A/N: So, once again, this came out a bit later than I expected. It was just a little over a week, though! I'll try harder to get the next chapter out sooner, and hopefully it won't take longer than a week and a half or two weeks.

Thanks to physics chick, DracoMalfoy4Ever, SpiritGirl183, goob21, and lilshorty_653 for reviewing! Seriously, every single one of your reviews makes me smile in happiness! You guys are amazing! Thanks to everyone who added this story to their favorites and alerts as well!

Disclaimer: Nothing has changed, so I still don't own Harry Potter.

Chapter 4

The next night found Draco seated cross-legged in Hermione's cell, the Prophet for that day clutched in his hand. He had been thoroughly pleased when she had not screamed as he entered, and she had even curiously looked up at him a few times. Her fear towards him seemed to be slowly dissipating. "So…I went to your funeral yesterday," Draco began. "I think Rita Skeeter's rendition of it will be better than me telling you about it. Personally, I think it's the best she's ever written. It's actually quite truthful." And so, he began to read.

"White and golden flowers float above the heartbreakingly despondent crowd of a few thousand, an incredible turnout. Each person that knew Hermione Granger sobs loudly, filling the entire cemetery with cries of loss. Her casket lays on a raised platform, decorated and carved intricately so that it is the most beautiful thing in the entire cemetery. Millions of flowers lay around the casket, making a rainbow of colors. Harry Potter sits in the first row, looking like an Inferius; the living dead. His eyes are void of emotion. It is a heartbreaking sight.

A man stands to talk about how wonderful Hermione Granger was. Yes; she was wonderful. I had the privilege of knowing Ms. Hermione Granger, and she was stubborn to boot. If she wanted something, she would find a way to get it, and she was also incredibly intelligent.

Ronald Weasley tries to say a few words, but must sit down after he is unable to speak due to his distress. A few more people stand to speak of how amazing Ms. Granger was, and how brave, and how much of a terrible loss it was, and at last, the ceremony is over.

People shuffle out of the cemetery quickly, eager to leave the depressing scene. They wipe away their tears, and eventually the cemetery is empty, save one. Harry Potter remains, crouched in his seat, finally allowing himself to break down and cry for the loss of his best friend."

Draco looked up awkwardly after he had finished. Hermione was not looking at him, but facing the side wall, her cheek pressed up against it. Tears were streaking down her face, and Draco's heart leapt in an odd way, hoping that she had understood everything he had read to her. Did she know? Did she know how sorrowful everyone was over her death? "Well," he said, rising, a bit uncomfortable. He had nothing left to tell her. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

He turned for the door, but stopped in his tracks as a tiny, croaky voice whispered, "D-Don't go." He whirled around so fast it gave him whiplash to face Hermione in shock, and she was staring at him with pleading in her eyes. "Please," she whispered again, and it hardly sounded like herself. In fact, if he had not seen her lips move, he would not have thought it was her that had spoken. Her voice was uncharacteristically hoarse and low. "Don't g-go."

Was she beginning to associate him with good? Did he symbolize safety to her now? Draco shook his head, moving towards her slowly, inch by inch, afraid he might startle her if he moved too quickly. She did not shrink back as she normally did, but continued to stare at him with her large, brown eyes, shining with tears. He continued to move towards her as slow as he could without bursting from the suspense, until finally, he came so near to her that he could've touched her, and sat down on her left side. She emitted a loud, drawn out sob and crawled the rest of the distance separating them, resting her head on his chest and clambered into his lap, her hands clutching the front of his shirt. Shocked at her sudden and unexpected display of trust, he wrapped his arms around her frail shoulders and pulled her closer as she continued to cry against his chest, leaving tiny wet stains on the front of his shirt. "I won't…" he finally managed to whisper. "I'm not going anywhere."

A long time passed of Hermione continuously sobbing into his shirt, and Draco could not force himself to depart. What if he came back the next day and Hermione had forgotten this even happened? No, he wanted to enjoy it...He didn't want to let go...

Draco was not aware that he had fallen asleep, but before he knew it, his eyes had shot open in panic and Hermione was sleeping against his chest, her mouth slightly open and looking quite peaceful. For a moment fear such as he had never known filled him; what if he had been seen? But then, he knew if he had been seen he would not be alive. But still, he felt uneasy. He tried to rise without waking Hermione, but as he moved, she stirred.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she raised her head so that she made eye contact with him. She seemed just as surprised as he was at their position. She didn't move, like he had thought she would, though, and it pleased him. "Do you remember?" Draco whispered. For a long moment, she didn't speak, but continued to stare at him, as if trying to fit the pieces together in her mind of puzzle that had been long left untouched. "I know you can talk to me. Tell me if you remember me."

Hermione stared at his face for a long time, as if trying to reach within herself and draw forth the memories, and then finally whispered, "I remember hating you. But I don't remember why."

"It's ok." Draco said, feeling a bit downcast. He had hoped that suddenly, in their moment, all the memories of their times at Hogwarts and before had come rushing back to her. "It'll come back to you." And he hoped he was right.

After a long pause, Hermione looked down at her feet, then back up to his eyes. Draco was shocked at the layers of undoubtful trust that was swimming in the brown depths. She finally whispered, "I don't hate you anymore."

