Monday came and went without incident. Work was stressful. Piles of paperwork. Inattentive assistant. The usual.

Tuesday was much the same.

Wednesday yielded a visit with Harry Potter, whom stumbled into her new office in lengthy Auror robes and oversized shoes. His hair was wiry, tangled mess. The smudge of his eyeglasses bothered Hermione to no end. He was a mess, same as Hogwarts. There was no changing him.

She welcomed him with a smile, though his appearance made her shift from ease to anxiety.

Harry meant trouble. One way or another, it always came to him.

"Afternoon, Hermione." He waved with a soft smile. "How's the new job?"

"It is trying."

She restrained herself from unloading just how much of a mess the department was because of the retired department head. Harry would intervene, and it was not his mess to get involved in. Hermione kept her quiet.

He lowered himself into one of the three chairs on the other side of Hermione's desk. It was his usual place in their rare meetings. Rare because of Ginny. The risk of losing her was greater than the reminder of sadder times at Harry's emergence.

Harry eyed her through his thin rims. "Ron said he paid you a visit."

"Came to harass his sister more like," she retorted.

A sticky silence fell over the room as Harry shifted in his seat, discomfort marked all over his features. It was not unnoticed.

Hermione sighed. "You wanker. You told him to come over, didn't you?"

"I just want this to end," Harry cried out. "This war. The family is torn apart because of her."

That was a hard reminder. Ginny was broken when Harry left to run off after Horcruxes with the twins and Hermione and Ron. His concern to her safety. That action wounded her more deeply than anyone realized. It was well and good to be self-sacrificing in the face of society's end, but Harry was the one thing that she made herself about. Ever since she was a child, she worshipped him and molded herself to fit around his demeanor.

Without him, she was an empty misfit shell. It was her deep ugly scar of war.

"You hurt her, Harry."

He exhaled sharply. "It was better than her physically being hurt. We all knew I was going to die. There was no time for romance. I had to focus. You know, save the world."

"Well that's exactly why she can't come back," she replied softly. It hurt so much; being on the opposite side of Harry. So unnatural. "You threw her away from more important things like she wasn't important."

"She is important. Just not compared to the entire world."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well that's how we've come to this situation. Listen, can we not talk about this right now? We never get anywhere or say anything new. It's all become so predictable. The way it is, is the way it is. Can't bother changing it."

"We can try," he said bitterly.

His statement wasn't meant to be anger at her, she knew. It was frustration with the situation. They were best friends since childhood. It felt wrong to be at odds, on different ends of a situation and not together or close. Perhaps it was subtle jealousy over the bond Hermione cultivated with Ginny after their time away from the Weasley family.

The paperwork progressed slowly in the silent tension of the office. Memos dashed in multiple times with notifications of uses of accidental magic, newly discovered Muggleborns and situation reports of cleared circumstances. It had to be less busy than the office of the Aurors, or Magical Law Enforcement officers. Harry and Ron were constantly overwhelmed with memos as they zoomed through the offices. They each had their own share of paperwork to attend to.

However, as a department head, Hermione held more paperwork than them both combined.

Her quill scratched endlessly as she filled form after form. Some turned her face into a distinct frown.

"Months old," she mumbled. "Dokas let this sit for months. Incorrigible."

Harry met the man a few times at Ministry parties and was frightenly aware of the essence that accompanied the man. "I'd be careful who you speak to about him. Heard that he has Floos in many fireplaces, if you know what I mean."

His friend bristled at the idea. "I'm not afraid of Dokas."

"No, of course not. He's only a man with incredible reach and unending pockets," Harry said flatly. When Hermione shot him a look meant to kill, he sighed. The glasses fell to the tip of his nose as he rubbed his eyes, exhausted. "Look. Just be careful, okay? I care about you, Hermione. You don't let me know what's going on anymore. This is what little I can do to protect you. So just listen. Please."

