AN: This is it! I would ask that you bookmark and recommend to your friends. I posted this all so quickly it will likely get buried before anyone ever sees it.

I'm hope I could make you all feel something in my little non-magical world.

Love strongly, freely, and whoever you damn well please.

Goodbye!

Caffeine, Strings, and Other Impossible Things

Malfoy got her through the Rite of Spring but she didn't remember any of it. Even her worst critic, Rita Skeeter, could only remark that she looked like she had gained weight (she hadn't). They moved onto the next show in a blur, a collaboration of Midsummer's Night Dream that would be performed just before the seniors left. She was offered the role of Tatiana, even though she showed up late to the audition, Malfoy dragging her from the rehearsal room where she was just performing silent steps to a song that had only ever been played for her.

Hermione danced it perfectly and to much critical acclaim. Only Malfoy and Mistress McGonagall seemed to realize that she was a ghost of what she once was; half of her soul on the other side of the country, hopefully having already forgotten about her.

Over time she came back to herself, little by little. She threw herself back into dance but this time with the rigorous attention it demanded. She had almost forgotten about all of it entirely, until the day a girl in the studio turned on the radio by accident.

A familiar set of violin chords that only had been heard once, on the rooftop in the Bronx in the middle of a black out, floated among screaming guitar strings and chaotic drum beats. Malfoy said nothing as she cried silently. He danced with her anyway, snapping at anyone who tried to tried to interfere. At the end of rehearsal, he pulled her into his family's car and took them through the city. He dropped her on Harry's doorstep, barely waiting for the door to crack before turning on heel and disappearing.

Harry held her when she listened to the song, Ginny painting her nails as she sobbed. It was a song about the death of a city, noting its fall from it's golden age into a weak shadow of what it once was. She knew Lee would have probably written the lyrics but she was at least grateful it wasn't a love song. Still, she hated that it was no longer hers alone.

Harry and Gin didn't truly understand, even when she tried to explain it to them. It wasn't the briefness of their relationship, Harry said he could see that it was something special the moment he had swung open the door to her apartment. But, in their eyes, if she had truly loved him that much she would have gone with him. They tried to support her the best they could, but it just made her feel more alone.

Hermione spent her first summer off since she was fourteen. She returned to her parents for awhile before discovering that absolutely nothing in her small mid-western town had changed in the slightest. Her parents were loving and kind but could even begin to grasp the situation, nodding along with confused looks on their face. On the third night at three in the morning, she realized that she didn't even fit in at her own house anymore. She flew back to JFK the next day, not sure of where to go... She didn't want to go back to her apartment; it was too easy to hear the ghost of strings dancing through the air.

In the end, Draco picked her up from the airport and drove them to Coney Island where they got way too trashed and tripped down the boardwalk together before crashing at a posh bed and breakfast. That night she told him the story he had half overheard and he showed her the shitty snake and skull tattoo he got when he was sixteen and a rebel.

There wasn't much of a conversation about it when he took her back to his townhouse or when the three totes that made up her apartment appeared there the next day. She got her security deposit in the mail and that was it. She would never see that small room where she left her heart ever again.

After that point it got easier. She was away from everything that reminded her of him and Malfoy was the perfect gentleman. He practiced with her in the impressive studio in his basement and made sure that she ate enough to survive.

They danced whatever they felt like, sometimes working on new pieces or just revisiting old ones. He didn't push her to get better or complain when she brought home liquor that burned their noses before it even touching their mouths.

Draco dragged her out with his friends, clearly telling them just enough that they didn't pry as to why she was there in the first place. Pansy started a fight when she found out they were living together, resulting in an explosive screaming match between her and Draco followed by loud make up sex that caused Hermione to take refuge in Central Park for the night. When Theo returned for a quick visit, he took one look at her and apologized. Of course she told him that there was nothing to forgive.

Harry and Ron begrudgingly accepted the new arrangement, though they didn't like how Draco still spoke to her and they could never quite figure out the dynamic of the complex situation. It didn't really matter, her friends were building their own lives and she saw them less and less.

It probably would have stayed that way, her quiet life of slowly getting better. All that changed the day Pansy disappeared. Hermione returned home and was welcomed by the sound of breaking glass. She grabbed the one bottle of bottom-barrel wine that Draco hadn't found (and subsequently trashed) and made her way to the basement.'

