On the third day after she had woken up in the infirmary, Winky arrived in her dormitory with a pop. Hermione froze, perched atop her bed, her shoe halfway on.

"Note from Dumby!" she cried and offered out a folded piece of parchment. Hermione straightened up, shoe falling to the floor.

Her limbs began to tingle.

Could it be?

Winky skipped over to her and placed the note in her waiting hands.

Wasting no time, she unfolded the paper and drank in the scribbled words.

The Ministry set a date. Tomorrow at half-past 8 come to my office, we will apparate together.

Air rushed into her lungs, and a short burst of laughter escaped from her lips.
"Thank you, Winky!" she breathed, clutching the note to her chest.

"Hermy is welcome!" the little elf squeaked, did a little curtsy, and apparated away.

Finally! She had waited so long.

Overwhelmed with joy and suddenly a little dizzy, Hermione fell back onto her bed, hugging the note to her heart. She would see Draco again. She might be able to hold him.

The idea that she could finally tell him everything that she had gone through– everything she had discovered with Nick and Anna and Sam– her muscles relaxed, like warm water over ice. She longed to know where he had been the last few weeks, longed to hear his side of the story.

As she made her way down to the Library, there was an unmistakable pep in her step. She was finally starting to feel like herself again.

So much so that when Luna and Neville approached her on Saturday morning and invited her to watch the Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw quidditch match, she said yes.

Neville seemed taken aback at the answer, and Hermione didn't blame him. The answer surprised even herself. Though, evident by Hermione's lined corduroy jacket and Gryffindor scarf folded in Luna's hands, her friends had been optimistic that she would come along.

"Great!" he said, unable to hide his smile. "Harry will be so glad to see you in the stands."

Luna smiled dreamily at her.

"This is going to be nice." Her voice was a sigh.

Hermione cracked a smile and closed her book. Slipping it into her bookbag, she stood from her spot. She felt light. She felt… good.

Whatever potion Pomfrey had given her had really worked wonders.

"Everyone's going to be so happy," Luna said, skipping her way out of the library as Neville and Hermione trailed close behind. She stopped suddenly and turned around, a quizzical look on her face. "Except for maybe Ron. Or Lavender."

Hermione's smile fell.

"Nevermind that. Let's keep going," Neville dismissed quickly, horrified.

He threw Hermione an apologetic grimace, and they continued their trek to the Quidditch Pitch in silence. As the witch walked alongside her companions, her thoughts turned to Draco, as they so often did.

All of these years she had believed Draco to be the cruel one, yet now the truth had come to light. Beneath Draco Malfoy's haughty, hard exterior there was beauty. And Ron on the other hand had seemed so friendly on the outside, but now he had finally shown her his true colors.

The day was clear and crisp, and Hermione was thankful that Luna had thought ahead and grabbed her coat and scarf. She would have ended up shivering miserably in her thin cardigan.

It felt strange to walk amongst her peers again, just another student in the crowd filtering into the quidditch stands. She caught a few odd looks tossed her way, but it seemed as though she was no longer such a hot topic. The few weeks she had disappeared had worked. Out of sight, out of mind.

It was a relief.

They climbed their way up the rickety wooden steps, and Hermione reveled in how normal it felt. She wasn't sure if the anti-depressive properties in the elixir had been long-lasting, or if she had really spent a decent amount of time mourning.

Was this the next step in her grief process? She had read about the seven stages of grief. The idea that she had finally made it out of that cold darkness, that horrible depression… To say she was relieved was an understatement.

As they finished their trek upwards and made their way down the stands, she saw Dean Thomas waiting for them in the front row. He had strewn out his Gryffindor scarf to save them each a spot. When he saw them he gave a little wave.

"Good morning, Hermione." The look on his face made it clear that he was surprised to see her. On the other side of Dean, Seamus leaned over to glance at her quizzically, but thankfully he didn't say anything. Perhaps he had also grown bored of her mysterious time in the Ministry. Or perhaps Harry and Ginny had made it clear that it was no longer up for discussion.

"Morning, Dean," she greeted.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," he told her as he pulled up his scarf and allowed her to settle in next to him.

"Me too," she said, and she meant it.

She heard the band play a bright fanfare somewhere in the distance, and the upbeat tune sent a ripple of excitement throughout the crowd. Even Hermione was not immune to the buzz, and she sat up a little straighter, eyes searching the yellow grass for the players to emerge.

It had felt like ages since she had enjoyed a real, fair game of quidditch.

The announcer's voice echoed across the pitch then, signaling the start of the match. She watched as the Ravenclaw team marched onto the field, brooms in hand. They arrived in a tight, and organized V formation. When they mounted their brooms, it was in unison. Hermione knew this was nothing more than a pompous, organized front; Ravenclaw didn't stand a chance against the Gryffindor team.

When her friends emerged from the other side of the field, it was much more relaxed. They sauntered in casually, a few players waving up to stands before meeting in the middle to shake hands before the match began. Hermione chose to focus on Harry and Ginny, actively avoiding Ron's form. Despite her lifted spirits, his words still left a slight sting on the edge of her consciousness. She would simply have to ignore his existence until he plucked up the courage to apologize.

If he even would. The thought left a bitter taste on her tongue.

After a sharp blow of Madam Hooch's whistle, the players shot up and into the sky, streaks of blue and red scattering about. Organized madness. The crowd around her erupted into applause, and after a moment, Hermione found herself cheering along.

The young witch used her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she followed Harry's form. He rose high into the clear blue sky, searching the air for the sharp golden glint of the snitch.

As Hermione watched the game unfold, a strange sort of sweet sorrow arose in her throat. She had really believed she would never see this again. Never step foot on Hogwarts grounds again.

She looked to Luna then, affection welling up in her chest. The young Ravenclaw had chosen to sit in their stands, dawning red and gold despite her actual class being the opposing team.

