Hermione was brought back from her memory by arms wrapping themselves around her. She was conscious of tears falling on her cheeks.

"Granger… I want you to take deep breaths," Draco whispered in her ear. "It'll help to calm you down." She complied. His thumbs brushed her cheeks, wiping away her tears. They moved down to her shoulders, massaging them gently.

"Why are you doing this?" She turned to look at him, and noticed he had hurriedly put his trousers on, but his pullover lay forgotten somewhere in the room. His chest was smooth, hairless, unlike Ron's, and his stomach was taut, something that obviously came from hours in a gym. Funny, she thought, that I could be thinking of such things about someone I so openly despised. But do I despise him anymore? He's so different now, so caring. But he's still a Malfoy. Why does he have to be so handsome?

"Because it helps," he replied. "Now if you turn around again, I can carry on."

"I don't mean the massage. I mean this. The caring bit."

"Because… I never had anyone there when my father died, or when I lost someone I loved." He looked away from her.

"Who? How?"

"It doesn't matter who or how."

"Tell me?"

"As long as you don't judge."


"It was in the summer, before the end of the war. I'd managed to get away to Italy. I love it there, and I was going to meet Anna-Maria. I had been dying to see her, but hadn't been able to get away. All the way there, all I could think about was asking her to marry me. By the time I saw her, I was a jittering wreck.

She was standing there, her flowing, curly black hair pulled up into a ponytail, green eyes glittering. Her features were brought out perfectly by her dress, emerald, low-cut and figure-hugging.

Our time together was brief however. I had asked her to marry me, and not a week later, she was killed by Death Eaters. I was in shock. Her father had refused to join the Death Eaters, and as punishment, they killed his daughter. But they had not only punished her father; they had punished me.

I hunted down every last one who killed her. I wanted revenge for her."


Now it was Hermione who was holding Draco. His tears fell down his face, and she wiped them away.

"I've never told anyone this before." Hermione began. "When I found out about how and why Ron and Harry died, I wanted to end it all myself.

They had been fighting against Voldemort. The two of them knew that we at the Ministry were rushed off our feet, and had heard me saying that we hoped that Voldemort would meet his ends soon, and took it upon themselves to track him down, and try to kill him.

The battle, I was told, was quick, all three uttering the Killing Curse within moments. Voldemort had been stopped, but at such a great loss.

Ron and I had buried our only child, a lovely five year old girl called Ophelia, barely a month before. I was so shocked, and hurt."

"Merlin, Hermione…" Draco whispered. He was surprised that he had used her first name, and that she had stayed so calm throughout her retelling of loosing her husband and best friend.

"And since then, I've never allowed myself to get close to someone, physically or emotionally…" She looked into his eyes. "But, even though I let you into my home, hating you, I seem to think you're the only person who can understand my hurt…" She pressed herself against him, urgently, desperately seeking closeness. "And maybe you understand how lonely I've been…"

Draco nodded; he knew just how she felt. He lowered his face so it was closer to hers, not breaking the eye contact with her.

"You're hurting me, Hermione…" he whispered.

"Oh, Merlin! I'm sorry, Draco!" she mumbled, moving back from him.

"I don't mind," he pulled her into him. "I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you. And now I think I should say thank-you…" His lips came down on hers, and she found, to her slight shock but not disappointment, that she was kissing him back.