Chapter 2

Draco idly played with the fork in his hand; every so often he would take a peek at Granger from across the large oaken table in his kitchen. He didn't believe he'd ever seen her display such enthusiasm in eating before. While at Hogwarts, she showed little interest in food, unless one counted the hot chocolate served on the weekends. He remembered her being quite a fiend about it. Draco frowned at himself, disturbed to realize he knew so much about her. But when he was young, he'd made it his business to find out everything he could. He'd been a pint-size spy and tattle-tell and absolute toe-rag to the Gryffindors. At the time, he'd felt justified in his behavior. The lion cubs were a bane to his existence. Potter with his undeserved fame; Weasley with his pathetic poverty...then there was Granger. How he'd hated her. She'd had a perpetual stick up her arse that showed even at mealtimes. Perfect posture, utensils held properly….elbows never on the table, acting for all the world like some pureblood princess. He'd thought her behavior ridiculous. Throughout the wizarding world, Hogwarts school was renown; in part due to its excellent dining program. Better than Beauxbatons and far superior to Durmstrang. Didn't her kind know good food when they tasted it? Maybe she had that muggle disease he'd heard about. Anal-rexia, he thought it was called.

That sounds about right. Overachieving, perfectionist swot.

But that was the past. The Draco who'd been quick to judge the muggleborn back when Voldemort was just a vague dream (or nightmare, depending on which side you were on), was no more. That pompous brat of a boy had been subsumed by an older, kinder Draco. An infinitely wiser Draco.

"More?" he asked as he offered the platter containing what was left of the pheasant.

Hermione gave him a small smile and shook her head while blushing in embarrassment. "Thanks, but I'm full…..I'm afraid I've gobbled up most of your meat, and I'm sure you wanted it to last more than one meal."

Draco couldn't help but chuckle at her guilty expression. "Relax, Granger. There are more birds out there."

"I guess so," she blushed again.

Draco couldn't help but smirk at her discomfiture. It wasn't often he'd seen the witch so self-conscious. But she shouldn't feel ashamed. Surely she didn't think it was wrong to be hungry.

"I…..it's just…..it's been so long…...and it tasted so good." She gave him a shy grin. "You're a skilled cook, Malfoy."

He didn't know why that simple compliment affected him so, but Draco felt inordinately pleased by it. Still, he wondered what she meant by it being a long time. Since eating meat? Had she become vegetarian? However, all he said was, "Maisy always said the secret in cooking was in the seasoning. She ought to know. She was the best chef we ever had."

"Maisy….was she a house elf?"

He nodded.

Hermione wiped her greasy fingers on the rough cloth napkin Draco had given her. "Was she…did she make it through the war?"

Draco's sudden turn of countenance answered that question.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"So am I. More than you can imagine."

Hermione paused. Those words struck her deeply. Draco had changed. She could see it in the lines of his face, in the set of his mouth. In the deep timbre of his voice. His eyes, always expressive ever since she'd first met him, swirled with an emotion too raw to name. A profound sadness covered his features as he began to speak.

"When the Dark Lord found out I'd hidden our favorite elves from him, he had them brought to a revel."

"Malfoy….you don't have to…."

He acted like he didn't hear her. "It was my punishment…..to hear their screams. Their cries for help. And I couldn't do anything." He paused before he added, "You've got to understand.….they'd been like family to me."

Hermione felt his hurt. She wished she could take it away from him. "I'm so sorry."

He swallowed hard. "With Maisy...he saved her for last. He….he…"

Hermione reached across the table to put her hand over Draco's. "Stop. It wasn't your fault."

She now realized the emotion she'd seen. Guilt. He was eaten up with it.

"Wasn't it? She died in agony, Hermione. Because of me." He looked at her then, his grey eyes searching her face, seeking something. What, she didn't know. Understanding maybe? Absolution?

It didn't register to her that he had used her given name.