In an admittedly uncharacteristic display of affection, Hermione found Luna's hand with her own. For a second, Hermione felt insecure. Was this weird? Would she seem like a touch-starved fool? Her internal monologue ceased as the blonde girl accepted it easily and gave her a sweet smile.

She didn't ask any questions, just intertwined their fingers easily.

"I'm glad you're back," Luna said. "Hogwarts wasn't the same without you. There were a lot more nargles. I think you keep them away."

Coming from the inattentive Ravenclaw, the statement sent a wave of warmth throughout her body. She doubted that Luna noticed up from down or left from right, but the girl had noticed her absence.

"Thanks, I'm—"

"Watch out!"

It was then that a terrible impact rocked through the stands, and Hermione's heart stopped as the stands swayed to and fro suddenly. She pulled her hand from Luna's grasp, clutching the wooden bench beneath her.

The crowd around her screamed, a few in shock, a few in excitement, but it made no difference to Hermione. The stands pitched from one side to the other, the steep incline of each peak and trough igniting a deep, animalistic terror within her.

Suddenly and without warning, she was back on the Titanic, trembling as the bow rose into the star-speckled sky.

The hundreds of passengers shrieked in terror, suddenly faced with the horrible profoundness of night, and the Titanic groaned ominously below them as if laughing at their misfortune.

The yellow pitch and blue sky had dissolved into static and blood. Chaos and death. The cheerful tune of the band had twisted into a terrible screech.

Unable to breathe, suddenly she was on her feet. The stands spun beneath her as the crowd continued screaming and giggling in the wake of the sudden impact. Despite her better judgement, Hermione looked down the length of the raised stands. They were too high, far too high.

Hermione couldn't stop the violent vision of the stands toppling over and exploding onto the ground in a shower of debris and blood.

She didn't listen as Neville explained that a stray bludger had careened into the wooden framework below them. She ignored the reassurances that they were perfectly safe from Dean and Seamus. She didn't care that the rocking had ceased as quickly as it had begun.

It didn't matter.

The screams had been too real, the sharp angle too familiar. Wordlessly, Hermione slid out from their spots and stumbled back to the stairs. She wouldn't do this. She couldn't do this.

"Oh dear." Luna's voice.

"Hermione!" Neville's.

She felt several gazes burning holes in the back of her head as she retreated on shaking legs, but she didn't turn around. She didn't say a word, she couldn't even if she tried; her mouth had sealed itself shut, terror making her mind and tongue go rigid.

How could she ever have pretended that she was alright? Who was she fooling?

The rickety wooden steps felt especially treacherous on her clumsy descent downwards, and she had to cling to the splintered railings for support.

The static in her brain didn't cease until she reached solid ground. Her legs gave way at the base of the stairs, her knees crunching into the dirt below. Her fingers curled into the pebbles and dust.

It's fine. I'm fine.

She couldn't seem to draw in enough oxygen

Everything is okay.

She clutched the dirt in her fists, sitting up on her haunches and feeling the reassuring pinch of rocks digging into her palms. She wasn't in the middle of the North Atlantic. She was on land. At Hogwarts. No one was dying.

No, she thought to herself, they're already dead.

How could she enjoy the day when Hamish and Tommy no longer could? All of those people, lost in the abyss. Swallowed into nothingness. All because she failed her mission.

Guilt rose in her throat like bile and it felt as though her insides were rotting.

She should have never left the library.

The young Gryffindor pushed herself onto her feet, her entire body trembling.

She walked back to the castle with feet made of stone, mind and body sluggish with grief. How foolish she was for thinking she had finally processed her sorrow. She understood now that it was nothing more than a trick of the light. A facade of happiness implanted by the antidepressants given to her by Pomfrey.

She followed the dirt path along the shore of the Great Lake, a horrible dread twisting her stomach. She felt as though she may vomit. Or cry.

Or both.

As if a dam had broken, tears began to spill from her eyes. Her feet stopped moving.

Hermione Granger couldn't go any further.

She looked to her left, the Great Lake shimmering in the daylight. It was so vast, stretching far into the horizon. It felt as large and foreboding as an ocean.

She floated to the waterline, wondering dimly how deep the lake went. If the Titanic had sank in these waters, would she be able to dip her head below the water and see the rusting hull through the murky depths?

Hermione recalled her final moments, cradled both in Draco's arms and the North Atlantic's embrace. She thought of the cold ocean, how it had stopped feeling cold at all. In the end the frozen water had felt as mild as a room temperature bath. Her skin had lost all sensation.

As she gazed out at the rippling lake, a quiet whisper urged her forward.

She didn't understand why her feet stepped past the shoreline and into the water, but she didn't fight it. The feeling of icy water rushing past the leather of her shoes and the nylon of her black tights felt oddly comforting in its ominous familiarity.

The Great Lake was infamously cold, even in the summer months. Now that it was autumn, any other student would have yelped in shock the moment their skin had made contact with the icy water.

But Hermione Granger was not any other student. She was a survivor of the RMS Titanic.

...Or was she a victim?

She supposed it didn't matter.

Pushing forward, she clenched her fists as the waterline rose to engulf her middle, soaking her Hogwarts-issued skirt. It was cold, but not nearly as unbearable as the night of the sinking. If anything, this temperature would have been a reprieve.

She stepped even further, feeling her shoes squish into the muddy clay below. Though the biting cold stung her skin, she found that it didn't hurt. If anything, it gave her a shock of clarity.

Not only that, but the familiarity of the sting felt… deserved, almost.

Why should she live to enjoy another day when her friends had been wiped out?

A prodding foot stepped forward and into nothing, the muddy embankment suddenly dropping away. In response she froze in place. If she stepped further she would surely slip below the water and her head would be fully submerged. She supposed she should have been afraid to run into the giant squid or one of the many mermaids she knew resided in the murky depths… but she wasn't.

