That Fateful Night

by Heptagon

After the end of the war Hermione and Draco are looking forward to a life full of happiness, peace, and love. But one of them has a secret that has potential to ruin everything. Are they strong enough to overcome it or will it destroy them both?

2. 2 of 3

Note: Something I forgot to say before.

I dedicate this fic to Sienna61 because it was one of her stories which inspired me. Otherwise, I probably would have never had this idea.

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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter going twice.

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That Fateful Night, Part 2 of 3

The expression on Hermione's face was all resignation, and Narcissa paled at it, understanding it too well.

"What happened?" she cried, but Hermione ignored her, walking down the hallway in silence. She reached the staircase and descended, then passed through the doors into the garden, and strode towards the pavilion that housed her dressing room and led to the area where the wedding was supposed to take place.

All the people were already there, waiting and restless, and the moment she stepped into the tent, her harpies were all over her.

"Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed. "Where the hell were you? The ceremony was supposed to start half an hour ago! And where the hell is Draco?"

"Your dress!" Angelina gasped. "It's wrinkled and dirty, and your make-up is all ruined!"

Hannah only managed to let out a wail of horror.

But Hermione ignored them, too, and walking straight through the pavilion out into the open, she determinedly proceeded towards the Matrimonial Mage responsible for conducting the ceremony.

"Hermione, what are you doing?"

"Hermione, where are you going?"

"Hermione, what happened?"

But she didn't hear their cries, nor did she notice the murmur of surprise that went through the crowd when they noticed her, nor the inquiring gaze from the Mage, nor the flashes of camera from the media.

There, in front of all the 500 and more people she finally stopped, stared at them for a few seconds with a blank look, then raised her wand to use a Sonorus charm on herself, and spoke out.

"The wedding is off."

And before anyone could even begin to comprehend the meaning behind these words, she had turned around, and Disapparated.

Out of all the people shocked and horrified, Hannah was the first to react, letting out a loud shriek, and fainting.

---

Narcissa had never left the house, therefore she was there when Hermione Apparated back.

"What did you do?" she cried in hysteria, even though the answer was crystal clear.

"Lock the doors," Hermione said, walking briskly towards her room. "There's an angry and confused mob outside, and I don't want them to disturb you."

Narcissa emitted a shriek quite similar to Hannah's, but contrary to the girl, she didn't faint. Not yet. Not when she had to be strong and talk her daughter-in-law out of whatever plan she was nursing.

And that was the source of her strength – she had to be strong for Hermione. The girl was practically falling apart, she could tell. Her solid determination, her blank face, her longs strides – what some might mistake for energy, she recognized as fragility behind a thin shell she was upholding with all her might.

Reaching her room, Hermione walked straight to her wardrobe, and started taking out her clothes. Instead of a heavy trunk, however, she placed them into a backpack, folding everything neatly first, of course.

Narcissa was quite right about her emotional state. Right now she was acting mostly on autopilot with only one thought hammering in her head. She had to get away from here. She needed to think, she needed to cry, she needed to throw things and scream, but she couldn't do it here. She had to go to some faraway place for that. And she had to go now because she wasn't sure how much longer she could suppress the memories of the last hour, and not to think about what had happened.

"Where are you going?" the older woman asked with forced calmness when she came back from the bathroom, the toothbrush and paste in her hand.

Instead of answering she put them into her bag, heaved it to her shoulders, and took a quick look around the room to make sure she hadn't left anything crucial behind.

But Narcissa was not going to let her go just like that. Standing in the doorway she refused to let her past, knowing very well that even though the wards had been modified to allow her Apparating inside the house, some rooms were still protected against it.

"Where are you going?" she repeated her question.

Hermione raised her head and gave her a tired look before answering.

"Remember that day you asked me to the Diamond Hall for the first time and I ran away because I couldn't deal with so much? It's the same now – I had to get away then, and I need to get away now."

"You didn't answer my question."

"And I won't. Leave it, Narcissa," she said, and pushed her gently away, slipping out of the room.

"I'll be back," she promised.

Narcissa did hear the crack of Hermione's Disapparition, and with that all her strength was suddenly gone.

Because it was all her fault. Because on the happiest day of her life, she had managed to destroy the happiness of both her son and daughter, with a mere sentence. If it hadn't been for her words, the ceremony would have been in full bloom, and she would have been sitting outside on a white chair, smiling and crying of happiness.

But now she was here – sunken down to the floor, with no one but guilt and misery to keep her company; her daughter had just ran away, and although she had promised to return, Narcissa doubted it; her son had left as well, but she hadn't seen him go, and didn't know where he had gone. Plus there were 500 confused people in the garden. Well, at least the media was having a field day. Better not to read tomorrow's Daily Prophet.

A new beginning, a new era, a new hope – was this what the wedding was supposed to symbolize? Now it only showed that there was no way of getting rid of the ghosts of one's past, that the skeletons in the closet were only waiting for the best moment to jump out and scare away everything nice and good.

So it seemed that in addition to taking away the happiness of the two people she cared most about in her life, she had also taken away the hope from all Wizarding world. A second chance to make amends, she had told Hermione months ago on that fateful night. Some amends indeed.

She probably deserved being bashed to death by the angry mob, but she still raised her hand, and with one careless move the Manor was closed to everyone but those who shared her blood. Except for Hermione, of course. But she wouldn't be coming back any time soon.

With a sigh, Narcissa dropped her head against the doorframe and closed her eyes. Perhaps it was all a bad dream. Or perhaps happiness was not meant for the Malfoys.

---

"What happened?" Harry demanded from Ginny for the umpteenth time, while Ron was busy with calming down Hannah, Angelina had gone to look for Fred, and by the distant howls and cries, Susan was up to raise panic among the people. Not that they needed any more of it. There were some sitting at their seats with that intolerable superior smile telling everyone that they had known this was going to happen; there were some simply too confused, or too surprised to make a move; then there was the press of course, grinning wildly, flashing their cameras, and asking everybody their opinion on the cancellation of the wedding. But most of the people were bustling around, talking or crying or shouting, bumping into each other, and stumbling over chairs and tables. Those who had come up with the idea of checking inside the house had found it all locked up, and none of their spells seemed to work.

Hermione's closest friends had quickly slipped away from the noise and hustle, seeking refuge behind a corner of the house, but making certain to take peeks regularly, in case of any new development.

"I've told you for a thousand times already," Ginny cried out in frustration. "I don't know!"

"But surely you know something," Harry insisted. "You were with her before the wedding."

"Yes, and everything was fine!" Ginny exclaimed. "Brilliant! Wonderful! Fabulous! Hermione was happy, and we were laughing, and Hannah got emotional, and Susan went crazy over one half-melted ice sculpture. Everything was fantastic!"

"Then what happened?"

"I don't know!" she wailed. "One moment everything was fine, but then we went back and Hermione was gone, and we looked for her everywhere and asked everyone but no one knew anything. And then we went to look for Malfoy, but he was gone too!"

