Bang, crash, thud. An elbow to a rib, a bag to the face, a glare at those who didn't move. Hermione Granger was a whirlwind as she spun around corners, charged through mingling students like an uncontrollable force of nature. People exclaimed, startled at the witches uncharacteristic behaviour. But Draco Malfoy knew. She'd cracked it. Hermione Granger had finally cracked it.


The wait was excruciating, like time had been stretched too thin. Hermione stood before Headmistress McGonagall as she reviewed her findings, the magic she had not been able to crack. Until today. The day of the Ball, incidentally, the last day before the Christmas break, but all the arrangements were in place, every detail accounted for.

McGonagall put down the papers. Inexplicably, she was reminded of the first time she's encountered the mighty witch before her; the day she'd learned that she, Hermione Jean Granger, was a witch. She'd told her herself, and she would be forever grateful that the woman had given her her identity, validated who she was and all the strange things that had happened in her short life. Which was why she was here, asking for permission. Needing for the woman to believe in her, as she had for so many years.

"Everything appears to be in order. You did a most brilliant job, Hermione, I must say."

"I can't take all the credit. Draco was instrumental in putting the final pieces together."

"Draco? Draco Malfoy? I see." A glint of a smile appeared, but it faded in an instant.

"Did you know that after Professor Dumbledore died and I was given his position, I didn't want this office?"

Hermione had definitely not been expecting this. "No, I didn't know that, Headmistress."

"It felt strange sitting behind his desk, in his chair. I felt guilty, like I was doing something wrong, like a child going in the cookie jar when they aren't supposed to. But then I realized that this space was now mine, for however long, and that working from my old office would not change anything, would not bring Professor Dumbledore back. We cannot cling to the past in the present, cannot make everything how it used to be, no matter how hard we try. But that is nothing to be upset about, for it is simply part of life. Do you understand why I'm saying this to you?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course. You're saying that although I may be able to restore my parent's memories, they may not be as they were, we may not be as we were before I erased them."

"I knew you would." McGonagall placed two Portkeys on the desk: a cracked snow globe, although it had no snow left in it's glass shell, and an old jam jar "I had this made for you, just in case. It should take you to the address you gave me. Your teachers will be notified of your absence. The second Portkey will activate when you wish and return you. Good luck, Hermione."


It was summer here. Bright, blistering sunshine, although her parents had put up Christmas decorations in their yard, and a substantial wreath hung from the door, the scent of pine and berries and evergreens meeting her approach. Through the window, she could just spy a Christmas tree. But these were not the decorations from her youth, the ones her mother had kept from her own childhood, the wooden figurines so delicate that she'd preserved them in old butter tubs. There was not a star on the tree, but an angel. There were no cookies on the table, the whole house smelling like cinnamon and apple from the stuffing they all adored. This was all wrong.

Hermione knocked on the door. Glancing down at her feet, she realized that they had placed fake snow on the ground. As if, deep down, they missed the white Christmases of home. Her parents were not the only ones.

The door opened. "Merry Christmas," her father greeted, "can I help you?"

Hermione plastered on her best smile. "Yes, you can," she said, and brought out her wand.


Standing before her parents, Hermione reached out with her magic. The radio was still playing Wizzard's 'I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day.' How very fitting, since it was her favourite. How many times had she danced along to it with her father in the living room, happy when he'd gotten the time off? How many times had she watched Muppets Christmas Carol with them both, knowing every single line? She would have that all again, as long as this went right.

The problem with memory is that it's selective; the brain can sometimes choose what it wishes to retain, and what it would rather forget. But no memory is ever truly lost, only sealed up, like a white sheet placed over a piece of furniture. All Hermione had to do was pull back the sheet and re-forge the neural pathways to those memories. In theory. Sending up a prayer, Hermione once again began.


Hours ticked by. The radio host changed. The cat came in through the door and Hermione's back began to ache. But all of that was secondary, was irrelevant, when her parents opened their eyes and at last saw her, saw their daughter in front of them.

"Hermione?" her mother queried.

"Hi, mum. It's me," was all she could offer.

Her parents stood up warily, looking bewildered and confused. She had expected this. The two glanced at one another, a very married look, the events of the last few months falling into place with their own lives.

"Why?" her father asked. "Why did we not remember you? Why did we move here, to Australia? Who did this?"

"I did. Now I need to tell you why."