"Hermione!" Neville's alarmed voice rang out behind her.

She didn't turn around, she made no sign that she heard him.

It occurred to her distantly how she must look. It had made sense to wade into the Black Lake, but she supposed that it was quite an irrational thing to do.

"What are you doing?"

Wordlessly, Hermione raised a wet, shaking hand to wave him away.

"She's just taking a little dip, Neville," Luna soothed in her sing-song voice.

"Are you both mad?!" he cried again. "It's bloody freezin'!"

"Hermione can take care of herself," her Ravenclaw friend said, and she heard the crunch of dirt beneath shoes as she pulled him back. "Let's go back. Or maybe we can go get some pudding."

"Now, hold on—we can't just leave her there…" His voice faded away.

They were gone.

Hermione didn't know how long she had stayed in the water, but she let the bitter cold wrap her up in a cocoon of darkness. Trembles racked her body, and a part of her begged to emerge from the water.

Another, more dominant part of her, knew that this is what she deserved.

The cold wasn't her enemy. It was a long lost friend.

Closing her eyes and blowing air from her nose, she bent down and plunged fully into the lake. The quiet swish of lakewater hummed against her ears, and she let the liquid caress her skin, brown hair fanning out around her. She thought of those final silent moments after the cries had died down. It had been quiet. Dark. Almost peaceful.

Her lungs burned for air, but she ignored them.

It was almost like this, but there was quite a large difference: she had been with Draco. They had been dying, but at least they had been together.

...Maybe that should have been the end.

The incessant need for air escalated, the fire in her chest too much to bear. She burst from the surface, spluttering. Standing up straight once again, she wiped lakewater from her eyes.

What was she thinking?

Draco's hearing was tomorrow. Yes, things were bleak, but they weren't black.

Despite all of the turmoil in her heart and mind, she knew deep down that there was still hope.

. . .

Hermione's shoes squished uncomfortably with lakewater, hair and clothes dripping as she made her way down to Professor Slughorn's classroom.

There was no way she would be able to sleep tonight. She was going to borrow some dreamless draught and a sleeping potion to assist her. Tomorrow was a big day, and the last thing she needed was to toss and turn all night.

The torches cast an ominous, orange glow down the dark stone corridor. She trembled, but she wasn't sure if it was the lasting cold from the Black Lake or the terrible chill that always plagued the Dungeons.

She could see Draco even now, swishing confidently in his handsome black robes and slick platinum hair. She thought of all the times she had avoided him in the hallway. All of the times she had looked away when he had crossed her path.

If she saw him now… her heart skipped a beat even at the mere thought.

She shook her head, clearing the thoughts before they could spiral.

Breaking into Slughorn's stores had been easy, and finding the potions needed ended up being even easier. Thanks to the Quidditch game, no one was around to bother her.

With her pockets full of potion, she locked the door to the classroom, ready to begin her journey back up to the Gryffindor common room.

In the distance: voices.

Hermione froze. Was the game over already?

She kept to the wall, wet shoulder practically grazing the dark stone. Perhaps if she kept her head down and walked quickly, she could avoid any confrontations. This was Slytherin territory, after all.

"Well, well, well," a harsh, sniveling, high pitched voice came. Hermione cringed, freezing in place. She looked up to find Pansy Parkinson flanked by a wall of Slytherins. She looked for an escape, but they were blocking her way. It felt as though the entire Slytherin class had returned all at once. "Look what the squid dragged in."

A chorus of mean-spirited snickers echoed throughout the corridor. Hermione stood a little straighter.

"She's bloody soaked," Theodore Knott sneered, glaring at her.

"Smells like seaweed." Milicent Bullstrode plugged her nose with a dramatic flourish.

"I suppose it's a step up from the pungent scent of muddy blood," Pansy said and then giggled, a horrible, high pitched squawk.

"Let me through," Hermione ordered in a voice as strong as she could muster. She was a prefect after all, even if she hadn't been active in her duties the last few weeks, didn't they still have to listen to her?

"Why?" Pansy asked, tilting her head. She meandered toward Hermione's spot by the wall. "So you can run along and spread more lies about Draco?"

Hermione didn't want to be cornered by the approaching witch, so she stepped forward to meet her in the middle of the corridor. She glared into Pansy's dark brown eyes. She supposed there was no way around it.

"What lies?" Hermione asked.

"What lies?" Pansy hissed, narrowing her gaze. "Don't play dumb."

"Maybe she's not playing," Blaise Zabini rolled off, crossing his arms. "I'm beginning to believe she actually is dumb."

A ripple of cruel laughter from the crowd. Hermione let the insult roll off her back.

"That must be why I'm the top of the class," the Gryffindor retorted, "because I'm so stupid! What are you, Pansy? 32nd? 33rd in our class? Near the bottom, I believe."

The laughter stopped, a tense silence settling into the air around them. Pansy bristled, mouth twisting in anger.

"Brave words from a girl a long way from the Gryffindor Tower," Knott said.

"All of Hogwarts is my home. Even the dungeons." Even as Hermione said the words, they didn't quite sit well in her stomach.

Pansy seemed to sense this.

"Is that why you disappeared?" she asked. "You haven't been in class for weeks. Why is that?"

Hermione swallowed.

"Let me pass," she ordered again, clenching her fists. In the back of her head, she felt the reassuring presence of her wand pressed to her forearm.

"Only if you swear to never let Draco's name leave your dirty lips ever again," Pansy whispered, looking down her pig-like nose at Hermione.

The Gryffindor and Slytherin stood head to head, and Hermione refused to break eye contact.

"Why?" Hermione asked, mouth tilting up into a wry grin. "Why do you care?"

Pansy's nostrils flared, and a moment later she pointed a perfectly manicured nail practically up Hermione's nose.

"Because he's mine."

