Hi everyone, I hope you're liking the beginning so far:) I love a reunion-type story so that's what inspired me to write this. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Cheers xx


"Do you hear me? I can't do this without you," a familiar, yet foreign voice echoed in her mind. It was nearly nighttime, and Hermione had been showering when suddenly her thoughts had been interrupted by what felt like someone else's thoughts. It had kind of sounded like—but it couldn't be. She turned off the water.

Her mind was surely playing tricks on her, it happened all the time. Truthfully, not a day went by where she didn't think of him, or any of her friends for that matter. Leaving them behind had been the hardest thing she'd ever done, and now she was imagining him talking to her. He'd moved on with Astoria Greengrass, last she'd checked. Hermione had been able to gain access to the Prophet through a connection at the Australian ministry. She'd done it to keep tabs on her friends—and Draco, of course.

When she'd found out about their engagement, Hermione nearly blew her entire cover and flooed back to England—until she realized that he seemed happy in the moving picture, and she would be acting selfishly. It had just been so heartbreaking to see the man she once planned on sharing her life with, holding hands, and being engaged to someone else—a beautiful girl too. Astoria Greengrass had been one of the better Slytherins, and if Draco was happy then she would try to be happy for them. She'd be lying if she didn't cry herself to sleep almost every night, knowing she could never see him again, or feel the warmth of him as he held her in his arms.

The day she'd "died", had been the worst day of Hermione's life.

They'd been battling surviving Death eaters when she heard someone yell out an old killing curse that she remembered reading about. It essentially vaporized its target, so she instinctively apparated to the nearest building to her, knowing everyone would think she'd perished. Unfortunately, the building had been a dwelling of several Death eaters who immediately recognized her and disarmed her. They'd tried torturing her for information and had been able to gain some because of the unforgivables' effect on her.

Kingsley Shacklebolt then came to her aid, citing her rescue as dumb luck as he'd simply been investigating the place due to suspicious activity. Her screams had been loud enough for him to hear, and the man was able to get her out.

"Everyone thinks you're dead," he'd told her, "I think it would be wise if it stayed that way."

"Have you lost it?" Hermione had turned on him, "I need to see my friends they must be freaking out."

"They are," Kingsley said honestly, "but you'll always be a target, and until we hunt them all down it would be wise for you to lay low."

"Hunt them all down? That could take years!"

"I would notify you immediately, and at the rate we've been going I don't think it would take that long," he countered, "I really think you should join your parents in Australia."

"How do you kno—" she began but thought better of it, as he just knew everything.

"Never mind," Hermione breathed, "I can't leave, my whole life is here."

"It will be here when you get back," he replied, "what if you stay, and more attacks occur because Death eaters target you and then someone you love gets hurt trying to protect you?"

"I… I wouldn't let that happen!"

"You were almost killed just today in battle, and even by those other Death eaters," Kingsley argued, "had I not been there, what would you have done?"

"Kingsley, you don't understand," she started breathing quickly, "I can't just leave like this, everyone I love thinks I'm dead right now I can't do that to them!"

"It would be easier to mourn you than to potentially give away your location should they be tortured or have occlumency used on them," he'd countered once more, "go to your parents Hermione, I'm serious you need to get away from all this, you need to be safe."

She'd argued more, but there had been no use. A part of her wanted to just tell him to sod off and just disregard everything he said. But, a bigger part of her couldn't risk anyone getting hurt simply because she was a target…it would be selfish, all because she didn't want to be away from them.

The move to Australia had nearly killed her. It had been nice to reunite with her parents after dissolving the memory charm she'd placed on them, but it did nothing to repress the constant ache in her chest. It had been over five years, but the pain never dulled, the memories never faded, and the love never lessened. While Hermione had been alive all this time, a part of her died that day.

More than anything, the girl just wished she could have seen Draco, at least one last time. She'd left so abruptly, and her mind had never been able to catch up to her body. Her mind was still in Britain, still with the love of her life and nothing in Australia could ever make her feel that whole again.

Of course, she'd tried contacting Kingsley, but he'd simply told her that it still was not safe. It was as Hermione originally feared—years gone by, everyone moving on with their lives and just thinking she was dead. She cried as she dried herself with a towel, thinking of all the things she'd missed out on, and all the time she was still losing. Even if she could ever go back, what would she have to go back to? Harry was married to Ginny, at least, that was what she gathered from the Daily Prophet. Ron was married to a French woman introduced to him by Fleur, and Draco… well he was on track to marry Astoria. They'd all moved on with their lives.

