Disclaimer: I own my very own copy of Harry and the Potters self-titled release, but alas, I don't own the characters in this fic.

Now what, wondered Draco Malfoy, on earth was that? Last he'd checked he'd practically had Granger in his back pocket -- well, at the very least, in his pants. And today? Well, he just couldn't be sure what happened today.

I mean, yeah, he was definitely sure that bint Granger had left him -- effing abandoned him -- to teach Arithmancy to a class full of his adoring students.

And, honestly, let's just clear a few things up right here and now: he knew nothing -- absolutely nothing -- about Arithmancy. Nothing. And if the truth were to be told, he really didn't know all that much about Potions either. Snape had always just let him slip by because he was, like, the Pureblooded-Wizard-In-Training-Extraordinaire (capital letters and all!).

Anyway, he simply ended up letting the whole class go early, telling them to read what ever chapter they were currently on. There really hadn't been anything else he could tell them to do. They were already on to him by this point in the school year anyway; you know, the whole him-not-really-knowing-shit-about-potions. However, they hadn't brought their concerns to him or anyone else, for that matter, so far. If he had to guess, he'd say they probably felt bad for him or something. Not that that made much sense, but there it was:

Poor, misguided Prof Mal (a nickname, by the way, he despised -- maybe that was how his pupils were getting back at him, with ridiculous names for him) who doesn't have anybody to love him.

Well, fuck that. Seriously. Fuck it. He didn't need anyone to love him. He didn't even need this job. He had himself, all in one piece (not complete, per se, but close enough) after the war. And at the end of the day, that's all that mattered. Well, that and somehow getting Granger to be solely his. Which, now, seemed as if it was going to be slightly more complicated than he'd originally anticipated.

...Anyway, or maybe the kids were just like, "Hell yeah! We're all so totally gonna ace this stupid course 'cause our professor has no idea of just what it is we're supposed to be learning! Yes!" Then, of course, after realizing this, they would've gone around high-fiving everyone within sight.

Stupid kids.

Stupid Malfoy.

Stupid Granger. Yeah! Stupid Granger. This was her fault.

Merlin, he hated her -- wanted her -- didn't need her -- had to have her -- would have her.

One way or another.

He had only hoped, in the beginning, that it would be a slightly less messy process. Now, however, it seemed all bets were off and things were going to get ugly.

If he wanted any chance to win her in this game, he most definitely needed to clear the field of any extra players.

So what did that mean? Well, it was something like this: Weasley was going down. And soon, too. Draco really couldn't risk him (somehow) randomly showing up outside her door. He needed to be eliminated from the picture.

Now it was only a matter of finding Weasley.

o o o

The worst things to handle are the moving photographs. Never in all my years in the magical world had I truly gotten used to them. It was one thing if the photograph was current - i.e.: the people in it were still alive... but those photos containing representations of what-once-was were almost just too much to handle. It may seem odd, I know, but for some reason muggle photographs just seem more fitting for the deceased.

However, in the muggle world, I am not. I live in a world where the memories I captured throughout my young-adult life are forever waving back at me through frames and out of albums. More than just images get captured through this form of photography, entire personalities are caught and forever held in shiny parchment.

Somehow it just seems that their absence from the living realm would be easier to accept if I could look back at a still representation of what we all had been. Instead, when flipping through photo albums, I find myself watching individual pictures:

Inevitably, Harry will push his hair about, in an effort to either simply flatten it out or cover his scar. Ron will always do something absurd, like putting bunny ears on Harry or the next closest victim. I am always elbowing Ron, whilst still holding my winning smile for the camera, and mumbling through gritted teeth for him to "just grow up, already!"

Of course there are the few where I'm sneaking glances at Ron out of the corner of my eye, while he stood there perfectly oblivious, or so I thought at the time. Now it's almost painful (not in an emotional way, more of an embarrassing one) to see how obvious we both were in matters regarding each other.

Then there's the one Harry ambled out of just before the picture was to be taken. In it, I turn to Ron and give him a small smirk, which he returns (without his ears even faintly turning red) and in a burst of Gryffindor courage, he (not so gracefully) swings his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a half-hug. After that it was impossible not to beam at the camera.

There are also the ones of myself and Ginny, we're forever looking at each other, making sure the other doesn't have something ridiculous, like remnants from lunch, stuck on her face -- I guess growing up with Ron had lasting consequences on both of us -- before we turn our attention to the camera and smile.

Later there are ones of Harry and Ginny, ones Harry told me to take good care of and make sure they didn't fall into the wrong hands. The wrong hands, of course, being someone from the other side. It was really the only solace he could have about the entire situation. He knew being with Ginny would put her in harm's way, but he also had learned (the hard way, might I add) that he really wasn't who he wanted to be without her by his side, so to speak -- they actually didn't get a whole lot of time together alone.

There are dozens of pictures of the two of them, because they knew time was fleeting, that every moment should be lived to the fullest, that things simply shouldn't and couldn't be left to say some other day. We all knew "some other day" wasn't a viable option anymore. And I guess Colin Creevey would've rather been damned than let any photo opportunity he spotted go without being taken advantage of.

