in the air, out of exasperation. "I'm terrified, Harry! I'm bloody shaking! I don't think I'll ever be more terrified than I am actually feeling right now!"

"I know, Hermione. But—"

"Just admit it, Harry!" Hermione wailed. Draco winced at the sound of her voice. She was in pain, he could tell. She was in so much pain. "Why don't you just admit it, huh?! Everybody thinks that I killed him! Why don't just spare me all the lies, Harry? I'm tired of all these…"

Potter took a step forward. But Draco gave him a stern look. Not because he felt protective of Hermione. Or maybe he was a little. Bugger, Draco chided himself. But Draco knew that if Potter approached Hermione right now, it wouldn't end well. One of them might end up hurting one another. Potter was a likely candidate, Draco thought.

"No, Hermione. No one thinks that," Potter said softly. "I don't. The Weasleys don't. Stop thinking like that. No one blames you, okay?"

Hermione stopped talking. She muffled a few sobs as she stood a few feet from Draco. Draco felt the need to console her; but he also knew that it was beyond his nature. He couldn't. He couldn't let his guard down. Not even if there's a crying girl in front of him.

"Look, Hermione. We love you, okay? The Weasleys do—I promise that. It'll just take time to adjust with everything. No one thinks that you could even harm Ron. Just trust us… Or better yet, trust me," Potter explained.

Nice speech, Draco thought. How can she when you're only telling her half-truths?

Hermione turned around. She hid her face in her hands while she continued to weep. Tears streamed down her cheeks like waterfalls. Almost unstoppable, along with the heavy beating of her chest.

Potter sighed and pressed a tight smile at Draco, before he said, "There's something I'd also like to tell you. The Weasleys prepared a small gathering at the Burrow on Thursday for Ron's funeral. I thought, you should come. Molly asked me to tell you." Potter paused, and continued, "I know that it's difficult. But please, Hermione, see us at the Burrow. It's at lunchtime. Everyone will be there."

Finally, Draco found his voice. He asked, "Why did it take the Weasleys a week to bury Ronald?" The Weasel's name burned at his tongue. It felt uncomfortable calling him as Ronald.

"His body had been kept at the Ministry's forensics lab for autopsy. Results should be available in two days," Potter explained.

Draco nodded. Then he turned right back at Hermione. Her shoulders had stopped from shaking. But her entire body remained frigid. He looked at Potter, and said, "It's probably best if you let her be for now. She needs to think this through. We'll send you an owl for confirmation." Potter agreed with it and left after a few goodbyes, here and there. The door shut behind him, and Draco was left with Hermione in the living room.

"Granger?" Draco called. She stiffened. "It's alright. He's gone. You can sleep now. I'll just knock when it's time for dinner."

Hermione didn't say anything. She retreated back to her room as soon as she could. Her feet almost got caught with her steps as she hurried; but somehow with a force that kept her slightly sane, she managed to not fall to her feet when she left.

Draco let out a sigh as he stood alone in the spacious living room.


Author's Note: Good day to everyone! I'm so glad to be back. Finals is finally over. I can now focus on writing this. But we'll see how things go in the next few days. Anyway, I really appreciate the reviews. Again, if you get bored with the story, you can just leave at it. No hard feelings whatsoever. *laughs* But I really do owe a lot of thanks to those who would like to see what happens next. Trust me, it gets better. The characters are well-established, and the plot is thickening. So stay tuned. I hope you enjoyed this one, though. I'd also like to know what are your thoughts about this one, so please leave a review. Thanks a lot, guys. See you around.

PS. I own nothing. All characters and references belong to J.K. Rowling.