Glass crunched under her shoe as it scraped against the studio floor. He held out the barre he had ripped off the wall and pushed back his hair in an oddly controlled gesture considering the rain of glass that fell from it. Blood dripped from microscopic cuts across his arms and cheeks, peppered across the smooth paleness like wine on snow. The studio was trashed and the single remaining mirror reflected back the beautifully tragic rage still leaking from his body.

"Do you want to do the last one?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged and handed off the bottle, testing the weight of the barre in her hand as he unscrewed the lid. She faced the last remaining mirror, watching him watch her as he took long pulls from the wine.

She looked like someone she didn't recognize, nearly skeletal with dark circles from laying in bed without sleeping. Her hair could at best be described as out of control, only ever washed and then thrown into a bun.

Hermione realized that somewhere along the line she had forgotten who she was, giving up every bit of herself to a three-day, doomed romance. Her face screwed up into something vicious that she didn't recognize and she slammed the wood against the last mirror, the shards flying out to cut small slices on her cheeks and hands. The barre dropped with a clatter, the tinkling of glass as the shards resettled pulled tears to her eyes but she didn't know why. Draco handed the bottle back to her silently, looking at the carnage around them.

"Pansy married some eighty-seven-year-old Frenchman today."

"Richer than sin?" she asked.

Draco nodded before speaking.

"But not richer than me."

Hermione handed back the bottle and he drained it.

"I loved her… I still do. But it wasn't enough. I couldn't love her the way she wanted me to." Draco looked at her, blood dripping down his cheek from his own self inflicted wounds. She knew they stung, just as her own did... but that pain was nothing compared to the sharp agony in his eyes. She tried not to cringe about the little barbs everyone had all thrown at the pair over the years, all the while totally blind to the undertow just below the surface.

"It would have happened to you both as well... If he hadn't left," Draco offered, his face that placid mask that ballerina's were famed for.

"She doesn't love him," Hermione offered honestly.

"No, she doesn't," he agreed, looking at the pointed shards that had once made up a ballet studio. "But she wouldn't be with me, knowing that she will always come second."

"Maybe you could-"

"Look around you, Hermione. Rather than getting a plane and going to fight for her, I destroyed a fifty thousand dollar ballet studio and tomorrow I will wake up and call someone to come fix it. By next week we'll be dancing in it again and Pansy will be on her honeymoon in Crete. This is who we are. We were never meant for people like them."

She hesitated then nodded, turning towards the stairs. The sound of crunching glass followed her until they both reached the kitchen. She selected one of his good bottles of whiskey and slid it over to him before speaking.

"No more of this. After tonight we're done with it. All of it."

"A bit selfish of you isn't it? You get four months for three days and I get one night for seven years?" Still he nodded, taking a deep pull before sliding it over to her. "Just for tonight. Then we will be done."

They screamed and sobbed at one another until they were a tangle of limbs, not sure how to comfort the other. Later he asked her to build a fire and he burned everything that reminded him of Pansy. While they watched the flames die she held out a kitchen knife and made him chop off her hair even as he moaned over the predictability of it. More bottles were broken in the kitchen and the cops showed up twice.

Still when they woke the next morning, nursing nasty hangovers as they prepared for rehearsal; it was done. They cleaned their cuts and taped up their wounds. Every bit of them that was missing was sewn up and shoved into the very back of their minds.

They took the ballet world by storm that season. Theaters across the world wanted the duo to perform on their stages and promised all sorts of things to get them there. Draco didn't leave her side when she refused. He didn't set out on his own or even question why. They simply kept going until they graduated, then took spots with the New York City ballet.

A few months after graduation, Draco was driving them down the Eastern Shoreboard for a weekend away. A love song came on the radio. It only took her a second to identify Lee's voice. When Draco moved to change the station, something about the song struck Hermione and she batted his hand away from the dial, feeling far too stuck on something so large that should have been so small.

She told herself that Lee wrote almost all of the songs, and to think otherwise was ridiculous, even if she could pick out Fred's voice by the low anguish rippling through the backup vocals. By the end of it she had talked herself down.

It was ridiculous to assume any of it was for her, especially after all this time. Fred loved too easily, smiled too often. Someone else had surely seen him for what a treasure he was.

From then on, she didn't change the station when The Last Laugh came on. She didn't leave the store when the familiar tones of a violin played overhead. She didn't hide away when the band toured in the city. She simply went about her life, dancing with the only other person who really understood her.

