Taking Over Me, a harry potter fanfic

Hmm, I bet you all thought I was never going to post anything on this site ever again, eh? Ta da! Here I am! A new HP story... only this one is already complete and everything (oh, the joys of one-shots!), so there's no chance of me abandoning it for months on end like I've done for Forgotten Songs (Sigh, I'm terribly sorry about that... I'm trying to work on it, I swear).

A note... incase you didn't notice, this is a Hermione/Draco ship... yes, I know that it will never happen in the actual books... which is one of the things I love about fanfiction; anything can happen! -

Ah, almost forgot... credit for the song lyrics goes to Evanescence (they split up! I'm so sad!)... the song is Taking Over Me from their cd Fallen... which I recommend highly... I also recommend Yellowcard's Ocean Avenue and the Spiderman 2 soundtrack... heh, yea, that's got nothing to do with the story, but they're good cds... just thought I'd do a little plug there... heh...

Okay, Hollie is SHUTTING UP NOW!!! Heh, I know you're all cheering... Okay, but seriously, here is the story...

Taking Over Me

By Hollie Black

You don't remember me

But I remember you

She was going to be late again. Furiously, Hermione pulled on a soft blue sweater over her white button-down shirt and zipped up a pair of jeans she'd bought from a muggle shop earlier in the week. The ministry building had been so busy the last year, what with Voldemort's downfall, rebuilding the sections of Hogwarts that had been damaged and trying to round up all the Death Eaters that had not been killed or captured at the final battle, that Hermione discovered that it was actually faster to walk the few blocks from her flat to work. Apparating to work was difficult because of the crowds at the apparating ports, and trying to use the Floo-Network was just insane. Plus, she enjoyed the exercise.

She shoved a pair of her favorite navy robes into her briefcase, so that she could change once she got to her office, because walking to work in her wizard's clothing made her feel awkward. The muggles were extremely adept at staring and pointing in such ways that made a young woman feel very self-conscious and out of place. This was not a time in Hermione's life that she wanted to feel separate from the world; she'd gone through quite enough over the past year, and now she just wanted things to be as normal as she could make them.

Hermione jogged to her bathroom and pulled her comb through bushy brown hair, locks that had never truly tamed themselves, as she'd always hoped they one day would.

"Late again, dearie?" her mirror asked. With no time to spare for words, Hermione brushed her teeth, grabbed her bag and rushed out the door, stopping only to pat her aged cat Crookshanks on the head, as he gazed up at her sleepily from the armchair. He was very old, even as far as magical cats went, and Hermione much suspected that it would be a short time before she would be requiring of a new pet. However, she wanted to keep this dear cat, who had been through so much with her, as long as she could, so she made sure that the remainder of his days was spent in peace and comfort.

Once down her front steps, Hermione slowed her jog to a brisk walk, taking no time to admire her little brick apartment or to exchange pleasantries with her neighbors, as was her usual habit. She made it down the quiet lane in record time, coming out onto the main street. Even though it was still early morning, the road was already alive and bustling, sidewalks as filled with people as the street was with cars and other transport vehicles. Hermione loved London in the mornings. She loved seeing the muggles go about their lives, oblivious to all the pain and sufferings that had recently occurred in the world that paralleled their own. She often wished she could be as oblivious.

Today was not a day to dally though, she thought as she wove her way skillfully through the throng. Harry had informed her the day before over coffee that he had another assignment for her, yet even when she'd pushed, he refused to give her any indication as to what it was. She had assumed that he meant to send her off after another rogue Death Eater, as that had been most of the assignments that the newly appointed Head-Auror had been giving.

I must admit though, Hermione thought with a smile, Harry does do an excellent job at it. He's got such wonderful leadership skills. I never thought they'd find the right replacement when Kingsley died.

Hermione shuddered slightly at the memory; Kingsley Shacklebolt had been murdered early in the second of the eight battles it had taken to finally destroy Voldemort and his army of Death Eaters, Dementors, giants and all other manner of dark creatures. He had been crippled by a blow from a giant, and then hit with the killing curse from Luicius Malfoy before anyone had been able to get to him. Harry and Ron hadn't been in the vicinity at the time, but Hermione had seen it all. Sometimes, she still had nightmares.

Hermione neared the dilapidated old telephone booth that served as the entrance to the ministry, quickening her pace as she anxiously checked her watch.

"Outta my way, lady," a rough male voice grunted as an elbow jarred Hermione in the stomach. She looked around for the offender, but found her eye caught by someone else entirely.

Down the street, through a gap in the traffic, she saw a flash of white-blonde hair that was eerily familiar. Honey brown eyes locked with steely gray ones, and Hermione gasped in recognition.

"Draco?" she mouthed, hardly daring to breathe. In the few seconds in which they gazed at each other, her heart seemed to stop completely. This couldn't be true, it couldn't be him... he was supposed to be dead...

"Hermione!" a familiar voice behind her called, but her attention was focused completely on Draco. He looked at her, without the faintest bit of emotion showing on his face. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Hermione's heart shuddered back to life, beating wildly against her chest. She almost jumped a foot in the air when a hand settled on her shoulder, and she turned to see Harry, giving her an odd, assessing stare.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concern in his voice.

"Harry," she grabbed both his hands in hers, gripping them tightly. "Oh, Harry, I saw him! Oh, god, it was him, it was!"

"Herm, what are you talking about... saw who?"

Tears filled her brown eyes, and a shaky smile twitched the corners of her lips. "Draco," she whispered in a quavering voice.

Harry looked at her with a pained expression, and ran his fingers through his unruly black hair, a sure sign that he was uneasy. "Her- Hermione," he spoke slowly, almost carefully, brows furrowed slightly, "Draco is, well... he's dead. He couldn't have survived the accident, he just couldn't have. I- I thought you, you know, came to terms with that, er, already."

Hermione shook her head ferociously, annoyed that he didn't believe her.

"It was him, Harry, I just saw him! Right before you came over to me!"

"Hermione," he replied, with the air of a parent explaining something simple to a young child, and not for the first time. "He's dead."

"No he's not! Don't patronize me, Harry, I know what I saw; I'm not crazy. I know we all thought he was dead, but we never had any real proof to begin with, it was all hearsay..."

"He could not have survived that explosion, Hermione! If McGonagall couldn't make it, then how could-"

"I don't know, Harry! But somehow, he did, he made it, and he was just right down the street from us! Why won't you believe me?" The tears now spilled down from her eyes, tears of anger, and frustration, and shock. For months, she had forced herself to believe that Draco was gone forever, dead.

I never truly believed that though, she thought, as she tried in vain to sort the tumult of emotions that were flooding through her. Somewhere, deep down, I knew he was alive... I felt it, felt him.

She realized that Harry was speaking to her again, in what he must have thought to be a comforting, and pacifying tone. "...go back to your place, rest up a bit. Maybe you should get some sleep, and I can send someone over with something good to eat, if you'd like."

"I'm not sick, Harry," she snapped, voice sharper than she meant for it to be. She sighed. "Well, maybe I should go back there... maybe I do need some sleep... I haven't been sleeping well lately."

Harry smiled, obviously thinking he'd solved her problem. "Good girl. Don't worry about anything at work, I'll take care of things. Just rest up, eh?"

"Sure." She managed a weak smile, and then turned to start the short walk back to her house. Somehow, it seemed so much longer on the return trip; her legs dragged as if they were filled with lead, and everything seemed to go along in slow-motion. Her head hurt, and her eyes were now red and itchy. She must have looked a mess, but she didn't care, for there were far more important things for her to fret about than her appearance now.

I lie awake and try so hard,

Not to think of you.

But who can decide what they dream?

And dream I do...

Hermione had been lying on her couch for over an hour, staring at the ceiling, trying to erase thoughts of Draco from her mind. But she couldn't help herself, everything in her head was a memory of him; something he said, something they'd done, memories of a class or a dance back when they'd been at school. It was like she was reliving every second she'd ever spent with him.

Somewhere during being torn on whether to just let the memories come, or to keep trying to fight them, she drifted off to sleep, where the decision was ultimately made for her.

"Well, well, well." She stiffened as she heard the familiar, arrogant voice. She knew it was him, even before he sauntered out from behind the bookshelf over to her little table. His gray eyes flashed as he looked around the library, finally settling on her.

"They told me it was someone 'smart' I'd be tutoring... but I'd never guessed it would be you. So, you're not exactly up to par on your potions then, are you, Granger?"

Hermione held her tongue and said nothing. She knew that he was just trying to get a rise out of her, but she'd never admit that it was working; she would not give him that satisfaction. Inside, however, she was seething with anger. Mainly, it was directed at Professor Snape, who was the one who had "recommended" (forced) her to get a tutor. She knew she was better with potions than most of the people in the class, but it seemed that the professor would never admit it. He hated her for being a Gryffindor, a muggle-born and especially for being friends with Harry, so he graded her potions with sadistic care, deducting outrageous points for the tiniest details. Then he had done the worst thing yet, and told her –in front of the entire class!- that she required tutoring!

