"Hermione, can you look over this for me?"

Hermione looked up from her Arithmancy homework to see Neville grinning at her sheepishly. With a good-natured eye roll, she held out her hand without a second thought. "Of course." That was when she caught the equally sheepish looks of Ginny, Hannah, and even Robert.

Gathered around a long table in the library, surrounded by friends and immersed in the most calming scent in the world, Hermione felt like her old self again. This is what she was best at. This was her element. "Go on. Hand them here," Hermione commanded. Instant sounds of shuffling paper followed, leaving the brilliant witch with a stack of parchment in a neat pile next to hers. She snorted at the sense of DeJa'Vu. At least nobody was asking her for her notes.

She started with the top paper, scanning the homework for the basics: inconsistencies, spelling errors, a possible wrong answer here and there; that type of thing. She smiled as she reached the bottom. Only a slight few errors. "Well done, Neville! You should be proud of yourself." Poor Neville flushed beet red under her praise. "Th-Thanks, Hermione."

"Oh, come off it," she scoffed lightly, already reaching for the next one. "You're quite capable of being brilliant, you know." Hannah beamed at him. "I told you," she grinned. Hermione proceeded to the next one, scanning it just like she had the one before. As she neared the bottom, her quill snapped. "Blasted thing," she muttered in frustration, glaring at her writing utensil as though it could hear her. Ginny was the first to speak up. "Here," she said, starting to reach for her bag.

"No, no," Hermione sighed, waving it off. "I have a few spares. Thank you, though." Before anyone could say another word, she reached down into her overstuffed bag. Her fingers grazed against an envelope at the same time she found her quills. "Oh," she whispered, suddenly remembering the owl that came to her window the morning before. When had she put this in her bag? Hermione immediately decided to grab them both, opting to slip the letter under her own homework.

"What's that?" Ginny asked.

"Ginny!" Hannah scolded, though it held no real weight.

"What?" Ginny scoffed. "I'm only asking what everyone here wants to know but are too bloody polite to say so."

The table unanimously groaned. Hermione met her friend with stifled mirth. "It's nothing. More than likely just another update." The girls shared a knowing look, to which Ginny instantly went contrite. "Right," she mumbled. "Sorry."

Robert turned to her with a silent question. Hermione shook her head as her only answer. This was a part of her life she didn't want to share. Not with anyone who didn't already know; and the residents (and part-time residents) of Number Twelve, Grimmauld place were the only ones in Wizarding England who knew.

It took approximately thirty minutes to get through proofreading the other's homework. In that time, her letter from the Australian Ministry was burning a hole in the back of her mind. With the last assignment proofread, Hermione found herself hurriedly grabbing yesterday's mail. "Excuse me for just a moment," she whispered to her newly formed study group. Everyone nodded unanimously, except for Robert, who started to get up with her. Hermione held her hand out to stop him. "I'm sorry," she muttered, "but this is something I have to do alone."

Hermione had to work to not feel guilty when his face fell. Internally, she brushed it off as she made her way towards the back of the library. She knew just where to go: the historical section was usually unoccupied. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a lone figure in black perusing a few of the books. They stood on the other side of the shelves, toward the front, in full view of Madam Pince. She decided not to pay them any mind. Her eyes were fully focused on the envelope in front of her.

In the very back corner, a singular small table and a couple of lounge chairs sat. It was perfect, really. Near-complete solitude was granted to her here. She took a deep breath. "Just open it, Granger," Hermione whispered. With shaking fingers, she ripped the envelope open, bracing herself for whatever she would read.

Miss Hermione Jean Granger of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London, England,

Hermione gulped. Judging by the extremely formal opening, this couldn't be good.

Per your request to be notified if there were any changes regarding Madelynn and Wesley Granger, also known as Monica and Wendell Wilkins, we are sorry to inform you that as of August 31, 2000, at 10:48 P.M., they were involved in a head-on vehicular collision.

Hermione's heart stalled in her chest. August thirty-first. That was three days ago.

While Hermione had been absorbed in trying to prepare a year's worth of her personal fix, panicking over whether she'd have enough Draught of Bloody Peace and Sodding Sleeping Draught to get her through the year... Her parents...

Hermione's heart jerked into overdrive. She immediately dove back into the letter. Please let them be alive. Please, Merlin...

They were immediately airlifted to the nearest muggle hospital. We are incredibly sorry to inform you, Miss Granger, but they did not survive. Arrangements have been made

The letters slipped through Hermione's fingers. Her world slowed to a stop.

Dead... Dead?

DEAD!

"No," Hermione croaked. "It can't be. There must be some mistake. It has to be." The words sounded barely intelligible to her own ears. She didn't care.

Her head hung low in a curtain of barely tamed curls. Her mind felt numb. Her body felt numb. It couldn't be. Could it? Surely not. It has to be some other muggle couple. They had common names. It's got to be another Monica and Wendell Wilkins. A different Madelynn and...