So there are photos of the rare moments where the two were seemingly alone, curled up together on an oversized floral-patterned couch, Harry playing with Ginny's long hair while she softly whispers something only he can hear. Or the one of them walking down the small path outside the burrow, towards the garden, hand in hand.

I don't look at the pictures that were taken after Ron and I had (finally) confessed our feelings for each other. In those pictures I knew I would see a future in both of our eyes that never came to pass. We held such hope for the future, even though we fully knew at the time it was in vain.

Yet, I know those pictures still exist in that small mulberry colored album I have tucked away in the bottom of a box of old keepsakes. And somehow that's enough, just knowing proof of those days exist somewhere on this earth.

However, there are no pictures of Fred and me. Somehow the lack of photographic evidence of an "us" sometimes makes me wonder if there ever was one.

Were we ever "we"? There always had been something so much bigger than anything either one of us could've ever imagined, constantly looming over us and taking up space in our minds and hearts.

I mean, when were we ever just "Fred and Hermione," those two crazy love-struck kids?

That's right. Never. And it was all because of the war.

But, then again, if it hadn't been for the war I never would've ended up with Fred anyway. Would I've?

Those sorts of questions could drive a person mad. I'm sure they'll take me to my breaking point some day. It's only a matter of when.

Maybe going mad would be a nice change of pace. After all, people who are mad don't know they're mad, do they?

Maybe if I constructed a world of my very own, things could be just how I wanted them.

My world would be one centered around Hogwarts. The Hogwarts of my past, though. The one where Harry and Ron would play endless games of Wizard Chess while I sat curled up on a squashy chair reading a book and simultaneously eavesdropping on the twins and Lee Jordan develop their newest harebrained scheme. Ginny would be there too, maybe sitting beside Harry, just watching the game unfold. Dean and Seamus would be playing a game of Exploding Snap in a corner, and for once I wouldn't scold them for being overly loud. Oliver Wood would be at a table with Angelina and Katie, coming up with some sort of strategy for the upcoming Quidditch match against Ravenclaw. Lavender and Parvati would be doing something vain, like painting each other's nails and gossiping about how Neville finally got up the nerve to ask Luna for a date to Hogsmeade. Neville would be sitting in a chair, lost in a world known only to him, maybe a place where he and Luna were grown and living out their own personal happily-ever-after.

It would be a world before Umbridge, before the Tri-Wizard Tournament, before Dumbledore's death. It would be... a former state of perfection. Something we'd been so close to in the past, but had no idea at the time it would forever be remembered as a time when things were as good as they ever were going to be.

I'd like nothing more than to return to such a time. Even if it never really had ever existed.

o o o

It's not hard to find someone in the wizarding world as long as the person who's looking knows specifically whom they're looking for.

A few carefully worded spells directed at a blank piece of parchment is all it takes for the page to fill with black ink, outlining roads, rivers, railroads... producing a very accurate map of the surrounding area where the specific person is located.

This process is especially easy if the person being sought after doesn't know enough to make themselves unplotable. You know, someone who maybe lost their memory and didn't know to keep a low profile because there was a deranged wizard looking for him. Yeah, that kind of person.

It was actually a small marvel in itself that Granger hadn't tried this in the first place. But that's the problem with trusting everything you hear, you end up believing things that aren't necessarily true. But still, it was odd that she, in some fit of denial, hadn't tried a similar spell.

Maybe Granger just didn't do denial?

Whatever the answer was, Draco Malfoy didn't care. He was going to get to the Weasel before she did and then it would be just as if he had died years ago.

The world would certainly be none the wiser.

He was bloody brilliant sometimes. Handsome too, but that really wasn't being called into question anyway.

But yes, there it was, a map pointing him right to his prey.

It was almost too simple.

But then again, there really wasn't anything wrong with simple. It could be very nice and tidy. Granger liked tidy things. He could now see her appreciation hadn't been misplaced.

Why, he could have this little problem taken care of before nightfall.

Was he slightly deranged?

Well, perhaps the better question would be: Has he ever been okay?

No one can know for sure, and besides, that's a story for a different time. For now the world will sit back and wait for his next move.

A/N: Thanks to my reviewers for taking the time to ...uh... review!

screwtheperfectlife: Yeah, it is all a bit depressing, isn't it? However, I'm pretty sure I'm not letting on to who Mr. Weasley is until the end... if he makes it that far, that is. :)

AstriannaGlaze: Very good thoughts about Sir Amnesiac. I actually hadn't considered the accidental magic, but it would probably happen, wouldn't it:)

Recommendations (even though no one's been asking): There are a few really good post-HBP fics floating around out there. For some reason I'm compelled to share with you a few of my favorites: "Haven" by trieste and "Ends of the Earth" by SilverStar24. They're both of the Dramione variety... and I know a few of you readers are like waaay against that, but if it makes it any better, there really hasn't been any Dramione action yet. ;) Also, anything by bk is well worth your time. :) -- Also, if you're as big of an angst fan as I am, I would recommend you read the book "The Handmaid's Tale" by Margaret Atwood. It's a freaking angst-fest and I love it.

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