Harry frowned, trying to make something out from those bits of information. It felt like putting together a 5000-piece puzzle of a snow-covered field. Or cloudless sky.

"You don't think that..." he started slowly, hoping her to finish the sentence for him. And that she did.

"That they eloped?" Ginny snapped. "No way! Hermione would have never done it without telling us first."

"Of course," he said quickly. "But what about..."

"No, Malfoy did not kidnap her either!"

"I wasn't thinking that," Harry said honestly, although now that it was mentioned, he had to consider it. Just for the sake of considering all the options, however ridiculous they were.

"What were you thinking then, Harry James Potter?" Ginny demanded, pointing her finger at him in a threatening manner, although it wasn't necessary – calling him by his full name made it perfectly clear that he was in big trouble.

"What if something bad happened? They both have enemies," he explained his theory in full seriousness.

Ginny dropped her finger, and thought about it with a frown. She really didn't like that idea.

"The place is heavily warded," she said at last. "And the guests were thoroughly checked. They took all the precautions. Hermione said she didn't like suspecting their guests in all evil like that, but with some of the Death Eaters still on the loose..."

"You were supposed to keep your eye on her!" Ron joined the conversation.

"We did!" Hannah cried. "But then Mrs. Malfoy came and..."

Sudden silence overtook their refuge as all four people considered that fact, which Ginny had managed to forget in the overall chaos.

"She did look a bit troubled," she said now, thinking back to the moment she had opened the door to the woman. "But I just thought it was about the wedding, you know, all the last minute preparations and everything."

"What do you think?" Ron turned to his friend.

"I have no idea," Harry shook his head. "But Mrs. Malfoy should know more about it."

"But we can't get into the house!"

Harry stared at the solid stone wall beside him.

"Perhaps we can owl her?" he suggested at last.

---

Distance helped. Just not very much, Hermione realized, curled into a ball on the bed and sobbing into the pillow. She had broken out in tears the moment she had got there, and now, hours later, things had not improved. Not even a bit. She was still crying, still hurting, and still awake. She knew she needed a rest, but sleep refused to come, and it seemed that nothing short of Stupefying herself would grant her the sweet oblivion. But she had left her wand in the other room, and was too weak and tired to get up.

As the last resort, she turned back to her memories, recalling the events that happened not hours but months ago.

---

Narcissa had asked her to tea. Five o'clock in the Manor. Which meant that now at five minutes to five, Hermione was making her way slowly to the parlor, pausing behind every corner and taking a peek first to make sure the coast was clear.

Mrs. Malfoy had told her that Draco wouldn't be home, but she knew better than to trust her word. Now after her confession about their first date, the woman had tried everything to get them together again, but this far Hermione had managed to see through all her plans.

Of course, so far she had avoided coming into the Manor, always meeting in some neutral place like in the Diamond Hall, or in her bookshop (which was doing better already, after the insertion of comfy armchairs, and some advertising in both Muggle and magical papers).

In the end, however, Narcissa had put her foot down and asked her into her house, and Hermione was rather sure there was some cunning plan behind this. Not that there was actually any need for a cunning plan since Draco lived there anyway.

Finally making it into the luckily empty parlor, she heaved a sigh of relief and sat down at the small table before the fireplace. Of course, the evening was not yet over, and a lot could happen during the hours of her stay, as Hermione realized after ten minutes when Narcissa hadn't shown up yet.

Great plan, Hermione thought. Nice and simple – get her there and then leave her alone. But damn her if she was going to stay there waiting like that forever, or at least until Draco decided to drop in. Making up her mind, she rose from the table, when the door finally opened.

But Hermione knew without looking that it wasn't Narcissa who entered.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded darkly.

'I was just leaving', she was about to say and do exactly that, but then realized that leaving would mean turning around and facing Malfoy and seeing that ugly sneer that was definitely on his face.

"I was supposed to meet with your mother," she said instead, and sat back down.

"But Mother is in Paris tonight," Draco said, too surprised to torture her, it seemed.

Hermione glared at the portrait of Draco's great-granduncle. He stared right back at her, but her glare was angry enough to rival his. So Narcissa had not just gone away, she had gone away to another country.

"I see," she pressed through her teeth, willing him to go away. Empty hopes.

"I haven't seen you around for a while," Malfoy commented, stepping away from the door and closing it behind him.

The lack of malice or contempt in his voice surprised her greatly, and against her will, it also made her feel a bit better.

"We've been meeting in the Diamond Hall," she said casually. "And at Worthy Words."

"Oh, your bookshop," he said, and she was even more shocked of him knowing this.

"I saw the advertisement in the Prophet," he continued. "I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you, though. It's nasty enough to have the shop in Muggle London, but to have to deal with the likes of you there..."

"The shop is doing fine, thank you," Hermione said coldly. "And no one has asked you to come there. In fact, I would really appreciate it if you didn't."

"If you think I'd step a foot into a place filled with filthy Muggles, you are a lot more stupid than I thought."

"Good," Hermione said, stood up, and sent him an icy glare. "It would be bad for the business to deal with the likes of you there."

---

The next day Malfoy had shown up at Worthy Words. Managing to hide herself behind a bookshelf in time and thanking all the deities for that, Hermione watched him look around in the shop first, then move over to a shelf and start browsing the books. True to his character, he gave the Muggle ones a filthy look, but once he found the magical literature, the sneer disappeared from his face.

In fact, he found some of them rather interesting, taking them off the shelf, and skimming through, and even weighing them in his hand as if thinking whether to buy them or not.

"Can I help you, sir?" Hermione asked pleasantly, stepping out from her hiding place.

He didn't even look at her, and that was his mistake.

"Do you have the newest edition of Arithmetic Algorithms?"

"Of course we do," she spoke in a kind voice. "It's just on your right."

Malfoy looked in the said direction, and noticing the tome, grabbed it quickly, muttering something like 'Wonderful!' under his breath.

"Thanks," he muttered absent-mindedly and walked towards the counter to make the purchase, leaving Hermione behind with a smirk on her face.

---

It was the afternoon sun that managed to wake her the next day, but the moment she opened her eyes, all the events from the previous day came rushing back to her, in addition to the horrible headache and general lousy feeling. Turning to lie on her back, Hermione stared at the beige ceiling for a while, not one bit willing to get up any time soon.

Truth be told, she really didn't mind staying in the bed for ever, or at least for years. But the rational part of her brain, which she couldn't manage to suppress, told her that she had to deal with all this sooner or later. No, she had to deal with it sooner. Later she had to go back.

Go back. To all those people who knew her and were going to ask hundreds of questions, or try to comfort her, which was almost as bad. Because sometimes comfort wasn't enough, sometimes it only reminded the other kind of comfort which was now denied to her. And the media. The story was all over the Daily Prophet, that was certain. The news of the cancellation of the wedding, the photos of her standing there and announcing that, and of course speculations over the reason. Lots of theories, each worst than the one before it. But the irony was that the truth was probably a lot more awful than any of their lies.

