So, don't hate me for leaving you hangin', but think of this as an intermission of sorts.

*.*.*.*

Eighteen — Winter Song (Interlude)

loving, leaving, it's too late for this now
such esteem for each has gone
has time driven our season away
'cause that's the way it seems
in the world of the speech that is new
I'll be back again to stay

Even though it was raining, everything around her seemed to be burning. Her throat burned, her eyes burned, the air burned, the rain burned, everything. The trail Ron left out of the tent was burning, the trees Harry were "fighting" were actually burning, her heart was burning.

And at once, she had made a decision. Slipping back into the tent, she knew Harry couldn't hear her screams anymore, and he figured she had gone inside to cry, which was partly true. She grabbed her wand and pulled on her jacket, hat, scarf, and gloves (because she didn't need to be sick too). She exited the tent, and glanced over at Harry taking his anger out on trees and rocks that were inanimate, and couldn't defend themselves. Although it was a scary thought, it was moments like these that made Hermione think Harry was more like Tom Riddle than he could comprehend. But she shook her head, unwilling to let those thoughts enter now. She cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself, closed her eyes, and breathed slowly.

And she Disapparated.

She kept her eyes shut even after she reached her destination. The familiar sound of birds chirping and the smell of rain in the air calmed her rapidly beating heart. It was not raining here, though the pavement smelled damp, and she was already warmer than at her previous location.

In front of her stood her childhood home. The house was empty, no one had moved in. The rumors circling the inhabitants, namely Hermione, were enough to scare away the eager family from moving in. The potted plants were gone, and the purple curtains that once hung were no longer shielding the outside world from her room. There was a large padlock hanging on the front door, and the sign in the front still read "FOR SALE." She almost hoped the house was never purchased so her parents could move in again after the war was over ...

If the war ever ended.

Why did she come here? Why did she leave? The thought of following Ron seemed like a good plan, until she realized she couldn't go to the obvious places to look for him, as it would be too risky to attempt. The idea of leaving in general fueled her veins, like after Harry told her in the Great Hall that Ron had been poisoned, and she ran because she felt guilty. Does she feel guilty now? No. Now she just feels like she needs guidance.

She wished she could speak to her mother, Jean Granger was good with compromising situations. Is that why she came here? Was it so she could talk aloud to her house, as if it was a way to communicate with her mum that was now living in Australia without the memory of even being a mother?

The skin on the back of her neck prickled, she felt like she was being watched. Shit, was she still invisible? She quickly looked down at her hands and realized she was not. Maybe one of the neighbors peaked outside and saw her. She slowly looked around, scared to immediately place the spell back on in case a Muggle was watching. Over her left shoulder, she quickly scanned, and nothing. Over her right shoulder and —

He was there.

He was in the middle of the street, as if he had been walking closer and closer to her for a moment, almost afraid it was her but desperate for it to be her at the same time. Why would she be at her old house? Would she wonder why he was in London, given it was only the middle of November? Would she even want to see him?

But she saw him. And it was quiet, and it was slow, and it was soul-shattering; the delicacy of the moment was recognized by both of them.

Both of their minds raced with possible explanations or plans or apologies or outbursts or declarations … but in the middle of the street that held Hermione's house, time slowed down, and nothing else mattered.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione practically breathed the only question that came to her so her mind could stop racing for just a fucking second.

"I was home, for a meeting. It was ... bad, so Mum suggested I take a walk, and I — I always walk here," Draco confessed, similarly breathless as she. "Every time I come by I hope you three are hiding here, but I realize that ... wouldn't work because they know where your house is." Flashes from the first of the year — was it only eleven months ago? — slid into her mind, and she had to push them away. "Why are you here?" His voice was not filled with disgust or contempt, only pure curiosity.

"Ron left," she said quietly, and she was almost surprised at her abruptness, but not really. "He and Harry had a spat," she chuckled at the language she chose to use. "No, Harry and Ron had a huge fucking argument that basically tore their friendship in half that ended in Ron leaving and Harry burning down trees, and I'm standing in front of my house … wondering where the time went." Tears filled her eyes again, and he was unsure if he should even touch her, embrace her, console her — things had changed so much ... so fast. "And all I can think about is how much I miss you. Because, dammit I do, Draco. I miss you more than I can comprehend. And I don't think I'm even angry anymore ..."

"You should be," he replied softly.

She chuckled and sniffed back tears. "I understand ... why you did what you did. And I understand being scared, not for yourself, but for your mum. Hell, I erased my parents' memories of my existence, because I couldn't stand the thought of them being hurt because of me. So I understand." She fiddled with the zipper of her jacket, and Draco was able to catch a glimpse of the necklace resting on her chest.

"You're still wearing it," he murmured and stepped closer to her. He tentatively reached out and traced the chain. She smiled up at him and placed her hand on his.

"Of course I am." She whispered and lifted her head to kiss him slowly.

Oh, it had been so long since they had held each other. They slipped into the house and built a fire in the fireplace. They laid in front of its warm glow and breathed in each other. He placed open-mouthed kisses on her neck and chest and she moaned, feeling the long-lost fire ignite within her.

He wanted this to last for as long as they could draw it out. It had been four months since June and it would probably be months before they see each other again, so why not be rash, why not be reckless, why not.

Why not be careless and just enjoy their short time together?

Afterwards, while lying in front of the dying fire, Draco played with the ends of her hair as she tucked herself into his side, her forehead pressed to his collarbone.

"Do you want to run away with me?" She exhaled her question into his chest.

"I'd love to," he whispered into her hair. "Where do you want to go?"

"Mmm, I heard America has nice places."

"They do," he agreed, "lots of history in a country like that."

"So many historical tours to take, so little time."

"They have their own school too."

"Ilvermony, I know." She sighed. "It's in Massachusetts."

"Is that close to New York?"

She snorted laughter into his neck. "Yeah, it's like the next state over."

He chuckled, "It would be nice to see what all the fuss is about. New York is supposed to be pretty amazing."

"Yeah, there's Broadway … Times Square —"

"The subway, which I mean, c'mon, that's a cool Muggle invention. Trains underground?" They both laugh at his comment, but her giggling stops before his.

"An easy place to hide with so many people packed in the city like sardines … would take them quite a long time to find us."

Her comment abruptly stops their conversation about running away to America.

It makes them realize that their conversation is just that —

Hypothetical.

When she returned to the tent, it had been hours.

She hadn't meant for her to be gone for so long, but she also didn't know what fate had in store for her upon leaving. Harry had been in full panic mode, realizing a few hours after Ron left — was it really only hours ago that the magnificently large fight had occurred? — that Hermione was no where to be found.

She apologized for scaring him and reaffirmed that she would not be leaving him. He asked her where she had gone, but she didn't tell him the truth. He knew it too, but he didn't press the topic farther.

He was just grateful she had returned.