Hermione really didn't mean to, because she knew it would have made things much worse, but a bubble of laughter rose from her chest and escaped from her treacherous lips.

Everyone watched on as she was engulfed in laughter.

"Stop it," Pansy hissed. "Stop laughing."

"I'm sorry," Hermione giggled, wiping her eyes, "it's just so funny."

A shocked silence settled over the crowd, her ringing laughter the only sound bouncing about the corridor.

"Shut up!" Pansy Parkinson's wand was in her face.

Hermione tried to quell the manic laughter, but her lips couldn't help but maintain a smirk. In the back of her head, the young witch wondered if she had finally gone mad.

"Do it," she challenged between tittering giggles, making no move to draw her own wand. She threw her arms out wide. "Curse me."

Confused indignance flashed through Pansy's dark eyes, and she turned to look at Zabini and Knott, her black bob fanning out as she did so. They shrugged helplessly back.

"Not only are you a mudblood and a liar," the Slytherin girl bit out as she turned back around, "but you're also insane."

"Perhaps," Hermione admitted, sopping hair still dripping onto the stone below. A puddle was quickly forming beneath them. "But I'm not a liar."

"So you're not going to deny what Cormac said?" Blaise said, stepping forward. "You're really under the impression that you're Draco's girlfriend?"

Hermione said nothing, instead she settled on a soft smirk.

Her gaze flicked from Blaise to Pansy. Something fluttered in her chest. After weeks of loss she smelled a victory on the horizon.

She knew she shouldn't continue pressing, but it felt good to jab the knife a little deeper into Pansy's pride.

"Bothers you, does it?" she asked, tone light. "Your perfect little Draco Malfoy fraternizing with a Muggleborn girl?"

"You're a liar," Pansy hissed again, stepping forward until their noses were almost touching. "That's not what happened, you bitch. We all know that you tricked him!"

"You and your friends turned him in," Thedore Knott accused softly, venomously. "It's your fault he's in trouble."

"Tell us what happened, Mudblood." Pansy demanded, still only inches away from her face. Hermione gazed evenly at the girl, and then looked behind her to the wall of students watching. "No more lies."

Bloody hell, she thought to herself, why not?

"We fell back in time," Hermione said simply, truthfully.

Distrust and disbelief flashed through Pansy's face. And she sneered before shoving Hermione backwards.

Unprepared for the sudden assault, Hermione stumbled back, unable to catch herself before she fell onto the stone floor below her.

Cruel laughter mocked her as she pushed herself onto her elbows, a little stunned.

"I told you," Pansy hissed, jamming her wand back into her pocket. "Stop lying."

"We want the truth, you fool. Not fanciful tales," Knott rolled off, pushing up his glasses.

Despite her circumstances, Hermione began to laugh once more. She was telling them the truth, and they weren't listening. The irony killed her.

"You want the truth?" she asked, pushing herself up and maneuvering onto her knees.

"Have we not made that abundantly clear?" Blaise asked, "or do you have seaweed in your ears?"

"We fell in love," Hermione breathed. She was gazing upwards at the Slytherin girl, still on her knees. Telling the truth felt good, even if it was to such an unpleasant crowd.

Without warning, Pansy's palm struck her face.

Hermione's head spun, and she let the sting of the slap ring through her entire body. She could easily pull her wand from her jacket, but she made no move to do so.

She angled her face back upwards, unafraid.

Compared to Horace, that felt like a hit from a child.

"He took my virginity."

Pansy's face twisted with rage.

Another slap. This one harder than the last.

"Your mind is as dirty as your blood," she hissed.

Hermione laughed again, ears ringing and head spinning.

"We died in each other's arms."

Slap.

"Enough!" It came out as a shrill, desperate shriek. "Tell the truth!"

Hermione met Pansy's gaze once more. Despite how it looked, Hermione knew she had the real upper hand.

"The truth is that he doesn't love you. Might not even like you, really."

This slap was so hard and vicious—more of a punch, really—that Hermione was knocked backwards again. She felt something warm and wet drip down her cheek and from her chin. Had Pansy Parkinson… scratched her?

"You dirty Mudblood! You fucking bitch!" she howled, and Hermione heard a shuffle. She looked up to see Blaise and Theodore restraining Pansy. The slytherin girl thrashed in their grasp, hatred flaming in her eyes. "How dare you!? I should kill you!"

"She's clearly lost it, Pans," Knott said, holding tight to her arm. "Let it go!"

"You're going to get into trouble." Blaise was the voice of reason.

"You both heard what she said!" Pansy spat, turning to the two boys and shoving them away. "You know she's lying!"

"It doesn't matter," Theodore announced before his voice dropped down to whisper something.

Hermione strained to hear past the buzzing in her ears. "The dark lord... no need … we can move on without..."

"Alright, off to bed, the lot of you!" Blaise suddenly called, turning to the group of Slytherin students. She was suddenly reminded of how Blaise was, in fact, a prefect. "Show's over!"

The herd of students stepped past her as she collected herself, sitting up and pressing a hand to her throbbing cheek.

Once they passed, the only one left was Blaise. He looked down at her with black, condescending eyes.

"Go clean yourself up, Granger," he said, and Hermione met his gaze. "This isn't a good look."

. . .

"Oh, my!" The fat lady gasped at the sight of her. "What in heaven's name has happened to you, child?"

"Desiderans," Hermione said flatly, only offering the password. She was sure she looked terrible, still a little wet from the Black Lake, blood dripping from her chin.

With a troubled look, the Fat Lady was obliged to swing open.

A wave of warmth and laughter washed over her. She stepped through the portrait to find her classmates celebrating and drinking. A few members of the Hogwarts band played a cheerful tune in the center of the common room. Ginny stood atop the table by the grand fireplace, showing off a little golden ball above her head. The snitch.

Gryffindor must have won. Ginny had saved the day.