Her parents were silent for several moments. Hermione just sat there, picking at her nails, watching the hands on the clock, feeling trapped. If her mum and dad had not been watching her like a pair of hawks, she would have paced, opened the window, done something to occupy herself. But she just sat there and took their silent judgement like the Gryffindor lioness she was.

"A War? You went and fought in a war?" Monica Wilkins screeched.

"Mum, I can explain-"

"Let me finish," her mother snapped, and Hermione physically flinched as if she had been slapped. Her mother had never raised her voice like that at her daughter, had never had a reason to. "You fought in battles, could have died, and we would not have known? Would have gone about our lives without realizing that our child was dead?"

"No," Hermione said bluntly. "No, you would not have known."

"How, how could you do that to me? To your father?"

"I did it to protect you."

"That is not your job!" her father roared. "My father fought in the war, lost friends because of it. You are a child, and you just merrily skipped into battle for people you don't even know!"

"I will have you know that if it wasn't for me, wasn't for my friends, you would be dead. So many people would be dead, if I had just stayed at home and buried my head under the covers. Innocent people needed me, and it was my duty to protect them!"

"No it is not! You should never have done this, should have let someone else fight that stupid war!"

"That war was not stupid!" Hermione shouted, griping yeh arms of her chair savagely. "I watched friends die, right in front of me. People I cared for and respected and loved like blood. I could never turn my back while innocent people, people like me, died because other wizards and witches thought that they did not deserve their magic. You taught me to always stand up for what I believed in; why are you so surprised?"

"On the school playground, in a classroom, yes. Not on some battlefield, dying for your cause like some martyr. What did you expect? A pat on the back for your bravery? A medal for your idiocy and disregard for me and your mother!"

"Darling," her mother soothed, but her father was having none of it.

"No, love, no. Hermione needs to hear this." He once again turned to her, and just from the expression on his face, Hermione knew that their relationship would forever be fractured.

"I thought that we had raised you better, that you loved us. But you put strangers above your own parents, after everything we did for you. You know, most parents would have recoiled if they found out their child was a witch, had magic. But not us. Never, because we loved you, and you were still our little girl. But you're not anymore. You're not ours."

"You have no idea what it was like, erasing myself from your life, as if I had never been born. Worried sick for months, hoping that what I had done was enough, that the Death Eaters wouldn't find you and torture you until you begged for death, just to punish me, punish me for defying their master. I was tortured though, repeatedly, but I knew that it was worth it, that the scars it would leave, both mentally and physically, would be worth it, so long as you were both okay. That you were safe, and happy, even if I had to die to ensure it."

"That was not your decision to make. You betrayed us, Hermione, in a most fundamental way. When I look at you, all I see is a stranger. I don't see my daughter in you, don't see the little girl I taught to read, who I watched Disney Princess movies with, taught how to ride a bike or tie your shoes. You're not welcome here, at least for now. Go, Hermione. Go back to your precious school and spend time with your family, which it's now evidently clear is not us anymore."


There was carolers in the streets. Their quiet voices floated to her, but she didn't hear them. Didn't see or hear or feel anything as she stumbled through the fake snow like a drunk, like someone who had been shot and was bleeding out. She was, in a way; her heart was bleeding out of her chest, an unstoppable river of hope and love and happiness, seeping out of her. The Christmas lights at the front were an indistinguishable swirl of colours, bursts of blue and red and green going off like fireworks through her closed eyes. Hermione gripped the jar Portkey with fingers she could not feel and went back to Hogwarts.


"You were right, Headmistress," was all she said as she placed the Portkeys on the desk.


"Mr Malfoy? Mr Malfoy,' McGonagall called impatiently. Draco startled from his hazy stupor, blinking at the familiar surroundings of the library, waiting for Hermione to get back. At her tone, he was instantly alert.

"What is is? What's wrong? Did something happen? Is Hermione okay?" Draco internally cursed at his babbled word vomit. He needed to keep his wits about him.

"No, Mr Malfoy, nothing of the sort. Miss Granger did not tell me the particulars, but she returned looking very upset. I think that her parents were not accepting or understanding of their daughters choices regarding their safety."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Draco inquired, for McGonagall was not one to put much stock in Hogwarts hallway gossip.

"Because you helped her with this project, even when there was nothing in it for you. Because she spoke your name with pride and affection when she told me you had helped her. Because Miss Granger needs a friend, and I think you are the friend she needs."