Hermione was stuck on the other side of the world, working at the Australian ministry under an alias. She had no dating prospects (nor did she want any), no friends, and essentially no form of happiness whatsoever.

As she dressed herself, Hermione thought about the last time she'd kissed Draco.

It had been the morning of that fateful day; they'd been eating breakfast when a piece of food got stuck in her teeth. She was mortified when Draco pointed it out to her, but instead of laughing he simply leaned over their shared table, took the piece of food out and gave her a soft kiss.

"There," he'd smirked, "all good."

"What would I do without you?" she smirked in response.

"Probably have a snack bar worth of goods just hanging around that pretty little mouth of yours."

"Arse," she slapped his arm.

Hermione smiled to herself while remembering their banter, it had always made her feel giddy when Draco was playful. It was one of the things that she loved most about their relationship. The ache in her chest sharpened at the thought of him having the same dynamic with Astoria. She wondered how he acted around the girl. Was he as charming? Did he give Astoria foot rubs after long days like he would with her? Would he cry to her about his father late at night? It pained her immensely to even consider it. It all just hurt so much to think about—yet hearing his voice in her mind had been the most painful experience she'd had in a long time. It had felt and sounded so real… like magic.

Over the years, she'd written him countless letters trying to explain her situation, trying to explain why she had to leave and stay gone, but nothing had ever been sent. The letters were more therapeutic than anything else, because just writing "Dear Draco," made her feel closer to him. Hermione felt pathetic, hiding away in some remote country across the world simply because a couple of rogue Death eaters were still on the loose.

What a cruel twist of fate it had been, to live in some isolated place after they'd won the war, and Draco could not be with her. Some contingency plan, she scoffed.


The next morning, Hermione prepared for her job at the ministry as she always did. It was November, so it was miserably hot outside. She would never get used to summers in Australia. She wore a white, linen blouse with a flowy taupe skirt and some espadrilles. She then cast her glamour, which turned her bushy brown hair to straight and blonde. Her brown eyes turned to a nearly sage-green and her creamy skin turned to that of an olive complexion. She fit in quite well here. Hermione's facial structure couldn't change much, but the glamour did its job.

Only the minister and a select few officials within the Australian ministry knew her real identity, and they had been sworn to secrecy by Kingsley. She'd been given a home, plenty of galleons and a new identity. She'd decided her new name would be Beatrice Wilkins, as her first name was still based off a Shakespearean heroine, and her last name matched her parents' aliases.

As she made her way into the Sydney-based Ministry, Hermione thought of how everyday felt the same. A grand collection of nothingness in a bottomless pit of pain and hardship. At 24 years of age, Hermione felt like she'd endured a lifetime of sacrifice and despair… but she carried on and still woke up every day and went to work. That was the role she'd needed to play, and quite frankly if she didn't have work to distract her, the girl would have certainly gone mad by now.

"G'day Wilkins," her colleague, Jack Collins greeted her, "ready for the meeting?"

Jack had taken a liking to her since her very first day on the job. They worked together in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. While it had been funny to think of someone fancying her in a form that was not her true one, Hermione had been glad that he'd never been too persistent. That would be much too awkward for her liking.

"Yes," she breathed, "I just hope MACUSA will have a more open stance this time around, their isolationist policies are a major problem for us."

"Agreed," he nodded as they made their way into the lift, "you'll do great though, everyone always listens to you!"

"I wish," she scoffed, "I think you're the only person who actually listens to what I have to say."

"Right," Jack chuckled, "that's why you're presenting today, and I am not."

They reached their designated floor and made their way to the conference room in silence. Hermione thought briefly about Jack's words and how it felt nice having someone care about the things she had to say. The pair found their seats around a large round table, which was placed in front of several large podiums where the representatives from MACUSA would undoubtedly present via holograph.

"G'day everyone," spoke Oliver Turner, the Director of their department, "there has been a change of plans for this meeting."

"Don't tell me it's cancelled," cried Christopher Jones, a senior manager, "this is already the rescheduled meeting—those bloody yanks."

"No, nothing like that," Turner reassured the old man, "we just have a few more guests joining us from other ministries."