Hermione stepped inside, wishing distantly she was in the mood to celebrate with them. If she were to be fully truthful with herself, she wasn't sure if she was in the mood for anything at all.

She felt impossibly numb. So much had happened in such a short span of time, and to top it all off, she really did reek of kelp and lakewater.

The weight of the stolen potions rested heavily in her pockets. Everyone was having so much fun, and she realized then that she didn't want to interrupt. Perhaps she should sneak away to sleep before anyone spotted her.

It was then that Ginny's gaze scraped across the room and landed on her. Her victorious smile dropped away immediately, the snitch falling from her grasp and bouncing onto the table and then the floor.

"Hermione?" she breathed, the color draining from her face.

It was then that the entire room seemed to notice her presence all at once. A sea of faces turned to gape at her. With a shocked, clumsy note, the band pittered out.

So much for not wanting to interrupt.

"Oh, my goodness!" Parvati breathed, hands flying to her mouth in shock

"What happened?!" Harry was suddenly in front of her, hair a mess and green eyes wide.

"You're bleeding!" Neville said, touching his cheek, as if feeling a phantom pain.

Hermione dimly noticed Ron peel himself away from Lavender. They must have been snogging in the corner. He floated forward until he was next to Harry, his face exceptionally pale.

"Who did this to you?" Ron asked, and if Hermione had the emotional energy, she would surely have felt a dry sort of irony tugging at her chest. Now he cares?

Hermione stared at her friends, and she realized then that she felt a thousand years old.

Ginny stumbled down from the table, moving forward to take Hermione's shoulders in her hands. Almost immediately, she flinched away, wiping her hands on her quidditch uniform.

"You're wet!"

"Sorry," Hermione murmured.

"Why are you bleeding, Hermione?" Harry asked, urgency in his voice.

Hermione blinked, something shifting inside of her. Like a gear clicking into place.

"When we fell back," she murmured, and the truth bubbled out of her without control, "we died. Draco and I."

A tense, confused silence settled over the room.

Hermione saw a spark of realization cross Ginny's face.

"Not here, Hermione." Harry seemed to understand at the same moment.

"Let's talk about this somewhere private," Ginny whispered.

"Talk about what?" Ron asked.

Ginny threw him a glare. "You can only come if you're going to sit down and shut up."

Ron's mouth clamped shut, a furious blush spreading across his cheeks.

Hermione felt herself being ushered away and up the stairs to the boys dormitory.

"Nothing to see here, folks!" Ginny called down the stairs to the common room full of gaping children. "Get back to it."

"Won won?" Lavender's voice called up from the bottom of the stairs.

"Lavender, not now," Harry snapped.

They entered the boys dormitory and the door slammed shut behind them.

Hermione turned around to find Ron, Harry, Ginny, Neville and Luna standing in a half-circle, staring at her in apprehension. Did she really look that bad?

"First things first," Ginny said, pulling out her wand and crossing over to her, "who did this to you?"

"Pansy Parkinson," Hermione admitted. Ginny cast a healing charm on her wound, the soft tingle of magic stitching her skin back together.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"I told her the truth."

Ron stiffened in her peripherals.

"You told her before you told us?" For some reason he was offended.

"I tried to tell you, Ronald." Despite her emotional fatigue, Hermione's patience was thin. "You didn't let me."

"Ron, I told you! Sit your arse down and shut the hell up!" Ginny whirled on her brother, a wave of icy anger cooling the room several degrees.

The ginger boy clenched his fists, and he hovered uncertainly in the room. It was clear that he was considering leaving altogether.

"It's alright, Hermione," Luna said, voice soft and kind. "You can tell us. Ron will be good. Right?"

"...Right." he grumbled in response, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What have you learned?" Harry asked.

Hermione took a deep breath. What had she learned?

She learned that life was so, so fragile. She learned how dark and cruel humankind could actually be. She had learned all about love, real love. How it could come in the most unexpected forms and warm your chest and curl your toes. She learned that certain people could come into your life for only a matter of days and change the trajectory of your journey forever. But above all, she learned the hard lesson that the universe didn't care about any of them, the only thing they could rely on was each other.

But instead all she said was: "Draco's not a death eater"

"Why was he in the Hall of Prophecies, then?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"There was a prophecy about him," she said, "about his family."

"Well, what did it say?" Ron's tone was impatient.

"That he would ruin his family's pure bloodline by falling in love with a muggleborn."

Silence.

Hermione met each of their gazes evenly. Hurt flashed through Ron's eyes, his biggest fear confirmed. She hadn't elaborated, but they all seemed to understand that she had ended up the muggleborn in question.

"He told you that?" Harry asked. "He admitted it outright?"

Hermione nodded. "Right before we died."

"Wait, you actually died?" Ginny questioned, wringing her hands together.

"Well, yes."

"I think we need to start at the beginning," Neville said, stumbling to his bed and sitting. "This is… a lot."

So she did.

She told them everything. How they had landed 100 years in the past in Southampton, England, how she had assumed he had taken her wand in the tussle. She told them about Lottie and Horace. About Annabelle's terrible mother. Recounting her first incident with Draco on the first class decks when they realized neither of them had their wands.

She didn't shy away from the reality of her abuse at Horace's hands. Didn't stutter as she told them about how she had dangled above the raging ocean, ready to take the plunge in the off chance dying could get her home.

"I guess it would have worked," she said wistfully. The foresight squeezed her chest. "Dying then and there would have worked."

"Why didn't you jump?" Ginny asked.

"Draco stopped me," she murmured, voice going even quieter. She recalled the encounter fondly, the first soft exchange they ever had. "He told me that it was a bad idea and that I would likely die for real...but I think he just didn't want to be left alone."

They listened intently, enraptured by her story. All except Ron, who glared hard at the wooden floorboards.

"It was the first time that I realized he wasn't all that bad," she remembered out loud, recalling the way his grey eyes stared into her's, steam escaping his slightly parted lips. "That maybe we could work together to save the ship."

