Chapter 1

The years folded over one another like layers on a cake. Like stacks of laundry, fresh out of the warmth of a muggle dryer. First in the pile: the thickest, most dense – the bottoms. Then the summer strapless. In between, the soft, fuzzy, bouncy sort of stuff. The kind that sweaters are knit from. Yes, the years were structured as such: the darks on heavy rotation, the fluffy delicates, a short wash of brights, some rare, scattered lights. They were yet to hit the summer years – the ones that would reek of sweet hydrangeas and sound like laughter and happiness. Because the fade from the darkness was not quite complete. And the winter chill was just setting in.

"So, what became of Hermione Granger?" Her story, in particular, interests me immensely.

He shifts uneasily in his seat. Runs the back of his hand over his mouth. Waits for me to reconsider my question. He's hoping that I might let him off the hook if there is a long enough pause. I subtly lick my lips and swallow in the silence. I look away. But I don't retreat.

"Hermione," he sighs. "Haven't heard that name in ages." I look up at him then. His tone yanks at my heart and I suddenly wish I'd never asked.

I wince. "You don't have to tell me," I say quietly.

He chuckles, "I know." He shrugs. Shuffles his hair seductively like it's the easiest thing in the world. I smile when he looks down at the table – when he can't see me admiring him. Even now, after all these years, the angles of his face are graceful. The way he lifts his eyes toward me is fluid – flawless. The depth of his gaze is damn near disarming. "Hermione was certainly one of a kind."

I can't help but smile. "You liked her?"

He laughs. "God, no."

I smile even wider because I can tell he's lying.

"Stop!" she cried. Her screams sent a tremor through his insides that nearly paralyzed him. "Let go of me!" The fear in her eyes damn near broke his resolve. But his mission was more important than her current state of wellbeing. "I beg you," she pleaded, a note of sorrow gurgling within the depths of her throat. "Tell me where he is," she whimpered. "Please," she whispered. She was losing steam, losing hope.

He was gripping her tightly around the arm while he led her over the charred remains of her friends. The stench of burnt flesh was unbearable. The sight of it was even worse.

"No," she moaned, seeing the leveled battlefield. "No!" she screamed, shaking. She ripped her arm from his grasp and ran.

He looked behind him, saw that the other Death Eaters were coming to help him capture her. He'd have to move faster. He began hopping over the bodies toward her. Crunch. He didn't want to think about what he'd just stepped on. Or who. He closed the gap in no time – she was wounded after all – and seized her by the arms, spinning her around. "Will you shut the fuck up?" he hissed.

She cried and shook her head. "How could you?" she cried. "How could you?"

He dragged her across the burning courtyard and shoved her into an alcove. He looked behind him to make sure they weren't being followed.

"What are you –" she began.

Quickly, he slapped a hand over her mouth and brought a threatening finger to his own lips. Her eyes were wide and frantic. The tears that ran down her cheeks burned his palm. He neared her and relaxed the pressure of his fingers against her face. Slowly, tentatively, he let his hand slide away, brushing it softly along the soot dusting her cheek. He bowed his head and rested it on hers, letting his hand drop to her shoulder. "How bad is your leg?"

She breathed unevenly for a while, her body easing into shivers as her heartbeat slowed. He didn't move away. Her teeth chattering, her voice defiant as ever, she finally spoke, "What's your plan, Malfoy?"

He allowed himself to smile. To close his eyes. To breathe in the shockwave that Hermione Granger was to every one of his senses. "I was hoping you might have one."

Whenever he spoke of her, a tired sadness accompanied the smile on his face. I am not one to pass judgement, certainly not on Mr. Draco Malfoy himself, but he sure is much easier to read than I'd expected. I drum my fingers on the counter and watch him as he calls the bartender to fetch yet another whiskey. His sleeves are rolled up halfway to his elbows and the veins winding up his forearms protrude sickly from his skin. I watch him in both awe and pity as he takes a gulp and lets out a satisfied hiss.

"What about Harry?" I ask.

He doesn't even look at me this time. "You ask a lot of questions."

I'm embarrassed by my nauseating curiosity, but I remain silent and hopeful that he will respond, nevertheless.

Malfoy sighs. "Harry," he says, "was a good man."

I find this sentiment hard to believe but I let it slide.

They hugged the shore of the Great Lake as they ran under cover of darkness with the Death Eaters rounding up bodies behind them. Malfoy clutched Hermione's hand as though he were afraid she'd get lost in the mist, terrified that she'd trip and slip under the still, dark waters below. Perhaps what frightened him most was that letting go might make her disappear entirely, as if she were never really with him at all. So, he pulled her in closer as they ran, held onto her because her warmth made him believe that not everything was lost. Not yet.

When they reached the Forbidden Forest, Hermione quickly set up a perimeter of protective enchantments before succumbing to her exhaustion. She swayed before finally dropping her wand hand. Malfoy leapt toward her just in time to catch her as her knees buckled from underneath. Gingerly, he laid her down on the ground, resting her head on his lap.

"You've lost a lot of blood," he said, cringing at the terror that escaped his mouth together with his words. "I can't help you," he nearly sobbed.

She lifted her eyes toward him. Brought her hand up to his face. She almost reached it before her arm fell back down. "Go," she breathed. "Go get Harry."

