A/N. As in the prologue of Blacklisted, we saw the death of a hero. First it was Snape and Draco's last moments with him and now Remus and Hermione's last moments with him. It was the moments that changed their lives forever.

Alright, I really am sorry about the prologue. I admit to crying pretty hard when I wrote it. But things get better! I promise! Eventually! Have faith in me!

This picks up about fourteen months after the ending of the last book. So Christmas has passed along with the spring and the summer and then the winter again and it is the beginning of February.

…~oOo~…

Chapter One: In Which Time Has Passed

Draco Malfoy just wanted to go home. Well, maybe not home. He wanted to go anywhere that wasn't the Ministry of Magic. It had been a long day of trials and laws going through circulation, the newest one being passed being the Mudblood Marriage Law, which dictated that no wizard or witch without at least one magic parent could be married legally in Wizarding Britain.

Maybe that was what had him so miserable. The Law had made him think of her.

This only reminded him that he would have to see her that evening. It would only be the fifth time he'd seen her in the past fourteen months. If it were up to him, he would have avoided her altogether – but he was still a spy even though Boy Wonder swooped in, back from the grave, and it was as if no one mattered apart from him. Not even their spy.

Well, in all fairness, they all were a bunch of idiots and the fact that he accepted a position directly under Snow made them a suspicious and paranoid as Mad-Eye Moody had been. Understandably so. It was suspicious to even him.

The clock on his desk started singing a soft, Elvish lullaby. He looked at the crystal face of the clock – it had been a gift from his mother, congratulations for his new job – and sighed in relief. He could leave. But he would wait five minutes for everyone else in the office to rush out towards the elevators and avoid running into anyone who wanted to nag him about something or other.

Ever since the very sudden, abrupt advance in his political career, everyone wanted something from him. He'd had so many bribes pushed at him relentlessly that he was actually exhausted with saying no, something he thought he was good at. People wanted to give him money, wanted to ask for money, wanted to steal money. They wanted endorsement, they wanted him to cut ties with other political figures, strengthen them with others, and marry their oldest daughter.

The clock ticked quietly while Draco leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Maybe he could take a quick nap. He knew it would only bring on dreaded dreams, but a few moments of rest would be worth the imaginary cries of a certain Muggle-born.

His door swung open without any warning. There was no knock, so he knew who it was. Even the Dark Lord, Snow, and his father had the decency to announce themselves by knocking or tapping. This was a different element altogether. Element, not woman.

"You'll bring me to dinner tonight," Pansy Parkinson said dictatorially.

"I won't," Draco replied, leaning forward and pretending to be busy with whatever document he got his hands on first. "I am busy. Undersecretaries don't have time for casual dinners."

"You went out with Astoria last week," Pansy said, her nose scrunched distastefully. Even though she'd grown into an okay-looking lady, when she scowled she still had that distinct pug look to her.

"That is because we are courting," Draco said stiffly. "Which makes it a business dinner."

"Don't be cruel, Draco," Pansy said, walking around and perching herself on his desk right beside his chair. She ran one of her perfectly manicured, red nails down his cheekbone and along his jaw. He did not wince, just held perfectly still and stared forward. He was not sure whether the rumors about Pansy's infamous red nails were true or not, but he wasn't prepared to find out. Anyway, poisoned nail polish seemed like a stretch even to him.

"Astoria is too good for you," Pansy said, her voice cooing like he was a baby. She really was growing into the second-coming of Bellatrix. "You need someone as bad as you are."

"Am I right in assuming you have a suggestion?" Draco said wryly.

"You know we're good together," she whispered. "Give me another chance."

"Thank you," Draco said, standing up and straightening his suit jacket. It was becoming a popular trend, suits. More and more wizards were wearing them in the Ministry world, led by Snow who started it all. Draco had always had a good suit growing up, but in the work world you were expected to wear robes. Not anymore. "But no thank you. Go proposition Goyle. I'm sure he'd welcome you back with open arms."

Pansy sniffed indignantly. "That gorilla? I'd rather shag Crabbe."

"Crabbe is dead."

"Exactly. Crabbe's corpse is preferable."