"Save the ship from what?" Neville asked.

"You don't know?" Harry turned to his friend. "About the Titanic?"

Luna, Neville and Ginny shook their heads.

"It sank. It hit an iceberg," he explained, looking at them like they were aliens. They stared back at him with confusion. "Really? It's the most famous sinking of all time."

"It's only famous in the muggle world," Hermione explained to Harry. "Draco didn't know either, and I realized it would be cruel to leave him aboard without any warning of its fate."

"Then what happened?" Ginny pressed.

"When I was climbing over the railings I slipped, and I would have fallen... but Draco caught me in time." Hermione could see it clearly even then, the panic in his eyes as he heaved her upwards. She could still feel the desperate, iron grip on her hands. "He saved my life."

Something shifted in the room then.

"I didn't understand why he would have done that after threatening to kill me in the Department of Mysteries," she continued, "after all, he was a Death Eater… or at least I thought he was. At dinner the next evening, he was invited to dine with Annabelle's family in first class. He showed me his wrist. No dark mark. Nothing."

For the next few minutes, Hermione didn't stop talking even once. There were no more questions from her companions. Instead, she was able to plunge fully ahead without interruption. She told them about their night dining in first class, then dancing in third; along with her introduction to Sam, Hamish, and Tommy. She didn't leave out any details, not their first dance or even their first kiss.

Ron put his face in his hands at the news, sliding down the wall until he was slumped in a pathetic ball, unmoving and silent. Harry looked troubled, but not nearly as upset as his friend. Ginny had begun to pace restlessly, and all the while Luna smiled dreamily at her.

She told them about their fight when she had finally managed to get around to mentioning the sinking to him. When she got to the part where she had to come to terms with having to save the ship all on her own, raw emotion began twisting her heart.

"He wanted to escape on a lifeboat all on his own," she whispered, "well, not all on his own. He asked me to go with him, and he wanted to take his friends along, too."

"Which friends?" Ginny asked, confused.

"The muggles?" Neville supplied.

She nodded. They stared at her in disbelief. Draco Malfoy going out of his way to ensure the survival of a few third class muggles?

"He's changed."

Harry looked a little skeptical, but he didn't say anything.

When she reached the final day on board, she found herself leaving out a few bits of information. Mainly anything romantic. She didn't want to upset Ron any further, and there was no foreseeable reason she would tell the entire room about losing her virginity.

"When we realized he had failed below, we split up above deck," Hermione told them. "He went to the crowsnest and I went to the bridge. I ended up holding up the helmsman."

"Holding up?" Neville asked.

"What? Like in an old American Cowboy film?" Harry blinked, gazing at her with an odd mix of disbelief and pride.

Hermione blushed, a little embarrassed.

"Yeah, kind of like that."

"With a gun? Not a wand?" Neville breathed.

"Yes, a gun."

"Wow."

"You're kind of a badass, Hermione," Ginny said, grinning. Her blush deepened, not having realized just how crazy that had been.

She told them about getting arrested and Horace pressing a gun to her head, threatening to kill her. She told them of her inability to control her wandless magic, but how she managed to scare him off regardless.

In the final stretch of her tale, she felt a terribly familiar stinging sensation in her eyes. She blinked it away. She didn't want to cry.

"We thought Horace had been taken care of—so to speak—but while we were trying to throw enchanted objects overboard, he ended up shooting Tommy in the back." Like a dam finally breaking, the young witch began to weep.

"He was bleeding so much, and I tried to save him—but I couldn't. Even though I had Sam's wand I-I wasn't good enough-"

She was silenced by a hug from Ginny, who she could feel trembling along with her.

"It wasn't your fault," she reassured her, pulling away and holding her out at arms length.

"Blimey, Hermione," Neville breathed.

"I had no idea," Harry said. "No idea at all."

Ron still sat on the floor, unmoving and unresponsive.

"Hamish died next," she continued on through trembling lips, "he-um, he actually died saving me."

A somber silence settled over the room.

"You would have loved him," she whispered through her tears, "he was a lot like Hagrid."

"I'm sure we would have," Harry agreed.

"And then the ship went down," Hermione continued on, utilizing brevity to avoid sobbing. She couldn't dwell on the details. She couldn't handle it.

"Draco and I went down with it, we went into the water."

She thought of their final moments, floating in the black abyss, beneath the sea of stars.

"He was holding me when we died."

Silence.

"What was it like?" Luna asked.

"Dying?"

The Ravenaw nodded.

"It was like going to sleep," Hermione answered truthfully. Everyone in the room hung on her every word.

"When I woke up, I was in a bed inside St. Mungos."

Neville leaned back. "Merlin's beard."

Ginny and Harry looked at eachother, speaking through their eyes.

"And?" Ron said suddenly, standing up from his crouched position. It was the first time he had spoken since her story had begun.

His sister looked at him in annoyance. "And what?"

"And then what? What happens next?" Ron clarified, blue eyes dark. He looked from Ginny to Hermione.

"Ron, I don't under—"

"You're going to be with him now?" The question was harsh, laced with judgement. "You're going to choose him? And be with the boy who bullied you for years? Who called you 'mudblood' and made you cry?"

In that moment, facing him felt like facing down the barrel of a gun.

"I don't know what's going to happen next," she said, voice shaking. "His hearing is tomorrow and he could be locked away forever. I don't know."

"Do you love him?"

The question hovered in the air between them.

She clamped her mouth shut, a hot sort of embarrassment flooding her body. Was he really asking her this? Did he really want her to admit it?

"Well? Do you?"

"Yes," she said after several moments, unwavering in her conviction. "I love him, and he loves me."

Ron looked as though he had been shot in the stomach, the color draining from his face.

Neville glanced away, the thick tension in the air too much to handle.

"You were with him for four days," he spat, "how could you possibly love him?"