She didn't want to go back, but she had to. And not only for her friends who were crazy with worry about her by now, or for the Worthy Words bookshop that needed her. But because she had promised Narcissa, who had become a mother to her. Poor Narcissa! She had looked so calm and composed when she had left, but in reality she had been on the verge of a breakdown, just like her. She would blame herself for it, for making both his son and daughter miserable. Poor Narcissa! It wasn't her fault. At least, it wasn't only her fault. She had to go back and tell her that. To make her understand that.

And she would go back. Later. First she had to get over it. Continue her life? But how, how could she do that? Her rational thinking said that getting up now was the first step. Standing up from the bed, having a shower, and changing clothes. She didn't want to become one of those crazy old ladies still wearing their wedding dress after fifty years, not washing themselves and ending up smelly, dirty, and with lice.

She had to learn to live again. And getting up was the first step. She could do it, couldn't she? Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Perhaps tomorrow.

---

They still hated each other for a while after their first date. At least Malfoy hated her, and she hated him for hating her. And then she hated her for not hating him. And Hermione was sure she would have given up on him, had Narcissa not been there to always change her mind.

"Give him some time," she said.

"I know what I said about the night of the dinner," Hermione brought up that topic again. She often talked about it with Narcissa because she needed to talk about it with someone, and there was no one else. "But perhaps I was wrong."

"Don't fight against your feelings, darling. They always win."

"Not my feelings," she replied softly. "I gave up fighting against them a long time ago. It got too hard to deny them. So I stopped."

"So if not your feelings then what do you doubt?" Narcissa inquired.

"His feelings."

The woman smiled.

"You're smarter than him," she said. "He is still in denial. But don't doubt his feelings. To me they are crystal clear."

"How can I not?" Hermione argued, like she always did. "He hates me. He insults me. He snaps and sneers and smirks at me as often as possible."

"Exactly!" Narcissa beamed, as if this proved her point.

"Exactly," Hermione repeated. "He hates me."

"Don't be silly, girl," she made a careless wave with her hand. "You say he insults you, snaps at you, sneers at you, smirks at you."

"He does."

"I know," Narcissa said with a smirk of her own. "But I say, if he really hated you, despised you, couldn't stand you, then why would he be taking every opportunity he can to see you, to talk to you, to watch you?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but Narcissa cut her through.

"He always asks me whether I have invited you over. And he always makes a sour face when I say I have. But he never leaves. I know for certain that once he cancelled one of his appointments to stay at home while you came here."

"But that only shows he hates me so much he is ready for everything to just make me feel bad!"

Narcissa smiled again, a bit evilly this time.

"You don't know my Draco. Despite everything, he is still his father's son."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione frowned.

"It means that if he wanted to revenge you, he would have found a way. Perhaps he does hate you a bit, but only because he doesn't hate you."

"Just like I hate him a bit because I don't hate him at all," she spoke quietly, thinking out aloud.

"Exactly. You are so alike, my dears, so alike."

"Who are so alike, Mother?" Draco asked from the doorway.

But Narcissa only gave him a cryptic smile.

"We should all go out to dinner," she suggested after a while.

"I'm busy tonight, Mother."

"I should really get going."

"So intent on ignoring each other, darlings. So intent on pretending to hate each other. Both too proud, and too stubborn. Both so intent on making life harder for themselves. Where you could so easily just kiss and make up—" Hermione blushed and looked away, therefore not noticing the expression on his face, the one that asked, pleaded, and threatened his mother to stop talking right now "—you just have to choose the hard way. And you ask me, dear, who are so alike."

Both Draco and Hermione muttered something like 'rubbish' under their breaths, but they couldn't get away from that dinner, which resulted in another wonderful night for all three of them.

At least until Narcissa announced she was getting too tired and was going home, insisting them to continue their meals.

"Have fun, children!" was her good-bye to them.

"And she has done it again," Hermione sighed dramatically, making Draco chuckle until he remembered himself.

"All right, she is gone, you can make yourself scarce now," he informed her coolly.

"I haven't finished yet," she answered stiffly. "But you can leave. Didn't you say you were busy tonight?"

"Only to escape from spending time with your pathetic self," he sneered at her.

Hermione raised her glance and gave him a long calculating look, one that started to make him uncomfortable in the end.

"I know I'm gorgeous, Granger, but your chances with me are in the negative."

"Then why do I recall you kissing me?" she retorted.

Draco looked a bit taken aback. Perhaps because that was their taboo topic. Something they definitely didn't discuss, or even mention, or even think about, or at least didn't let it show that they were constantly thinking about it.

"That was nothing but..."

"You don't call me a Mudblood anymore," Hermione stated.

"How terrible of me. Mudblood. Happy?"

"I'm starting to think Narcissa is right about us," she said with a little shrug, turning back to her food, leaving Draco stare at her with his mouth open.

They finished their meals in silence.

But Draco couldn't let her get away with that.

"I'll prove you wrong, Granger," he hissed to her.

"How?" she smirked.

"Tomorrow, 8 o'clock. La Passione," he said, then added quickly, "Mudblood."

"Will be there, Ferret," she smiled in assent, and watching Draco Floo away, wondered whether he realized that he had just asked her out on a date.

---

She liked the way the moonlight made his hair and eyes glow like liquid silver. But now there was only moonlight, shining upon her lonely form on the bed. She really needed to get up. She needed to drink and eat, but not because she wanted to. She just had to. To stay alive, or something like that. Of course, it would have been rather poetic to die of a broken heart. But others would not appreciate it, probably. Except the media, they would love it. But her friends might start to blame Narcissa or Draco for this, and she didn't want that to happen. Plus, she had promised Narcissa to come back.

Would Draco mind it if she died? Would he cry? Would he grieve? Would he feel a bit guilty? Or would he think she got what she deserved?

The moon was crescent. No werewolves tonight.

Hermione sat up on the bed. She had to owl Ron and Harry. Otherwise they would keep looking for her, and perhaps even find her. She couldn't let that happen. They would force her to live again, but she had to learn on her own. Slowly. Ever so slowly.

Slowly, ever so slowly did she move her feet over the edge of the bed, and raised herself until they touched the floor. It was warm. She sat up properly, and shivered, the heating charms not sufficient to take away her cold. The moonlight had always been so soft and caring, yet now it cut ruthlessly through the darkness of the night, making her feel lonelier, emptier, and colder than before. She had to get out of the bed, and out of the room.

With a deep breath she rose to her feet. It did feel like standing for the first time in her life, and just like her actual first time, it didn't last. The floor was warm beneath her, as Hermione rested her cheek against it, and wondered whether it was really worth this. Lying in the bed had been a bit more comfortable, but the floor was warm at least. Perhaps she could stay there for a while longer.

She dreamed of Narcissa.

"Be strong," the woman told her. "Don't give up. As long as there is life, there is hope. And as long as there is hope, anything is possible. You have always been so stubborn – don't stop it now."

---

"What does it say?" Ginny asked, peeking over Harry's shoulder. Ron was doing the same, just like Angelina, Hannah, and Susan. In the lack of a better plan they had indeed owled Narcissa, and now finally the answer had come.

