Disclaimer: I own nothing – if I did I wouldn't be writing fan fiction would I? And the title well… you figure it out

AN: Alright, I know I don't have a good track record when it comes to updating my stories, but this time I will… I swear! This plot bunny attacked me and is holding me hostage until I finish. I'm not promising how frequent these updates will be because I'm just an insanely busy person… but I shall do my very best to update whenever possible. My first real attempt at anything DM/HG … I'll warn you now that this is going to be a darker story, so if you're looking for something lovely and fluffy I suggest you turn back now … because this isn't it. Anyway, Reviews are greatly appreciated and constructive criticism is always welcome.

Under the Wing of a Dragon

It's funny how when everything in life seems to be perfect fate comes along and screws it all up. Hermione Granger was a 24-year-old woman who led a 'charmed' life – in more ways than one. She had the perfect job, the perfect friends, the perfect apartment, and it seemed as though things were only going to get better.

Hermione graduated from Hogwarts as Head girl and with enough job offerings to spread amongst her entire graduating class. She sampled a few different career paths before finally becoming the most revered member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. After a few short weeks in the department she was promoted to head of her own field unit and she couldn't have been more pleased. It was a rewarding job and she was able to use her many talents to help the people involved.

Her two best friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, had gone on to successful careers as Aurors. They wrote each other constantly to catch up and were always sure to see each other at least once a month. Harry had even helped her with the down payment for the beautiful London flat she now called home.

She must have known somewhere deep inside that it was too good to last, that the higher she climbed the farther she had to fall. With Lord Voldemort still at large there were always risks and the papers reported an endless stream of attacks. For the most part, however, the people attacked had simply been faceless names in the paper. Hermione, like most of the wizarding world, had lost a friend or two, but she had expected that, been prepared for it even. What she hadn't been prepared for was for the war to suddenly hit so close to home.

Under any other circumstances it might have been pathetic for a 24-year-old woman to sit huddled on the floor as tears gushed forth from her eyes. She clutched a letter in her hand as she rocked back and forth sobbing so loudly that she was certain the neighbors would hear despite the numerous silencing charms she'd placed upon the apartment. But the noise didn't matter, none of it did. All that mattered in that moment was the letter she was clinging to for dear life. The words were empty and cold providing her with little to no comfort but it was all she had to remind herself that this was real, that it wasn't simply a nightmare she could wake up from.

Through eyes drowning in tears she read the letter over once more hoping against hope that the words might have changed but they were the same. Pointed script plainly spelled out for her that she would not be seeing her parents again.

Dear Miss Granger,

It is my unhappy duty to inform you of the passing of your parents, Dennis and Judy Granger. On the evening June 3rd they fell victim to a Death Eater attack at their home in Cambridge. I have been assured that their deaths were quick and painless. I do hope that you can find this a small comfort in your time of grief.

My Deepest sympathies,

Matilda Astilbe

Ministry of Magic

War Department

It was a short letter that left Hermione with more questions than answers. But for Hermione the pain was still too overwhelming to even think about searching for the missing answers – they could wait until after the funeral.

Funeral. The word brought more tears to her eyes just as she thought she might finally have finished crying. She was quite certain that she wouldn't have a single drop of fluid left in her body if she kept up like this.

She could think of only one way to drown her problems at the moment, but that required standing, and if there was one thing Hermione Granger had no desire to do just then, it was move. Yet the pain consumed her so fully that she could see no other way to numb it, and so she stood from the ground, dropping the parchment on the floor as she stumbled into the kitchen.

Upon reaching her refrigerator she wrenched open the freezer and dug beneath the frozen bags of vegetables until she had found what she was looking for. She set the gallon of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream upon the counter and pulled a spoon from a near by drawer. After setting herself on one of her bar stools and taking a few bites she decided something was missing. She was in pain and ice cream just wasn't going to be enough this time.

After a quick trip to her liquor cabinet she set herself on the stool once more and began eating the ice cream straight out of its container. What did it matter? She fully intended to finish the whole gallon anyway, pain such as this required desperate measures. She alternated her spoon-fulls of ice cream with gulps of scotch straight out of the bottle – Novocain for the soul.

An hour later Hermione was staring at the bottom of an empty gallon of ice cream feeling no happier than she had before. Apparently ice cream wasn't even close to being enough this time. In fact, rather than numbing her pain, she was quite certain she felt even more miserable than she had earlier. She could now add a sick gurgling feeling in the pit of her stomach to her ever-growing list of reasons why she hated the world. Apparently Scotch and Ice cream didn't mix as well as she might have hoped.

Despite the face that she had no desire to move from her perch in the kitchen, Hermione's stomach suggested that a trip to the bathroom might be advisable and she decided it wouldn't be terribly wise of her to refuse. She stumbled across the kitchen and into her living room managing not to knock over too much furniture in the process, and finally reached her bathroom. She made a beeline for the toilet before collapsing on the tile before it and emptying the contents of her stomach into the water bellow. Ice cream and scotch, she decided, were much less pleasant when you were forced to revisit them in reverse.

Somewhere between bouts of retching an inebriated Hermione managed to register the sound of knocking on her bathroom door. She had every intention of telling whomever it was to bugger off because she was in no mood for company. Didn't they understand that she was grieving? Her parents had just died, what unfeeling son-of-a…

Her thoughts were cut off as the door opened a crack and Harry stuck his head inside. Hermione had the decency to feel slightly ashamed of her train of thought but she didn't dwell on it long before the urge to heave came upon her once more.

She felt someone move to hold back her hair and was dimly aware of Ron's voice muttering something along the lines of "Bloody hell Hermione." After what seem like ages she sat back from the toilet and looked up at the pair who had come to visit her.

