Chapter One

The Bruises Left Behind

Sunday, June 1, 2008

Broken hearts suck, Hermione decided.

Theoretically, a heart should stitch back together each year after a heartbreak. Not completely, but the pain should lessen. This was why Hermione Granger was confused because the pain in her heart still felt as fresh as the day she became broken. In fact, she felt more alone than she did the day she walked away from Ron Weasley, ending their six year marriage.

When she left her small home she shared with the youngest Weasley son, she had a number of things still intact; her pride, hope, and most importantly, family. She had some semblances of pride and hope still found in her. The Gryffindor in her couldn't shed those even if she tried. But no family existed beyond that point. Not when the people she considered family at one point took her ex-husband's side.

In the divorce, she expected her friends to still want to see her on a week-to-week basis just as they always had. Of course, she expected some changes such as having a schedule of meeting without either her or Ron, but she was wrong. They began returning her owls unread, and blocked from their homes via wards and the Floo network.

For the first time in her life, she well and truly felt alone.

Her second family abandoned her in every sense of the word. Her whole life revolved around the Weasley's and her Gryffindor friends. Harry's friendship was one she treasured, but he took Ginny's side, opting to leave Hermione as in the dark as a Slytherin. Each time she saw a newspaper ad about her former friends, a twinge ached deep in her chest.

About six months after she was divorced, she found a small home near Inverness in a small countryside town called Appleby Hills where both muggles and wizards lived. It was a peculiar town as most of the muggles who lived here were the parents of muggleborns or squibs, and it was the perfect little pocket of Scotland for her to begin anew. The muggles didn't really care who she was, and the wizards who lived in the town knew her, but they paid no mind to her.

Her home was a quaint cottage with a thatched roof and a messy wild garden so full of life in the front that attracted hordes of bees each summer. When she first saw this place, it was one of those moments where she could see herself sitting on the windowsill with a cat and a book. She wanted to fill this place with stories, and forget the life she once lived. It helped there was always something to do on her countryside property. Whether it was cleaning her chickens, milking the goats, or watering the garden behind her home, she kept busy. Hermione took pride in living a quaint and quiet life.

It was a perfect blend of her two worlds.

Three resounding knocks sounded on her front door as Hermione bent to pet her chubby calico. The feline, Beatrix, took off after one swift stroke from head to the tip of the tail. Sometimes, she truly missed her beloved half-kneazle who died before her divorce. As aloof as she may be, she still loved that cat to death. Beatrix, as cute as she was, was not one that was okay with being held, and Hermione missed that.

"Coming!" she called, rushing to the door, casting a quick glance to see if Beatrix waited in the shadows of her grandfather clock. Hermione pulled the door open to come eye-to-eye with the neighborhood paperboy. "Morning, Tommy. Here to bring the paper?"

"Of course," he grinned with two missing teeth on show. "I always forget, Ms. Hermione. Are you a Prophet or Gazette? I always am forgetting who is and isn't a witch or wizard."

"Prophet," she smiled, handing the boy eight knuts for her daily paper. "Maybe you can convince your older brother to buy you some Bertie Botts on his next visit to Diagon Alley for some school supplies."

Tommy grinned like a Cheshire Cat, taking the change and stuffing it in the small bum bag on his right hip as he always carried two for each type of currency he handled. She folded the newspaper under her arm, watching as the young boy took off on his bicycle. With a heavy sigh, she retreated into her home.

Hermione made her way to the kitchen, dodging some of her piles of books she needed to reshelve or donate. She hadn't decided yet.

Each morning, Hermione woke before dawn to get started on her chores. Before she even drank her coffee, she cleaned the chickens and collected their multi-colored eggs, watered the garden and picked fresh fruit and vegetables, and milked the goats. Mornings were always hectic, but it was how Hermione got off on the right foot, and she didn't have to worry about those chores later in the day.

