It has long been thought that Winter abhors the onset of Spring, but that has never been the case. January, with its bereft branches, snowy tears and chilling breath, waits for May as one would a lover; for it is in Spring's warm, triumphant hold that Winter is finally healed. -Trink

Chapter 1

The merciless gale whipped through the bare branches of an oak tree, making the heavy limbs creak with movement. The wind buffeted Draco too, but he didn't care. That much was obvious as he calmly took the beating, squinting his eyes against the arctic blast. He felt the icy sting like a slap to his face and welcomed the abuse, holding out against hope that it would somehow serve as a penance. He so desperately wanted to make amends for everything that had happened, but no matter what he did, it never felt like enough. Fact was, ever since the war, all he could feel was cold. An empty, dreary numbness, a frigid chill reserved for those who had sinned against love. Against life.

He knew he deserved the torment.

He could barely remember a time when the darkness had not been present. A time that now seemed so long ago; halcyon days of innocence….days when he would skate on the frozen pond in winter, laughing as his cloak fluttered behind his boyish frame. His beautiful mother holding out her hands, waiting for him to join her. Then the two of them gliding together across the frozen water, passing by the gazebo and gardens until they reached the woods that bordered the family graveyard that had housed generations of Malfoys.

After transfiguring their skates into boots, Narcissa would place a finger on her lips to shush his youthful merriment. "We must respect those who are now at rest," she would say in hushed tones.

Draco would always comply, although he did wonder why silence was necessary. He would observe his mother's next action, always the same, no matter how many times they'd come. Pulling out a small flower from her pocket, she would tap it with her wand; the tiny flower would twist and grow to become a headpiece for his grandparents' monument. Wild violets, charmed to resist the elements until the next moon, would bring a touch of spring to the barren landscape.

He wondered if the dead ever noticed.

There were no violets on his grandparents' grave today; that honor had gone to the two new additions to the cemetery. Two fresh mounds of earth. It was where he now stood, silence coming naturally this time, his boots covered in the icy mud that would eventually claim the remains of what had once been his parents. A telltale wetness accented his grief, soaking his cheeks. Draco ignored it; he was lost in his head, wondering how his life had been reduced to this.
Where had it gone wrong? Was it when he'd left for Hogwarts? Or had it been before? His heart already knew the answer.

Always.

Wiping his face of the tears that were trying to freeze, Draco acknowledged to himself the truth. He'd been sick without knowing it; infected at an early age. So had his set of friends. They'd all been contaminated by the sins of their fathers.

Their beliefs.
Their arrogance.
Their disdain.

They had learned their lessons well and were ready, so they thought, to represent their ideology and way of life. However, when that day came, they faltered, finally seeing the truth of things. But by then, it was too late. They were already lined up in the changeover box as the next set of runners, waiting for the baton to be handed over. With no other choice before them, they ran to the finish line; no longer wanting to win but in hopes that in doing so, the race would end.

And the medals they had won?

Vincent Crabbe - dead.

Ditto for Adrian Pucey.

And Marcus Flint.

Blaise Zabini - Marked for life just like Draco, even though he'd not supported the Dark Lord nor taken the Mark. It didn't matter; his punishment came anyway, his handsome face forever disfigured by a hex meant for a death eater.

Pansy Parkinson - She'd had the unfortunate honor of being given the responsibility of entertaining Voldemort's followers, all because her father had refused to join the Dark Lord's ranks. She was currently in the loving care of the healers at St. Mungo's. She would never be able to have children, not that it really mattered. Draco doubted whether she would ever be able to leave the Janus Thickey ward.

And Theo Nott. Poor Theo. Given the kiss for a crime his father had committed. The Wizengamot hadn't bothered to review the memories that would have proven his innocence until after the sentence had been carried out. Publicly contrite but inwardly vindictive, they solved their error by giving the kiss to the father next. Draco snorted. Apparently, even those on the right side of the war were not immune to hatred. To contempt.

To being cold.

As for Draco, he'd skirted past punishment with extraordinary ease. Arguably the guiltiest member of his circle of friends, he'd gotten off with barely a slap on the wrist. He had prepared himself for a one-way ticket to Azkaban, but all that had been done to him was forcing him to pay a few fines and perform several hours of community service. For some reason, Potter and Granger had spoken on his behalf at his trial.

Because of them, he'd become the poster boy for the Wizengamot's benevolence and mercy.

But why had they bothered?

He hadn't done anything to merit acquittal other than expressing a doubt he hadn't had. A little white lie spoken in fear. Nothing outstanding. Certainly not heroic. Bravery was their specialty, not his.