Hermione had appealed to Professor McGonagall, who, while being sympathetic, had said that she should just go along with the unfair potion's master, at least for the time being, and agree to the tutoring. She had said that it would not be wise in this particular matter to fight, because that would only make things worse. However, she had also promised that she would have a word with Snape in Hermione's defense, which had made the girl feel a little better.

But now, sitting in the library and finding out that she had Draco Malfoy as her tutor... well, that brought the situation from bad to abysmal.

He pulled out the chair across from her, taking his time in sitting down, enjoying every second of the annoyance that slipped onto her face, despite her best efforts to conceal it.

"So," he drawled, "how remedial are you? Do we have to go all the way back to first year?"

Color flushed her cheeks and fire burned in her eyes. "Listen you--" She cut herself off, leaning back into her chair, and clenching her fists in her lap, determined to get a handle on herself.

"Temper, temper, Granger," he smiled sardonically, raising his brow. He brushed back some of the strands of hair that had fallen into his face in a slow, practiced move. At a table full of third-year girls not far away, Hermione heard sighs and giggles. She wanted to vomit.

"Let's just get this over with," she said when she'd reigned in her temper. She pulled a small wooden box towards her and opened it, revealing several vials of multi-colored liquids. "These are the potions I made that Professor Snape was... displeased... with." He looked them over with those impervious gray eyes, reading the labels written out in her small, neat handwriting.

He scoffed after reading them. "Granger, you can't even do a simple aging potion?"

She glared at him, and immediately grabbed the vial that contained the gray-green aging potion. Uncorking it, she carefully held it over her hand, and let a single drop fall to her skin. Then, she corked the vial, and pulled out her wand. Tapping the hand with the potion, she murmured the spell. Instantaneously, her hand began to change, withering and graying, until it looked like a grandmother's hand. Wordlessly, she looked up at him, trying to repress the smug smile that twitched her lips. She saw the surprise on his face only for a second, before it was wiped away, replaced with the old disinterested look.

"I don't see a difference," he said coolly.

His words stung, but not as much as a good slap across his face would...

No, Hermione thought, restraining herself. I am not going to get in trouble because he's a prat. Instead, she rolled her eyes at him, and tapped her hand again, returning the flesh to its youthful state.

"Obviously," she said, getting up and starting to stow her things once again into her pack, "this isn't going to work." She slung her bag over her shoulder and made to leave, but his next words stopped her.

"Fine by me. What do I care if you fail?"

"I'm not going to fail," she snapped, turning around. She earned once of Madame Pince's infamous reproachful glares, but at this point, she didn't really care.

"Well, when I tell Professor Snape how poorly you reacted to the tutoring he kindly set up for you..."

"You wouldn't," she said, glaring at him. She saw the cold laughter in his eyes, and the smile of a cat toying with a mouse. "No... you would."

He just laughed.

"Wait... no, that's not right."

"What are you talking about, of course it is."

"No, it isn't. Look here." Hermione thrust the copy of their potions assignment under Draco's nose, pointing to the third and fourth lines. "You see... swamproot comes after the beetle eyes." He groaned, and looked at the pile of sickly-looking gray grasses that squelched and wriggled unpleasantly in his grasp.

"Fine, fine, thrown the eyes in. Hurry though, would you? I hate swamproot."

Hermione laughed, and made quite a show of picking up the disgustingly slimy beetle eyes, plopping them into their potion one at a time. He scowled at her as the odiferous plant in his hand made a particularly disturbing sound.

"Do you really want this stuff in you hair?" he threatened. She gave a small cry –knowing that he really would do exactly as he threatened- and dropped the rest of the eyes in immediately. As soon as they'd dissolved, he threw in the revolting swamproot.

"Nasty," he said, looking at their potion, which had shifted to a kind of pale, blotchy orange color. "Now what do we do?"

"Now we wait," Hermione supplied, reading the instructions. "Twenty minutes, then we add in the batwing and taors mixture," she gestured to the bowl that contained the mentioned mix, which they had prepared in the beginning.

"Good," Draco said, pulling off his gloves, throwing them to the table, and collapsing by the opposite wall, beneath the open window. He breathed in deeply the clean, fresh air that circulated outside their tower work-room. "Of all the stuff we've had to make for him over the years, I think that is the worse," he said, pointing an accusatory finger at the offending potion.

"Well," Hermione started, also removing her gloves and walking to join him by the window, "at least this is a useful one. It is a healing potion."

"No wonder all Madame Pomfrey's potions are vile... just look at the things in this stuff!"

Hermione had to agree... some of the things they'd had to collect, including frog intestines and pig's blood, were just disturbing. Especially since, now that they were seventh years, Snape no longer provided them the materials. They'd had to gather them on their own. She shuddered at the memory of that poor, squealing pig, and Draco looked over at her.

"Cold?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, just... thinking. You know, it's funny how things work out."

"How so?"

"Well, just remember how much we used to hate each other! For instance, remember last year, when you 'tutored' me?"

He chuckled slightly. "Yes, how could I forget? My cheek still hurts a little, from that meeting near the beginning, when you slapped me!"

Hermione blushed. "Well, you deserved it," she stammered. "You were being a real prat."

"I know," he sighed. "Aren't you glad that I finally grew out of it though?" He fixed her with one of the roguish smiles he usually reserved for when he was either flirting with other girls or kidding around with her.

She couldn't help but to roll her eyes at him. "Well, to me, at least, you're not bad. I really do wish that you'd get along better with Harry and Ron though. You've no idea how hard life can be when your friends are constantly fighting each other."

"Hey," he held up his hands, as if he was just an innocent bystander, instead of the instigator he really was. "I don't really start things... what?" he asked, when she burst out laughing.

"You always start things with them!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, well... that may be so... but, it's not my fault... they just somehow... bring out the worst in me?" It was more of a question than a statement, and Hermione chuckled again, running her hand through her ever-bushy brown hair.

Ever since she and Draco had somehow become friends (she still wasn't sure how it had come about), things had been difficult for her, trying to balance her relationships with him and with Harry and Ron. Gradually, her fellow Gryffindors had seemed to accept that her friendship with the Slytherin wasn't some sort of outrageous practical joke, (this mainly coming from the assumption that she had no sense of humor) and that she was serious. They by no means liked it, but at least they had recently begun to accept it, which she thought was something. A little progress was better than none at all.

"Can you believe that we're seventh years already?" Draco asked, after a few moments of silence.

She murmured her agreement. "This has been my second home for so long... I don't know quite what I'm going to do once there's no more Hogwarts."

"I thought you were going to become an auror?"

"Well, yes," Hermione started, staring off into the distance. "But that's not what I mean. That's what I'm going to do with my life, as a career, but..." She stopped. "Oh, I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore." Hermione laughed, but Draco just turned his head, to look at her. His stare was intense, making her feel self-conscious.

"Do you think we'll ever see each other?" he asked, an emotion Hermione couldn't recognize in his voice.

"Well, of course we'll keep in touch... I mean, we're friends, right?"

"I know... in school. But what happens when we're not in school anymore?"

"We'll still be friends, Draco," she told him firmly. "What a silly question."

His smile was false and she knew it. "Sure it is, you're right." Those were the word he said, but something in his tone told her that he did not agree.

"Draco," she turned to him, face sober. "Draco, please; tell me what's wrong."

"You just, you're not seeing it."

"Seeing what?" she pleaded. He ran his hands through the longish blonde hair, a pained expression on his face.

"Hermione," he began, refusing to meet her gaze, "things out in the real world are never going to be like they were here in school. You're going off to become an auror with Harry and Ron and I..." His sigh was filled with frustration. "I'm the son of a house that has had generation after generation of really bad wizards and witches, and allegiances with practically every Dark power that's ever lived. I was taught to despise muggles and everything to do with them; I grew up in a world of hate and scorn, deceit and murder. I'm supposed to be everything you're not, and hate everything you are.

"But, you're not, and you don't..." she started slowly, not knowing where the conversation was going.

"I know. If you hadn't come along though, I might be. Who can say? All I know is that once we're outside of Hogwarts..." he still wouldn't meet her gaze, but she saw the pain on his face. "Let me put it this way; how many letters did you and I send each other this summer?"

She thought about that. "I don't know... maybe two or three each?"

"And how many did you send to Harry and Ron?"

"I didn't send any to them... we we're all staying together..."

"Exactly. There's my point."

Hermione still didn't understand what he was getting at, and she told him so.

"Hermione, we had minimal correspondence, while you were spending the summer with your other friends. Your friends that are like you. The people that you're supposed to be with."

"There's nothing to stop you and I from being friends, Draco," she told him. "If that's what we want, then that's what we'll have."

"Is it really so simple?" he asked bleakly.

"Yes, yes it is. I didn't say it would be easy... I know that we come from two different lives, and that people might not accept that at first, but that shouldn't matter to us." She stopped, as a horrible realization dawned on her. "Does it? Matter, I mean, to you?"

He shook his head vigorously. "No! You?"

"No!" she exclaimed with as much certainty. "No, never. Oh, has that been what you've been thinking?"

"Well, yes. I mean, it will be so hard, and I thought maybe you just would want to get out now."

"Oh, Draco, no. You're as much my friend as Harry and Ron... I couldn't bear to lose any of you."