She set the paper on the table and walked over to the coffee pot she had trickling the dark umber liquid that gave her the energy of a wild lion. It wasn't quite finished, so she busied herself with making oatmeal. She grabbed hold of her wand and flicked on the radio to listen to the local wizard news.

"Lucius Malfoy and wife, Narcissa Malfoy are said to be starting a fundraiser to help renovate the Slytherin dungeons and the library at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For those who need a reminder, the Malfoys famously defected at the last minute during the war and have since atoning for the sins-"

Hermione couldn't listen to the gibberish about the Malfoys on the radio any longer. She had no respect for the head of the Malfoy household, nor the values the family still held to heart.

"Filthy pure-bloods," she murmured, mocking the tone of a boy she used to quarrel with on a regular basis back during her school days.

Hermione considered the kitchen to be the heart of the home and full of life. Though it was just her and her cat, she made sure it remained just as vibrant as the home she grew up in. The kitchen was clearly the oldest part of her previously foreclosed home. The walls were all old red brick that aged well and held its structure. From the rafters, she hung a variety of hanging houseplants (mostly to keep Beatrix from munching on the hanging leaves). Seeing green hanging in the large windows that overlooked her garden always brought a happy grin to Hermione's face.

When she was able to sit down with her steaming cup of coffee and blueberry oatmeal, she smiled at how settled she felt in the life she lived. The ache of heartbreak still thrummed in her chest as it always had, but it wasn't the same as it always had been. Though most days Hermione considered having someone obliviate her romance with Ron Weasley from her mind so she forgot it ever existed. But if she did that, then she would forget the good memories as well.

Some people feared being settled too early, but from the chaotic nature her life was during her formative years of her wizarding life, she welcomed it with open arms. There was no death or destruction within the comfort of her property lines.

This place was hers and hers alone.

Hermione was brought out of her stupor when the loud trill of the green landline began to echo off the walls of her home. She quickly picked up her wand, and summoned the phone over, swiftly picking up the handset, bringing it to her ear.

"Hello Mum," she greeted warmly, a smile taking over her features. Hermione's hand subconsciously went to the curled cord on the telephone as she waited for her mother's warm greeting.

"How is it that you always know it's me?" Jeanne Granger chuckled into the receiver.

"Other than the fact that there is caller-ID - which I don't have - you're the only one who calls my phone. Witches and Wizards use the Floo, Mum."

"Oh I know," Jeanne laughed. She paused, sounding like she took a sip of her tea. "How is my Hermione doing? Have you done more self-discovery since we last spoke?"

Hermione drew in a deep breath. She hated these prying questions from her mother because sometimes the woman just didn't understand everything Hermione went through. After the war was over and her parents' memories were returned, it was like they expected Hermione to finish Hogwarts and continue on the path they expected. Hermione hadn't known they prepared for her to learn her skills at Hogwarts, and then return to go to University and get a bill-paying job.

Nothing would ever be the same after the war. Hermione was considered a war hero, and for helping the wizarding community, she was given a sum of money that in turn helped her live the life she currently lived in.

"I'm content, Mum," Hermione finally answered. Her mother drew in a breath, one that said she didn't believe a word her daughter said. "Really. I love the little farm I bought. It's really something. You and Dad should come visit some time soon."

"I don't know, Hermione. You know how your father feels about wizarding communities."

"I live in a mixed neighborhood. I keep telling you there's places for sale in the neighborhood that would be good for the two of you. I wish you were closer so I could see you more," Hermione whispered at the end.

From the moment their memories were replenished, Jeanne and David both made it acutely aware they wanted nothing to do with magic. They don't want to see it, hear it, experience it, or have any of it in their home. If Hermione wanted to visit, she wasn't allowed to Floo or even apparate within the walls of her childhood home. Her parents went as far as contacting Harry to put wards up to prevent such measures. They wanted no magic in her home, and it was their final answer.