Three years later Pansy appeared on their doorstep, her eyes shooting from Draco to Hermione. Draco took Hermione's hand, the near invisible tremors the only outward indication of his emotions. Finally Pansy sighed, stepping forward with a blank face.

"My husband died."

When Draco didn't answer Hermione did.

"We're sorry to hear that."

"This isn't about you, Granger," Pansy spat. Her gaze locked on Draco and she tossed her short hair back with a flick of her wrist. She had always been a shit ballet dancer, too many hard edges to her movements.

"Well?" Pansy questioned.

"Well what?" Draco's voice was that same bored tone he took on when talking to the press. Pansy raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms across her chest.

"Are you done?"

Hermione felt his hand spasm in hers as he took in the impact of the statement. She released it, knowing that as long as he held onto her he couldn't answer honestly. He didn't seem to notice as he stared at Pansy. After a long moment he answered.

"Yeah... I'm done."

"Good." Pansy turned toward the house and opened the door before sashaying inside as if she had never left. Draco turned to Hermione, looking so remarkably in love that envy tore at her heart.

"Hermione… I'm so sorry." He looked so genuinely apologetic that it soothed her own emotions.

She simply shook her head.

"Don't be. You two have got a lot ahead of you. Paris still bothers me a few times a year. I think it'll be best if I get out of the city. Try to find what I used to love about all this."

"But-"

"Draco... Really. Sometimes you just have to make the jump." They both smiled sadly and she took his hand. "I'll be okay, promise."

"What if you aren't Hermione? For as long as we have known each other you've needed me in one way or another. What happens if I'm not there?"

"I'll survive. It's lonely at the top. Always has been."

"I don't have to." Draco said in an uncharacteristic fit of nobility. "I could stay with you and we could dance until your body gave out. We could have a child and force it into tutus and pointe shoes as soon as it could walk, just like my parents did."

"Your parents hate each other," she countered. "This happens to every generation. I'm sure everyone is sick of hearing the same song."

He paused, swiping his thumb across the back of her palm. His skin is soft and smooth… and never quite right.

"You'll come visit?"

"Of course."

She hugged him tightly, letting her arms wrap around his familiar frame. Lean and strong, not thin at all. No hips that jutted out sharply or flecked scars on his back. His eyes were more gray than blue with a ring of green around the pupil she could only see in the brightness of the sun. Draco was something important to her, but he was a pale replacement for what she truly needed.

"Can I throw out that swill you hide under your bed?"

"You are such an ass!" She smacked his chest lightly but didn't pull away.

"I'll miss you so much."

"I hope you find happiness with her," she respond.

"I'm so sorry."

She stepped away with a shrug, a long practiced smile on her face.

"Don't be. We're ballerinas. It's what we do."

000000000000000000000000000000000000000

The volatile French exploded from backstage as she stretched. The local prima was releasing another slew of rage over being relegated to the role of Gumdrop Fairy to Hermione's Clara. Perhaps if she had been practicing like Hermione was, instead of just complaining, she wouldn't have been dethroned so easily.

Hermione had spent the past two years dancing her way across Europe. It was difficult at first, trying to market herself as one half of a duet that no longer existed. Still, she had some offers and she simply selected the performances that most appealed to her regardless of the prestige of the company. After her first season she had her pick of nearly any show across the continent. She never settled down with one company, despite many lucrative offers. She preferred her life of roaming, rehearsing for twelve hours a day and exploring a new city every three months.

This was the first time she had returned to a city. Paris was beautiful and it held nothing but love for her talent. But that was not why she came back. Even as she stretched she could feel the slight twinge of protest in her muscles. Hermione was breaking down, her years of stress, and not enough food or sleep had finally caught up to her. Not to be dire; she could still meet the rigorous requirements of ballet for years to come, but it was starting and Hermione refused to ever give anything but her best.

She chose the Nutcracker as her swan song, something she hadn't touched since the season a winter storm gave her a snow globe and trapped her there for years. It felt fitting that she would leave the love of her life to the same ballet where she had gained the one she threw away.

Theo had attended the opening performance weeks ago, meeting her backstage with a warm smile and open arms. The rest of the women in the corps sent envious looks her way when he picked her up and swung her with the grace of their profession. He kissed her cheek warmly, cooing over her costume and the tamed ringlets of her curls.