Narcissa Malfoy strolled through the winding halls of Hogwarts, smiling at the memories her former home conjured. Since she was a major donor for the Ball and wanted to see how doing, she had arrived earlier than she had previously planned. Turning a hallway, Narcissa halted in her tracks as if she had been hit with a Jelly-Legs Jinx. Sitting in a corner, crying into her son's robes, was Hermione. Draco was holding her, a look of concern and worry and anger and affection storming across his features. It was a look that made her smile, and confirmed what she had suspected for quite some time now. But this moment was not for secrets.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked him.

Draco smiled at the girl, and it lit up his eyes, turned him into the boy she had raised, raised with love and hope in his heart. "Intuition. Few know about this place, and after McGonagall alluded to what happens, I knew that you wouldn't want to be around other people. But I thought that you might not want to be on your own, and here was the first logical choice."

"Show off," Hermione muttered.

"Always," he replied. Draco drew a breath. "For what it's worth, I'm so sorry, Hermione. I knew you just wanted to be a family again, and your parents are in the wrong, not you. Never you. You made the right decision, I know you did. And in time, hopefully they will too."

Before she could truly intrude, Narcissa coughed delicately. "I hope I'm not interrupting." At the sight of her, Hermione stood up, wiping the tears from her face. Opening her arms in silent comfort, the young witch collided with her, gripping her robes tightly. Draco just stood there, giving them a moment, knowing that she needed a motherly comfort as well as one provided by friendship.

"They didn't want me. Said I wasn't their daughter anymore, that I betrayed them," she explained, her quick breaths reverberating into Narcissa's chest.

"Oh, my dear girl. My heart aches for you. I know how hard you and Draco have been working, how difficult these last few months have been." Narcissa drew back enough to grip the girls chin, forcing her to look her in the eye. "But you must listen to me. None, and I mean none, of what your parents said is true. Not a damn word. You put love, put blood before comfort, before loyalty. And that is something even I wasn't strong enough to do until the end. As a parent, I know I would forgive Draco anything, given time, so maybe they will come around. And if not, know that family is not always blood, and you can make a new family, full of people who care about you."

With feather-light fingers, Narcissa wiped away the last traces of Hermione's tears. "Now, if you don't want to go to the Charity Ball-"

"No," Hermione interrupted fervently. "No, I want to do this. I need to do this. Everyone's worked so hard, and I owe it to them to see this through. At least one thing should work out right today."

Narcissa inclined her head, but internally she was smiling. Miss Granger was a fighter, through and through. And she deeply respected her unflinching resolve. "As you wish, Hermione. But know that you owe no one nothing, and that even the fiercest warrior is allowed to put down their sword and take a break. Would you like some help getting ready? I've been to many a Ball in my time, and now how odious preparing can be?"

Hermione smiled, genuine and sweet. "Thank you, that would be lovely."

Narcissa waved a hand airily, then placed it on the witches cheek. "Think nothing of it, my dear. This is your night, and it would be a crime if you did not look as fabulous as you are wonderful."


Sitting in front of the tiny bedside mirror she shared with Ginny, Hermione gazed at her reflection as Narcissa helped put the finishing touches on her hair. It seemed the witch had hidden talents, for Hermione's hair cooperated under her deft and skilled ministrations.

She slid the last pin into place. "There. You're all set," Narcissa declared. They had decided to leave half of her hair down, while the rest was pulled back from her face in an elegant twist, the hairpins enchanted to look like fluttering butterflies of deepest blue and turquoise. She looked like a different person. She felt like a different person, and was all the happier for it. Fastening the necklace behind her back, Hermione stood, wobbling slightly as she adjusted to the heels Ginny had insisted she wear after she had showed her friend the dress.

"You look beautiful, Hermione. I must say, my taste in fashion seems to have only matured as I myself has aged."

Although she hardly looked it. Indeed, in velvet robes of palest blue, Narcissa Malfoy looked beyond magnificent, as regal and proud as any queen. The woman smiled suddenly, and the gesture was so full of an emotion that Hermione could not quite place that she asked, "What are you thinking of?"

"Of my sister, actually. Andromeda, although she prefers Andy. That was her necklace. I got it for her when she turned sixteen. We had always loved butterflies -I myself was fascinated by them when I was younger."

"Why did you grow out of it?" questioned Hermione.