"Our answer remains the same, Hermione," her mother reminded, her tone twisted into that blend of motherly and cheerless. "Do you have plans this evening? I remember you saying you were meeting with Leigh a few days ago."

"She's having me over for dinner," Hermione explained, standing from her place at the table and wandering over to her cupboards, mentally going through her recipe in her brain. "I'm making a lavender honey bread for her today. It's her favorite."

"You always make the best baked treats," Jeanne enthused. "I loved that berry pie you brought a few weeks ago."

"They taste even better because I grew the main ingredients," Hermione teased, pulling each of her ingredients from the cupboard. "I'll have to bake you a loaf and bring it to you this weekend? Or you both should visit for dinner."

"We'll see."

It was always we'll see for her parents. They never saw the inside of their daughter's home, choosing to stay in the comfort of darkness of what it was that their daughter chose to do day-to-day.

"Have you heard from Ron?" Her mother asked, moving on from the conversation.

Hermione didn't stay on the phone much longer.

That evening, Hermione put on a nicer (yet still comfortable and practical) dress to go visit a friend from her town. She donned a pale green dress that fell to her mid-calves with faint white florals dotted over the whole of the dress. For late summer, it was the perfect flowy dress. Hermione didn't do anything special with her hair, just took what once was her bangs and twisted them at the back of her head, and secured them with a vintage barrette with a single rose and twisted vines.

It wasn't often she left her home for anything other than necessity, but she figured she should keep up appearances from time to time. And since she knew where she was going, she was well-versed in the art of being able to prepare for any situation. One time she visited in something casual (Hermione's casual used to be jeans and her pinky zip-up hoodie), and ended up walking into a formal party. She disappeared into a closet to transfigure her outfit into something less casual (and it wasn't cute either).

Leigh Waterthorn was a fiery spirit, and would've been a passionate Gryffindor had she been born a witch. Leigh was born to her muggle parents, but her five other siblings were all born witches and wizards, which was just as rare as a squib. Hermione felt sympathetic to the girl having to hear about Hogwarts, but never getting to experience the magic of it all.

What Hermione didn't expect when she arrived was half the neighborhood to be loitering around the Waterthorn home. Twinkling lights were strung across the bannisters like they were prepared for the Christmas season. Loud thumping music emanated from within the house, and a congregation of people loitered on the entirety of the property.

A heavy sigh escaped Hermione's lips as the realization of her friend's invitation washed over her.

I should've known.

Leigh was never one to just invite her over without also having an over-the-top get together with her ninety other best friends, and all their friends. Hermione looked at the bread she baked for her friend, and almost turned around to take it back home because it would be wasted in a place such as this. Leigh would certainly not be getting any if she left it where she usually did.

"Hermione! You're here!" Leigh squealed at the door.

Leigh wore a black crop top that clung tight against her chest and exposed shoulders with sleeves attached. She also wore a pair of baggy acid washed jeans. Hermione wished she could pull off the cool casual as much as this woman. Leigh offered Hermione a wide smile that she couldn't help but offer one in return. The black girl's coarse curly hair floated around her head like a halo, and Hermione was reminded of how much she wished her hair did the same thing. Hermione's curls resembled a lion's mane at best when a comb was brushed through it. She would tried just about everything there was to achieve perfect curls.

"You said we'd be having dinner," Hermioned tutted as she approached the girl for a kiss on the cheek. "This is far from dinner."

"You're right, but this could be good for you! You haven't been with anyone since whatshisface," she said, throwing her arm around Hermione's shoulders. "The red-headed tosser."

Leigh was one of the few individuals who Hermione had shared everything with. From beginning to end. That moment was one both of them needed, and Hermione knew from that moment on that Leigh was always going to be in her corner. She was the one thing that was hers and hers alone.

She was Hermione's sole friend.

"Careful, you're starting to sound like a pure-blooded Slytherin," Hermione teased, thinking back to all the Weasley commentary during her years in school. "I'm not sure how I feel about that."

Leigh scoffed, pushing her mane of curls back on her forehead.