"Really?" he asked, a strange look in his eyes.

"Yes," she said, surprised that this wasn't something he already knew. "Yes, of course. You know how much I care about you, don't you?"

He nodded, looking at her very carefully. "But..." he paused, as if there was something he wanted to say, but wasn't sure whether or not to say it.

"But what?" she pried.

"But... do you know how I feel about you?"

Hermione had her reply on the tip of her tongue that of course she knew, that they were good friends, when suddenly, his lips were on her mouth. If she had been thinking clearly, she would have finally realized the full truth of why he had been so bothered tonight. She would have seen all the little clues that he'd been dropping for weeks, and wondered how she could been so blind.

For the time being, however, she was quite content to focus only on the here-and-now of it, and the thrill she felt as they kissed. Their long forgotten potion bubbled and hissed, but neither cared any longer, simply caught up in the bliss of the moment.

I believe in you,

I'll give up everything just to find you.

I have to be with you to live to breathe;

You're taking over me...

Hermione woke up in a cold sweat. She had completely forgotten that day in sixth-year, in the library. She'd never forgotten their first kiss up in the tower, but to relive it like that... Tears coursed down her cheeks, and she began to bawl uncontrollably.

"Why did you have to leave me?" she cried, choking out the words out between her raucous sobs. "Why, Draco? Everything was just starting to go right for us... and then you left? Why did you have to leave? Why?" She cradled her head in her hands, just letting the tears come. Months and months of pain and sorrow that she thought she'd locked up spilled right out, and her whole body trembled with grief.

When, almost an hour later, she was able to even think about him without crying, she remembered the day's events.

"You're alive... are you looking for me, like I looked for you? Is that why you're here, Draco? Have you finally come back? Do you..." she paused to take a deep, shuddering breath, to finally voice one her worst fears. "Do you even remember me?"

She saw him in her head, the figure across the street. He had stared at her, but with no traces of recognition in his face. For all she knew, he might not remember her. But she had to know. She had to find out if that really was even him she'd seen... it could be some sort of horrible trick, or maybe, as Harry probably thought, she was going crazy. At this point, she didn't know the answers, but she knew that she had to find out if he was still alive, if he hadn't been killed on that awful night, when so many others had perished, including the Dark Lord himself. Harry had almost died, but he had somehow managed to escape... maybe Draco had too? Everyone told her he hadn't, and a memorial had been placed for him in the cemetery that had been created for the witches and wizards that had been killed during the terrible war, fighting against Voldermort and his minions. Hermione had been there so many times, but never to see Draco's memorial. She had never been able to bring herself to look at it.

"Because I know you're alive," she whispered fiercely, gently touching the silver ring on her finger. "You have to be. I need you."

Have you forgotten all I know,

And all we had?

Hermione heard her phone ring, but didn't answer it. She figured that it was probably her parents (they were the only people she knew who really used telephones) but she didn't want to talk now. She could call them back later.

She heard her answering machine pick up, and her own voice recording telling the caller to leave a message and she'd get back soon, followed by a beep. She sighed; she'd been meaning to change the message on there. She sounded so juvenile and perky on it, which couldn't be farther from how she'd felt the past few months, especially today.

Oh, who cares about answering machine messages anyways.

"Hermione, Hermione, it's me, Harry. Pick up, Hermione, I know you're there. Hermione? Hermione!" She stared curiously at her phone. Harry was calling by telephone? That was unusual; though he had grown up with his muggle relatives, Hermione had never known Harry to use or even own a telephone, and she'd never seen one any time she'd ever been over to his apartment in the suburbs. She'd thought he'd renounced most muggle methods of communication and transportation.

"Come on, Herm, I know you're there. You're lying on the couch, aren't you? Just staring at the phone." Hermione jumped; she was sitting on the couch and staring at the phone. Sometimes she hated that he knew her so well. Sighing, she leaned over the arm of the couch and picked up the receiver.

"I'm here, Harry."

"'Bout time you picked up," he snapped, but she knew he wasn't mad.

"Well, what do you want?"

"I called to check up on you, Herm. We were all worried about you."

"We? Who do you mean, 'we'?"

"Well, you know, just me, Ron, Gin, some of our other friends..."

"So what, you've been talking about me? Oh, did you all get together and wonder about poor, crazy Hermione? Saying things like 'gee, she's gone delusional again... maybe we should send her back to Mungo's,' is that it, Harry?"

She could hear the shock in Harry's voice as he replied. "Herm, no! We're just worried that..."

"Well save it, alright! I don't need your concern, I don't need your help, and I certainly don't need your pity! In fact, I don't think I even need you. Good bye, Harry." With that, she slammed the receiver down with all the force she could muster.

Then the tears came again. She hadn't meant any of it, not really. She hadn't intended to snap at him, but something in his voice... the pity... it took her right back...

"She was delusional when they found her, the poor dear."

"Looks like she lost a lot of blood; let's get her inside quickly."

Hermione's brown eyes flickered open slowly. All she saw was colored blurs, and flashing lights for a moment, then her vision cleared, and the blurs changed into faces. They wore tight robes of pale green, and fabric of the same coloring covered the bottom halves of their faces, so all she could see was their eyes.

Where am I? she wondered. And why does my head hurt so much?

Slowly, carefully, she tried to sit up. A spasm of alarm flashed through her body when this simple action was denied to her. Fearing that she was somehow paralyzed, she tried just moving her head. With relief, she discovered that this was something she could do. She looked around, and discovered that she was strapped down to a board; some sort of stretcher. The three masked-people were carrying her to somewhere... but where?

"Where am I?" she murmured aloud. One of the green-robed people (must be some sort of Healer, she thought drowsily) looked down at her with surprise.

"She's awake," he told his companions.

"Needs sleep," the one to her left grunted. Reaching into his robes, he withdrew a short, stubby wand. Aiming it at her, he muttered, "repos," and Hermione was out like a light.

When she woke up again, it was with the return of her memory. Events flashed in her mind, and she roused screaming.

"Where is he, where is he!?" she exclaimed, as one of the nurses or attendants or whatever she was came dashing over. She was calm faced, as if she dealt with screaming girls all the time. In one hand, she carried a small measuring cup, and in the other, a colored bottle. As soon as she was near enough, Hermione grabbed the woman's hands. She was surprised to see that her own hands were bandaged, until other memories came pounding back to her head. The explosion, the glass... of course, she must have cut her hands when she fell.

"Draco, where is he... you've got to tell me where he is!"

"Calm down, miss," the nurse said, trying to carefully extract her own hands from Hermione's wounded ones, but the girl wouldn't relent. "Miss, you need to let me go now, please," she said, tone emotionless.

"Tell me where he is!" Hermione shrieked, kicking the sheets away and trying to get to her feet. One of her legs was heavily wrapped, but she didn't care. She had to get up, had to find him. What if he was hurt, or worse?

"Tell me now! And where am I? Where are Harry, and Ron, and everyone? Tell me where they are, you awful woman!"

"Miss, let go now." Hermione heard footsteps pounding closer to where she clutched the nurse. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she released the woman, and collapsed back onto the bed, screaming from the searing pain that shot up her left side once she no longer blocked it off.

"'Mione!" She heard a familiar voice and turned. It was Ron, a slightly singed Ron, but Ron nonetheless, hobbling towards her, along with a group of green-robed Healers.

"It's alright," Ron assured everyone. "I think she just got a little... er, upset." Turning to her, he sat down carefully on her bed. "Herm?" he asked.

She looked up at him, eyes red and puffy, forehead bandaged. "Ron, where is he? Tell me where he is!" she sobbed. Ron bit his lip and refused to meet her gaze.

"He? Well, mostly everyone's fine now. Harry... they're not sure about Harry yet. Healers say they don't know yet, but they're doing all they can for him."

"God, I hope he's okay, but you know that's not who I meant! Where's Draco, Ron... where's my fiancé?" She watched his expression carefully. She knew that Ron still wasn't altogether happy with her engagement to the Death-Eater-turned-spy, but what she saw on his face wasn't his normal mixture of discomfort and displeasure. On his visage, something completely different was written, something that resembled regret, and a good deal of pity.

"Er... well, 'Mione..." he stammered. "I don't really know how to tell you this, so I guess I'll just come out and say it... Mal- er, Draco... he didn't make it out."

Her heart, which had been beating along so nicely, stopped dead in its tracks. The world spun around her as the oxygen supply to her brain was cut off. Hermione felt her stomach drop to the floor. Surely, this wasn't true. This was some sort of sick joke. This was a bitter and angry Ron, who had decided to play a nasty trick on her. Or maybe this wasn't Ron at all!

Her mind –already strained from recent events- whirled as it jumped around, following all sorts of crazy paths.

"Liar!" she screeched, jumping at him. "Lying bastard! You're not Ron, you're just one of Voldemort's minions, sent to trick me! I hate you!" She threw herself at the startled young man, cursing and weeping and hitting anything within reach. Feet pounded on the ground again, and this time she felt hands ripping her off her friend.

Through her sobs and the pounding in her head, she dimly heard an unfamiliar voice shout, "She's gone crazy; let's get her to Mungo's!"