Harry tried his best to read the letter with five people bustling around him. It wasn't easy, but the letter was relatively short.

"Tells us not to worry, she will be back, she just had to think about some stuff, but it's her business to explain us everything," he said, holding out the parchment for whoever managed to grab it first.

"What stuff?"

"Is that all?"

"What do you think happened?"

"Let me read this!"

But no matter who read it, the letter stayed the same, telling them nothing more.

"Something definitely happened," Ron noted.

"Thanks for stating the obvious," Ginny scoffed at him.

"Perhaps she changed her mind about the marriage?" he offered, ignoring his sister.

"No way. You should have seen how happy she was just moments before it."

"Yes, she was very happy," both Hannah and Angelina confirmed.

"But something still went wrong."

---

"Something wrong?" Draco asked his mother, finding her by the fireplace in the middle of the night.

"Just wanted to know how your date went," she smiled, standing up to face him.

"What date?" Draco scowled.

"Don't play stupid with me, darling," she warned. "Your date with Hermione, of course."

His face went blank for a second, trying to figure out which way to play – confess, or not to confess. But it would have been pointless to lie, since she could tell whether he was not speaking the truth.

"Does she tell you everything?"

"I can be rather persuasive when I want to," Narcissa smiled.

"I know, Mother."

"Good. Then you also know that I'm not letting you get away this time without at least some details of your evening. Come, sit down, and tell me."

But Draco preferred remaining at the threshold.

"No need, Mother. There's nothing to tell. We didn't go on a date together."

"How so?" Narcissa frowned.

"It's very simple, Mother," he said with a smirk. "She was starting to think that all the rubbish you said about me the other day had some truth in it, and I just proved her wrong."

Narcissa's expression darkened.

"What did you do?" she demanded.

"Nothing. Just proved that I would never go out on a date with her out of my free will."

"What did you say to her?"

"Again, nothing. Didn't see her tonight. I wonder, is she still sitting at La Passione, or has she finally realized I don't give a damn about her?"

Narcissa took a deep breath to calm down. It didn't help much.

"Are you telling me," she asked dangerously, "that you stood her up?"

"Yes," he said, and smiled. "I hope this will also prove you wrong about these little stupid ideas of yours."

Narcissa was very, very angry. She also knew that all those little stupid ideas of hers were 100 percent true, but ruining the best thing in his life to keep his denial intact was just like something her son would do. Well, she wouldn't let him do it.

"You are my son, Draco, and I love you," she spoke. "But if what you tell me is true and you indeed stood her up, then by the name of Morgana..."

Raising her head she saw Draco smiling. And not an evil smile, or a fake smile, or a sneering smile, but a truly amused one.

"What are you smiling at?" she snapped.

"Your threats are empty, Mother."

"Empty? Empty!" Narcissa shouted. "I'll show you empty threats. It's too late now but the first thing tomorrow morning you will go straight to Hermione and apologize, on your knees if necessary."

"No need for that," another voice spoke from the doorway, and Hermione herself stepped into the room.

Narcissa opened her mouth to either apologize, or order Draco to apologize, but halted in her words upon seeing the look on the girl's face. Not anger, not hurt, not disappointment. Quite the opposite, actually – she was smiling.

"Sorry about that," she said, seeing Narcissa's confused expression. "He asked me to tell you himself, and I was a bit distracted to see through his intentions."

Hermione smirked, grinned, and blushed.

"You mean," Narcissa started slowly, placing the pieces together, "that he did not stand you up?"

"Oh, he tried!" Hermione snickered. "Found him sneaking around the restaurant and dragged him in."

"Hey!" Draco hurried to protest. "I wasn't the only one sneaking around that restaurant."

"Well, I was only sneaking around it to catch you sneaking around it. Which I did, by the way."

"That's what you say now. But perhaps in reality you were trying to stand me up," he accused.

"Oh, but why would I want to stand you up?" Hermione gave him a sweet, yet seductive smile, which didn't do good to his thinking process.

"Because I've been awful to you?" he suggested earnestly, missing his mother's very unladylike snort at that.

"You have," she nodded, and with the disappearance of her smile his eyes turned almost desperate.

"But I forgive you," she continued, and pressed a chaste kiss against his lips. He snaked his arms around her, and held her close for a long moment, neither of them paying any attention to Narcissa, or her maniacal grin.

After a while Hermione pulled away.

"I have to go now," she said a bit sadly. "I'm having a busy day tomorrow."

"But it's Saturday," he whined.

"Yes, but it's also the date of our monthly Quidditch Quest," she explained.

"Your what?" he asked in surprise.

"Quidditch Quest," she sniggered. "Harry and Ron are organizing one every month at the Burrow, to get all our friends together and spend a glorious day, catching up, and chatting, and playing Quidditch, of course."

"But I thought you didn't like Quidditch?" he frowned.

"I don't. I'll go for the company."

"Oh. I suppose I won't see you tomorrow then. Have fun!" he tried to sound cheerful, but she could see he was disappointed.

"You know," Hermione said, standing by the fireplace with Floo-powder in her hand. "We are allowed to bring guests."

---

The floor beneath her was warm, and the hot sun spilled its rays onto her back. She still shivered when she opened her eyes, though, squinting them in this brilliant light. Her muscles protested from her lie on the floor, but she cherished that pain since it took some part of her mind off the other one.

Hermione decided that if she wanted to get up, she had better do it right away, while she still could. Slowly she placed her palms upon the warm floor, either side of her body, but before pushing with all her might, she took a moment to consider whether this was really what she wanted.

With the final conclusion that it was, she took a deep breath, and pushed. Her whole body cried out in pain and fatigue, but she didn't give up, not now when she was determined to do this. Drawing her legs closer to her body, she made one more effort, and fell onto her bum, now sitting up in the sun.

Progress.

After a short rest, she was able to crawl to the bed, and with the help of it, raise to her shaky legs. She sat down again, but resisted the temptation to lie down, instead concentrating on her next move. Her wand was in the other room, and she was determined to reach it.

Much later she was sitting in the kitchen, breathless but momentarily happy at having achieved her goal. Too tired to think or feel or remember, she stared blankly at the whiteness before her. White, cold, and frosty was the view that opened up to her, and after a while of staring she picked up the spoon and broke through its achromatic unblemished surface.

Afterwards she would remember all the naughty things they had used the ice-cream for, and her numbness would retreat in face of pain, but right now she cherished its frozen sweetness in her mouth.

---

"Remember the time she brought him to our Quidditch Day?" Ginny asked with a half-nostalgic half-concerned smile.

"Yeah," Ron nodded, then turned to his friend. "I remember your face that day, Harry. You looked so surprised and shocked as if... you had just got the biggest surprise of your life," he finished lamely, not able to think up anything that would rival his shock that day.

"If I recall correctly," Harry winked back, "you weren't quite comfy yourself either. Kept sending these surreptitious glances at Malfoy, expecting him to murder someone any moment then."