Ron knelt beside her and this sudden movement almost sent her careening back towards the toilet begging for mercy. She felt his hand rub her arm in what should have been a comforting gesture but instead only served to send her into a fit of tears once more. She collapsed into Ron burying her face in his shirt as she sobbed.

"It's my fault. If it wasn't for me they'd still be alive – they were just muggles!" Her words came out in a pinched voice as she struggled to speak between her sobs. "It's not fair!" She kept repeating the statement over and over again, hoping that somehow it would help.

The last thing she was aware of was Harry's voice somewhere above her saying "I know Hermione, I know. But we'll get the bastards who did it… I promise." And finally sleep took her.

Hermione Awoke the next morning in a less than pleasant state. Her head ached, her stomach gurgled ominously, the back of her throat burned, she had a bitter taste in her mouth, and she was quite certain that if she turned her head too quickly the room would have a hard time catching up.

Warily she threw one leg over the side of her bed, curious as to how she'd made it there, and chanced sitting up. The room shifted threateningly and her head swam for a moment, but she felt otherwise stable so she decided it would be wise to put something into her stomach.

She padded to the kitchen in a daze, her movements were less than graceful but she didn't care. She staggered into the kitchen only half aware of what she was doing and wrenched open the refrigerator door. Scrambled eggs, they were always the best food for hang-overs. Not that she'd had many in her time, but enough to know that eggs were what her stomach wanted after she'd consumed more than her share of alcohol.

Surprisingly enough she broke only one egg in her attempt to juggle three eggs and a carton of milk all at once. So that meant only two eggs, because she certainly wasn't walking back to the fridge for another.

She pulled a skillet from amidst a tower of other pans in one of her cabinets with minimal difficulty. This was fortunate because she wasn't sure her brain could handle the cacophony of sounds she usually created when trying to retrieve the desired pot or pan. Her mother used to joke that Hermione was at war with all cooking paraphernalia, and that it was winning hands down.

She paused a moment in her movements, tears threatening to fall once more. Crying would definitely not help her already uncomfortable state in any way shape or form. She willed herself not to think as she cracked the eggs into the pan, added the milk, and generous amounts of salt and pepper.

Her father had never put enough pepper in her eggs.

Hermione spun quickly and threw the spatula she had just pulled from a drawer with a painful scream. The spatula, however, met resistance before it clattered to the floor.

"Ouch… blimey Hermione, there's no need to get violent. I only stayed because I wanted to be sure you were alright."

Harry bent down to pick up the offending spatula before padding into the kitchen. Hermione noted the quickly growing welt he was rubbing on his forehead and felt slightly guilty for her little outburst.

"Sorry" she half mumbled, glad, for the moment, to have a distraction of some kind. She took the spatula from Harry and cleaned it off before setting it to work cooking her eggs with a flick of her wand. "I didn't realize anyone else was here."

"After the way Ron and I found you last night? There was no way we were leaving you here alone." Noting that she wasn't in the mood to be reminded of why they had come over last night, Harry attempted to lighten the mood, "We played rock, paper, scissor to see who would stay."

"And you lost"

"No actually, I won." He grinned; she glanced up and awarded him with a weak half smile in return. His face sobered quickly at the ill concealed pain in her eyes and he moved to hug her.

The sympathetic way he held her brought it all crashing down on her again; it would almost have been better if he had been indifferent. At least then she could have found a way not to think about it, but his sympathy wouldn't let her focus on the menial task of making eggs. It forced her to think about exactly why she was making those eggs. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again and she knew that if she let them fall she wouldn't be able to stop.

She almost wanted to laugh at the situation; she'd held Harry like this once, right after Sirius had died. Now here she stood, crying to the boy who had lost more than she could ever imagine. It felt wrong somehow.

"This can't be real." It was a quiet statement; Harry almost didn't hear it because she spoke into his t-shirt. He would have known what she'd said though, even if he hadn't heard it, because he knew just how she felt. He hugged her tighter and noticed her shoulders begin to shake slightly as she let herself cry.

"This happens to other people, not to me, not to my family." She knew she sounded selfish, especially because this was Harry, but just then she didn't care.

"I know Hermione, I know. And we'll get the bastards, I swear we will, no matter what it takes." She nodded into his chest as she continued to cry.

She wasn't sure how long they stood like that before she heard Harry's voice, almost half afraid to speak and break the silence. "Um, Hermione… I think you're eggs are done."

Reluctantly she pulled away from him to see that her eggs were indeed done, the pan now hovering a good six inches off the stove to prevent them from burning.

Harry set himself at the small counter in the kitchen beside her as she ate, watching her closely. It made her almost uncomfortable; she knew she must look awful from all the crying she'd been doing. She set her fork down when she finished and turned to him, looking more exhausted than he'd ever seen her. He wasn't sure he should ask his next question, but he figured she could hardly get worse at this point.

"So, um, any idea about the funeral?"

Gods, she had a funeral to plan. How on earth could she even begin to throw together something worthy of her parents in such a short amount of time? She shook her head wearily.

"Well you know Ron and I are here to help with whatever we can, all you have to do is ask."

She nodded. She was tired of talking, tired of crying, tired of feeling anything at all. She moved to pick up her plate but Harry stopped her.

"No, I'll do it, you need a bath. I'll just do the dishes and head out. Floo me if you need anything, and don't be surprised if Ron drops by later, he was worried out of his mind about you."

Hermione smiled gratefully at her best friend and went to draw herself a bath. Maybe a bubble bath, she needed to relax.

Her mother had always favored bubble baths…

TBC

A/N: Well, there you have it! I know it starts off somewhat slow, but it will pick up, just be patient with me… we've got a bit of exposition to get through! Anyway… love it? Hate it? Hit that review button and let me know!

Until next time

-Heden