Even Draco wanted to gag at that. God, she was a lunatic. He felt his nose wrinkle distastefully. "Alright, get out of my office, you necrophilic harpy. You're making the place smell like crazy."

"You should be kinder to me," Pansy said, a note of warning in her tone as she shoved off the desk and onto her five-inch heels. She was wearing all red, her new signature color. "After all, we are going to be in each other's lives for a very long time. And you know I have the power to make yours a living hell."

"There was a time where you kissed the ground I walked on, Pans," Draco said, leaning back in his chair and making a steeple of his fingers. "What happened, exactly?"

Before leaving, Pansy turned back to Draco with the strangest look on her face. She said, very simply, "I grew up. As did you." She left without closing the door, as she always did.

Draco almost missed the days where he could count on Pansy to do just about any favor as long as he winked at her during class or paid a little attention to her. Sure, she was needy in Hogwarts and worshipped him to a degree that could almost be considered stalking, but at least if she'd told her to close the door behind her when they were in school, she would have done it.

Draco deemed it safe to leave and walked out of his office and through the mostly-empty desks of his employees. One of the girls was staying behind and doing extra work – likely so she has nothing to worry about over the weekend – while one of the blokes in charge of financial records tried chatting her up, which she seemed to have no interest in.

In the elevator, he unbuttoned the uppermost button that had been pressing into his jugular for most of the day. He would have done it earlier, but he'd had so many trials and meetings and it was important to look sleek and professional, never sloppy. He wondered for a moment how warm it would be and went for taking off his suit jacket as well, shrinking it and putting it in his pocket. He considered taking off the waistcoat as well, but decided that if he ran into anyone he knew on his way out that he is at least mostly-dressed.

February had just begun and the sun was out more often and it was disturbingly warm for the middle of winter in the middle of London. Well, not so much London itself as the magical parts of London. It was a phenomenon that he'd been getting questioned about and had no clue of how to answer. Was the atmosphere suddenly affected by magic? That seemed wildly improbable. More than likely, spring had just decided to come early. Or maybe it was global warming.

"Oh! Mr. Malfoy! Just the man I was looking for!"

Draco sighed and didn't even look over his shoulder to see who'd spotted him leaving the elevator. He kept walking forward, towards the exit. He never took the Floo in the Ministry – he wanted no record of his address of his flat in Muggle London. And as Senior Undersecretary, he knew that all Ministry regulated Floos were very closely monitored – fortunately, none of the Orders' safe houses' networks were regulated. They were highly illegal and once Draco had become Undersecretary, he had worked out the last of the kinks in the Floo that could have given away Grimmauld or the other houses.

When he'd repaired the Floo had been the first time Draco had seen Hermione since that Christmas Eve. Since the incident.

"I don't see how tampering with the Floo is necessary," Ronald Weasley grumbled. "It works just fine and has never given us any trouble before. Not like the Ministry is knocking down our door…well, until you got here."

"Let the man do his job," Amelia Bones said, scolding him. Her lips were pursed and she eyed Ronald disapprovingly. The look reminded Draco very much of McGonagall, which was scary enough. "This is what he does. He collects information and does something with it. Let him put the proper charms on the Floo like he says he will. You should be appreciative – he's preventing us from ever being found."

Rolling his eyes, Ron limped out of the room, his cane slapping the floor as he growled to himself. Draco didn't thank Bones or give her a grateful nod. He only gave her a look, which she tipped her head to, and that was enough communication for both of the Slytherins.

"Excuse me, Ms. Bones, but do you know what Ron was so disgruntled a…"

Hermione's voice trailed off as she stood in the threshold to the sitting room where Draco stood by the fireplace, his wand tapping the brick of it. His hand stilled, though, when he'd heard the voice he knew better than he should have.

"Malfoy," Hermione breathed, her eyes opening wide. "You're alright."

"Of course I'm alright," Draco said tartly, arching a brow. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, McGonagall had said that you were, but the whole situation with the Ministry position didn't make much sense and I was so worried and I couldn't send you an owl or Floo you because the Ministry is so heavily watched and –"

"Granger, you're rambling. Please shut up. I'm trying to focus."

Hermione looked affronted. "Pardon?" she said.

"I said… 'shut up'. Surely this is simple enough for even the genius Gryffindor Princess to understand."