Her eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught. She couldn't think the names. Not now.

Another page on the floor caught her eye. Oh, yes. That's right. There was another letter. What more could those bastards have to say after that? Through her blurred vision, she still somehow made out where the other offending page lay. She carefully picked it up with trembling fingers, taking care to blink her vision clear. A solitary moment was all it took for her anger to flare up in full force.

Those sodding, bleeding bastards honestly thought it was a good idea to send her a Frequent Portkey User Medical Evaluation? As if she'd need to use another damned portkey after this! What kind of...

Hermione's world stilled once more. She dropped the paper as if it had caught fire. Her hands flew to her mouth to suppress a scream.

She didn't have long to get it together, however, as a patch of white-blonde hair came flying from around the corner. Hermione darted to the floor, gathering up documents she'd rather burn before the ferret could see them.

My parents are dead. I'm going to die. My parents are dead. I'm going to die...

The words twisted through her mind like a sick, twisted mantra that she couldn't stop.

"Granger!" Malfoy's words sounded like white noise against her ears.

Anger roared inside her like fiendfyre. The distraught witch turned on him, completely unaware of the river of tears that gushed miserably down her face. "What, Malfoy?" she hissed. "Have you come to taunt your favorite little mudblood?"

Malfoy physically stumbled a couple of steps back. He held his hands up, shocked at the sight before him. He first took notice of her dark, expressive eyes that always told on her, no matter how much she tried to hide anything. Chocolate orbs flashed at him in that same furious rage that became a permanent part of his memory. It had become the one and only look she'd ever given him after they started school. Although, he could admit now that it was his own fault. However, it was a freely flowing river of tears that gushed miserably from those eyes of hers that startled him. She's never cried in front of him. Ever.

He immediately followed those foreign looking tears down her flushed, rosy cheeks down to full lips that fought furiously to stay still. She held her chin in a defiant stance he had seen more times than he could count. He skimmed past the way her chest heaved furiously and whatever waistline might be hidden beneath her robes (he refused to contemplate this) to the rumpled papers she clutched in her deceivingly delicate hands. His lips pressed into a thin line as he assessed her. If there was anything he knew, it was that her current state was directly tied to those papers in her hand.

Little by little, however, Malfoy's features settled into something akin to what Hermione knew well. "I thought we were past this," Malfoy said carefully. Hermione couldn't stand this. Why wasn't he taunting her? Belittling her? Mocking her? Why wasn't he giving her something, anything, to fight against? Damn it all! She didn't know what made her do it, but she practically flew into his personal space, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "When did we reallyfirst meet, Malfoy?" She demanded through clenched teeth. "Tell me!"

For the first time, Malfoy took all the wind out of her. His silver eyes, molten silver and alive for what may have been for the first time since his trial, bore into hers as the pair was practically nose to nose. "September 19, 1987," Malfoy growled. "It was your eighth birthday. You accidentally apparated right into my mother's prized flower garden."

Between her fresh grief that threatened to drag her under and Malfoy's unexpected proximity, her mind blanked. Is that... mint? Hermione's mind stuttered. She swallowed. However, Malfoy wasn't done. Not even close. "Like the brainy little swot you are, you showed up clutching a book in your hands that just so happened to have a picture that looked exactly like our backyard."

Hermione blinked rapidly as her tears began to slow. Books, sandalwood, mint, and the color grey overtook her senses. In that moment, she didn't know if she wanted to hug this man or run to Myrtle's bathroom so she could break down. Everything was too much. Simply too much all at once. For a moment, Malfoy's voice faded into the background in her mind. "You must have asked me thousand bloody questions before McGonagall brought you home!"

Cancer. Terminal. My parents are dead. I'm dead. A dead woman walking.

I barely got to live.

Brown eyes locked onto grey once more, and Hermione couldn't stop the words that flew to her lips, nor did she want to. What was the point? "Muggles have a tradition of blowing out candles on their birthday cake and making a wish. That day, I wished for a friend." For once, brown eyes were pinning grey. "I thought you'd granted that wish when you said you would be. My friend, I mean."

Malfoy froze and finally gave Hermione that glare of his she was so used to. Finally! She thought. That's it, Malfoy. Fight me! "What are you doing, Granger?" Malfoy hissed. Hermione glared back up at him defiantly. Yes. This was normal. This she could do. She needed something, anything to ground her, and Merlin if this wasn't it. Fighting was what she knew. What she'd always known since she set foot in the wizarding world.

In one swift movement, Malfoy reached and held the back of Hermione's head, effectively stopping all train of thought. "Do you want the old Malfoy back?" He whispered in her ear. Vaguely, in the back of Hermione's chaotic mind, she noticed that there was something different about this; in the way he spoke. Where was the venom? Since when did Malfoy touch her willingly? Could it mean... did he...

Did he mean what he said?

"Is it easier to fight with me, Granger? Is that what you want? Someone to fight?"