:::

Draco walked down the long gated lane to the Manor. The tall stone walls stretched slightly above him, and unconsciously he reached up and rubbed a hand against the top. Some of the bricks crumbled slightly at his touch, and he stopped, confused. Inspecting the top of the wall, he found that it was, indeed, beginning to collapse.

In all his years at the Manor, the wall had been the one thing that had stood firmly; resolute. It had been his hiding place when his father was in a terrible rage. It had been his safe place; running to take shelter behind the wall. Now, it was crumbling away, decaying. The wall had to be centuries old, so it shouldn't surprise him. But it did.

The wall that had blocked everything out was crumbling down.

"Won't you take a walk around the garden with me, Draco?"

Draco's mother's voice startled him, and he jumped slightly, turning to look at the blonde woman that he was sure had not been there a second before. "Um, of course, Mother."

Narcissa took a few steps forward and she, too, rubbed a hand over the wall, watching as a few pebbles crumbled away. She stared for a long time at the rocks at the base that had fallen, and for some reason, Draco thought she was seeing something other than a decaying wall. Something a bit more symbolic than that. "This wall was always old," Narcissa said softly. She turned to him, and the softness in her eyes melted away. "Come. The garden."

Draco followed behind his mother with his hands in his pockets and looking down at the ground, his thoughts elsewhere on a certain girl lying in a cell that had decided that he was worthy of her trust after so many years of hate, hate that she did not recall.

Draco only joined in on this visits to the garden every now and then to please his mother, because he never expected it to be green again. So, he was quite surprised when his mother grasped his arm moments later and cried out excitedly, "Draco, look!"

Draco did look. And look. And look. There, feebly trying to push its way into life above the soil, was a tiny, miniscule green plant. It looked as if it was having quite a hard time getting out of the soil, but it was fighting. Narcissa bent over and gingerly brushed some of the soil away that was on top of it, and there it was: a tiny plant blooming. Draco felt something inside him burst to life, something he had not experienced in a long time.

Hope.

He shared a grin with his mother, whose blue eyes were dancing in a way he hadn't seen in years. Narcissa looked like she had just been given the most wonderful Christmas present possible. He knew that his mother did not like the war; he could see it in her eyes when both he and his father had to traipse into some battle. And he knew that she knew he didn't like it either. She would never tell, anyway, and it wasn't as if Voldemort was going to hunt her down and penetrate her mind anytime soon. Unless Draco gave him some reason to. The former Slytherin shuddered at the thought. Hopefully that wouldn't be happening anytime soon. Hate for the war was one thing; foolish disrespect was another. Draco knew he was on the winning side, and if he switched, he died. No one betrayed Voldemort and got away with it. Well, except Snape, but Draco wasn't even sure how much longer his former Potions Master would last.

Snape had been found out when he had been caught conversing with Remus Lupin in a back alley by a few Snatchers, no doubt rallying information. Only one of the Snatchers made it out alive, but one was enough. The information was relayed to Voldemort instantly, and Snape vanished even quicker. Voldemort had been outraged when he had learned of his closest ally's betrayal, and had even gone through a brief period where if someone only slightly showed thoughts of betrayal, he murdered them. Luckily, at that point, Draco had not been significant enough to even matter if he betrayed someone. Draco was even mildly surprised his father survived that one, but perhaps his tiny inkling of hesitance had passed for simple fear.

"Oh Draco, I do believe this calls for celebration," Narcissa said, abruptly bringing Draco out of his thoughts. He glanced at his mother, and much to his surprise, found tears in her eyes. But no, they were tears of another sort. Not tears of sadness, fear, or anger…but of happiness.

Happiness.

It had been quite a while since Draco had truly felt happy. He had begun to forget what the light butterfly-like feeling felt like, what the warmth felt like. Draco felt something tug upwards at the corners of his mouth, and it felt strange, as if this strange thing was supposed to be forced, not natural. He remembered the word for it: a smile.

Had it been that long since he truly smiled? So long that he had begun to forget the name for it? Had it truly been three years since he dared show an emotion as needless as happiness? As elation? Or had it been four years? Had he ever smiled in his sixth year at Hogwarts? He had felt terrified and troubled all year. No, no happiness. It had been four years since he had felt anything relatively close to pure joy. It had been three years since the Wizarding World had slipped into deep darkness, and the rest of the world had suffered such a thing as constant fear. Draco wondered how long it had been for anyone to feel happiness. Dementors swooped in on every happy thought, and they had multiplied so much that they could be counted by the millions by now.

Happiness…it felt…good.

:::

Draco felt elated. His pocket was stuffed with a bean-like size of what would soon be a large slab of chocolate cake once he transfigured it back to the way it was. Narcissa had called for a large cake and the house-elves had outdone themselves. Draco had not found it difficult to secretly transfigure one into a little bean and stuff it in his pocket to later give to Hermione. He figured she would be quite pleased, and maybe even feel up to a nice chat, which might even bring forth some memories.

So he was having a nice day. Things were looking up. Feeling almost like whistling, Draco swung open the door to Hermione's cell, only to have his heart plummet straight out of his chest and have to force a gasp of shock down.

The cell was empty.

Hermione was gone.

A/N: Bum bum bummmm! A bit of a cliffhanger! While waiting for the next chapter, take a few seconds and review!