Yet, bravery had not shielded them from suffering. Granger, branded in a hideous fashion, a slur forever slashed in her flesh. Weasley losing a brother and a girlfriend, if the gossip columnists were right, pains that apparently only a bottle of firewhisky could remedy; again, according to the journalists who were always following the ginger around, documenting his freefall into intemperance. As for Potter…well, Draco had heard that after he'd been freed from the one purpose of his life, he'd fallen into a funk that not even the Weaselette or Granger could cure him of. Last he'd heard, The Chosen One had taken up the muggle sport of scuba diving as a type of therapy. A distraction that would keep him plunged down into the depths of the oceans. Draco could understand Potter's motive in choosing that pastime; he figured the seas were better to dive into than memories. Better to chance a shark encounter than flashbacks of the war; the fearful cries; the screams of pain and loss. The faces and names of all who had died, fighting with him. For him.

Truth was, everyone his age had been damaged by the war. None had escaped unscathed. They'd all been victims of one thing or another. Still, the voice in his head yammered on, insistently contradicting his suffering and handing down a verdict instead.

Guilty.
Guilty.
Guilty.

Draco wondered if that was his true punishment. Having the liberty to loathe his existence.

Weary with the weight of it, he finally broke, his breath coming out in choking sobs. He no longer knew the point of his life. As far as he could see, there should have been three new graves to the cemetery. Why was he breathing? What purpose did he still have?
Overcome with an intense need to go somewhere, anywhere away from the manor, he bolted, apparating away from the graveyard only to appear in a seedy part of what looked like muggle London. At first, all he could comprehend was his extreme luck in not splinching himself. It was eerily quiet; much too quiet for a New Year's Eve, now that he thought about it. He immediately stiffened, a reflex from the war. Where were the crowds? Why had his magic brought him here? What had drawn it?

I must be losing my mind.

Still, he supposed he should be thankful that not many were out in this neglected part of the city or he would have some answering to do for violating the statute of secrecy. He gazed at the stores; most were boarded up. But there was a light coming from a shop at the corner. He walked to it, curious as to what kind of business would be open when others were not. When he got there, he glanced through the windows to see some poor blokes being served a hot meal, if the steam from the plates was anything to go by.

Ah…..A charity house, he mused. That made sense. Then something caught his eye. Something with wild curly hair. Brown eyes. A weary smile, but a smile nevertheless. Granger.

What was she doing there?

He watched as she plated up a few meals, then moved to a table where the occupants had not been served. He watched her, now a genuine smile gracing her face, as she handed out the food, patting one elderly gentleman on the back.

She worked there?

Draco was confused. He knew she'd been offered an apprenticeship at the ministry. He also knew she had been given a sizable reward from the Minister for her heroism during the war. So why was she working at a mission?

As if to answer his question, she looked up and saw him staring at her from outside. Her eyes widened in surprise. Speaking to someone nearby, she walked to the front door and ventured outside, her arms crossed in her efforts to shield her body from the cold.

"Malfoy? What is it? Why are you here?"

Draco swallowed. He didn't know what to say because he had no idea. Only that in his moment of distress, something had pulled at his magic. Clearing his throat, he said, "I…I just had to get away from the manor. I didn't know you were here. I'll leave."

A softening crossed her face then. Nay, more than that. An understanding. She saw the remnants of tears on his face and felt a wave of compassion for the tormented young wizard standing so forlornly in front of her. "Have you had anything to eat?" Her eyes lingered on his still-painfully thin form.

Draco blushed. "I'm rarely hungry these days." No need to mention that shame was a great appetite suppressant.

Surprising him, she reached out for his arm and drew him closer. "Come on. I haven't eaten, and I would enjoy the company."

Draco couldn't keep the look of astonishment from showing on his face. Did Granger just say she would enjoy his presence or had he imagined it? It made no sense.

Too bewildered to resist, he followed her inside to find that almost all had finished their meals. Draco stared at the homeless faces looking back at him. They were open but curious, obviously wondering why a man dressed so finely would need a free meal. He silently sank in a seat at an empty booth, watching the witch as she ladled out a stew that smelled surprisingly delicious. Draco suddenly felt ravenous; his stomach concurred with a growl. Bringing their bowls to the table, she sat down opposite him. Together, they ate the simple food. Granger didn't try to carry on a conversation, which he was enormously thankful for, because what could he say in return? They'd never exchanged pleasantries before; he'd been nothing but a menace, a bully since the first time they'd met. Still, he felt it would be rather rude not to acknowledge her kindness.

Wiping his mouth with his napkin, he ventured, "This is good….did you make it?" Then he winced. He hoped it didn't sound like he was questioning her cooking abilities. To his relief, she chuckled.