"Because a Pureblood wife, let alone a Black-Malfoy, spends her time running around chasing butterflies in the garden. I gave up a great many things to be Lucius's wife, and that carefree innocence was one of them. But this is not the time for such things. Tonight is your night, and it's time for you to dazzle everyone here, my dear. Especially dear Draco."

Hermione frowned. "Narcissa, you know that we are just friends. Best friends, but just friends."

"Of course," she replied, although Hermione has her doubts.


The Great Hall was unlike anything Hermione had ever beheld before, and likely ever would. Although she had planned and painstakingly overseen every possible detail, it was quite another to see her vision in reality. Frosted garlands and streamers hung from the rafters, intermingling with the enchanted ceiling. Fireflies gleamed among the stars, dancing with the snow that drifted down but didn't reach the floor. No one wanted to be cleaning that up at four in the morning. Small, intimate tables had been set in a square, no House boundaries to be seen. A space had been cleared for dancing, and a mixture of Muggle and Wizarding music played, the playlist created by Hermione and Ginny to honour the two worlds they came from. All in all, it was perfect, and she could not have been prouder.

Ginny swept into her line if vision, resplendent in knee-length golden robes, hair in graceful curls, practically catapulting herself at Hermione had exclaiming loudly, "Oh my Morgana, you're pretty. Who knew you had it in you?" As she pulled her into an embrace, the redhead murmured so no one could hear, "I'm so sorry about your parents. You don't deserve that, after how hard you worked. If you need a place to stay for Christmas, the Burrow is always open. I don't care if we have to kick Ron out; he always eats the Mince Pies anyway. Pig."

Hermione squeezed her back in silent thanks. "I'll think about it," she said, equally soft, but she knew in her heart that she couldn't go to the Burrow, be around everyone and not break down, not see Molly and Arthur together and think of her own parents. She did not want to dampen their cheer with her troubles, not ever, certainly not after the year they had had.

"Mrs Malfoy," Ginny greeted, offering her hand. While her expression was tense, it warmed her to see her friend trying to be civil, even after their history.

Narcissa took her outstretched hand. "Miss Weasley. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. My deepest thanks for looking after Miss Granger, and I must say you've done a wonderful job with the Ball."

Although she tried to hide it, a blush crept along Ginny's cheeks. "Thank you for the compliment, Mrs Malfoy. And it's no trouble to look after Hermione; she's family."

"Indeed. I shall leave you two to enjoy yourselves. I spot the Minister over there having a boring conversation with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and must know what's going on," Narcissa said, with a final glance at Hermione, swept off into the crowd for the latest gossip. Some things never changed.

"Did Narcissa Malfoy just compliment me?" Ginny asked in shock as they say by one of the purple-draped tables, the golden stars embroidered across it's surface marching the chairs.

"She has changed a great deal since the war. I think all of us have changed," Hermione supplied as she sat down. She scanned the crowd, smiling at the familiar faces. Dean and Seamus talking with someone, although she couldn't see who. Neville talking to a blushing Hannah Abbott, who Hermione knew through the grapevine that she was considering joining the Inter-House Committee as their Hufflepuff representative. So much change, big and small, in such a short time. It was amazing, what not just witches and wizards, but people, could accomplish if they worked together, believed in a better world.

Parting like a wave, the crowd opened up enough for Hermione to catch sight of who her fellow Gryffindor's were conversing with. She was out of her chair in an instant, making her way three the crowd. He spotted her in an instant, his smile warming her to the core. Excusing himself, Harry Potter came towards her, wrapping her in his signature bone-crushing hug. The two hung there for a moment, clinging to each other as they had together in that blasted tent when Ron had left. Her parents were not all she had, and swaying in his arms, this boy who was her either in all but blood, she felt it all the more accutely.

"You came!" she exclaimed, although she had always hated stating the obvious.

"Of course. I'm never one to turn down the opportunity for free drinks and to put on fancy robes," Harry chuckled, pulling away. He scanned her face, green eyes narrowed behind his glasses. It was such a familiar gesture it made her want to cry, but she reined in her wild feelings. This was not the place for such theatrics. "Is everything okay?" he asked, voice full of brotherly concern.

She patted him on the shoulder. "It's not, but it will be. I'll explain everything later. But for now," Hermione glanced over her shoulder, grinning as she saw Ginny restraining herself from coming over, giving the two a minute. "Now, I think you should go say hello to your girlfriend, who has missed you terribly. As have I."