The morning was exceedingly hot and Hermione gasped for a breath of air when she awoke. She was alone in the clearing where Malfoy had left her the night before. From a distance, she could see the black smoke curling up from the battlefield toward the sky, a heavy cloud hanging menacingly over the castle grounds.

She winced trying to stand up and looked down at the source of her pain. She saw the tourniquet Malfoy had fastened around her leg and cringed when she saw the exposed flesh on her calf. Dried blood caked over her entire foot and a trickle still oozed from the wound. She felt around for her wand but knew that this kind of curse could only be properly mended by an experienced healer. She watched the smoke roll over the water in a slow, seductive dance. The haze was so thick she could not see the castle past the line of trees.

Hermione's heart hammered violently, the drumming in her temples drowning out the sounds of the forest. She didn't know how long Malfoy had been gone, but she hoped that he could find them – find him. And then, out of the dense, dark coils of smoke, he stepped out with Harry's arm slumped over his shoulders. Harry was barely able to keep his footing, stumbling alongside Malfoy, leaning into him like upon a crutch. Malfoy watched Hermione solemnly as he and Harry hobbled forward toward her. Behind them, another two figures emerged staggering out of the darkness.

Malfoy dropped Harry carefully over a mound of grass near a tree and sighed. Harry reclined into the trunk behind him and closed his eyes. A gurgling sound escaped his mouth like something was rattling in his lungs. Malfoy made his way over to Hermione and crouched down to sit beside her, his eyebrows knotted, creasing his forehead.

"You alright?" he said.

Hermione glanced away from Harry briefly to look up at Malfoy. She gestured to the injury on her leg, "Not really."

Malfoy made a hissing sound and nodded up toward the two figures stepping through the trees into the clearing. "Nott," Malfoy called out as Nott set a wounded Parkinson down on a log near Harry. "Come take a look at this, will you?" Turning back to Hermione, Malfoy said, "He's quite adept at this stuff. You're in good hands."

Nott walked over to Hermione and bent down to examine her wound. "Parkinson's fairly battered. Will you go look after her?" Nott said calmly to Malfoy, as if it were just any other Sunday morning and Parkinson was suffering from a mere hangover. Nott pushed his long hair out of his face and took Hermione's leg in his hands. She winced and he looked up at her. "Apologies," he said. Then, turning her leg over to the side to inspect the laceration, he added with a tight smirk, "It's a tad gruesome."

Hermione puffed out a breath of air and resisted the urge to kick him with her bloody foot. "Top notch observation, Nott."

Nott raised his eyebrows but the subtle smile on his face never disappeared. "I may know a counter-curse. To be sure, I need you to wiggle your toes."

"Come again?" Hermione blinked at Nott, baffled.

Nott gave her a sheepish, apologetic look. "Unfortunately, I'm not joking."

Hermione sighed loudly and moved the toes of her right foot back and forth. She glared at Nott when he looked back at her. "Great, that's a good sign."

Theodore Nott is the kind of man that doesn't talk much but sure knows what to say. He moves the dark hair from his eyes in a leisurely motion. His eyes search mine for meaning. Shame that my responses are meaningless. I keep wondering, though, why he cares to ask.

"How long were you in hiding?" I say.

He blows out a stream of smoke and taps his cigarette against the crystal ashtray. He squints at me, trying to dissect my words. "Ages," he finally says.

I stare at him, wondering how I could get more.

He slides his cigarette back into his mouth and takes a long puff. The red tip glows before my eyes. He turns his head to blow the smoke in another direction before turning back to look at me. His dark eyes clutch at the innermost parts of my soul and I know, then, that I would believe anything he tells me. Good thing Theodore Nott isn't much of a liar.

By nightfall, they'd been joined by others. Neville arrived with Ginny in his arms, carrying her heroically through the thick clouds of smoke toward the forest. She'd missed a disintegration curse by a hair but had been hit by the debris from the wall it burst. She was unconscious when Nott got to work on deciphering her injuries.

Then came Ron and Luna, propping up a badly injured Zabini in between them. Luna fretted over his wounds while Ron ran to Hermione and pulled her into an enormous hug.

"Oh God," he sobbed into her ear, "I thought I'd lost you!"

Hermione had been feeling all afternoon as though a shadow had shrouded her deepest emotions – to protect her, she thought. She recognized, with a jolt, that she hadn't been overly concerned with Ron's prolonged absence. Was becoming frightfully desensitized to the bleeding victims around her. She had just watched peacefully as Harry slept though the afternoon as though it were nothing more than a lazy weekend slumber.

Cho Chang arrived after Ron, followed closely by Oliver Wood, hanging onto his broomstick tighter than he was clutching his wand. He looked around frantically when he arrived at the clearing, as if the battle continued to rage within him.

Hermione looked over at Malfoy who was hovering over Ginny with Nott. Ginny seemed to have the most extensive injuries and the two were tirelessly trying to revive her. That's when Ron noticed his sister. He ran to her immediately, forcing Malfoy out of his way.

Malfoy stood up and turned his gaze to Hermione. He strode over, skirting the injured parties as he drew near. "Well?" he said when he arrived. He let out a sigh as he bent down to sit beside her. "You got a plan yet, Granger?"