Hermione gasped, ripping her mind from all the hard memories and sitting bolt upright on the couch. Crookshanks yowled at her wearily.

"Sorry," she said, absentmindedly scratching his long orange-gray fur. She shivered, thinking back to the time she'd spent in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies in the Trauma Wing that had been added to the wizarding hospital in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat. There they'd housed wizards and witches who had gone into states of shock after all the battles. Including Hermione herself.

But that wasn't something she wanted to relive right now. Wringing her hands together, her finger lingered on the silver band she wore on her left ring finger. It was pure silver, with two small stones, a ruby and an emerald. The inscription was inlaid in gold, and it said "ad astra per aspera," which meant "to the stars through difficulties." It had been her engagement ring from Draco; he'd designed it specially for her. He said the inscription fit their relationship perfectly; that even though they had so many obstacles in their path, they'd make it through.

Oh, Draco, Hermione thought mournfully, death's an obstacle that even we couldn't get over.

She puzzled everything over. After all this time, her life was finally beginning to come back together. After everything she'd been subject to, she was finally beginning to feel again, to smile again. Maybe Harry was right; maybe she hadn't seen Draco today. It was possible that she'd only seen someone who resembled him, and then her mind did the rest. Did she really want to give everything up and go chasing after the thought that maybe she'd seen Draco today?

Pull yourself together, girl, she told herself firmly. It's time you really get on with things. You've got a new life now, a chance for a fresh start. It's time to let go.

With this idea in mind, Hermione rose from her couch. It was time to do something she'd put off for too long.

You saw me mourning my love for you

And touched my hand

I knew you loved me then

It was a peaceful place, the graveyard. Ginny had been the one to find it, a large, open field with room enough to bury all the dead from the War with Voldemort. Harry had wanted to put it at the site of the last battle, but what had once been the Dark Lord's stronghold was now a crater of black ash that stretched deep into the earth. The clean-up crews had done their best to hide it from prying muggle eyes, but nothing, they said, would ever be able to grow there again. Not for hundreds of years, at least. The field Ginny found was more suitable a place to honor the dead.

It was only about an hour's drive (or a quick broom flight) away from the city. Once the dead had been buried, teams of wizards had worked wonders on the place. The field had been transformed into a beautiful park, with artful paths, benches where one could sit and remember, and giant, shade-giving trees. Willows, actually. Weeping willows. It was under one such willow that a grave laid, one Hermione had never before visited. Until now, she hadn't been able to bring herself to do it.

Hermione walked along one of the flower lined paths that led to the willow. She paused along the way, to lay flowers on the graves she passed of people she'd known. She put a lily down on the headstone of Susan Bones, who'd gotten caught in the crossfire between aurors and death eaters. Even though he hadn't been to blame, Hermione knew that Harry had never forgiven himself for her death. Violets went to the oddly-shaped headstone of Luna Lovegood –no one knew where it had come from, it had just appeared over her grave one day- whose numerous intelligence-missions had caught up with her before the end. Twin orchids went to the side-by-side graves of Dean Thomas and his wife Lavender –formerly Lavender Brown- and a smaller one on the headstone of their child, murdered before he'd even said his first word. That death had enflamed those of the Order of the Phoenix and their supporters possibly more than anything, and had sparked the fifth battle between them and the Dark Lord.

Hermione walked on, her breath becoming more uneven with every step that brought her closer to the willow. She stopped to place a flower and send up a silent prayer at almost every tombstone. By the time she reached the parted branches that served as an entry to the willow, she had only one flower remaining; a black rose.

Despite the daylight outside, within the think boughs of the tree, all was dark. "Lumos," Hermione whispered, flicking her wand. Instantly, the little witch-lights that hovered around the edge of the foliage flickered to life, casting a warm golden glow around, centering on the memorial.

It was, Hermione would admit, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. Right by the trunk, there was a long tomb of polished stone. Though she couldn't be sure with the soft lighting, Hermione was fairly sure the stone was granite. Black, threaded with silver. There were carvings all along the side, and an inscription along the top:

"Here lies Draco Malfoy,

Beloved friend, husband,

And savior."

Hermione gulped as her fingers traced the lettering of his name. It was good of her friends –who had taken over the arrangements for his burial, such as it was, when she hadn't been able to handle it- to put husband on there, even though technically, they hadn't been married.

"We are, all but legally," Draco had told her once, not long after he'd proposed. Every time they'd been ready to officially tie the knot, something had come up, causing either one or both of them to dash off and fix it. They'd almost decided to elope, but Hermione, like many girls are wont to do, had dreamed of a real wedding all through her childhood. She'd wanted something small, private, but with her family and close friends there to share the special occasion. Not sneaking off in the middle of the night to marry in a courthouse. So they'd continued pushing back the date, waiting for the opportune moment. A moment that never came.

Hermione tried to push away all the regret and sorrow she felt, trying to focus on happy memories. Yet even these caused saltine tears to brim, with the bitter realization that memories were really all she had left of Draco.

"I miss you," she whispered to the tomb. "I miss you so much, more than you could ever know. It's so hard, trying to go on without you. I always thought I was strong, independent, but I'm not that person anymore. It's like part of me died with you that night. And... and sometimes," Hermione blinked and the tears rolled down her cheeks, "sometimes I wish that the rest of me had died too. God, it's so hard going on without you. Every day is a struggle just to get out of bed. At night I dream about how things could've been, what our lives might be like now if you were still here."

Choking back a sob, she watched her tears as they splattered against the cold stone of tomb like little raindrops. "Why did you have to die?" she asked the stone. "It's not fair; you weren't even supposed to be there that night! What were you doing; why did you go? Harry said you saved his life, that you threw a portkey at him. Why did you do that? You hated Harry; even when we'd all agreed to that truce, you still hated each other, I could see it in your eyes. So why did you save him?"

As her body quavered with the repressed cries, the answer came to her, as if borne upon the wind; I did it for you.

Hermione cursed the treacherous part of her mind, wishing that it lied but knowing that it didn't. A small, repressed part of her had always known it was her fault. If she hadn't been so terrified for Harry's life, then Draco never would have taken it upon himself to see that The Boy Who Lived continued doing so. It was her fault; Draco was dead because of her.

The sobs exploded out of her. She fell to her knees, wailing and pounding the tomb with her fists half-heartedly. She let her head fall down, feeling the bitter cold on the stone upon her brow. Through her bawling, she vaguely registered the sound of rustling leaves. She looked up, and gasped as, through a break in the foliage, she saw a pair of gleaming gray eyes watching her. They blinked in surprise hardly a heartbeat after Hermione's gasp, and disappeared as suddenly as they had come.

"Draco!" Hermione half-sobbed, half-screamed. She raced to the break and pushed her way through, to be met only with the undisrupted serenity of the rest of the graveyard.

"Oh, God," she said, sinking again to her knees. "I am crazy."

I believe in you

I'll give up everything just to find you

I have to be with you to live to breathe

You're taking over me

"Hey, Hermione, it's Harry. Well, you weren't at work today and this is the third time I've tried calling you, so either you're incredibly pissed off at me, or you're genuinely not home. I'm hoping it's the latter. Um, I have something really important I need to talk to you about; it's something you need to hear as soon as possible. I'm hoping you'll be at work tomorrow so I can tell you what it is. It's big though, really big. Hope to hear from you soon, bye."

Hermione stared down at her answering machine as the little red light went out, signifying the end of the messages. She'd had a record number of messages; two from her mother, one from her dentist's office, wondering why she'd missed her appointment, the three from Harry and even one from Ron, who hardly even knew how to use a "phellytone," as he still called it. Apparently he'd heard that Hermione had blown up at Harry and had been wondering what was wrong. His concern would have been touching, had Hermione not been so preoccupied.

It was Harry's last message that had gotten her mind going. What was so important? The call was dated yesterday, making Hermione wish that she hadn't flown out to the countryside for a few days of rest after her startling visit to Draco's tomb.

I suppose it isn't too late to see Harry, she thought after a glance at the clock. If he still wants to see me, that is.

Still cringing over her behavior from the last time she'd spoken to, Hermione ran her fingers through her hair and walked into her bedroom. After a quick glance in the mirror, she realized that she needed to change into something more presentable; sweats and a faded t-shirt would probably get her not only odd looks in the office, but it might damage the respectable image she'd tendered so carefully for her self. Then again, missing a week of work and screaming at the boss might do that too. Still, there was enough people checking up on her constantly as it was; she didn't need the whole Ministry thinking she'd gone mental again.

She changed into a pair of relatively new khaki pants and then looked through her closet for a top. Her hand pulled out a soft black dress that flowed as if woven out of water, and she gasped as she recognized the item she though she'd thrown away. It was the shirt she'd been wearing that night, when Draco had taken her to some of the nicest places in London, and at the end of the night got down on one knee and asked her to be his wife. It had been the most amazing night of her life... she could still remember it in perfect detail...

Hermione paced around her bedroom, hands clenched behind her back as she stared at her bed, where every article of clothing she owned was laid out. Ginny, who was sitting at the window seat, chuckled at the older girl.