Harry smiled, but it was laced with sadness. "I know, Hermione. I've missed you, too." With a final hug, he was Sept up into the crowd. Hermione looked on, laughing as Ginny practically tackled Harry, not caring as she kissed him soundly. At least they had each other.

"Your Aura looks troubled."

Spinning around in heels was difficult, but Hermione somehow managed it as she turned to come face to face with Luna, who looked very pretty in a pine-green dress, bangles glinting on her wrists and rings sparking on every finger.

"It's been a rough day," Hermione replied honestly.

"I know."

Hermione barked a laugh. "Does everyone know about my familial troubles? I knew the gossip network was extensive, but I must say, they've outdone themselves," she bitterly remarked.

"News does travel fast around here, it's true. But Draco ran into Ginny, who demanded to know what was going on. Ginny told me, and I was upset and Neville found me, so he knows a little. But we have not told anyone else; we wanted to respect your privacy."

Touched, Hermione drew her into a hug. At first, Luna was surprised, since even though to two had grown very close in recent months, Hermione was not always physically affectionate, but she did not hesitate to respond in kind.

"Thank you, Luna." Gripping her hand, she eyed the crowd on the dance floor, the 90s music streaming from the enchanted speakers. "Come on," she urged. "Let's have some fun."


Draco leaned against a secluded dark corner, watching as his fellow students made utter fools of himself. Indeed, it seemed even the teachers were letting their metaphorical hair down, for Headmistress McGonagall was indeed being expertly twirled by Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was rumoured to be up for Minister within the next few years.

"Since when do you turn down an opportunity to flaunt your glorious Malfoy dancing prowess?" Theo remarked as he sauntered up to Draco, champagne flute in hand. His pale grey robes brought out the gold in his hair, and he looked more at ease than he had for a long time. It was probably the alcohol.

"I'm not in the mood for taking away from all your glory, Nott. Thought I'd at least give you a chance." But Draco didn't really feel like dancing. In reality, he just wanted to slink away back to the Dungeon, but he wanted to show his support, to Hermione and to his mother and to everyone here. That despite his past, he wanted to make the world better. If the works ever gave him a chance to after looking at his surname.

"Thank you for your great sacrifice. But really, you should get out there, enjoy yourself. You can't be a brooding romance prince all the time, Draco."

"'Brooding romance prince?' Dear Merlin, where do you come up with these things?" Draco asked, genuinely bewildered.

"I read a lot, okay? No need to get so snarky."

"What can I say? My snarks like double-sided tape: permeant and a household must."

"Sure, sure. Whatever. At least have a drink," he said, producing another flute out of nowhere. Deciding that it couldn't hurt, he downed it in one go, to the delighted cheers of Theo.

"Are you satisfied?"

Theo grinned. "Not in the least." He plucked another two glasses from a nearby table and offered one to Draco. He took it, smiling as he realized the base had been inlaid with glittering golden beads. Hermione really did think of everything.

"To becoming better people. And to free drinks. Cheers."

"Cheers," Draco echoed, taking a sip.

"So, are you going to tell me why you ran out of the library as if you'd burned Madame Pince's favourite book?" Theo asked.

"No," Draco replied instantly. "It's not my story to tell."

"It's something to do with Hermione," guessed Theo.

Draco blanched. "I never said it was."

"You would only be this secretive if it was something to do with her," Theo told him, as if it was the most obvious of facts. "Perhaps I'll ask her myself." Suddenly, he turned, and let out a low whistle at whatever he saw. "Merlin, since when did she get so pretty?" Expecting to see some old school friend or other, Draco followed Theo's line of sight.

His heart stopped.

Stopped, then started. Then stopped again.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Hermione turned her head, and her smile, directed at him, made his heart melt. She excused herself from whatever Ministry official she'd been talking to, her dress catching the light and glittering like stars. Sweet Circe, he sounded pathetic, even to his own ears. And as she stood before him, as beautiful as a star, brother than the moon, Draco knew.

He knew that he liked her, and not just as a friend.