"Well, he's a git and broke your heart. I'm allowed to hate the man," she grinned, eyes shifting down to the basket around Hermione's forearm. To be more specific, she eyed the cloth wrapped loaf with twine securing the loaf with a sprig of lavender attached. "And please tell me that is your lavender honey bread."

"As always," Hermione grinned, passing the basket to her friend. "One of these days, you are going to have to just have a simple dinner with me at my house. None of this excessive nonsense."

Hermione didn't admit out loud that she loved this excessive nonsense.

Sometimes.

"I happen to like this excessive nonsense," Leigh said, pulling off a chunk of bread and popping it in her mouth. "No offense, but you live on the closest thing you can get to a farm."

Hermione smiled, thinking of her little slice of Eden. Her homestead was her escape from a life she was sure Leigh couldn't understand. Leigh didn't have to worry about wizard wars or dark wizards in the same context she did. After the divorce, Hermione ran full throttle away from life, tossing every memory of the magical world- good and bad - out the window and didn't want to look back.

After six months of being closed off from the Wizarding World, she began searching for little pockets like Appleby Hills. She knew there had to be such places in existence, and she was so happy to have found this pocket of the world in the Scottish Highlands. She even considered moving to America and working for MACUSA, but it was only the briefest glimmer of a thought.

"I happen to love my life," Hermione stated with a wide smile adorning her lips.

"What happened to Hermione Granger? The one the Daily Prophet constantly writes about?" Leigh asked, narrowing her eyes at Hermione. She knew the answer, but moments like these, she always asked.

Hermione glanced down at the ground, kicking a loose pebble.

"She grew up, I think." Hermione murmured, glancing at the house. "Right, I think it's time we go in."

Her heart didn't need to think over topics as heavy as those when the world around her buzzed to life with thrumming music and happy people.

Glad to be rid of the dark and dangerous conversation they were breaking into, Hermione stepped into the girl's house. On the walls were still and moving pictures alike. This whole neighborhood was a perfect blend of both worlds, and it made Hermione think of her own family and how she wished they'd be just as accepting of this world as some of the others. Her world.

Hermione grabbed a plastic cup from the counter. She sniffed, smelling an array of fruit juices mixed with alcohol and soda. She crinkled her nose, but still sipped at the concoction. She hated it, but perhaps it would give her an excuse to bow out of the party early.

The Waterthorn home was nothing short of an exquisite home, and a larger estate. It was nothing compared to some of the manors and estates she'd seen, such as the Malfoy home. A slithering shiver crawled up her spine as she thought of that dreadful house, her hand absently traveling to her forearm where Mudblood was carved in messy and deep writing.

Hermione had no intentions of lingering inside the lavish home. She intended on staying on the property as promised, but she didn't intend on sitting inside in the stench of alcohol, sweat, and the lingering stench of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products. She stepped out into the courtyard that had floating lights lingering in the air, undoubtedly thanks to many of Leigh's friends.

"This place is a walking offence on the Statute of Secrecy," she murmured, shaking her head at the lights.

She quickly learned that places such as these were rather hard to ensure the Secrecy Laws stay intact. As long as such magic happened within the town wards, all was okay.

She walked down the steps, leading down to the flower garden, and to the ledge that overlooked the rolling hills of the landscape around this beautiful town. Half of her wanted to disapparate into her home, but a larger part of her told her to stay. The Gryffindor part of her wanted to linger. Sometimes she hated that her bravery could be pinpointed on that damned house.

She stopped abruptly upon settling her eyesight on a head of platinum sitting where she intended to go. The forest green sweater and the blonde hair were her biggest indication as to who sat there with a red cup that matched hers.

"Malfoy?" Hermione gaped, stopping a few steps short of him.

Draco Malfoy sat on the edge of the Waterthorn property, hands around the cup, and staring off into the distance. Hermione blinked at him, unsure she saw the sight clearly. When her voice seemed to reach him, his head snapped up and his ice blue stare gazed back with the same tone of silent surprise written across his pointed pale features.