In that small quiet moment, it felt like they were back at Hogwarts again, in firelight in Gryffindor Tower with open books on their laps and hot cocoa in their mugs as the snow pelted against glass. It was her very favorite memory of Harry. A time when he wasn't plagued with the images of war, the weight of the world, the despair that came with it. None of it existed then. It was just two best friends in warmth through a winter storm, complaining about Malfoy and speaking of reason news.

Oh. Malfoy.

Her gaze turned hesitant. Harry disliked Malfoy very much. Although he had testified for Malfoy and his mother, there was no love lost between the pair. Same was true for Hermione except that she found herself within his acquaintanceship. Harry was a good many things, understanding and forgiving being the two most foremost behind brave and impulsive. Should she mention it?

Of course the question of why would come up. How it happened, when. Hermione didn't know those answers. Ginny never explained just how the Slytherins came to her friendship and not the end of her wand.

Partly that was due to the rebellion. Ginny did many things that the Weasley's weren't too fond of. The Slytherins might have been just another rebellion that resulted in something lucrative for both of them. Hermione needed friends, Ginny needed love. They both got it in small amounts from the new circle.

"Molly has been asking about you," Harry said sometime later. "She's been wondering when she'll see you again."

Hermione froze. That was not something they spoke of. Ever.

"Harry, please. Don't."

"Percy has a girlfriend. Teddy has gotten so grown up you'll hardly recognize. And George." Harry's eyes turned sad. "George misses you. He needs you."

Tears rushed Hermione into sudden blindness. It was for that reason she avoided Harry and the rest of the Weasley clan. So many reminders. Forgiveness and need. The very pain leeched through her heart in poison.

Hermione sniffed the pain back. "Ginny and I are busy."

"All day?"

She nodded. "All day, every day."

When was the last time she'd seen the Weasley family?

She remembered the dismal gray sky as it loomed overhead sparse clouds littered through the distance of an eerie full moon. The Burrow was lit with candles, warm red curtains glowed against the dark of night. It was cold. Her breath created smokey puffs out her mouth as she approached.

Sunday dinners were an important aspect of the Weasley's. They ate together most meals, but Sunday was the day when everyone showed, including Bill and Fleur. Charlie showed up sometimes, too. That was how important it was. Molly created a feast fit for kings, although they were well aware it wasn't that easy for their income.

That night, those weren't thoughts on her mind. She was withholding her growing sob as she came back to the very place he lived, the very place that she fell in love with him. It was a stab to her heart, a betrayal of him coming back to his home when she was the very reason death came to him so soon. A beloved Weasley. She imaged him writhing in his grave over her with his happy family, taking his place at the table as he laid cold, dead, because of her.

Because of her.

The family flooded her. They came to her side, asked her questions, and gazed directly into her soul, learning her guilt in their loved one's death. Yet they clung to her. So forgiving, so comforting.

"It will be alright." They all said. Sadness and compassion as their own grief was buried away in their sense of resolve. "This is what he would have wanted. He is at peace."

Over and over their words played in her mind. Peace. Was he at peace? Or was it agony that he was a part of her eternal fate whilst she rolled around in the joy of his stolen future?

"If he could see you now…Fred would be - ."

Hermione gasped. "How dare you say his name to me! I can't – I can't believe you'd do this here, of all places. My job. My work."

The watery flood sat behind her eyes ready to burst.

His name. She hadn't heard aloud since that night at the Burrow where she collapsed in absolute agony from the guilt, the refusal to open her eyes and be reminded of all she'd stolen.

"It's been years. You need to forgive yourself," Harry said. "He'd want you to be happy. It's an insult to his memory to be so ruined. All he ever did was laugh, joke around, make you smile. You need to do that. For him."

Hermione swallowed back the lump in her throat. The memory of red hair, his teasing scent of yummy ocean waves, long arms around her waist and a loving kiss planted upon her cheek as they stared at a horizon of new sun, light filtered through land as it shined upon a dark descending world. New promise, that's what he called it. The start of something new. A place for fun and hope. Not like then, where those were cursed words.

She shook him out. "I've got to get back to work. So, if you don't mind."

Her fingers pointed to the door. She didn't dare to look up from the form. His face. It'd make her fury bubble to the surface. Or a fist.