"Yes, well," Ron blushed. "It was Malfoy, after all, at my house! You would have done the same in my place."

"You did the same thing," Ginny reminded them.

---

"I'll get it!" Ginny cried, jumping down the stairs. "It's probably Hermione."

She paused for a second at the door to collect her breath, then flung it open, and welcomed them with a huge grin.

"Hermione!" she squealed, throwing her arms around the other girl. "I'm so glad you came."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Hermione muttered into bright red hair, deciding that she didn't really need to breathe at the moment anyway. When the need came, however, it was still rather impossible.

"You can let me go now, Ginny," she informed the girl.

"Oh!" the redhead exclaimed, and pulled away. "But I'm so glad to see you!"

"I figured that much," she rolled her eyes, and someone beside her snorted. Ginny's brain made the connection at light speed, although the fact that Hermione had told her about it beforehand made it a bit easier for her.

"You brought a date!" she cried in joy, and turned her brilliant smile towards Hermione's date.

And kept staring for a long moment, her smile frozen on her face.

"Hello, Weasley," Draco said at last, breaking the silence. "Nice to see you."

Ginny stared at him in shock – blond hair, grey eyes, Malfoy's looks, Malfoy's smirk, Malfoy's everything. It most certainly would have been Malfoy, if he hadn't been standing behind their door, being polite, and resting his hand on Hermione's shoulder.

Erm. Was this what temporary insanity felt like? Or had Fred or George slipped something into her drink?

When the image before her eyes didn't change, Ginny decided she needed another opinion on the matter, which presented itself six seconds later, in the form of Harry.

"Oh, hi, Hermione," he said with a smile, moving towards the doorway.

"Glad to have you here. And hello to..." but he stopped there, having caught sight of the other person standing at the doorway.

When Harry failed to say anything for a while longer, Ginny finally poked his arm.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" she whispered, loud enough for all four of them to hear.

"I don't know," Harry replied. "It depends on what you're seeing."

"I think I see a Ferret," she confessed.

He gulped.

"Then I'm afraid I'm seeing what you're seeing."

They both turned to Hermione again, who was glaring at them, although there was something amused in her gaze.

"Hermione," Harry's tone was pleading. "Why is Malfoy standing behind our door?"

If she had answered with 'Malfoy? What? Where? Are you alright?', both Harry and Ginny would have believed her, and sighed in relief. Unfortunately, she didn't.

"You said I could bring a date," she said instead. "And I did."

"But... but," he tried, then gave up, and turned to Ginny for assistance.

"But he's Malfoy?" the redhead voiced the thought Harry's brain hadn't managed to put together, then wondered why it had sounded more like a question than a fact.

"I told you I had befriended Narcissa," she spoke casually. "May we come in now?"

Without a word Harry and Ginny had stepped away to let them pass – what else could they have done?

---

"I was too shocked to even yell," Harry remembered.

"We all were," Ginny nodded.

"Yeah," Ron concurred.

They sat in silence for a while, thinking back to that day, until Ginny recalled that they had cause to worry about the present.

"It's been a week," she said.

"She'll be all right. She's Hermione, after all," Ron spoke up, although there was a clear note of doubt in his tone.

"If only she would write to us," Harry wished. "Then we would know she is fine, at least."

"Well, if she is out of the country, it takes her owl some time to get here."

They all agreed to that, but couldn't quite lose their concern.

---

After the ice-cream, things had gone better. Well, they had still gone a bit worse in the beginning, but instead of her lethargic behaviour, she had wrought chaos upon the place, throwing, burning, and breaking all the things she managed, then cried herself empty amongst the mess again.

But that was progress, too. Anger was good, and she tried to preserve it as long as she could. With red anger and clear fury she had torn off her wedding dress, scrubbed herself clean under almost scalding water, and cleaned the place up afterwards. She didn't know who she was angry at, other than the world, the fate, and all the deities, but as long as it was beneficial to her, she didn't really care.

Yet she couldn't stay angry forever. At night under the silver moonlight even her fury abandoned her, and she had no other option but to cry herself to sleep once again.

The metal on the necklace was cool against her skin, telling her that she hadn't managed to clear away all the reminders of what should have been the happiest day of her life. While her white dress was dirty and torn, the diamonds around her neck were as brilliant as ever before. They were Narcissa's, and that's why she didn't take them off.

---

"Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue," Narcissa chanted with twinkling eyes.

"I thought this was only a Muggle custom," Hermione raised her brows.

"It is," the other woman confirmed. "But I like it."

"Well, the dress is new," she smiled. "And I'm going to borrow that tiara Fleur wore in her wedding. That leaves the old and the blue."

"I've got something for you," Narcissa announced, producing a box covered with dark green velvet, and handed it to her future daughter-in-law.

"Open it," she instructed, and Hermione obeyed.

"Narcissa, that's," she began, but halted, staring at the necklace in wonder. The diamonds sparkled against the dark material like stars in the sky, and even though she was not a girl too much into jewels and material things, she was able to recognize beauty when she saw it.

"This is amazing," she spoke at last.

"No," Narcissa shook her head. "These are just stones. You are amazing."

"Are these yours?" Hermione managed to ask, sliding her fingers over the cool silver and diamonds.

"Yes. I wore them at my wedding day. But they are very old, been in the family for centuries."

"Ah, the Malfoy riches," she nodded, thinking about all the others who had worn this necklace before her, realizing she was probably the first not pureblood to touch it.

"Not the Malfoy," Narcissa said, taking a seat by her side, and glancing at the masterpiece of jewelry. "These belong to the Black dynasty."

"Thank you for letting me wear these," she muttered after a while.

"You misunderstood me," Narcissa chuckled, making Hermione frown. She had shown her the jewels she had worn for her wedding, but didn't let her have them? Although, that wasn't so surprising at all, the Blacks were just another pureblood family, Toujours Pur, as their motto said, and it would have been a blasphemy to let a Mudblood have something so precious.

"I understand," Hermione said with a sigh, forcing her voice not to sound disappointed. "Thank you for showing them to me anyway, they are very beautiful."

Narcissa opened her mouth in obvious protest, but she cut her through.

"I'm not angry with you, really," she tried to convince both of them. "I understand that your family had some... standards, and it's really not suitable for me to break them."

It was difficult for her to speak those words, and she also felt tears in her throat. Narcissa had been so kind and supportive and loving towards her, but of course it was too much to ask of her to put aside all the principles that had been taught to her from her childhood.

"I meant," the older woman said, her tone oddly crisp, "that these are not for you to wear. I'm giving them to you, for real."

Hermione's mouth opened in surprise.

"Do you still think I care for your blood?" she inquired sadly. "Or for the stupid blood issue at all? Do you still think that of me?"

"No!" Hermione exclaimed. "No! Oh Merlin, Narcissa, I'm so sorry for my words, I didn't think. Of course I don't think ill of you."

"You are like a mother to me," she whispered, giving her a warm hug.