"It is good, isn't it? Thomas is an excellent cook," she said as she pointed out a friendly-faced muggle who was manning the front counter. "I'm abysmal in the kitchen, so they let me do other things to help."

"You're probably better than me, if that makes you feel better," he offered.

"I'm sure you've never had to learn; you've always had house elves to do the menial jobs," Hermione said without thinking. Then it was her time to cringe. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean for that to sound-"

Draco raised his hand to stop her sputtering. "It's alright, Granger. What you said is true. I was a spoiled brat. But….I no longer have elves. After the war, I freed them all. Well….except for one."

She looked up in wonder. "You did?"

He nodded. "After my parents were….well, after they died, I gave our elves clothes. Nelly though….she was my mother's elf. She helped raise me. She refused to leave and actually threw the clothes back at my face before she gave me a stern reprimand. So I do have her. But she's getting old. I think I take care of her more than the other way around."

Hermione noticed the affectionate tone Draco's voice took on when speaking of his elf. Intrigued, she asked, "Could I meet her?"

His face was a myriad of emotions, the main one being confusion. "I suppose. But why would you want to?"

She shrugged. "No real reason. I just like elves. I don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable."

He stared at her, dumbfounded once again by her concern. Then he remembered who he was talking to. Of course, she would worry. Saint Granger cared about everyone. Even yellow-bellied jerks. "Come tomorrow, then. She'll be excited to have company."

"Oh…..well, I was supposed to be at the Burrow tomorrow….actually, I'm supposed to be there now," she said, biting her lip worriedly. "They'd wanted me to spend Christmas through the New Year with them. I was there for a couple of days. Then….I had to leave." She sighed. "I guess I was thinking I should go back tomorrow."

Draco frowned, puzzled. Why was she feeling like she had to be with them? Wouldn't she prefer being with her own family for the holidays? When he asked her about it, he panicked when he saw tears filling her eyes.
"I'm sorry," he blurted out, not quite sure what had set her off, but terrified she would hate him even more for making her cry again.

She waved him off, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hands. "It's not your fault; it's mine." Then she told him what she had done, how she had erased herself from her parent's minds and sent them off to Australia.

He stared back at her in horror when she was through with her tale. "Blimey, Hermione," he whispered, unconsciously using her given name. Once again, he murmured, "I'm sorry."

"It's just…..the Weasleys are kind to me…well, most of them. Ronald is still carrying a grudge because I ended things between us….but they don't understand my loss. Not that they haven't had losses themselves….you know, what with Fred and all, but they still have each other. They don't know what it's like to lose everyone."

"I do," said Draco without thinking. Then he looked down, ashamed of himself. He shouldn't be comparing his losses to hers. His were deserved; hers weren't.

"Yes….you do, don't you?" she said softly. He jumped when he felt her hand cover one of his. Glancing up at her face, he saw her give him just a hint of a smile when she said, "So….tomorrow. I guess we can start the new year together, eh?"

"Only if you want to."

"Okay," she agreed. "How long should I plan on staying?"

He answered honestly. "As long as you wish. I have no other engagements."

Draco woke up early the next day. When he was young, it would have been to play in the snow that had fallen overnight. Today though, it was all for Granger. He wanted to give her something that would cheer her up; something that would make her feel welcome and special. He'd thought about it for most of the night. What could he do to make the day more bearable for her? Draco knew well enough that neither of them could totally eclipse the pain they both carried. He was half-tempted to pull out his father's stash of firewhisky and make a game to see which one of them could out-drink the other. He grinned at the thought of an inebriated Granger, then put the notion away. What he needed was a real solution; a thoughtful and kind response to the vulnerability she had shown yesterday. He tamped down hard on his disdain for the Weasel. It would serve no purpose to be mad at him, even though he couldn't think of a more self-absorbed individual, even when he included himself in the mix. Granger deserved better than to have to put up with that tosser all day.

Finally, at wit's end, he woke up his elf to ask for suggestions. Nelly's big, bright eyes twinkled in joy.

"Miss Granger is coming to the manor?" she asked with obvious enthusiasm.

"Yes. And I want to do something nice for her. She lost her parents and is quite sad about it."

The elf eyed him knowingly. "As is Master for losing his."

"As is Nelly," he added. "I know you miss my Mum, too." There was no need to mention his father to her. There had been no elvish tears shed when he'd died.

Nelly patted his hand with her weathered one. "Nelly does miss her Mistress. But Master is finally doing something to help. He will be giving Nelly a new one."

"Sorry…..what am I giving you?"

"A new Mistress for Nelly."

"A new….Mistress?"

Nelly nodded. "Yes, Master. Miss Granger."

Draco choked. "What?"

"Miss Granger," she repeated calmly. "This surprises Master?"