Harry shuffled out of the office with a few minor voiced complaints, but it was met with uninterrupted silence. His friend dove headfirst into her work without another glance his way.

After the door latched shut, her writing stopped. She drooped her head into her hands. A wild mane of brown curls cascaded down over her cheeks, a dense shadow over her eyes as she whimpered softly.

Ron and Harry knew how she felt. She told them just how she felt torn to pieces every time she fell into her old life, one that he was ripped from. To see that mop of Ron's red hair made her thought catch thinking it might be him. The nightmare ended. He'd be alive. But then came the crushing despair as she remembered that he was gone. His headstone a slab of preserved stone in a picture frame in the drawer of her bedside table.

Sometimes at night she needed to see where he was.

Hermione sucked in her breath and followed through with her day. She withheld the dam. And when she finally collapsed into her bed at home did she finally realize just how low she felt. The very bottom. The scar across her body glowed bright, scarred and pitted with pus and awful rot inside.

She needed to forget. Not remember. It needed to go away.

Bright red lips shined in the mirror. A white blouse slipped over her bra easily. It hugged her closely, spilt open to reveal her peachy cream flesh below with no tank top. The exposed skin greeted the air in silent gasp. A short pencil skirt slipped over her hips, black and white floral designs across the fabric. A short romp through Ginny's shoes revealed a pair of shiny black booties, topped with white lacy flowers.

The evening of London glowed overtop her as she marched down the streets, searching for the right place. A place to forget. It was Wednesday so the pubs and clubs wouldn't be too packed. But packed was what she needed. A place full to the brim, a place to lose yourself.

A few blocks down she found the hazy glow of a sign. It read Perdita.

Music throbbed onto the street in front, yet it seemed ignored by those who walked by. It wasn't pop melody or stringy guitar. Just gentle, seductive. She stood for a length at the cusp of the building. It stood out amongst the light of neon signs and blaring rise of voices as they passed.

The darkness loomed over it like a cloud. It swallowed every ounce of light into its abyss.

It struck fear into her heart. She staggered backward as the power clawed at her. The thought to leave crossed her mind, and she swallowed it down.

Forget. Forget it all.

Hermione marched in through the black doors and entered a surprisingly small room. It was dark, with a slight hum of green from the light of the bar. Not a single costumer inside. She squinted through the darkness to see a lone figure lined in green. It was tall, stocky. A wiry beard hanged down off the chin, which arched her senses to wary but as she stepped closer, she realized the figure was a woman.

The woman held an impassive stare as Hermione approached.

"How much for a drink?" She asked softly.

She reached in and grabbed hold of a few bills, certain it'd be enough for the start.

When she glanced back up, a glass sat on the bar filled with liquid unknown. It was clear like water but smelled of something stronger. Vodka, perhaps.

"Oh," she said. "I guess that'll do. How much?"

Bearded woman stood unmoved. Her eyes stared at Hermione with indifference, no effort to answer.

Hermione shifted back and forth. The longer the silence carried, the more ridiculous she felt.

"Is this enough?" She placed a few bills on the top of the bar.

Thankfully, the woman nodded and collected the money.

"You may go," the woman said suddenly.

The surprise nearly dropped the glass from Hermione's hand. She clutched the glass tightly before she leaned in closer.

"Go?" She swallowed. "Go where?"

Three doors suddenly – almost like magic – revealed themselves. None of were significant nor were they marked with any kind of sign.

Hermione chewed her lip. "Which one do I choose?"

"That depends on where you wish to end."

She remembered the glass in her hand and titled to her lips but found herself unable to drink. She glanced at the woman with question.

The woman's dull eyes sparkled to life. "Make a choice and it will provide for you."

"But how do I know which one is the correct one?"

"You'll know," she hummed back.

It looked like the bearded woman was done speaking. She backed into shadows. An impassive being.