---

"Mummy," Hermione whispered, and drifted off to sleep, her hand clasping the necklace, its diamonds shining in the moonlight, their beauty equal to their heavenly sisters'.

---

When she had left she had been clad in white; now, ten days later, she wore black. It was ironic how things liked to turn to their complete opposites – enemies became lovers, happiness became sorrow, white became black. And life became death.

"We have gathered here today to bide our farewells to..."

She didn't listen to the speech. She didn't have to, and she didn't want to. The loose dirt, the hole, the headstone, and the flowers told her everything she didn't want to know, everything she wanted to run away from but couldn't, since her feet had grown into the earth as roots of a tree, and refused to move.

And she couldn't go because another hand was gripping hers, so strongly that she could almost feel her bones cracking. In another situation she would have cried out in pain, but now she did nothing to save herself from the hurt.

Because she deserved this. Because she deserved worst. Because she had left her alone when she had most needed her, and although she had kept her promise about coming back, it had been too late.

It seemed that Narcissa Malfoy had done exactly what Hermione had considered doing – died from a broken heart.

Too late she had come back. Too late. And why? Because her own selfish reasons, her own selfish pain had kept her away. She had been hurting and that's why she left, not once considering what her departure might do to other people.

Narcissa had died because of her selfishness, and there was nothing she could do to make it up.

As powerful as the Wizarding world was, even they could not bring back the dead.

The speaker was still droning on and on about one thing or another, when in a sudden need to get closer to the woman lying dead in the white coffin, Hermione fell to her knees on the ground. People started to fuss about her, they ran to her and they tried to pull her up, but she fisted her hands into the dark earth, and refused to go anywhere.

"Mummy," she said. She had only called her that twice – once in her faraway refuge while crying herself to sleep, and now here by her grave. Twice she had called her that, but never had Narcissa heard her. And now, she never would.

Hands were still attempting to pull her up, but they could have been trying to move a mountain for all their effort was worth.

"I came back, Mummy." Third time, but she still couldn't hear it. "I promised to, and I'm here now. I promised to. I promised. I promised."

But it didn't matter that she kept her promise because even wizards couldn't resurrect the dead.

The hands had stopped pulling her. Now they were embracing her, holding her, comforting her, and she knew who they belonged to. But she still pushed them away, pushed him away, no matter how hard or painful it was to her to do it. But she couldn't, she couldn't.

Because Narcissa's death could not bring them back together. It was wrong. Because that way it would have been good in some respect, yet it wasn't. And because then it would have seemed like it had all been Narcissa's fault, which she had redeemed with her death.

And that was wrong. That was so wrong.

Hermione lay her cheek against the cold damp earth. Nobody tried to bother her anymore, they had all given up on the lost cause that she was. Perhaps they blamed her for everything, and they were right.

Perhaps he blamed her for everything, and he was right. Because it had been her fault. Because she had been too late.

"Mummy," she repeated over and over again. But she was dead, and didn't hear it.

---

Hermione opened her eyes to whiteness. Blinking to clear her vision, her first thought was that she was dead. But the yearned peace didn't fill her heart, instead came dread and worry, a certain indication that she was, in fact, still among the living.

She turned and stared again. But it wasn't all white, anymore. Now it was... beige?

Hermione sat up in bed as both horror and relief flooded over her. She was still here, in this bed, alone, and never before had she been so glad of it. Because that could only mean one – night had ended, and so had her nightmare.

Narcissa was not dead. She had been just dreaming.

In tremendous relief and happiness she sunk back down, resting her cheek on the creamy pillow instead of damp soil.

Nightmares were fine, nightmares she could live with. They had been there for her every night on those months after the war, and she had grown rather used to them. Although the dread and horror and strain had been awful, the relief at waking up had managed to wash all those bad feelings away. As long as she could still wake up in the morning, nightmares didn't bother her.

But they had bothered him.

---

Someone was shaking her. Perhaps some new curse from Voldemort, or perhaps one of his Death Eaters, or perhaps this was what death felt like. Whatever the case, it didn't really matter since there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

"Hermione, wake up!"

Perhaps she should scream? In lack of a better idea, she did exactly that, and the shaking stopped. Now she was being crushed instead.

Hermione wanted to frown in annoyance of Voldemort's bothersome ways of torture, and she opened her eyes to give him a piece of her mind about it. But all she could see was darkness, and all she could feel now was someone's warm breath against her neck, and strong arms around her.

"Shush, it's going to be all right. Everything is going to be all right. You are safe, no one can hurt you, everything is going to be just fine. It was just a bad dream, nothing but a bad dream."

Realizing that this was exactly what had happened, she nodded against his shoulder, and brought her arms around his body, hugging him back.

After a while, when he had made sure she was indeed awake and alright, he lay them down again, his arms cradling her close to him. She made an appreciative mewl, and snuggled even closer, feeling good and ready to fall back to sleep.

But he didn't let her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"No," Hermione muttered, sinking into the sweet waves of the sea of dreams. She didn't feel him stiffen a bit nor tighten his hold of her, but she couldn't miss his question since he spoke it straight into her ear.

"What was it?"

"Same as always. Go back to sleep."

But he didn't grant her wish.

"Same as always?" he asked instead, rather sharply.

"Yes," she replied, not realizing why it bothered him so much that he had to keep her awake.

"You have seen it before?" his tone was dark.

If Hermione hadn't been half-asleep, she would have realized his point, and calmed him down, but now she didn't and spoke the unpolished truth.

"Many times. Almost every night right after the war. Sometimes twice a night."

But she had mistaken gravely with thinking that an explanation would get him off her back. Instead, it did the complete opposite.

Draco sat up on the bed, and pulled her up as well, not stopping until she was wide awake once again.

"You have them that often?" he inquired.

"Not anymore. Now it's just once or twice a week."

"A week?"

Hermione was wide awake, tired, sleepy, and annoyed.

"Oh, let it go, Draco. It's nothing, really. Just a bad dream, no need to overreact like that. You know, I'm actually grown rather used to them. I mean, what life would it be if Voldemort didn't try to murder and torture me once in a while."

She tried to turn it into a joke, but her tone had been sharp, most for her sleepiness and annoyance, and it had startled Draco into staring at her in shock, giving her the opportunity to lie back down, and try to get some sleep.

No such luck.

"This is serious, Hermione. Have you done anything to stop them?"

"No, I haven't," she snapped at him. "And I won't. As long as I can wake up, they don't bother me."

"They bother me," he protested.

Hermione was getting really angry now. She had a busy day tomorrow, and she needed to sleep. They had already spent half the night making love, and though she didn't mind that, spending the rest of it with some empty talk seemed like a real waste of time to her.

"Nobody asked you to stay the night," she bit coldly. "Go back home if my screaming disturbs your precious beauty sleep."

He didn't answer, and she was too sleepy and too grateful for the silence to think over her hurtful words. In fact, she had almost fallen asleep when he spoke again.

"It hurts me to see you like that," he whispered softly, more to himself than her, but those words cut deeply into her heart, and suddenly all thought of sleep was gone from her mind.