Draco liked her. Not because she was beautiful -although she was, even if she'd been wearing a potato sack she would have looked enchanting- but because of her heart, her bravery and intellect and tenacity and ferocity and kindness and forgiving nature. In that she called him out when he was wrong -like last week in Potions when he put in too much Wormroot and wouldn't admit it- yet she was the first person he went to when he needed comfort, needed to be reminded that things would be okay. She was unlike anyone he had ever met, and he kicked himself for not realizing how he felt sooner. For it had crept up on him, silent and yet magnificent, this thing he felt for her.

He was completely enamoured, and he had not a clue how to deal with it.

The moment was broken ad Theo embraced Hermione, grinning at her.

"I must say, Granger, you clean up well. And the Charity Ball is incredible. You really pulled out all the stops."

Hermione waved the praise away. "You flatter me, Theo. And I must say, you clean up good yourself. I'm glad you're enjoying the free drinks," she said, quirking a brow at the empty glass in his hand.

"One simply can't let good champagne go to waste. Do you know how much you've raised so far?"

Hermione shook her head. "We won't know until the end of the night when the final numbers are in. Then it gets divided up into amounts for each charity. We wanted it to be as equal as possible. I wanted to thank you both, personally, for your donations. They were both incredibly generous."

Theo grinned. "Well, it's the biggest 'screw you' I can give to my dear old dad to use some of my inheritance for the betterment of other witches and wizards who are less fortunate. It was money well spent. One can only buy so many fancy robes before it gets boring."

But Draco knew that to Theo, that money was a burden, was blood money, profits from the suffering of others, and that even if it had left him with nothing, he would have given it all up.

Hermione turned to Draco, mad he tried to calm his racing heart as he gave a dramatic bow that had he rolling her eyes. "It's an honour to promote such worthy causes, and I think it's a great first step. You should be really proud, Hermione."

Hermione blushed, and something in Draco preened the slightest bit. "Well, it wasn't just me, I had help from so many great people. Speaking of which, Theo, can I steal Draco for a moment? We have matters to discuss."

Theo quirked a brow but only said, "Discuss away," and melted into the crowd.

Then Hermione was taking his hand, leading him out onto the dancefloor, a smile gracing her face. "Will you dance with me?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied instantly, shifting as she drew near, hand on his shoulder. A new song started, something Muggle, and whatever it was, it made Hermione laugh.

"What is it?" he said.

"I almost forgot I put this on here. It was one of my favourite songs growing up. 'Brown-Eyed Girl.' For obvious reasons."

"For obvious reasons," Draco echoed.

So they danced together, the two seamless as Draco twirled her, dancing together as if they had been doing so for years. He had to admit, she was better than most girls he'd danced with. Like Pansy, who had ruined his best shoes with how much she had stepped on his toes. Although he'd grown up thinking ill of Muggle music, he had to admit, it wasn't all bad. He particularly liked when Hermione began singing along to one called 'Only You."

As the chorus played on, Hermione pulled back to look at him. "I wanted to thank you," she began, "for everything you've done for me this year. Not just today, or the Ball, or for the big things, but the little things. Listening to me rant about books, talk magic theory and history and politics until the early hours. For helping me heal, when I didn't think I could. For being the best friend I didn't expect, but the one I truly needed."

"I should be thanking you, for giving me a chance. You could have spat in my face, hexed me into next week, and never bothered with me again. You had every right to. But you didn't. No, you saw something in me, something you thought worth befriending, redeeming. And you have changed me, Hermione. You've changed me for the better. And above all, you make me want to be better, not just for you or my mother or the larger wizarding world, but for myself. Which no one else could ever do. So I'm eternally grateful, grateful you gave me a space where I could admit how I felt without guilt or fear of reprimand. You gave me a place where I don't have to pretend."

Draco spun her out, providing him a heartbeat to take a breath, to dredge up every ounce of courage he could, courage she had given him the tools to find. Now was the moment. He had to tell her. He had to tell her how he felt. She spun back around to face him.

"Hermione, I..."

She went completely still in his arms. As still as death, as if she'd been turned to stone by the mighty Medusa or petrified by a Basilisk.

Draco turned.

The sight he saw made him wish it were a Basilisk.

Standing in front of them, looking like he was going to kill someone, hands in fists and eyes seething, was someone he did not want to breathe air with. Ever.

"Ron?"


Author's Note: Twenty chapters. For twenty chapters, we've gone on this cray ride together, seen two people become the best of friends. Here's to twenty more! Thank you, thank you, thank you for sticking with me. I hope you enjoyed this double chapter.

Until next time.

With love, Temperance Cain.