Hermione eyed the three doors ahead with wonder, and hesitantly opened the one on the left. Its knob was warm as she gripped it. That must've been a good sign. She stepped through into more darkness. Endless darkness. She gasped as she tried to find stability but struggled as weight crushed against her and finally spat her out into a much more open room.

There were slate gray walls with lush couches and furry beanbags scattered about the floor. In bright red and navy blue, some were gray as the walls with silver tinge. Light fixtures dotted the landscape, leaving much space in between suspended in total darkness.

Patrons were spread throughout the space. They looked comfortable in place. Empty glasses in their hands.

Oh, right.

Hermione raised her glass and chugged the liquid until it was gone. The burn radiated out her nostrils in fiery breaths. She nearly choked when she felt herself being touched. Her hand, wrist was being lazily led.

Light turned into squiggle of brilliant color as she stared at the fixtures. Fur of the bag touched her skin like the touch of another. It surged through her. Hermione settled deeper into the bliss. It washed over her in a sticky sheen as her body felt afloat through the air, worshipped by the very oxygen as it bubbled against her.

"What's your poison, love?" A voice asked above her. It was just a black shadow with no face to her. She didn't move.

"I don't know," she breathed.

The figure chuckled. "We're all in here for something. Gots to be bad if you're in this one."

"I don't know," she repeated.

She wanted to see the pretty lights above as they twinkled like colorful stars just beyond her reach. Her girlish giggle escaped as one ducked close to her face and tickled her neck.

The black shadow retreated. In its wake left a tide of splendor like spell after spell as pleasure coursed through her body.

It was all so beautiful. The way air brushed against her skin, ravaging her like a knowing lover. Her back arched, eyes rolled back. A deep burning sensation filled her limbs as she struggled to find herself throughout the mind-numbing bliss.

She was at the brink when a hand landed on her shoulder, shaking her with might.

"Granger?" It said.

She moaned. "Oh, hello handsome."

It was a platinum-blonde haired guy with sharp gray eyes. They made her insides melt as she watched them scan over her, touching her neck gently. Lips parted, they looked so tender and beautiful.

Her finger reached up and touched them.

The gray eyes widened. "Granger? Can you hear me?"

Wait. There was something so recognized in that tone. She felt her mind awakened through the partial haze.

"Malfoy?"

His grip turned gentle against her shoulder. "Granger. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Forget. I want to forget. Forget with me."

She was suddenly wrapped up in his gaze. How did he do that? It made her thighs suddenly tense in heat. Oh, she needed him.

His lips were moving. He was speaking.

"What are you doing here? Do you know what this place is?" He grabbed her chin in his palm. "Granger. This is a place for lost souls. The last stop before the bottom. You don't belong here."

That was a lie.

"Oh, yes I do. Malfoy. You may be able to sit over there all sexy and smart and smell so damn good, but not me. I'm cursed," she slurred.

Malfoy casted a doubtful glance. "If either of us is cursed, I'd say it's me."

He started to grab hold of her hands. She fought against him.

"No. I'm staying," she cried. "I like it here."

Malfoy casted a wary glance. His hand tapped against his pocket where his wand rested. There was a long moment of pause, but he shook it out of his head.

"Come on, Granger. Let's get you home before something happens."

He lifted her with ease. Her body wasn't easy to control as it had been.

She rested against his chest as his arms looped below her knees and around her back. He cradled her closely as he walked toward a door, one she hadn't noticed mainly because it was in the complete dark. It swallowed them whole and led to a hazy room at the end of a long hallway.

Hermione cuddled in against his neck and breathed in his scent as he walked. "Mmm. You smell so nice."

"Thank you."

"You're so strong," she hummed in bliss as she felt his muscles tense around her.

He glanced down at her. "Um, thank you."

"I want to kiss you," she said through dreamy eyes. "I think you'll taste nice."

Malfoy lost his grip slightly. She dipped down against his lower abdomen. He blushed violently and pulled her back, close to his neck.

He let his pace quicken. "It's going to be alright, Granger. That's just the spell. I know it isn't you talking. The Granger I know would be hexing me right now."

"Let me kiss you." She pouted her lips.

"No."