"What is so funny?" Hermione finally snapped, as she picked up a blue button down shirt then immediately threw it to the floor.

"You," Ginny answered immediately. "Your whole approach to finding the right outfit; it's just funny." When Hermione shot her a confused glare, the redhead elaborated. "Your treating your clothes like they're suspected criminals, analyzing each one as if you think it's lying to you!"

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Hermione asked, throwing her hands up in the air as she simultaneously tossed a navy blue robe aside. "I'm not exactly an expert as to what to wear on a date! That's why I called you; you're supposed to be helping me, not laughing at me!"

Ginny stopped laughing, but couldn't gain enough self control to abolish the grin on her face. "Okay, okay, I'll try and be serious. But really, why are you getting so worked up? I mean, it's only dinner with Draco; you two have been together forever. Why can't you wear what you normally wear?"

"Because," Hermione answered, biting her lip, anxiety shining in her brown eyes. "Because I think tonight might be... special."

"In what way?" Ginny asked slowly.

"He's... he's taking me to Aurolise."

Ginny's jaw dropped to the ground. "Are you kidding me? That's the most expensive restaurant in all of London! I mean, not like he can't afford it or anything, but you only go to Aurolise if... if..."

"If he's going to propose," Hermione all but whispered.

Ginny nodded emphatically. "Why didn't you say something earlier then! This calls for something special! You can't wear any of that," she said, waving her wand at the clothes on the bed, causing them all to fly back to the drawers or hanger in which they belonged.

"What am I going to do?" Hermione asked, almost hopelessly.

"We," Ginny said with a determined look in her eyes, "are going shopping.

"What about this one?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose at the proffered dress. "I don't know..." she started.

Ginny rolled her eyes impatiently. "Oh come on, there has to be something here you like! This one, maybe?" she asked, pulling out a scoop-necked dress of pale lavender from among the racks.

"It's just not me," Hermione said somewhat lamely as she frowned. "None of this stuff is. It's very... feminine," she said, choosing her words carefully so as to not insult her friend. "That's great for some people, but that's just not who I am."

"You telling me you're not female?" Ginny said with a raised brow.

"Oh cut is out, you know what I mean. On you, and Lavendar, and Parvati and all the rest of the girls, this stuff looks perfect. But I've never been comfortable in pastels or ribbons or bows. My life is complicated enough; my clothing, at least, I prefer simple."

"Simple, is it?" Ginny asked. "Well, then we're in entirely the wrong place. Come on." She hung the dozens of dresses she'd selected for Hermione back up on the rack and then dragged the brunette out of the store without another word. When she finally stopped, they were standing outside a building called "Simply Elegant: For witches who want to let their true beauty shine."

"This," Hermione said as they walked inside and she viewed the wares, "is more my speed."

"Can I help you, ladies?" A saleswitch with a long nose and black-rimmed glasses asked as Ginny and Hermione perused the racks.

"Oh, well, I'm just looking for something relatively simple, but, well... elegant..."

The saleswitch trilled politely as Hermione blushed at having made such a stupid comment.

"You've come to the right place then, my dear," she said with a kind smile. "Now, is this for a special occasion?"

"Well," Hermione stammered, not certain what to say. Luckily, Ginny filled in for her.

"We think her boyfriend's going to propose tonight," she said with undisguised glee. "He's taking her to a fancy dinner at Aurolise!"

The witch's eyes widened behind her spectacles. "Oh my, a very special occasion indeed! Come, you don't want to be looking through these racks if you about to become engaged!" She took Hermione firmly but gently by the wrist and half-lead half-dragged her to the very back of the store. As Hermione looked around, she spotted a rack of beautiful dresses trailing to the floor in varying colors.

"Now these are what you want," the saleswitch said, smiling proudly.

"Gorgeous!" Ginny said in admiration as she fingered a long, crimson dress with golden trim. "I may have to pick up a dress or two for myself!" she laughed.

"That would look lovely on you, dear," the witch said, pointing a finger at the red dress. Ginny's cheeks pinked but she smiled nonetheless.

"You should try it on," Hermione urged, causing the younger girl's blush to deepen further. "You wear that to work and Harry will fall over himself to try and ask you on that date you've been wanting."

"Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed, shocked. Then a smile crept across her face, and slyly she replied, "Well, maybe I will. But I'm not the focus here... we've got three hours left to find you a dress, shoes and we have to get your hair and makeup done!"

"By all means, let's get started!" the saleswitch said enthusiastically. "Now, is there any particular color you're looking for, dear?" she said, looking at Hermione.

"Uh, I don't know. What color do you think I should wear?"

Both the witch and Ginny stared appraisingly at her for a long moment. Their eyes darted up and down her, and Hermione couldn't help feeling like an object being judged for value. Finally, they spoke.

"I wouldn't do a blue; not with that complexion," the witch said as she glanced at Hermione's face. "She could do a green though; maybe a dark forest or hunter..."

"Not for her engagement," Ginny interjected. "Not green. Nor purple, come to think of it. Unless it was a really dark shade, like a deep plum. With her hair the color that it is..."

"What about a deep red?" the saleswitch asked, pulling out a dress of that deep shade and holding it up next to Hermione. "She could pull that off."

"Don't you think it makes her skin look too pink though?"

"You're right, it does. She could definitely do black, or white."

"Yes, she could. What about that one on the end there?" Ginny asked, gesturing to a white dress with a thick black strip going around the middle and tiny black geometric patterns trailing down to the bottom.

"She could try it. Here, dear," the saleswitch handed a bewildered Hermione the dress and pushed her over to a changing area. When Hermione stepped back out a few minutes later, both Ginny and the saleswitch cringed.

"Entirely wrong," the witch said, hustling back over to the rack.

"Too modern," Ginny concurred. She needs something more sophisticated, less chic. It can't be white either; the color washes her out completely."

"Take a look at this one," the saleswitch beckoned Ginny over, and they huddled for several long moments over a dress that Hermione couldn't see. She could hear them murmuring, but couldn't for the life of her make out what they were saying.

Finally, after what felt to Hermione was hours but was in actuality only a minute or two, the saleswitch and Ginny turned around to face her. Over the witch's arms was draped the most beautiful piece of clothing Hermione had ever laid eyes on. It was black, made of a thin, silky material that flowed and rippled like water in smooth, graceful movements. The dress trailed to the floor so much like a gentle waterfall, and starting at the hem and trailing and twining back up the skirt portion were roses, embroidered with a deft hand in the finest silver thread.

"It's beautiful," Hermione breathed, two fingers reaching out carefully to brush gently against lustrous cloth. "It's perfect."

"Try it on," Ginny urged in hushed tones.

Carefully, Hermione took the dress from the saleswitch's arms, holding it like it was a child. She retreated to the changing room, where she slipped into it with a care and reverence she'd never bestowed upon an article of clothing before. Looking at herself in the long mirror the changing room was equipped with, she smiled with pleasure at the perfect fit. At long last, she understood what most of her female friends meant when they said they'd found the dress. This most certainly was the dress.

She left the changing room and was rewarded by gasps of pleasure from Ginny and the witch.

"That's it," the other two said simultaneously. Hermione could only smile.

Hermione all but jumped a foot in the air when the doorbell rang. She glanced at the mirror one last time to check her self before rushing over to the door. She took a deep, calming breath, then placed her hand on the doorknob and opened the door.

"Hello, Gorge... wow." Hermione waited wide-eyed as Draco looked her up and down, shock etched so deeply into his face it looked like it would never come out. He met her eyes at last and she smiled inwardly to see the slack-jawed amazement she found.

"You like?" she said, teasingly. All he could do was nod dumbly.

"You know I'm never at a shortage for words but... Geeze, Hermione, I don't know what to say!"

"Draco Malfoy doesn't have anything to say?" she said, mock-astonished. "Perhaps I should dress up more often."

He raised an eyebrow and grinned. "I wouldn't mind that one bit. Where did you get that dress, anyways?"

"Oh, you know," she said, waving a hand absently. "Just something I picked up."

"Picked up indeed," Draco replied, with another approving smile. "If I'm not careful, there will be guys trying to pick you up all night!" He offered his arm to her, and she took it with a beaming smile.

"You don't look so bad yourself," she reported.

"Thank you for the lavish praise," he said with a teasing eye roll.

He really did look good. He'd dressed up in a smart tuxedo, since the restaurant they were going to was a muggle-owned facility, though probably about half the patrons were wealthy witches and wizards. The owner, of course, knew nothing of the special abilities of some of his customers. To him they were just more rich people wanting to impress their friends by frequenting at the most expensive restaurant in London.

Or, in the case of two particular young people, a very important, very special question was about to be asked.

Draco led Hermione down the steps of her apartment, out to the limousine waiting for them. Hermione shivered with pleasure and anticipation as Draco helped her inside.

"Cold?" he asked as he eased in after her.

"No," she replied. "Just excited; I've never been to Aurolise before."

"Well, come over here and pretend you're cold so I can wrap my arms around you and warm you up," Draco told her with a sly grin. Hermione laughed, then acquiesced to his demands. She settled in comfortably by him, with her head nestled against his shoulder and his arms around her torso. She couldn't remember ever feeling so safe or so happy in her life. It was a feeling as magical as their first kiss.