They had spent the rest of the night talking, and making love again, and she had agreed to finding some cure for her nightmares. Not for her sake because the dreams really didn't bother her, but because it hurt her to see him hurt.

---

Two weeks after her departure the idea of going back flashed through Hermione's mind.

She had written a letter to her friends at the end of the first week, telling them not to worry about her. She had wandered around the house, tiding up some things, and looking at others, remembering the happy memories they gave her. She had even gone outside, first to a post-office for an owl, later just for walking around. Back in England she would have never done it, in fear of being recognized and asked questions and reported to her friends, but here she didn't think anyone knew her. She had been here before, but not too often, and even in her walks she tried to stay away from most people.

But as it was, she was getting a bit bored, and started to miss the life she had left behind, that is, other parts of the life than the one that was constantly on her mind. Like Worthy Words. Surely throwing herself into business would help her with dealing with her problems. Surely it would do good for her to actually do something, instead of just sitting at the table or on the bed, and thinking.

Yet she wasn't sure whether she was ready to go back. Here no one had bothered her so far. Back at home she would not only have to explain everything to her friends, but also the press would hunt her down at any cost, and she didn't know whether she was ready for that.

And then, of course, there was Draco. She could ignore him if he let her, but she couldn't ignore Narcissa, and knowing that woman she would lock them up into a room sooner or later to have them sort their problems out. And Hermione wasn't sure whether seeing him wouldn't break her all over again, and send her running to another refuge.

However, there was a way for her to test herself. Standing at the threshold, Hermione looked at the kitchen table, or more specifically at the sole object lying upon it. The Daily Prophet. She had ordered a copy, and now it was here, and she had been gathering her courage to open it up and read.

There was always the comfort that whatever the paper might have come up with, it wouldn't be even close to the reality. Unless Draco had told them, but she doubted it. No, he was too proud to do that because it would have put him in the bad light as well. Not to mention his mother, who he loved with all his heart. And Narcissa wouldn't have done it either, for the same reasons, and no one else but the three of them knew about it.

But the Prophet knew about the cancellation of the wedding, and nothing could have stopped them from writing about it. Although, perhaps now, after two weeks they had found something better and moved on, which she severely doubted. No, the news had been a bombshell, and they would be writing about it for a long time.

Hermione picked up the paper. She had to do it, she had to look. It was the next step, and she couldn't go on without taking it. Just like she had to stand up from the floor, just like she had to eat, just like she had to write and post that letter. She had learned to live, now she had to learn to live her life. She couldn't give up, not now, not after all the tears and pain and heartache.

Sitting down at the table, she placed the paper down in front of her, and looked. She didn't need to search for long.

Bad luck or deserved punishment? the headline announced, and explained further in a smaller script underneath it: "Almost two weeks after the shocking cancellation of the wedding of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, the Malfoy family receives another blow. Narcissa Malfoy, the widow of the notorious Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, has been struck down by a serious illness, and is currently staying at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, where her situation remains critical..."

For a moment Hermione's brain signals snapped, but then she jumped into full action. Some other might have continued sitting, their mouths open and eyes large in horror, awful thoughts running through their minds. But not her – Hermione knew how to react immediately. In battle one had to react at once because at the next moment they might be dead.

She leapt to her feet and grabbed her wand, and then she was already gone.

Pushing her way out of St. Mungo's Apparition area, Hermione roughly made it towards the reception table. She pushed people away without the smallest tint of remorse, in fact, she barely noticed them. The chatter and clatter of the mob might have been too much to her ears after being used to only silence, but she was able to tune that out as well.

"Which room is Narcissa Malfoy in?" she demanded at once, having reached the table, and ignoring the protests of all those she had rudely pushed away.

"I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to give out such information," the witch there said, not even raising her head to look at her.

"I need to know," Hermione insisted.

"I'm sorry, Miss, only members of family can see her."

Hermione actually considered hexing the reception witch then and there, but her mind told her it would do more trouble than good. There would be a chaos, and the security would quickly curse her down, and she wouldn't be able to get to Narcissa.

But she was angry, and she didn't mask it behind good manners.

"I am her daughter," she growled darkly.

"Mrs. Malfoy does not have a daughter," the witch remained unrelenting.

"Her daughter-in-law," Hermione snapped, gripping her wand more tightly.

"Mrs. Malfoy does not..." the witch started, but didn't get much further.

"Does the name Hermione Granger tell you anything? It should because it has been all over the papers for months. Now I'm here, and I'm angry, and perhaps I'm not legally Narcissa's daughter-in-law, but I am the person who is holding their wand towards you at the moment, and you better tell me the number of her room right now before you make me lose it completely."

Finally the witch looked up, at the wand pointing towards her, and at its owner; and even though the woman with tired eyes and pale face differed from the one with radiant smile and healthy complexion whose picture had indeed been in the paper for months, she was able to see the resemblances as well, mostly thanks to the last photo of her, standing in front of the guests in her wedding dress and making that announcement before disappearing for good.

And the reception-witch realized a couple of things. First, every paper would pay a fortune for this piece of news. Second, if she wanted to be the one to call them, she had to do it now. And third, if Hermione Granger really did curse her, she would not be the first one to inform the papers about her appearance. Also, the girl had been part of the war, and Merlin knew what dark curses she was able to perform. Working at the hospital she had seen some pretty nasty stuff, and wasn't very excited about any of it happening to her.

"Room 422," she said quickly, then added, "Miss Granger, what really happened at your wedding day?"

But she had already stormed away, and the witch's question was left unanswered. She didn't let it bother her too much, though.

"Linda," she cried instead. "Watch the table for me for a second, I have to make an urgent call."

---

Running up the stairs of the hospital was the first time Hermione was able to think. Before it had been just one big rush, now her legs knew what had to be done, and her mind could wander off to other things. To other not so pleasant things.

Hermione mentally cursed herself. The dream! She had dreamed about it, and still not acted upon it. And now it was coming true – Narcissa's condition was serious, and should she die...

And oh dear gods, she had even been given a warning. She had had a premonition, but being herself and not believing in divination, she had disregarded it so carelessly. But what if it was true? What if she had been given an opportunity to save the day, but she had been too weak and too selfish to even check whether things were all right?

She reached the fourth floor, and ran into the hallways.

If Narcissa were to die, she would never forgive herself. If Narcissa were to die, she would lay her cheek upon the damp soil just like she had done in her dream, and die as well.

Hermione ran into someone, but continued without stopping, continued without an apology. There would be time for it later. Now she just had to get there, to get back like she had promised to her, to get back in time.

Dear Merlin, dear Gods, dear anyone, please don't let her be late. Please.

She skidded to a halt before the right door, but didn't take the time to prepare herself. Because she didn't have time. Narcissa might have been taking her last breath at this very moment, and she simply could not wait.

Hermione pushed the door open.

"Mummy?" the word left her lips without her even thinking of saying it.