"That's exactly what Voldemort wanted you to feel. Don't give him that victory."

"Why not? I deserve it. You know I do. You know."

Hermione sucked in her breath.

Oh please…...please don't bring up.....

"It wasn't the only time I stood by and watched as an innocent was brutalized. And like before, I did nothing."

Hermione froze. She never allowed herself to think back on that stormy night when Bellatrix tortured her. She'd never been strong enough. She wasn't now. But looking at Draco, the memories came unbidden. The anger of Bellatrix's yells. Her insane laughter. Narcissa's murmurs. Lucius' cough. The whip of the knife as Bellatrix slashed it forward in the air. A streak of lightning followed by thunder; its ominous rumble heralding what was to come. Hermione's own shrieks and screams, ending with blubbering cries, begging for help. The sick click of the blade as it grated against bone. Ron's cries. Harry's shout. Hurried footsteps. The chandelier crashing to the floor, sharp pellets of glass hitting the marble.

Draco had been there. He'd heard it all with her. The noise….the loud, horrible…..sounds….

Hermione instinctively covered her ears.

Draco watched the former formidable witch crumple within herself. He reached out and gently took her shoulders. "Hey," he murmured, his voice low. He understood the misery of volume. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you….I felt I owed you…." Draco paused. Could she even hear him in her flashback-induced state? "Hermione? Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

She could hear him, alright. But despite his soft tones, his words made Hermione bristle.

Okay? OKAY? Does this look like OKAY?

She immediately raised her walls, the old protections falling back in place, although a bit rusty from disuse since her time in the forest. She pulled back from him. "I…...I'm fine. Don't worry…. I never expected you to do anything." Her voice sounded wooden, pale. Dead.

Draco was taken aback by the sudden change. What had he done? Then, it dawned on him. He'd touched her. The virtuous and upstanding Hermione Granger had been tainted by the likes of him. A filthy death eater. Draco took a step back. "No….I guess you wouldn't. Why would you expect decency from me? I'd never given you any reason to."

Draco dropped back down in his chair, his elbow hitting his fork, causing it to clatter against his plate. He sighed. "Look. I know what I am, alright? Or at least what I used to be. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I swear…..I just wanted to….." He sighed again, rumpling his hair with his hand. Frustrated, he grabbed his fork and threw it against the wall, making Hermione jump with the sound. "What's the use?" he muttered to himself. "No one's ever going to give me a chance. Maybe I should just walk into the ministry and turn myself in."

"What?" His words made Hermione temporarily forget her panic and anger. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't act so surprised. You had to know there was a bounty on my head."

Hermione's jaw dropped. When had that happened? How could it have happen?

He saw her expression and snorted at the absurdity of it. Then a thought occurred to him…..he had no idea why she was in these woods. Or how long she'd been there. Was she a lure? Was righteous Hermione Granger herself a bounty hunter? He eyed her suspiciously. "Do you honestly not know why I'm here?"

He watched as she shook her head, her eyes wide and clear of deception.

All of a sudden, Draco felt silly. He chided himself for being paranoid. If he couldn't trust Granger, who could he trust? He decided to take a chance. "I'm in hiding."

"But….you were found innocent! They dismissed the charges against you."

Had Hermione been living under a rock?

"Organizations have formed since my trial. They call themselves innocuous-sounding names like, "Citizens Against Crime" and twaddle like that, but their agenda is to wipe out everyone who ended up on the wrong side of the war."

"That….that can't be…"

"Legal? It's not."

"But….but Kingsley wouldn't allow…"

Draco looked at her strangely. She really doesn't know. "Hermione…...just how long have you been in these woods?"

She seemed confused. "I...I'm not...sure. Time slips away here. Close to a year? Maybe a year and a half. Why?"

Draco knew it had to be closer to two years if she hadn't heard what happened to the former Order member. He gave her a pitying look. This wasn't going to go well. "Kingsley's dead."