"Ron!" Ginny warned.

Hermione bristled.
"Why do you care?" she hissed.

"Well… because—"

"You're dating Lavender, need I remind you?" She cut him off, anger welling up inside.

"This isn't a bloody game. It's Malfoy," Ron snapped. "Not Cormac. Not Krum. Malfoy."

"Ron, seriously," Harry said, "stop."

"Were you even listening?" Hermione asked, frustration mounting. "He's changed."

"He lied!" Ron cried, pointing a finger at her. "That's what Malfoy does! He lies."

"I thought I told you to sit down and shut up!" Ginny snapped.

"You waited too long! You played too many games!" Hermione cried above Ginny's exclamations. "I've moved on, Ron! We're done!"

"Th-that's not what this is about," Ron spluttered, eyes darting to and fro, backing away. "This is about Malfoy."

"Is it?" she asked, challenging. She didn't care if she hurt his feelings. Didn't care if the truth was too much to bear. "I died in his arms. How can you possibly compete with that?"

"Just leave it, Ron!" Ginny ordered, anger warming her cheeks. "I told you to be respectful! If you can't, you should just go!"

Ron hovered, heartbreak and anger washing over him.

"Go!" Harry snapped.

Cornered and without a leg to stand on, Ronald Weasley fled from the room. The door slammed hard behind him.

"Ignore him," Ginny said.

"He'll come around," Harry added with false optimism.

Hermione couldn't bring herself to smile, the truth lying heavily on her shoulders.

. . .

Draco.

He was her first thought when she awoke.

Today was the day she would finally see him.

As she showered, her mind raced. Would he remember everything? Had his memories become scattered like leaves in the wind, as hers had become? Was he plagued with nightmares as terrible as hers? Would he even still have feelings for her?

In Dumbledore's office, Hermione was barely present, even as he ran her through the court proceedings. All she could think of was what it would be like to see him again. Would she still feel that inescapable heat that pooled in her stomach every time they would lock eyes on the Titanic? Did their attraction begin and end on the decks of the ship?

Did their love die in the North Atlantic?

Shaking her head, she pushed such thoughts down.

"Ready?" Dumbledore asked. Hermione looked up at him and noticed his awaiting arm.

"Ready." She took hold.

Apparition never became easier, it seemed. The stomach-lurching feeling of free fall encompassed Hermione, and her head was still spinning as they landed in front of the golden fountain in the splendid main hall of the Ministry of Magic. Hermione did her best to catch her breath, taking in the familiar view of the grandiose golden statues, glittering jets of water shooting upwards and shimmering in the air.

Her head felt cloudy, her vision a little fuzzy. Was this a dream?

Hermione had imagined this day for so long, the idea that she had finally arrived felt surreal. For a moment, she considered pinching herself. This must have been a dream.

"Albus!" a voice called, and they turned to find Auror Williamson approaching them, hands outstretched in welcome. At the sight of him, everything came into focus.

She was here.

This was real.

"Ah, Williamson," her professor said, bowing slightly. "Good morning.

"Good morning," the auror greeted brightly. "I trust we're in high spirits this morning?"

"I daresay we are," Dumbledore answered for her.

"How are you feeling, Miss Granger?" Williamson asked, turning his attention to the young witch.

"I'm alright," she said tightly. He must have sensed her trepidation, because he gave her a concerned smile, eyebrows curving upwards.

"A bit nervous, are we?"

"Just a bit."

Dumbledore laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Everything is going to be just fine," Williamson soothed, "we haven't been lazing around these last few weeks. We've been investigating and building a solid case for Mr. Malfoy."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

"Is he here?" she asked, hope rising up in her chest. She looked around, eyes flitting to and fro. There were so many smartly dressed wizards and witches crossing the vast, opulent space, she scanned the crowd with her heart in her throat. If he were there, she would find him. She would recognize his shock of platinum blonde hair even from space.

"He's currently with Proudfoot," he explained. "He can't just waltz around openly, he's still in custody."

Hermione swallowed down her disappointment. "I see."

"Shall we?"

They navigated their way through the river of ministry employees, most with their noses buried in their copies of the Daily Prophet. Hermione wondered idly if Rita Skeeter had written anything more about the two of them. She hoped for Draco's sake that she hadn't. The last thing he needed after such a trial was more gossip.

Williamson led them away from the current of migrating witches and wizards, and Hermione found herself at a lone desk beneath a sign that read 'Security.'

"Good morning, Eric," he said brightly. The bored, poorly groomed wizard behind the desk didn't even look up. "We're here for Draco Malfoy's hearing."

Hermione could have sworn she saw the man roll his eyes as he reached below the desk for a long, golden rod. He waved them over before roving it up and down their forms in turn. It seemed to function as a sort of metal detector.

"You're clear," he said, disinterested.

Hermione was lead into a smaller hallway branching off from the grand entryway, and she found herself standing amongst about twenty or so golden lifts. It was difficult to enjoy the carefully manicured splendor of the Ministry when she was being pressed into from all sides as employees waited in turn for their respective elevator. She felt her skin begin to crawl. There were so many people. Too many people.

Thankfully, the lift doors in front of them opened and Proudfoot ushered them inside.

They remained in the lift for several floors, dozens of wizards and witches filtering in and out, as well as a few flittering paper airplanes. They floated just above their heads, and if Hermione had not been so preoccupied with her worries about Draco's hearing, she might have wondered what precious information happened to be folded inside.

Eventually it was only the three of them. Hermione clenched and unclenched her fists as she felt them falling deeper into the Ministry. How far down were they? When would they stop?

As soon as the thought had crossed her mind, the lift juddered to a halt. The golden doors swept open, a disembodied voice announcing: "Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."

They came out into a hallway lined with black onyx tile. The corridor was empty save for one large, ancient-looking door at the end of it. It was the kind of sight one would stumble across during a dark, disturbing dream.