Hermione's jaw dropped at his tenacity.

"I'll leave you both," Bones said, rising from her chair and wandering off into Grimmauld.

"You have got a lot of nerve," Hermione said, marching up to Draco with a fierce expression. "I was worried and this is how you treat me? To think – I'd actually been making excuses for you to not only everyone else, but myself. About where've you been and why you broke your promise last month."

"I don't make promises," Draco said, sneering. "And if I do, it's usually to get someone off my back."

"'I'll be back by tomorrow morning', you said," Hermione said, mimicking his deep voice with little accuracy. "'Not to worry', you said! I was hardly twisting your arm when you said those things!"

"You'd just come back from the dead," Draco said flippantly. "I was being nice. A mistake I won't make again."

"You kissed me," Hermione said fervently. "Another thing that you did completely on your own!"

"You didn't seem to mind."

Hermione wanted to stamp her foot or shove him. She'd done it before, but now she would do neither. She was going to stand her ground. "I didn't. Which was why I was meaning to talk to you before you abandoned us at Mould-on-the-Wold."

"I didn't abandon anyone," Draco said, feeling some anger rise up in his chest. "I did what was best for everyone – including your students."

"Are you being deliberately obtuse or does it come naturally?" Hermione demanded. "Why did you kiss me?"

"Because I wanted to!" Draco snapped. "For thirty stupid seconds, I was deluded enough to think it was a good idea. But the second it was over, I realized how idiotic it was. And this entire conversation just makes me regret it more because if I hadn't panicked and made such a stupid decision, you wouldn't be giving me a headache right now."

"Regret?" Hermione hissed. "You regret it?"

"Of course I do!" Draco shouted. "The minute it was over, I regretted it! I don't feel anything towards you except annoyance. I don't know how I mistook that for attraction, but now I'm stuck with this. Let it go, Granger. It didn't mean anything and no matter how many warped fantasies you come up with me being the tragic anti-hero with a secret golden heart, it never will."

That had been the last time they spoke. He'd watched her crumble before she walked away. She didn't run or slap him or anything dramatic like that. She'd simply put the cup of tea she had been planning to drink on the coffee table and walked out.

The memory of it was enough to make Draco want to crumble himself. And the thought of it just then make his patience for whoever was calling his name disappear. If whoever called his name approached him despite his obvious disinterest, Draco wasn't sure he could be held accountable for his actions. He was furious, mostly with himself, but he tended to project that onto others. He sped up his pace, ignoring the fading calls of the person behind him.

He escaped out onto the streets of Muggle London where he ducked into an alleyway to enlarge the scarf in his pocket and wrap it around his neck. Sticking his hands in his pockets and walking down the street, he uttered light warming charms along the way instead of kicking himself for the stupidity of taking his jacket off before he knew the weather. The wind was cool as peppermint and he wondered if it would snow that evening. He hoped not. He couldn't wait for March to hurry its arse up.

When he pushed open the door to his flat, he did not know why he had expected it to be relaxing to return home. He completely forgot about his little…houseguest.

"You are late!" Margot Beauregard exclaimed the second he stepped through the door. "The meeting 'as already started, I am sure!" She was angry, which wasn't saying much. As most almost-fifteen year old girls, she was always angry. Not to mention the fact she was French. The cultural attributes added onto the normal hormonal raging of the age-group was a combination for disaster.

And what would you know, Draco had to live with such a small time-bomb. It was a little less than a year before that Snow had started asking about the exact location that Draco was keeping Margot while they continued to hold her capture over her mother's head. There would be proof-of-life letters and pictures every month, but always the looming threat of death if her mother were to stray from Snow's cause in the International Confederation of Wizards. But, of course, when Snow got curious, Draco could not reveal that he was keeping Margot at Mould-on-the-Wold, the secret Muggle-born wizarding school, so he got a flat in the city and a roommate. Like a Muggle child, though, she took the Floo back and forth from Mould-on-the-Wold, also known as Moony's Academy.

But evenings, when Snow was most likely to make a visit, Margot was there at the flat.

And, of course, she was there when Draco was back from work.

Draco didn't answer the girl's yelling. Instead he just enlarged his jacket and put it on the coat-hook, pushed back the hair from his face, and walked into the kitchen.