Hermione blinked stupidly. She felt like she had been confunded. "Dead? Are you sure?"

He nodded, his face serious. "I am. He was murdered a little over a year ago."

The tears came then, hot, weary tears of grief. At first, Draco didn't know what to do. He doubted she'd want his comfort. But then he realized he was all she had. He reluctantly drew her into his arms, rubbing her back awkwardly as she cried.

Hermione couldn't believe it. All the sacrifices they'd made to defeat evil, all the deaths, all the mourning….and for what?

What had they won?

"Wh….why?" That's what she couldn't understand. Why would anyone target the best Minister they'd had in living history?

Draco spoke softly, his mouth next to her ear. "He'd ordered a crackdown on the uprisings. Word leaked to the groups. So, they struck first. I heard he'd been poisoned." Draco was already in hiding at the time, but Theo Nott had sent him an owl warning him that the little protection he'd had was gone. There'd been a riot following Shacklebolt's murder. Outside of England, the neighboring magical governments panicked. They were afraid Voldemort sympathizers would flee England to make new bases of operations in other countries. Borders began to close. Anti-apparition wards appeared. Floo systems were shut down. Portkeys were refused. The other wizarding ministries weren't allowing anyone from the UK into their countries. No one could get out. All those who had not fought for the Light were now sitting ducks. Even those who'd remained neutral during the war were not safe. Theo urged Draco to stay low. He would come to him when he could. That had been six months ago when he'd last heard from his friend. Six months of silence for Draco to fear the worst. Finally, word made it to him that Nott had been rounded up by one of the groups for questioning. No one had heard of him since.

Hermione was in shock. She'd never imagined a dystopian future when she'd envisioned a world without Voldemort. "But surely there are others…..Kingsley couldn't have the been the only one to…."

"The Ministry's running scared, or so I've been told. There's too many of these fanatics. Right now, they're in control." Then he chuckled mirthlessly. "Where's St. Potter when you need him, eh?"

Hermione's eyes dimmed in shame. "Brazil," she whispered.

Draco's face showed his surprise. What in the name of Merlin was Harry Potter doing in Brazil? He was dumbfounded. But at least now, it made sense why he'd not heard anything about him. The Boy Who Lived had gone AWOL. That left…

"Did Weasley go with him?" he asked.

Hermione's face crumpled. That was the last straw in her already overwhelmed heart. Once again, tears gushed, but this time, words accompanied them. It all came out, everything she'd been bottling up inside. The war, the pain. The emptiness and loss of purpose. The waves of depression. Harry's defection into debauchery. Ron's mental suicide. Her flight from life.

Draco held her trembling body as her lanced soul spilled out its poison. He wisely made no comment but listened as Hermione released the clamor within that had deafened her spirit. Ugly, loud words that spoke of uglier, louder truths. The death of innocence. The rape of hope.

Once she was done, she was spent. But then, as she rested in Draco's strong arms, she felt something. It was barely there…..hardly measurable….but a difference. A small, tiny, infinitesimal measure of quiet. She breathed out.

She'd forgotten how lovely a still mind sounded.

Without thinking twice about it, she stood up, pulled Draco from his chair and led him to the couch she'd seen in the next room. There, she pushed him down and sat nearly on top of him while resting her head against his shoulder. Doing nothing. Saying nothing.

Cocooned in blessed silence.

000

AN: Thank you so much to those of you who have shared your war experiences with me. I hope I do your words justice with this tale.

I know this chapter was mostly conversation, but I needed to get Draco and Hermione on the same page. Both had knowledge the other needed. Now that they're both on equal footing, we can go forward.

In this story, muggle means of transportation would not work for wizards. Even if they had passports, their magical signature would set off an alarm and they would be deported.

On a personal note: I am not politically minded. But I do enjoy history. I am worried, though, that it may soon repeat itself. I fear the world has not learned from its past mistakes. There is so much intolerance, so much hate. So much fear.

It always starts with that.