Hermione tried. She really tried to find words. She had been known to be quite articulate, especially when she was angry. Yet, now, she couldn't find any. It might have been because she wasn't truly angry at anyone except herself.

The next thing Hermione knew, even gravity was working against her. Her body sagged against Malfoy's solid frame; her head found the crook of his shoulder, much as it had the day before in class. She couldn't find the energy to think this through. She couldn't find enough will in her to even care. After all, it was a cruel twist of fate that brought her to this moment. The smartest, most brilliant witch of her age would be the one who developed a terminal brain tumor.

It had to be her brain that got sick. Ironic, isn't it?

"What's in the letter, Granger?" Malfoy breathed.

What did an old school rivalry matter anymore? In a year, maybe less, she'd be dead. For all she knew, she'd never see her N.E.W.T. scores. Internally, she snorted. What did those matter anymore, either? She'd never use them. Hermione sighed. Gravity had never felt heavier. Through sheer willpower alone, she managed to raise her head enough to look at Draco Malfoy straight in the eye. "I won't tell you," she croaked, "but I do want to ask you a serious question."

He arched one perfect eyebrow at her. "Well?"

"Did... did you mean what you said? About starting over?" The words sounded heavy, even to her own ears.

Malfoy barely moved when he spoke. "Yes, although I'd appreciate it if you didn't keep throwing our past up in my face." He ran a hand through his hair and tilted his head toward the ceiling. Hermione watched him carefully. "I already know that I could spend the rest of my life trying to right my wrongs and it would never be enough. Especially..."

Hermione noted the way his jaw flexed; the way he clenched his teeth in frustration, as though he were in the middle of fighting against himself. His spine slightly straightened, and in that, Hermione finally found it in her to allow herself to forgive him. After all, she didn't have much time left to do so.

"It's alright," she whispered. "I forgive you."

His head snapped back in her direction in alarm. Hermione shrugged. "We're not defined by our scars, remember?" Hermione took a quick step back, effectively breaking the figurative spell of the moment. She shook her head at her own train of thought. "We are, however, defined by the choices we make."

As Hermione cast a quick glamour and stuffed her letter in the pocket of her robes, she sent Malfoy a bitter smile. "Hey, Malfoy? Thank you."

His face scrunched in confusion. Idly, Hermione wondered if he had always been capable of being, well, adorable. It was then that she realized that it was incredibly easier to be completely honest with herself when she simply stopped worrying as much. Of course, she supposed that anyone could be adorable if they quit wearing a perpetual sneer all the time.

"For what?"

Hermione shrugged. "For helping me get out of my own head. I know we don't really know each other, in all honesty, but this is one thing I'm positive you wouldn't understand."

Hermione missed the way Draco Malfoy completely froze in his tracks as Hermione walked away. She'd never know the way his heart dropped into his stomach.

Meanwhile, Hermione Granger was mentally creating her own bucket list as she walked back to her friends' table with a forced smile on her face. "Hey, guys," Hermione said a little too cheerfully. The group of four all simultaneously looked up. "What is it?" Hannah asked. Hermione took a deep breath. "I need help. From all of you. Before I ask, though, I have to inform you that discretion is of the utmost importance here."

"Finally, I get to be involved in an adventure!" Ginny crowed. Hermione, Robert, Neville, and Hannah all turned towards her. The other Gryffindors at the table wore matching looks of amusement. The Hufflepuffs, on the other hand, seemed puzzled. "What?" Ginny laughed. "I never get to be involved in anything."

"At least you didn't get put in a full body bind," Neville mused.

Hannah turned to Neville in wordless shock.

"Sorry, Neville, "Hermione mumbled. To Hannah's unspoken question, Hermione answered, "Harry, Ron, and I lost Gryffindor a lot of house points that year. Neville tried to stop us costing our house any more. You see, we were about to sneak past Fluffy who was locked away on the third floor. "

Hermione almost laughed out at their confused expressions. She's been with the boys so long, she's forgotten what it was like to explain anything that wasn't to them or Dumbledore.

"Hagrid's massive three headed dog. She guarded the trap door that led to three different traps under the castle, which protected the Mirror of Erised, where the Sorcerer's Stone was hidden. Nicholas Flamel was a friend of Dumbledore's and invented the Elixir of Life, which was stored within the stone. Did you know?"

A long silence stretched between them. "That was why Dumbledore forbade us all from going up there that year," Hermione simplified.

Hermione shook away the wayward train of her thoughts. If she wasn't careful, she would wind up getting off topic completely. "Look, I need all of you to swear not to say a word." Thankfully, Robert was the first to speak. "I think I can keep my mouth shut." He took a quick glance at the others. "What about you guys?" Hermione felt a palpable measure of relief when they all nodded. "You see, I want to find a missing person. Someone who is currently believed to be dead."

"Who?" Hannah asked.

Hermione gulped. "Lavender Brown. Time is of the essence."