"Which ones?" asked Hailey, one of Hermione—Beatrice's good work friends.

"MACUSA, Ministero della Magia Italiano, the Japanese ministry and the British ministry," he declared.

Hermione's heart danced at the last-mentioned ministry.

"Without further ado, let's begin," Turner concluded.

Suddenly, holographic forms of international wizards began to materialize. Three wizards from each ministry were seated at their respective podiums, and Hermione began scanning the individuals who would be presenting and debating alongside her—pointedly ignoring the still-forming members of the British ministry.

"Members of the department," Turner announced, "welcome to the Australian ministry."

Hermione's betraying eyes began to wander over to the British ministry's podium when she was suddenly snapped back into reality by Oliver.

"This is Beatrice Wilkins," he introduced her, "she is one of our best and brightest, surely one of the brightest of her age."

Hermione's cheeks must have flared in that moment, but she didn't even have time to process what he'd said, for what she was now seeing could not make her care for anything else in the world—because holographically standing barely a metre from her was the love of her life, Draco Malfoy.

The boy… or man, was sitting amongst his fellow peers, seemingly observing her from head to toe. She tore her eyes away from him then, surely Turner had just blown her cover with his consequential choice of words. Now was not the time for revelations, even if all she wanted to do was scream "DRACO, IT'S ME, I LOVE YOU AND ALWAYS WILL!"

Yeah, that simply wouldn't do right now.

"You flatter me too much Mr. Turner," Hermione nervously replied as she turned to face her audience, "Hello everyone, I hope you're all doing well!"

She was met with nods and hushed replies, which was typical for these kinds of meetings. What was not typical, was the tall blond man staring at her like he was trying to decipher the bloody Rosetta Stone!

"Before I begin, were there any questions or statements that someone would like to say?" she asked with a shaky voice.

Hermione was freaking out at this point. Her normally cool demeanour during presentations was in shambles because of Draco and there was literally nothing she could do about it. Saying anything would expose her identity, and not to mention, it could be dangerous and extremely unprofessional of her. Besides, she didn't even look like herself—he definitely would not believe her. He probably just thought Beatrice shared a resemblance to Hermione—her facial structure was unchanged, after all. She was probably reading into his staring way too much—she was the main speaker to be fair, where else would he be looking?

"I have a question for ," an Italian representative spoke, "will we have to ratify any agreements made today?"

Hermione could barely process Oliver's answer as she kept trying to sneak glances at Draco, who apparently couldn't take his eyes off her either. She felt hot and was doing her best to not have a full-blown panic attack in front of numerous international ministry delegates. This meeting would be brutal, she thought to herself.

"I have a question," said the man in question, and Hermione's breath went dry at the sound of his voice. It sounded exactly as she'd remembered it, exactly how it'd sounded last night while she showered. "Ms... Wilkins, is it?" His tone was odd, she observed, almost skeptical.

She coughed, "Yes?" At least, she sounded more confident than she felt… because she quite literally felt like she was going to burst.

"If we are to ratify any sort of agreement, wouldn't we need to sign documents?" he asked, in his beautifully aristocratic tone that made her weak. Gods, she missed him.

"Yes, we would need each ministry to select one representative to join us here in Sydney in order to sign the physical copy of the agreement," Hermione replied, using her own tone of voice that would make him go weak. She saw him visibly falter, and she knew he'd been affected…interesting.

Her heart was racing as she realized he wasn't saying anything but still wasn't taking his eyes off her either. Had he known? Had he just realized? It was too difficult to tell with him—Draco had always been the hardest person to read.

"Right," he finally replied breathily, "well, thank you Gra—Ms. Wilkins," he paled at his mistake. So did she, or at least she felt like it. Hermione was now in full on panic mode and needed to find a way out of this room. All she could do is offer Draco a half-smile before she looked away. It was too painful; all of this was taking a huge toll on her and it had only been a few minutes.

Hermione desperately needed to run some cold water on herself or just breathe. She turned to Turner. "Sorry Oliver," Hermione grabbed his arm gently, "if you don't mind taking over other questions until I begin, I just need to use the loo."

"Of course," he'd simply replied, completely unaware of her state of complete horror.

With that, the girl made sure to take her time exiting the conference room, otherwise it could raise even more suspicion. Draco either knew something or was suspicious—why else would he have almost called her 'Granger'?

She must have been on his mind. Merlin help her.


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