They approached, and Hermione felt a wave of fear and apprehension.

Was Draco beyond this door?

Were they a mere dozen feet or so apart?

What would he think when he saw her again?

What if he didn't remember?

"Go on," Williamson said gently, "they're expecting you."

With shaking hands, Hermione swallowed hard and turned the forboding iron handle. She had to push the ancient wood in with quite a bit of strength, her wiry muscles working overtime.

Hermione was not prepared for the sight that greeted her. She felt as though she had fallen back in time once again, but this time to some dark, ancient year. She wouldn't have been surprised if a knight in glimmering silver armor would enter the room from the door to her left, ready to stand trial for slaying a king in cold blood.

The walls were dingy, black stone, dimly lit by torches. The orange light failed to reach the many crevices of the room, leaving deeply unsettling shadows flickering in her peripherals. In the center of the room sat a lone chair, shackles hanging from the armrests, circled by rising, empty benches. She could feel the ghosts of spectators past watching her, judging her.

After a quick glance around the room, Hermione realized with a squeeze of her heart that Draco was not there.

Swallowing hard, she looked closer at the seat, wondering darkly if Draco would be chained to it for the duration of the hearing. Or maybe it was for her? Hermione's gaze scraped to the far end of the room and found herself face to face with the members of the Wizengamot, a sea of red velvet robes. If anyone asked Hermione's opinion, their uniforms were less crimson and more the color of blood.

"Albus, Proudfoot," a voice echoed throughout the cold, wet space. Hermione couldn't tell just who of the shadowy figures it belonged to. "Hermione Granger."

"Lovely morning, isn't it?" Williamson chirped, and Hermione wondered distantly how on earth he had such energy so early in the morning.

"Hello, Scrimgeour" Albus greeted evenly, much more subdued than the auror. At the sound of the Minister's name, Hermione stiffened. She didn't know he would be there today.

After the spectacular failure of death eaters ransacking the Ministry of Magic, this new minister had employed a rather blood-thirsty attitude towards any whisper of Dark Magic or Death Eater activity.

"Pray, do be seated," another voice said.

Her feet began to float towards the chair in the center of the room, which earned her a few chuckles from the sea of crimson robes. Her feet stopped, hot embarrassment bleeding across her cheeks.

"No, child." A woman's voice. "Your seat is over there."

A hand guided her away from the center of the room. She walked dutifully over to the empty benches, feeling childish and stupid.

"Don't mind them," Williamson murmured beneath his breath as she settled herself onto the ancient wood. "It's not often they get such a display of innocence within these walls."

"I'm not that inno—" Hermione began, but the creaking sound of an ancient door opening halted the words on her tongue.

Her body froze, mind no longer working.

She knew who had entered the room before she had even laid eyes on him.

His footsteps were unmistakable. Quick. Confident. Powerful.

He was there.

Draco.

She gawked, mouth ajar as he came into her line of sight. She felt herself drinking in every last bit of him as he strode toward the center of the room. Like a traveler lost in the desert finally getting a sip of water.

Finally. After countless days longing for even just a glimpse of him, there he was.

At the impossible sight of him, her heart was crying. A captive bird that had been shaken around its cage. She longed to reach for him, to call out his name, to launch herself over these benches and throw herself into his arms.

But he wasn't looking at her, and the intense look on his face led her to believe he hadn't even realized she was there.

He stopped behind the chair, staring down the Wizengamot fearlessly. Proudfoot followed behind him, stopping a few feet back, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

Hermione drank in his appearance, hands twisting into the ends of her cardigan. In all of her nightmares of this day he had been impossibly skinny– almost a skeleton–with his platinum hair matted to his skull with dirt and blood. He had been dawned in the striped, soiled uniform of Azkaban. His eyes had been empty and black, deep circles carving into the white skin above his gaunt cheeks.

The reality could not be a more different story.

He looked healthy.

As she stared at him, she found her mouth going dry.

…He actually looked really good.

He had color to his cheeks, his grey eyes sharp and aware. Instead of ratty Azkaban robes, he had been dressed in a clean, surprisingly sleek get up. Black slacks, a forest green turtleneck beneath a black blazer. He looked as though he was ready for a nice dinner, not a Death Eater hearing. His hair had grown longer, she realized with a pang in her heart. Longer than she had ever seen it. It hung in front of his face in the most heartbreakingly beautiful manner. How long had they been apart? Did she look different, too?

She watched him glare at the impenetrable wall of wizards and witches down. To the untrained eye, he would have come across as fearless, almost bored.

Yet, Hermione knew better. She had learned his little quirks, the cracks in his facade that gave way to the truth.

He tilted his chin up, swallowing.

There it was.

He was more afraid than he was letting on. She watched as his Adam's apple bobbed beneath the beautiful, porcelain skin of his neck.

She didn't know why this particular movement caused such a stirring in the deepest recesses of her heart, but a part of her melted at the sight. Perhaps it was because she could still feel the way her lips grazed delicately over the impossible smoothness just below his chin.

"Draco…"

It was not a whisper.

It was barely even a breath.

A ripple of a desire that had emanated from her very soul and escaped out of her lips. It was not of her own volition. Her traitorous tongue had a mind of its own.

He couldn't have heard it. There was no way. The space was so large and it had barely been the echo of a whisper, yet despite that, his gaze jerked to where she was sitting.

They locked eyes, mahogany on silver.


A/N: Sorry for the long wait, but I hope this extra long chapter was worth it. Shit is about to get interesting

Thank you for all of your feedback and kind words. I know the ending of a fic is a bit heart twisting and uneasy, and I'm glad you're all coming along for the ride.

I can't say for sure how many chapters there are left, but I want to make sure we get plenty of Dramione goodness before the end. Thanks again guys, you're the best. If you liked it, leave a review! or kiss me, either works