"We are missing the meeting!" the girl shouted.

"I am not missing the meeting," he said, rolling his eyes as he went into his refrigerator for a butterbeer. "It won't start for another thirty minutes. Right now all they're doing is drinking coffee and gossiping."

"That is the best part!" Margot insisted. "The gossip!"

She is so French sometimes that I wonder if I should just call her "bagette"!

Draco smiled to himself, remembering Hermione saying that about Margot once at a meeting. She'd been talking to Harry Bleeding Potter and Draco had been eavesdropping – something he did often – and had to force himself to not bust out laughing just as Potter did.

"Just because you messed up with the other Order people, does not mean I should be deprived of spending time with my friends!" Margot declared, with such elegant and clear diction that Draco could help but admit would make her a good politician. She probably learned from her own mother.

"You spent all day with them," Draco pointed out, too bone-tired to really lay it into her.

"Still! I do not eat dinner with them or fly with them or –"

"Fine!" Draco consented, putting his half-drunk bottle back in the refrigerator. "I give up. Get in the Floo and cover your ears."

Whenever they Floo'd to Grimmauld, Margot closed her ears. Draco was a Secret Keeper and for Margot's safety, should anything happen, they did not want her life to be in danger because she knew the exact location and password to get into Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

With both of them standing in the Floo it was a little cramped, but she was small enough. He spoke clearly their destination and the green flames sparked around them. Only a moment later, they were standing in the sitting room of Grimmauld.

"Margot is here!" Adam, who was in the middle of a Wizarding Chess lesson with Ronald Weasley, called out. A split second later, Chelsea was in the room, carrying two cups of tea.

Every time Draco saw Chelsea, he felt like she grew another inch. She had been a small thing at eleven, and the same at the beginning of twelve, but a year later she was on the cusp of thirteen and as tall as Margot. The same was for Adam. He and Chelsea were about the same height now and while he had annoying long hair, she had that same short, pixie-like hair cut – though it looked more feminine now than it had at the start. Maybe because she was growing into her body and looked more like a girl over all.

"About time you arrived," Ron Weasley said, pushing himself out of the chair with the help of his cane. His leg still refused to bend for the most part and they suspected it never would. It definitely made a noticeable impression on his mood, which had already leaned towards the Annoying Prat end of the spectrum.

"Weasley," Draco acknowledged, taking off his scarf and draping it over the back of the couch. He walked out of the room, leaving Margot to her girl time. Before he knew it, though, Adam was on his tail.

"How are you, Mr. Malfoy?" Adam asked, excitedly. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"I've been well, Mr. Nolan," Draco said dryly, not bothering to ask after the boy in turn.

"Last time you came around was… before my birthday, I think," Adam said, making a point to note that his birthday had passed. The boy was officially a teenager, thirteen. "Thanks for my flying gloves and goggles! It makes flying in the rain a sigh easier!"

"I didn't send you anything," Draco said with no inflection.

"Sure," Adam said, rolling his eyes. "And the package wrapped in green that appeared magically on the dining table with my name on it on my birthday was from some other person who wouldn't want credit for buying me the most expensive brand of Quidditch gear on the market."

"Heavy-handed with the sarcasm, I see," Draco said, arching an eyebrow. He was making his way as slowly as possible towards the dining room. "Someone's been spending too much time with –"

"Me, I'm guessing you were about to say?"

Popping out from behind a corner – the entrance to the kitchen on a second glass – with a bourbon biscuit in his hand was none other than Harry Potter.

"Actually," Draco said stiffly, "I was going to say your ginger counterpart."

"Ah," Harry said, grinning and leaning in the doorway. He took a bite of the biscuit. "That makes more sense. Because I was going to say, it's been too long for you to make a judgment on how sarcastic I am. Though, nowadays, that's all Ron seems to be." He shrugged in a what-are-you-going-to-do manner. "Everyone is just through there." He gestured to the dining area. "Though, I was hoping to catch a word with you before you become a social pariah." He nodded his head towards the kitchen.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Nolan," Draco said to Adam, hiding a sigh. He walked through the threshold to the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

He wondered just what in the world did Golden Boy Potter want from him now.

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~