"Granger," he hummed, raising his glass to her before looking back to the horizon. Dismissed, but the edge of his tone didn't quite meet his features. "Didn't peg you as the partying type. Then again, you always seemed to fit in with the Muggles."

He tried to have some snark, Hermione noticed, but it didn't quite fit the boy she once knew.

"I can't say I'm surprised you're belittling them, but I am surprised to find you in a mixed town," she hummed, taking a seat next to him.

This seemed to surprise both of them. Bewilderment flashed across Malfoy's features as he looked at her for the first time in almost a decade. Hermione's mind raced as her boldness seemed to take hold of her body.

Damn her for being a Gryffindor.

Looking at Malfoy, she discerned a look she knew all too well as of late.

Loneliness.

It was a feeling that often crept from the deep depths of despair. A predator circling a mouse, waiting for the kill. Loneliness greeted Hermione like it was an old friend, and not in a comforting sort of way. By looking at Draco Malfoy, she saw the same sort of look in his eyes. She suspected this wasn't the first time he felt this way.

When the pair attended Hogwarts, she sometimes caught his eye by accident in their later years, and remember seeing the sullen and sad eyes picking at his food during meals. It had to have been lonely being the only child of two Death Eaters.

"Go find some Gryffindors to rally and save the world," he said, waving her off. "I'm in no mood to be called a ferret or called a traitor tonight. I'm sure Potter or Weasley would be more than happy and oblige to the occasion of warming your bed."

The flicker of a burner lit inside her stomach, igniting a pilot flame of anger at the insult he half-meant. His words didn't affect her in the same way they had before. When he would call her that abhorrent word, she felt his meaning deep into her soul like a fresh wound. But this? This was Malfoy not meaning his insults, and it worried her a little bit.

"Did you miss the memo before I quit the Ministry? I'm on par with the entirety of the Slytherin house to the whole of the Weasley and Potter families." She instead replied, choosing to let him in on the fact she was just as outside the Gryffindor loop as he was.

Malfoy paused, brows furrowing before he looked at her. Curiosity flickered as he studied the curly hair brunette. He looked over her dark brown eyes, and Hermione couldn't help but feel scrutinized under his chilled gaze.

"What the fuck does that mean?" he asked. Shock laced his voice. "Gryffindor was where all the heroes were. You were all best friends."

"It means," she drew out, realizing she never really escaped a hard conversation in the first place. "I'm not on any better terms with them than you are. I haven't fought for a Dark Lord, but I sided with evil for daring to get divorced from a man who seemed to care too little."

Malfoy stared at her and then let out a scoff of a laugh.

"And they're angry with you for that? Divorce?"

Hermione knew Draco and his wife, Astoria Greengrass, recently split following the birth of their baby. She also knew Draco didn't see the baby from the way Astoria whined to the likes of Rita Skeeter in the Prophet.

"Apparently my happiness doesn't matter as long as you're loyal to your husband. Even if you've fallen out of love with him," she said, picking at the hem of her dress. "I'm not sure why I'm telling you any of this."

Malfoy shrugged, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and placing the orange tip between his pink lips. Hermione didn't say anything, seeing the almost full pack she figured it wasn't a habit he often pursued.

"A few sips of whatever this godforsaken poison is and secrets begin to spill out," Malfoy said, holding up his cup. "No magic is in here, but alcohol makes for loose lips."

He took his wand and murmured a soft spell to light the end of his cigarette. A plume of wispy white smoke erupted from its end, wafting a strong tobacco smell over Hermione. She hated to admit it, but she loved the smell when it was outside. It reminded her of her late grandfather.

"I'm not a smoker," he lamented. "Social smoking doesn't count."

"It does, but I wasn't going to say anything."

"You're a Gryffindor, of course you were."

"I thought about it, but no words came out."