As usual, he loudly proclaimed his love for her and her dancing, offering her a job for the millionth time in the school he had set up in Los Angeles. Instead of her usual reply she answered 'maybe'. He nodded his head in response, a sad smile pulling at his lips. They spent the night drunkenly wandering the streets of Paris, while he filled her in on the news she had missed.

Draco and Pansy's first child hopped out of the womb in a perfect plié already dressed in tights and ballet slippers. She was just learning to walk and they already had her in classes, cooing over how she was going to be the next great star.

This personally annoyed Harry as, through some joke of the universe, his and Ginny's first son had demanded to learn after seeing his Aunt Hermione perform Romeo and Juliet the previous summer when he was four. As it turned out he was phenomenal, even at such a young age. The two families constantly ran into each as they dropped off their children for classes and already Hermione heard whispers of the dance Instructors planning to pair the two for the rest of their natural born lives.

The Rookery was gone. It's hidden balconies and staircases that went nowhere had been torn down and replaced with a high-rise condominium that destroyed the whole of the street. Luna and Neville broke up years ago but she still got the random postcard from the girl. Usually from places Hermione had never heard of (even though she moved constantly and never gave anyone her address, she still received them).

In a shock to everyone, Ron climbed his way to the top of the NYPD serving as the youngest chief in recorded history. Harry served as his Operation Lieutenant until the birth of his son when Ginny insisted he retire to a safer career. His parent's aspirations lived on and he picked up their dream of making NYC a livable place for those who needed it. There were whispers of him becoming the next mayor.

Theo left with a promise that she would text him once she had revealed her intentions to the press. She didn't know for certain where her life would take her but she was tired of traveling. She had been a ballerina for so long she had no idea who she was without it anymore.

Finally feeling limber enough she stood under the bright lights of the stage.

"Jacque, commençons," she called out into the darkened room.

The rest of the crew had already gone home after the evening's performance but the old stage manager usually stayed with her to run through a few songs. He was a fair hand at the piano. Not amazing but enough that she could practice without having to pause and restart a song every time she wanted to go over a piece.

She heard a shuffling up in the balcony and turned her head in confusion. Usually he chose the piano in the pit. Suddenly, a clear dark note sliced through the air, strumming at her heart even as she smiled.

"Espèce de vieille chérie," she muttered as she settled into the first steps of 'A Pine Forest in Winter'. He was a a darling.

She danced across the stage performing the expected steps with practiced grace, but in her mind she was dancing in a snow powdered courtyard in too heavy boots and slipping all over the place. As the last notes faded away she was breathless, blinking back tears from her eyes. This was precisely why she didn't dance this ballet again until the very end. There was just too much tied up in it and it pulled at the frayed strings that held her together.

"Je ne savais pas que tu jouais du violon," she said to the blackness, questioning his use of the strings. She knew he had played a bit of the viola but the sound was too high to be anything other than a violin. She frowned in confusion as the door to the back of the theater lit up brightly for a moment before shutting as he left. She hoped she hadn't offended him.

Hermione settled back down, cutting her run through short. She was tired anyway and didn't feel up to dancing to silence or skipping through songs from her phone.

Hermione exited the stage and got dressed in her street clothes, catching the end of a very dramatic fit as the Prima threw a vase at the lead dansure's head. He was no Draco Malfoy but he was a serviceable enough partner and didn't drop her (in spite of what his costar and lover demanded).

She exited through the back not wanting to interrupt and have the ire drawn on her. She padded through the alleyway and back onto the main street outside the theater. There was a light dusting of snow underfoot that would be gone come morning. Still the flakes made an alluring picture as they fell.

Her heart stopped when the keening edge of a violin broke through the night air. It was far too harsh and punchy to be classical. Even without the stuttered pauses and awkwardly placed notes at the start she would recognize it anywhere. Just like the first time, Hermione knew that she should ignore it. That she should head back to her apartment, grab her dinner from the café below it, and go to sleep pretending it was Jacque who was playing for her. But, just like before, her feet moved of her own accord dashing recklessly through the streets and over curbs that were likely to snap her ankles.

It was a park this time, powdered in white with only lonely street lamps to guide the path through. Fred was under one of them, his red hair catching the light and his case open at his feet. People walked by, tossing the odd euro or two in, totally unaware of the master playing before them.