"So, are you excited?" Draco asked her.

"I believe I just said I was," Hermione laughed.

"Oh, right."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?" Draco asked absently.

"Are you excited? I mean, I know you've been there before, but still."

"Oh, yes, it'll be just great, you'll see. I've got a great night planned for us," he replied, and kissed the top of her head softly.

Hermione responded by snuggling in a little closer.

"I hope this table will be satisfactory, monsieur and mademoiselle?"

The Maitre D' of Aurolise smiled genially as he pulled out Hermione's chair and helped to seat her.

"The table will do just nicely, thank you," Draco replied coolly.

"Albert will be serving you tonight; he will be with you shortly. Bon apetite." With a formal nod to each of them, he took his leave.

Hermione leaned conspiratorially across the table. "Just nicely?" she whispered. "This is amazing! We're here in the most beautiful restaurant, above the city with a table right near the window. Look at that view! You can see all of London!"

"It is rather nice," Draco admitted languidly.

"Nice?" Hermione's voice squeaked, and her companion's detached manner cracked. Draco shook with suppressed laughter, and Hermione made a face at him.

"You were just teasing me," she accused.

"Well, it is rather easy," he said with a genuine grin. She rolled her eyes.

"If we weren't at such a classy place, I would reach across this table and swat you," she told him primly.

"I'm sure you'll make it up to me later."

"You can count on it."

Draco opened his mouth to say something else, but what interrupted as their waiter appeared.

"Good evening, lady, sir." The waiter, who had to be about their own age, or thereabouts, executed a half-bow to the couple. "I am Albert," he informed them, not pronouncing the "t" in his name, "and I will be your waiter tonight. Your menus." He extracted two leather-covered menus from under his arm, handing one to each of the diners. He then proceeded to list the day's specials for them. When he was done, Draco thanked him and asked if he could come back after they'd had a chance to review the menu.

"This all sounds delicious," Hermione said as she perused the menu.

"Indeed," Draco replied, and Hermione sensed that he hadn't even really heard what she'd said. "Hermione? Can I ask you a question?"

This is it! she thought. Her body tensed with excitement and sudden anxiety as her boyfriend began to ask her the question she'd been longing to hear.

"What's this say? My French has never been very good."

Without even thinking about it, her shoulders dropped and her face fell. Quickly she plastered a smile on her face, before Draco could notice her disappointment and question her about it.

"No problem," she answered, the cheerful tone in her voice sounding forced to her own ears. "Let's see... that one is a marinated filet mignon, topped with foie gras and mushrooms, wrapped in puff pastry and served with truffled port and red wine sauce."

"Sounds appetizing. I think I'll have that. What are you going to have?"

"I think I may just have the same."

"Copying me, are we?"

Hermione winked in response, which made Draco laugh again.

"Good to see such wonderful guests enjoying themselves," Albert said as he appeared suddenly by their table. "Are we ready to order?"

Draco ordered for them, and Hermione focused on pushing her disappointment back to the furthest part of her mind. How stupid had she been to think that anyways; who proposes at the beginning of the meal? No one, that's who. Of course he's going to wait until the end, after the plates are cleared away. Or maybe he'd ask during dessert. Either way, she was just going to have to wait patiently.

"Here."

Hermione smiled as Draco leaned across the table, offering her the first bite of their dessert, a chocolate mousse. He fed it to her and she delighted as the rich flavors exploded in her mouth.

"Your turn," she said, as she picked up a spoonful.

"That's delicious," he murmured after he'd swallowed.

"Mmm," she said, as she got a spoonful for herself. After a while, she realized that Draco was hardly eating. She looked up to see him watching her, a small smile on his face. She cocked her head in inquiry, and that seemed effecting in breaking his revere.

"I'm just having trouble getting past how amazing you look tonight," he said softly.

Hermione flushed with pleasure. "Ginny helped me," she said, touching her hair, which Ginny, through some magical product or other, had successfully made sleek and shiny, without being greasy.

"It's not just that," he said, eyes full of some unidentifiable emotion. "There's something about you tonight. Some spark or light. I don't think I've seen you look so... happy... in a long time."

"To be honest, I don't think I've been so happy in such a long time," she confessed. "With all the stuff going on, all the fears that we all have, I feel like sometimes I just forget to live. Tonight is a wonderful break from all that."

Draco reached across the table and took her hand in his. "I love you," he whispered, and Hermione felt the depth of his emotion.

"I love you, too," she whispered back, her eyes watering.

"I wouldn't be who I am today, if it wasn't for you. I used to look in the mirror, and just hate what I saw. Hate what my life hate made me. But then you came along, and I know I wasn't exactly easy to deal with, but you did. You didn't put up with any of my crap, and you told me straight out that if we were going to be friends, I'd have to make a few changes. And I did. For you, Hermione. Now I look in the mirror, and I'm not ashamed. I'm not the same person I used to be, and I haven't been since you, quite literally, slapped some sense into me."

Hermione managed a weak chortle, blinking heavily in a vain attempt not to cry.

"I don't know what's going to happen in our world, to our friends, or even to us. I can't tell how anything is going to turn out, and quite honestly, I don't believe that anything is really certain anymore. But if I only know one thing, I know that I love you, and I don't want to live my life without you. I can't go back to who I used to be; I need you. So, Hermione Granger," Draco pushed back his chair and moved over towards her, bending down on his knee and reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a little black box and the tears flowed freely down Hermione's cheeks.

"Will you marry me?"

Hermione was shaking, she was crying so hard, but through her blubbering, she did manage to get out a heartfelt, "yes!"

Draco slipped a ring onto her finger and scooped her up, then kissed her with so much passion Hermione thought her head would burst. Everything else vanished; the only things that existed in her world was him, her, and the ring on her finger. Nothing else mattered. For the first time, she experienced true magic.

Hermione gently touched the silken material of the dress as a tear slid down her cheek. All the passion, all the magic of that night came racing back to her, the memory of the most wonderful night of her life.

His words echoed inside her head; "For you, Hermione." He'd done everything for her. He'd changed who he was, renounced his family, taken part in a war he hadn't even been certain he'd cared about. He'd died for her. For her, and her beliefs, and her friends. He'd done it all because of her. And what had she done in return?

I loved him with all my heart and soul, she reminded herself fiercely.

But had that been enough for him? one treacherous part of her questioned. Had her love been enough to sustain him?

It had to have been, she decided firmly. He wouldn't have stayed with me if it hadn't.

Ignoring any lingering doubts from the deepest part of her mind, Hermione pushed the black dress back into her closet, grabbing instead at a simple button-down shirt. Once dressed she grabbed her handbag and hurriedly left the apartment, as if she could leave the memories behind.

She reached work at record speed, entered the old telephone booth and tapped her foot impatiently as it made it's slow, steady progress down to the Ministry complex. Once she reached level two, where the Auror headquarters were located, she hustled out and into the hallway. The apparating ports and fireplaces were all empty, as she had suspected; 1:20 in the afternoon was not a heavy traffic time.

She passed through a doorway and into the long room that was filled with cubicles, each belonging to a different Auror. Instead of heading towards her own little workspace, she made a beeline straight to the back. Taking a deep breath, she knocked twice on the door set in the wall.

Harry opened the door a moment later. His hair was as disheveled as ever, his green eyes slightly red, as if he'd been straining his eyes.

"Hermione!" he said, shock clear on his face. "I'm... well, I'm glad you're here. Come in." He opened the door wider for her and let her inside. She looked around his office; it was as messy as ever. Books were crammed into the bookshelf that took up almost an entire wall. Maps and atlases were pinned up everywhere, along with pictures of wanted criminals. One section of the wall space, however, was decorated with things Harry loved; pictures of his friends, little pennants from Quidditch games he'd gone to with Ron, a photograph of the Completion Ceremony held at Hogwarts when they'd graduated, even a framed photograph of Harry's parents. On his desk he had piles and piles of paperwork scattered haphazardly.

"I was afraid that you weren't going to come," Harry told her as he closed the door. "I've been getting really worried about you. I dropped by yesterday,, but you weren't home."

"I know," Hermione replied quietly. "I had to get away for a few days. But I'm back now and... well, I want to apologize. I didn't have any right to treat you the way I did, or to..."

Harry held up a hand to silence her. "It's okay, Herm. I know that things have gotten stressful lately, and I can't even begin to imagine how hard things have been for you these past few months. I know all of us haven't exactly been there for you the way we should have been."

"No," Hermione argued vehemently. "No, you've all been wonderful. There are just some things no one can help me with but me. I thought I'd conquered all my demons, but I guess it's just going to take more time. I..." She bit her lip and took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to say.

"I have to come to terms with the fact that he's dead, and no amount of imagining on my part will bring him back."

There; she'd said it. She'd finally said what she'd been putting off saying for such a long time. And yet, she couldn't help feeling that she didn't mean a word.

The look on Harry's face did nothing to reassure her, either.

"Hermione," he said uneasily. "Why... why don't you sit down."