"You still said them with your eyes."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the petty argument. This version of Malfoy wasn't one she was typically used to. The one she encountered held anger and vengeance in his blood. Muggleborns were the scum of the earth, and they didn't deserve any of her time. Yet the longer she sat here, he had yet to make any sort of jab to her.

"You've changed," she said softly, looking over the sharp angles of this new version of Draco Malfoy.

Suddenly those sharp edges to his whole being seemed a hair softer.

"We've all changed," he said, sucking in a deep breath on the cigarette, letting the only noise around them be the soft crackling of its embers. "The war and my disastrous marriage changed me."

Perhaps her and Draco Malfoy had more in common than she anticipated.

"I heard," she murmured. "You also have a son. Congratulations."

Draco laughed, picking his cup up and taking a hard swallow.

"Astoria has a son. I don't," he said with a scoff.

Hermione looked away from Malfoy, brows scrunched together as she tried to figure out what he meant by his words.

"The boy's not mine," he replied softly. "Michael Corner." The name left his lips like a heavy drip of Drought of Liquid Death.

The dark haired man in question belonged to Ravenclaw, and to Hermione's utter surprise, he also wasn't a pureblood.

"She had an affair."

"Technically, she never stopped dating him when our contracts were drawn," Malfoy sighed, taking a drag of his cigarette. "It's a wonder that I never discovered them until I looked at his son in the delivery room."

This made Hermione pause and blink.

"You were there when she gave birth?" Hermione gaped.

"Oh yeah," he laughed. It wasn't a well-meant laugh, but one dripped in irony. "Led me to believe the baby was mine up until I saw his dark hair and distinctly Corner features. Didn't help that Michael Corner auspiciously decided to be in the waiting room at St. Mungo's when I went to tell my parents the happy news."

"You're sure he's not yours?" she whispered.

"Ignoring the fact Terence didn't appear on the tapestry, I would have believed he could be mine based on my family also being the House of Black, so his dark hair would have made sense. But Michael Corner's appearance didn't disappear."

Hermione stayed silent, taking in his surprising revelations.

"Gods," he whined, looking at this cup. "I'm fairly certain this stuff has some mixtures that make it like Veritaserum. No offence, Granger, but I don't talk about this shit with anyone."

"I get it," she said, taking a swig of her own drink. "Ron's more of an ass than I care to talk about. Let's just say, you're not the only one with drama started in a hospital room."

She sipped, meeting his eyes.

"There's a story there," Malfoy murmured.

"Always is," she hummed. "But as I've not had as much of this Truth Drink, I won't be talking about my personal traumas."

She moved to stand, but Malfoy reached out and grabbed her wrist.

"Granger," he began, pausing. "Thanks for being here. I-I know you didn't mean to be here, or we just happened on each other. But thanks."

She nodded, giving Malfoy a brief smile before turning on her heel and walking away. She was surprised to find herself feeling bad for someone like Malfoy. He'd done terrible things during their younger years, but he certainly didn't deserve that kind of pain.

A familiar pang in her chest squeezed, and that hollow feeling returned. She closed her eyes as she walked to the house, trying her best to shove aside her feelings.

"There you are!" Leigh smiled. "I have-"

"I'm going home," Hermione interjected. "You've thrown yourself a lovely party, but I need to leave."

Leigh studied her, trying to figure out what happened.

"Eccedentesiast," Hermione murmured, telling her their code word. One that meant Hermione hid behind a kind smile and was in pain.

"I'll come by tomorrow morning," Leigh whispered, pressing her forehead to Hermione's. "I'll kick whoever's ass I need you to make you sad."

"It's no one's fault," Hermione said quickly. "But thanks."

Hermione wrapped her arms around her middle and walked to the nearest alley, apparating into her kitchen. As soon as she landed, she staggered, reaching for the round table as her hand was brought to her mouth and broken sobs erupted with no sign of stopping.

Broken hearts certainly sucked.