Hermione drifted forward and watched, long forgotten steps flashing to the forefront of her mind even now. She dare not attempt them here, where others could watch them. It was something only he had ever seen and she held onto that fact for dear life. When the song came to an end Fred removed his chin from the rest, his eyes meeting hers like a lightning strike that caught her in place.

"Hey," His voice was deeper and more well rounded. He had probably gotten the proper training needed for back up vocals when they went to LA. She bet when he hummed in the shower now it was beautiful.

"Hi," she responded, breathless and shaking.

"So that's how you catch a wild ballerina," he joked, setting the violin in the case. When the latches snapped shut she was shaken out of her trance.

"You don't want us for a pet. We're temperamental and bite."

"I know."

His voice was shot through with a misery so deep that it seemed like there would be no saving it. That he would live the rest of life incapable of a shred of happiness. It was like someone had punched her in the stomach.

"I didn't know you all were in town," she said instead.

"Impromptu stop over," Fred replied, picking up the case and walking closer to her. "George and Angelina got into a fight last night and then decided that instead of having make up sex they wanted to get married. Now we are all on a honeymoon together."

"That must make for a nightmare of a blanket sharing situation."

Fred smiled and the sight was enough to pull at that carefully tied ball of emotions buried in the back of her mind. Even after all these years it was still cracked; she had done that.

"I went to your show last night, you've always made a beautiful Clara," he muttered, coming to a stop just short of arm's length.

He held his case over his shoulder, well defined muscles finally filled out properly with enough food and rest. He had kept his hair long, tied back at the base of his neck that now had black inked tattoos climbing up it.

Her heart pinged when she realized he still had that same stupid leather jacket, even though some of the studs had fallen out and the elbows were worn. Still the most noticeable part of him were the crystal blue eyes, the glint of steel still present just like the last time she had seen them.

"I've heard the newest single," she said. "It was really good. You should all be proud."

"Thanks, we are," he said.

"Really, Lee has such a way-"

"Actually," he corrected. "I write most of our ballads."

Her stomach flipped, not daring to hope. The timing was too good, the setting to perfect. Life was never this fair or kind.

"They're wonderful. All of them," she replied honestly.

His eyes never left her and she wouldn't have been able to tear her gaze from him, even if she suddenly caught fire. They simply stood, the snow falling around them until, as if by magic, everyone else had wandered away from the area. Once again they were inside a perfect little snow globe, seeing only each other.

"So are you done then?" he asked.

Hermione's heart leapt. She had to wonder if there was a school where lovers of ballerinas learned the script. The Nutcracker run was almost over, just a few more shows and then she would retire. She hadn't known what she would do, but now the answer was staring her in the face.

"I promised I'd come find you, didn't I," she murmured softly. He exhaled deeply, something flashed across his eyes that looked painfully like hope.

"I didn't wait for you," he admitted. Like she cared in the slightest. "There were others... but I could never fill that space you left."

"You waited in all the ways that mattered."

She stepped forward and kissed him, melting against him as her body sang. His lips fit over hers like he had never left, his free arm snaking around her back and pulling her too tightly to his chest. His tongue greeted hers like a starving man, trying to devour ever bit of her before she could run away again. The strings tying up her mind snapped, releasing years of pent up emotion. That hollow ache in her chest faded as he rushed back into it, filling her wholly until her body burned. When she pulled back for air he rested his forehead against hers, his heart stuttering in time with her own.

"I can't do this again unless you're all in, Doll. It nearly killed me the last time."

"It's absurd that I still feel like after just three days and six years," she murmured against his lips.

"We're New Yorkers. We live to be absurd."

He reached his hand up to run across her cheek. The callused surface and sure movements ghosted across her skin and down her neck to rest in her hair. She gazed up into the beautifully open blue eyes pouring everything he had into the one look, as if he could keep her there if he just never looked away. Hell he probably could. Still she whispered it, because she was sure if anyone else heard it would break this impossibly delicate moment.

"I still love you."

"I never stopped." He smiled, his grip tightening slightly around her waist as he dropped another chaste kiss against her lips.

"I am so sorry." Her voice cracked and her eyes watered. It felt like there was absolutely nothing she could do or say that would be worthy of his forgiveness. To make her deserve that soft, loving look after what she had done to them.

He shrugged, a real smile blazing across his lips before he bent down to kiss her in earnest.

"It makes for good art."

Termina