Surprised by his manner, she obliged, sitting in one of the chairs at his desk. Harry took a seat across from her.

"What's going on, Harry?" she inquired.

"You know what you said the other day? How no one had any real proof that Draco had been killed?"

She nodded dumbly, not knowing where he was going with this.

"Well, you got me thinking, and I decided that a little investigation would be in order. I know all the wizarding hospitals in the area were searched for missing persons, but it occurred to me that no one had ever thought to check with muggle hospitals."

Muggle hospitals? Hermione thought. Had the situation not been so serious, it would have been almost laughable to think about Draco walking into a muggle hospital for treatment. And yet, perhaps Harry was onto something. She tuned back in to what Harry was saying.

"I started looking around. For a while it seemed like my guess was a bad one, but then... then I hit a match."

Hermione sat bolt upright in her chair, but said nothing. She didn't trust herself to speak.

Harry continued, leaning across the desk and handing her a manila folder. She opened it to find a hospital record.

"That's from two days after the explosion," he explained as Hermione poured over the report. "A group of muggle boys were playing in a field out in Surrey. They... they found a body. Broken and burnt, but alive, just barely. Their parents rushed the body to the local hospital, where he was treated for some of his injuries. Apparently though, some of the wounds required expertise of which the local doctors did not possess, so they transferred him to another hospital. They fixed his broken bones and tended his burns, but he remained in a comatose state for a month. When he finally woke up, he had no knowledge of who he was or what had happened to him."

"Amnesia," Hermione interjected quietly.

"A severe case of it, according to the doctors. Apparently the injuries he'd sustained gave him an 80% chance of never recalling his memories."

Practically trembling, Hermione asked, "What happened to him?"

"Well this is where things get tricky. Apparently, he began having some particularly nasty nightmares, according to the hospital staff. 'Patient is exhibiting troubling nightly behavior,' I believe is what they wrote on that form you have there," he said, nodding his head at the manila folder.

"It is," Hermione replied.

"Yes, well, basically he was having some vivid and pretty gruesome nightmares, but all the specialists chalked them up to purely that, since the things he was dreaming about –like magic and ogres and wolves and curses- don't exist to muggles. They brought in a dream analyst, who suggested that perhaps his subconscious was creating such fictitious events because it was easier for his body to handle them, instead of whatever real trauma he'd gone though. Muggles," Harry said, shaking his head, "they wouldn't know magic if it bit them on the bum." Despite his scolding words, Hermione could see a bit of the affection he held for the non-magic folk in his eyes; after all, he'd fought Voldemort for wizards and muggles alike.

Harry continued speaking. "They released the patient only a month ago, Hermione. He was almost back to full health, physically, and mentally... well, he'd begun to remember small things. And he was still having the dreams, which he might have known what they meant, even if the doctors didn't. He was a young man, Herm. Only about 23, with pale hair, and gray eyes."

"This can't be true," Hermione whispered, staring into space. "After all this time... I... I..."

"I know it's a lot to process, Herm," Harry told her gently, coming around the table to stand next to her. Her took one hand carefully in hers and squeezed it. "I know that you've been through so much already, and that maybe it's wrong of me to tell you before I was absolutely certain. But things just add up so perfectly; he matches the physical description, he dreamed about magic, and you think you keep seeing him... It just makes sense. And, well, I had to tell you now, because I wanted to let you decide what you wanted to do with the information. I have too many other duties at the moment, and I wish I didn't, but I really can't spend anymore time investigating this. I'm sorry, Herm..."

"Don't be sorry," she told him, a sudden passion in her voice as she looked at him. "Oh, Harry, you've done more than I could ever dream. I... All this time, I've felt like I'm alone, trapped in the dark with no way of escaping. Even if it proves false, you've just given me the first ray of sunlight I've seen in a long, long time. Thank you, Harry. Just..." She could hardly even find the words to express the depth of her gratitude. "Just thank you."

Luckily, Harry didn't seem to need words. Hermione could see in his vivid green eyes that he knew exactly what she meant.

"Listen, Harry... I know that I've been really bad about work lately, and that I haven't been doing my job, but I swear, as soon as I clear this up, that'll change."

"It's okay, Herm," Harry started, but Hermione cut him off.

"No, I've really been shirking my duties. I know I don't deserve it, but I'd like to ask you for a temporary leave of absence, so that I can continue with this... investigation. Please, Harry?"

"I don't know why you even bothered to ask," Harry said with a grin. "If there's anyone who's earned a break, it's you. I know that recently you've been... distracted... but otherwise you've got a spotless record. If you need time, you've got it."

"Thank you, Harry," she replied, eyes brimming with tears. They both got up, and Harry pulled her into a somewhat awkward hug.

"I hope it's him, Herm," he whispered in her ear as he held her. "I really do; you deserve to get your life back."

Not trusting herself to speak, all Hermione could give him was a small, watery smile. But that was enough; he knew. He always knew.

"Hello, how may I help you?"

Hermione flashed her brightest smile at the receptionist behind the desk. "Good morning," she greeted. "I called in earlier, asking about a patient recently released..."

"Oh, Miss Granger?" the youthful receptionist confirmed, "Yes, I remember you. Inquiring about our recent John Doe, yes, yes. Let's see... well, I don't know how much use I could be to you; patient files are strictly confidential, you know."

"Yes, yes of course," Hermione replied quickly. "Look," she glanced at the other woman's name tag, which read, 'Hello, my name is: Mindy.' "You see, Mindy, I think your John Doe might be an... an acquaintance of mine."

"Family?" Mindy asked dubiously.

"Almost," Hermione half-whispered. "We were engaged to be married right before he... disappeared," she added, after seeing the other's inquiring look.

Immediately, Mindy's expression softened. "Oh, you poor thing," she said, putting one hand over her heart. "Would it be too painful if I asked what happened?" she inquired softly.

Hermione shook her head. "There was some sort of... accident in his work. An explosion, or something. They told me later that he couldn't have survived, but they never did find the body. When I heard about the man that was brought here, he sounded just like my fiancé, and, well, I know it's probably a long shot, but I just had to see for myself..."

"Oh, I understand completely," Mindy reassured her, patting her hand. She glanced around the reception area, which was all but deserted. "You wait here a moment," she whispered, getting to her feet. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," Hermione murmured as the other woman slipped away. She felt guilty at having sort of played the receptionists; but only slightly. Plus, it wasn't as if she'd lied about any of what she'd said; merely guessed that the young woman might be an emotional creature and perhaps taken advantage of that.

Draco would've done it for me, she told herself, which eased her guilt.

Mindy returned a few minutes later, and she wasn't alone. She brought with her –dragged, actually- a young man who was arguing with her quietly.

"Min, you're going to get me into so much trouble!" he said between gritted teeth as they approached.

"Oh hush, Clark," Mindy retorted, waving her free hand at her companion. "This girl needs our help. And you never do anything daring anyways."

"That's not true," the man identified as Clark replied hurriedly, defending himself. "I take plenty of risks. But not where my job is concerned! You know we're not supposed to give out any information about patients to anyone who isn't blood related and can prove it!"

Hermione ducked her head and tried to pretend like she couldn't hear every word they said. It wasn't like they were being loud; on the contrary, they were keeping their voices as low as possible. But after years of secret missions, many of which she'd had to depend upon her ears heavily, Hermione's hearing had developed to be better than the average person's.

By the time they finally reached her, Clark had submitted –grudgingly- to Mindy's demands.

"You're inquiring about a recent patient?" he said, more of a statement than a question.

"Yes," Hermione replied, donning the wounded-and-innocent mask she'd adorned with Mindy. "My," she let her lip quiver just enough, "my fiancé... he was in an accident some months back. I heard about this patient, and he sounded so much like him, that I had to come and see."

Clark fixed her with a measuring stare. "What's your name?" he asked quietly after a long moment.

"Hermione Granger," she answered, unsure of what that had to do with anything.

"That's... that's an unusual name," Clark continued softly, almost as if he was thinking aloud and not talking to her.

"Yes, I suppose it is." Hermione shot a questioning glance at Mindy, who could only shrug.

"You don't meet, or even hear of, for that matter, a lot of 'Hermiones.'"

"Clark," Mindy interjected, "what are you rattling on about?"

He looked suddenly up at Hermione, blue eyes bright with thought. "I'd hate to give you false hope, Ms. Granger," he began, "but... well, there is a chance that our John Doe is your missing fiancé."

Hermione inhaled sharply, and she dimly registered Mindy squeezing her hands together tightly in something akin to excitement.

"I'd rather not continue this conversation here, though," Clark said with a pained expression.

"The waiting room is empty," Mindy offered immediately, leading them to the room. Hermione took a seat on one of the plastic chairs with Clark sitting opposite her. Mindy posted herself at the door. There was no need for Hermione to tell her that a watch position was unnecessary; there was no way Hermione would spill the secret about her superior hearing, or the fact that, being a witch, she could prevent people from overhearing them.

Hermione hardly dared to breathe as Clark continued.

"One of the... peculiarities... about this particular patient was that he had terribly vivid nightmares. He would wake up screaming about curses and snakes and fire, and a number of things that were, we believe, manifestations of whatever trauma he had undergone before he came to us.