"Nelly….I think you have the wrong idea. Granger is just coming to -"

"Has Master never wondered why Nelly has weakened?" the little elf interrupted. "Why our manor is sulking? Why the trees no longer sing? Why the wind keeps shouting?

Draco frowned, suddenly worried. Like he'd told Granger, Nelly was getting rather long in the tooth. Perhaps her mind was beginning to slip. "Nelly…..forgive me. Maybe I was wrong to wake you so early. Perhaps it would be for the best if you went back to bed so you could…."

He never got to finish his sentence. Surprising him, Nelly stomped her little foot in a fit of temper. Then she glared at him.

"Master is not listening to Nelly! " she all but shouted.

Draco paused, observing her closely. He realized her expression was not indicative of one who was losing their faculties but rather their patience. He quickly backtracked.

"I'm sorry. I'm listening now."

Giving him a stiff nod, she said, "Good. Nelly wants only what is best for Master. She thought he understood that."

"Of course. I just didn't…"

"Nelly was not finished talking," she said imperiously. Draco immediately shut up.

Regarding him with an astute glint in her eye, she said, "Wizards know much but not everything. Not everything we elveses know. Wizards often do not see what is right before them."

"Now, now…..weren't not blind, you know."

"Then why has Master not noticed that Miss Granger's blood is still in the drawing room? That no amount of elf magic could clean it?"

Draco, hypersensitive to any comment including the words clean and blood, bristled. "Her blood is not dirty. It doesn't need cleaning."

The old elf rolled her eyes. "Of course not. Nelly has always known this. Unlike Master."

Talk about twisting the knife; Draco had never realized before how sarcastic his elf could be. Ignoring her dig, he said, "Alright, then. So Granger's blood stains are still here. Is that supposed to mean something?"

"Of course! Otherwise, the manor would not cling so hard to keep what is hers."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

Her gaze left him as she gestured toward the large bay window where the south lawn could be seen under a blanket of white. "The manor….the lands….the very air around us is magic. It speaks to us. And right now, it is hurting. Grieving. Cold."

Cold. That got Draco's attention. "Do you know why?"

She eyed him cautiously. How much was young Master willing to hear? Nelly loved Draco as one of her own. This should be coming from his own mother, but she was no longer with them. The old elf took a breath; it was up to her to see to him now. Never let it be said that Nelly shirked her duty. "Because Master is….."

Draco's heart plummeted. Here it was; the spoken confirmation to what he already knew in his heart. He lifted his hand to silence her. "You don't have to finish; I know. It's because of me. Because of my role in the war."
The old elf shook her head vehemently. "No! It's because of what Master is doing now!"

He stared at her, flummoxed. "What am I doing now that's so horrible?"

Nelly actually huffed at the question. "Master thinks badly of himself, but for the wrong reasons. Master thinks the war was his fault. That's silly. The war was brought on by bad magic. Master's magic is good."

"How do you know that?"

"Because Master's wand has a unicorn hair in it. Unicorns is pure. If Master's magic wasn't good, his wand wouldn't work for him."

For the first time since the war, Draco felt a glimmer of hope. What Nelly just said was true. Funny he'd never considered it. Still, it didn't answer the question. "So why is the magic here grieving?"

"Nelly had been trying to tell you. Because Master is ignoring her blood. Her magic. It is her calling to the winds. To the land. To you."

"Granger?" He wasn't sure he was following.

The elf nodded. "Nelly felt it when she was first brought here. You felt it, too."

"I did?"

Nelly sighed. Master was not usually this thick. "Did Master not feel sick when his aunt tortured her?"

"Well, yes. But I suppose anyone would."

The elf snorted. "Surely, Master knows better than that by now. It was because of our magic. It seeks balance. It needs it to heal. Master needs balance, too. She is that to all of us."

Draco sat back, stunned. He recalled yesterday when his magic had carried him to muggle London. Where she had been.

"Well Nelly….there's just one problem to all this."

His elf tilted her head. "What is that?"

His smile was pitifully sad. "I seriously doubt Granger would ever be interested in me in that way."

He was surprised when his elf began to grin. Then cackle. "Master has a lot to learn. Young Mistress already feels something. Nelly knows."

Draco couldn't help but laugh at the crafty expression that had spread across his elf's face. "And how would you know that, you sly little thing?"

"Nelly has her ways. Tell me this Master…..didn't Miss Granger refuse the ginger wizard who had been brought here with her when she came to the manor?"

"How in the world did you…."

"And didn't she agree to come today when she had other plans?"

Draco's jaw dropped in stunned disbelief.

She smirked at him. "Does Master believe Nelly now?" Rubbing her wrinkled hands in glee, she added, "Now Nelly needs to get busy. Things must be just right for young Mistress."