She pulled closer against his neck, planting a gentle one against his pulse. Her tongue clung to his skin.

There was a distinct sigh of pleasure from him. She felt it through his chest.

"Ginny's been worried sick about you," he stated evenly. "She is looking all over the city, even called home."

Hermione was numb. It didn't register.

"I can't go home to them," she groaned. "I can't. I can't."

Malfoy furrowed his brow as they neared the room. The door opened enough to reveal a fireplace lit with green flame. A Floo.

"Why not?"

It was no longer bliss. There was no more ecstasy. All of the sadness crowded around her like walls crashing down in self-destruct.

Malfoy. He was near. Warm, living, need. She wanted that.

"Stay with me tonight," she begged.

His eyes momentarily widened, before returning to their concentration. He lowered her feet down to the floor. The grip around Hermione's waist never left. He held her upright as they walked to the flame.

His silence was aching.

Hermione reached up and grabbed hold of his collar, legs spread around his hips in a midair straddle.

"Stay. Stay with me. Don't leave me alone."

She cupped his cheeks. The soft flesh felt a fire to the numb cold in her soul.

"Granger." It was a struggled sound through his throat. "The last person you want in your bed is a man like me."

"I am not little Miss Perfect anymore. I am broken. I am cursed. I am desperate to find some shred of light in this world before I end it all and all I want is one night with a beating heart next to me so that I forget for a moment just how I got to this fucked up end!"

He didn't know what to do. Malfoy was silent. For once.

The light of his eyes trickled away as he beheld the witch in his grasp. She watched him back with wide eyes. They were so desperate on the edge of tears that he relented his will to fight against her.

He grabbed hold of Floo powder and threw it all around them in the open fireplace and the pair burst into green flame.

Hermione stumbled out of the fireplace, falling face first into the couch. Malfoy's long grasp was no match for the instant call of gravity on weakened knees.

Gently he grabbed hold of her arms and eased her up, checking that she wasn't hurt more clearly now that he was in better lighting of the flat. He heard hurried steps against the floor.

Ginny emerged with a stark pale face. "Hermione, thank Merlin! What happened?"

Hermione snapped up at the sound, adjusting her hair as professional as she could.

"Lights are colorful fairies, did you know? They tickle your skin and make everyone smell so good. Smell Malfoy. Ginny, honestly, smell him. How do they smell so good?"

Ginny casted an alarmed stared to Malfoy.

"I found her at Perdita," he answered.

The look on Ginny's face was indescribable.

She grabbed hold of Hermione's shoulders and forced her to look her in the eye, though it was difficult since Hermione's attention was shorter than that of a goldfish.

"Hermione listen to me. Are you listening?" She waited until her friend nodded. "Okay. What happened today? Did something happen? Cormac didn't force himself on you, right?"

Malfoy heightened with intensity as questions of Cormac McLaggen perched on the edge of his tongue. It took most of his willpower to not speak since it was clear that it wasn't a scum like Cormac that led Hermione to a place like Perdita. Only the worst of the worst, the lowest and the most forgotten were allowed to enter.

Hermione shook her head. "No. No. Oh, no. I can't tell you."

Ginny's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"I can't tell you. You'll be so mad." Tears dripped onto Hermione's skin. "It wasn't my fault. He just came there and sat down and started saying I should come back and you're not important and then he just said it."

"Said what? Who are you talking about?"

Tears turned to sobs. "Harry! Harry talked about Fred. My Fred. I was an insult to his memory to forget him. He doesn't even remember that I killed Fred. I'm the reason he's dead. I'm the reason why George is forever half of himself and I'm just less than a shadow of who I should be. And I'm so sorry I killed your brother, Gin. I really am."

Hermione turned to a mess right on the floor. She sobbed uncontrollably, shaking and trembling.

Malfoy watched closely as Ginny bit back a twinge of sadness. She lowered herself to the floor in front of her friend and petted her hair gently.

"It isn't your fault," she said softly.

"Really? Because I wake up every morning hoping to switch places with him, so I don't have to live with this guilt anymore."