"You see," Clark said, with the air of someone proud to be very knowledgeable about a topic, "it's natural for the brain, after undergoing any sort of trauma, to change whatever the event was into something unreal. When whatever the victim is afraid of becomes something that does not exist, it is easier to recognize and so process."

"Since the fear isn't real, the event couldn't have been either," Hermione continued logically.

"Precisely," Clark said with a grim smile. "Which can make our work here difficult; the patients refuse to acknowledge their fears. Usually, through hard work and time, we can get them to realize and accept the truth. Your fellow, however... well, he was trickier than that."

"Meaning?" Hermione prompted, eyes wide.

"Well, he refused to believe that his dreams were not manifestations. He clung firmly to the idea that the things he dreamt of –like magic, evil wizards and giants- were real and were what had damaged him. This, of course, was absolutely ludicrous..."

If the situation hadn't been so serious, Hermione likely would have been fighting back a smile. As it was, it was all she could do to keep from crying.

"...But try as we might, we couldn't convince this man otherwise. And, as he was back to his health, physically, at least, and had regained all his motor skills and, with the exception of the dreams, he was mentally stable, we eventually had no further call to hold him here."

Hermione nodded slowly, trying to separate her emotions from her thoughts. It had to be him; who else could it have been, to dream about such things?

"What," Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice steady as she pulled herself together, "does my name have to do with anything, though?"

"Well, these dreams he had... he yelled things, a lot. One of the names he yelled often... well, it certainly sounded a lot like 'Hermione.'" Clark told her earnestly.

"He was having nightmares about me?" she asked with a gasp, her stomach tightening.

"Oh no!" Clark reassured her hastily. "No no, you've got me all wrong... no, he'd say your name though. Things like, 'Run, Hermione!' or simply your name. He also said things like, 'Leave her alone!' and other phrases along that line, and I can only assume that the 'her' he spoke of was... well, you."

Hermione bit her lip hard to keep back the sobs.

"Oh, god," she whispered, clutching her heart. "It's him; it's got to be him!"

She looked up at the young doctor before her with desperation in her eyes, so much that he recoiled with a start.

"Where is he now?" she asked.

"I... we don't know," Clark answered hesitantly. "As soon as we released him, that was it, he was gone. As far as I know, he hasn't kept in touch with anyone here; from what his nurses tell me, he kept to himself and wasn't friendly to any of the other patients or caretakers. From my own experience," he paused and bit his lip. "Well, once he overcame the initial fear, I suppose that 'surly' is an accurate enough term for him."

A tear trickled silently down Hermione's cheek and she half-cried half-laughed. "That's him alright! I think I was one of the few people he genuinely liked; most he was tolerant of at best."

Mindy, standing by the door, let forth a tiny squeal of excitement. "Isn't this wonderful?" she cried out. "Your fiancé is alive!"

Clark got to his feet hurriedly. "Well, nothing's for certain," he said, rushing to quell both women's excitement.

But Hermione had heard all she needed to hear. "It's him alright," she said, rising as well. She looked at the two muggles before her. "Thank you for your time and help. I only hope I can repay you some day."

Before either could say or do anything, Hermione was past them and out the door. Her eyes were clouded over with tears, her knees shook uncontrollably and her breath was ragged and uneven. She wanted to collapse, but one thought sustained her;

Draco is alive.

I look in the mirror and see your face

If I look deep enough

So many things inside that are just like you are taking over

"Hello, you've reached the humble abode of Hermione Granger. Unfortunately, I'm not available at the moment, but if you leave your name and number, I'll be certain to get back to you as soon as I possibly can! Talk to you soon!"

Beep!

Hermione glared at her answering machine. What a childish message. The Hermione who had recorded it was nothing like the Hermione who existed now. That Hermione had known nothing of pain and heartache; she'd been young and careless and naïve. But happy. Oh, how happy had that Hermione been!

Hermione collapsed on her couch, pressing her fingers to her temples. She wished she could just turn back time and be happy again. What she wouldn't give to be happy again.

Her ears dully registered the new voice sounding on her answering machine.

"Look, Hermione, this is the fifteenth time I've called this week alone. I don't know where you are, but I'm hoping that you're at least checking your messages... well, anyways, listen, I'm sorry but I'm... well, I'm going to have to let you go. When I said you could go look, I was thinking more along the lines of a week or two, not two months. I didn't want to fire you over the phone, but I guess I don't have any choice. I don't know any other way to get hold of you, short of sending out some of our agents to track you down, but well, you know we don't have a man or woman to spare... well, perhaps you've forgotten you've been gone so long... oh, wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that..."

Beep!

Hermione couldn't even bother to smile as Harry was cut off in the midst of his ramblings. So she was fired; whatever. Like trivial things like a job really mattered to her anymore. She felt dead inside anyways, why even bother living?

Crookshanks purred feebly from somewhere down by her feet. She looks down and read something like disapproval or scorn in his eyes. She sighed.

"I know," she told her longtime companion sadly. "I know I shouldn't give up... but it's just so hard going on with out him. I mean, I went on for months by just blocking all the pain out, and focusing solely on work, but then I saw him... or I thought I saw him... maybe this is all just one big long nightmare. Maybe I'll wake up, and find myself in his arms and I'll tell him my dream and he'll laugh and tell me that it will never come true, that he'll never leave me..."

Hermione rubbed at her itchy eyes. She hadn't cried in a week; she had no tears left to shed. She scratched Crookshanks absently as she continued.

"I thought he was alive for a while, I really did. The man those muggles told me about –God, I didn't know who else in the world it could have been! But I searched everywhere there possibly is to search, and no one had even seen him. Maybe he is alive, but he just didn't want to come find me. Maybe he left England; maybe he's gone to start a new life. Fall in love with some other woman and leave me behind here..."

She broke off as her voice cracked. She buried her fingers in her cat's mangy fur, eyes far away and glazed. Finally, they cleared, and she set her mouth in a firm line.

"Well, if he can move on, than I certainly can," she said determinedly. "First thing tomorrow, I'll go see Harry and beg him for my job back. In fact," she glanced out the window. "There's still some daylight left, I'm sure he's still at work... I'll go see him right now!"

She stood, grabbing her coat and slipping it on. She was halfway to the door when she heard a soft knocking sound.

Who could that be? she wondered. She crossed the distance to her door and opened it...

...And the world stopped spinning.

Hermione gasped as she looked upon the too-familiar visage before her. Her mind reeled and her knees turned to jelly beneath her. Before she could even think of what to say, she was cut off.

"I've been looking for you," the figure said, in a voice as choked with emotion as Hermione felt. "So long, I've been looking for you... I thought I was just imagining you, but I wasn't, you're real..."

A single tear rolled down Hermione's cheek; a tear so mingled with joy and love and grief and sorrow that it was more emotion that it was water.

"Oh, God," she murmured, as she hesitated, then threw herself into his arms. She buried her head into his neck, breathing deeply his own particular scent, one she had not smelled in such a long time.

"Oh, Draco..."

Alright, so a few notes before I go...

Firstly, I've been working on this story on and off for... oh, I don't even remember how long, but many many months indeed. Whenever I had a spare moment or didn't feel like working on one of my other stories, or had some particular inspiration, I'd usually come work on this. A page here, a paragraph there... over time it grew to this, the story totaling a grand (well, for me anyways) 42 and a quarter pages. That's the second largest single-chapter I've written, and definitely the longest single-chapter in a fanfiction story.

Apologies if, at times, it seems disjointed... that would most likely be due to the fact that I'd just stop writing at a random point and not pick it up again for a month or two. This has definitely been the weirdest writing process I've ever gone through, especially since I really had not set plan or structure for any of it. I heard the song, and as I listened, in my head it was like I was watching a music video. Later I was reading over the lyrics to the song and a sort of story popped into my head, and I thought it would make a good Hermione/Draco fic. I had some ideas, and the rough plot outline, but a lot of what actually wound up in this... mostly spur of the moment ideas.

Anyways, that's the brief little story-behind-the-story. Not that anyone but me probably cares... heh.

Sorry if the end seemed kind of rushed or weird... originally I was going to go with an ending where Draco really was dead, and that Hermione had just been imagining everything... but I am a sucker for the happy endings, and I just didn't feel like doing that to either of them. - I know it was a kind of crappy ending, but I just couldn't think of anything else... so, sorry... if anyone has any suggestions, I'd be glad to hear them.

Oh, and all the brain/trauma stuff that Clark told Hermione... I made that all up. I mean, it could be true (it makes sense to me that it would be) but I didn't do any research on that stuff, I just went with what seemed logical.

Hmm, I think that's pretty much all I have to say... thank you for reading this far, I know it's rather a lot. I toyed with breaking it up and posting it in a few chapters, but I rather like having it as just one big long story (hehe, perhaps I'm trying to be a little more like the wonderful T.H.W., queen of insanely long –but amazingly fantastic- stories ;o).

Thanks again for reading... if you could please drop me your opinions, I'd be greatly appreciative... reviews are wonderful things! Thank you!

Always,

Hollie Black