Nobody had called her that for a very long time, in fact, not since Draco's childhood. Nowadays, even in his darkest days, he always called her mother, but never mum, and never mummy. And that's why Narcissa's first thought as she turned her face towards the intruder was that they had simply mistaken with the door.

But as she realized a moment later, they hadn't.

Hermione was standing at the doorway in a sleeveless ivory robe, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, and her eyes wide with worry. She also noticed the dark bags under her eyes, and the pale hue of her skin, and the overall aura of tiredness, concern, and misery about her.

She didn't move, standing on the threshold as if turned into stone, not letting herself fully believe what she was seeing.

It was Narcissa saying her name in worry which brought her out of her trance, and with another cry of "Mummy" plus movement almost too quick to perceive, she flew to Narcissa's bed, throwing her arms around the older woman, and engulfing her in a tight and desperate hug, which Narcissa returned at once without any hesitation.

Hermione cried, and rambled something about a dream and death, while Narcissa held her close, patting her hair, and shushing her gently. It would be a lie to say that her eyes stayed dry, but those tears were out of relief, and happiness.

After some time which felt like hours but was probably only a couple of minutes, Hermione finally managed to let go, but instead of pulling back she crawled onto the bed, curling into a ball, and rested her head in Narcissa's lap, whose hand was still stroking her head.

"Mummy," she said again, thinking how she was finally able to hear it.

"It's all right, sweetie," Narcissa answered with a smile, not able to describe the feeling she had felt at hearing that word even to herself. But it was a good feeling, one of the best, and it almost made her cry again.

"I dreamed you were dead," she sobbed.

"That was just a dream, dearest. I'm all right. As long as you are here, I am all right."

"I shouldn't have left. I should have never left you in that condition. It was so selfish of me to leave you alone like that," she continued tearfully. "Could you ever forgive me?"

"That wasn't your fault, sweetie. There is nothing to forgive."

She sobbed again.

"Will you be all right?" Hermione asked at last, raising her head to look at the other woman.

"I will be fine," Narcissa insisted, and they smiled at each other. "In fact, Draco has just gone to speak to my Healer about releasing me from here."

Hermione laid her head back down, thinking that despite all his hurt and suffering, he had still come back, whereas she had stayed away like the last coward. She was going to say as much, when Narcissa asked her a question.

"Where have you been, darling, these past two weeks?"

"Crete," she answered, glad that she had been asked something so simple instead of harder things, for example, how she was doing.

"Crete," Narcissa repeated, then frowned in thought. "Don't we have a house there?"

Hermione nodded against her lap.

"We do. That is," she corrected herself, "you do."

"You mean you hid yourself in one of our own houses?" Narcissa asked in surprise. If she had to leave without a trace, she wouldn't pick a place that could be connected to her that easily.

"Yes."

"Isn't that a bit too obvious?" she questioned half-jokingly. "I mean, Draco loved that place. He could have very well gone there himself."

Hermione nodded again.

"Yes, he could have. But he didn't."

The sorrow and misery in her voice made Narcissa realize why she had chosen such an obvious place. She hadn't escaped to not be found, she had escaped to be found. And she had chosen one of Draco's favourite places, hoping that he would come there and find her.

But they had never even thought about it. They had figured that she was a clever witch, and therefore gone to someplace no one could find her from. And they never considered the option that she might have wanted to be found.

"How are you, darling?" Narcissa voiced the question at last.

Hermione sighed, took a deep breath, and told her the truth. The thought of lying never crossed her mind, but this truth was just so hard to speak.

"I don't know," she said, her tears starting to flow again. "Not so good."

"Shh. It's going to be all right, everything is going to be fine."

"No," Hermione shook her head. "It's not. I feel so empty, so hollow inside, and it hurts, it hurts so much. I might look normal and do my things, but I think about him every second of every day, and it hurts. Oh, Mummy, what am I going to do without him? He is my life, my world, my everything."

---

"Sorry for the long wait, Mother," Draco said, walking into the room. "I couldn't find..."

"Shush," Narcissa cut him through. "She is asleep."

Turning his confused glance towards his mother, Draco's mouth fell open at seeing not one but two most important persons in his life.

"Cried herself to sleep, poor dear," Narcissa continued, sending her son a short but accusing glare. "She looks so tired, like she hasn't had a decent sleep for a fortnight."

Despite his surprise, Draco had managed to catch that look of accusation, and despite everything he couldn't quite disagree with his mother. But he said nothing, and neither did she, turning her glance back to the sleeping girl in her lap, starting to stroke her hair again.

Seeing the love in her eyes, he remembered her first words upon finding her here.

---

When Draco reached the hospital things were stable already and Narcissa out of any danger, not that her condition had been so serious in the first place. Suffering from a panic attack, she had hit herself with a healing spell, which due to her condition and disability to perform it correctly, had knocked her out instead. It was nothing serious, but the Healers still wanted to keep her in for a few days, just to make sure everything was all right.

That much had been told to Draco upon his arrival, and he had rushed into her room without paying any attention to the three rather unlikely people standing behind her door.

He had found Narcissa wide awake and waiting.

"Mother, are you all right?" he asked, sitting down by the bed, and taking hold of her hand.

She gave him a long look.

"Do you know where Hermione is?"

It would be untrue to say that he wasn't taken aback by those words, and that they didn't touch the topic that was most painful for him, but seeing her anxious look, he shook his head in reply.

"She said she would be back. She promised me. I want to see her. Draco, go and find her," she ordered.

"But I don't know where she is. Honestly," he answered sincerely.

"Oh, I knew it was a bad idea to let her go like that. I waited for her for days, but she never came back. Oh Draco, you should have seen what she looked like when she Disapparated. So fragile, so miserable, on the verge of a breakdown. She said she needed to go away to think, but I know she needed to get away because she didn't want to break down in front of me. Because she thought I couldn't live with seeing how much pain she was in."

Draco turned his head away, and swallowed his own pain. The truth was he had seen her like that – fragile, miserable, and on the verge of a breakdown – but he had still left. Because he couldn't let her see just how deeply she had hurt him. Because he didn't think she could bear it. And because he wasn't ready to forgive her.

"Oh, Draco," Narcissa's voice brought him back to the present. "I've been heartless. She is not the only one hurt. How are you doing, darling? Are you all right? Do you hate me very much?"

"I'm fine," he gave the custom answer, although it was untrue and they both knew it. But then her last question reached his mind.

"Hate you? Why should I hate you, Mother?"

"Are you blaming it all on her, dear? Because you shouldn't. I'm the one who initiated it, after all."

Draco looked sharply back to her, realizing how true her words had been. He had blamed it all solely on Hermione, but now that he thought about what she had told him about that fateful night, he saw his mistake.

But she is your mother, he tried to argue with himself, but it didn't help. Because Hermione was his fiancée, or at least had been, and he loved her more than anything else in the world. But he had been hurt and angry, and had blamed it all on her. And he had left her when she needed him most. Hell, he had left them both when they needed him most. He had thought they had each other at least, but now it came out that they hadn't. They had been all alone, all three of them, and while he was back with his mother now, and they were both alright...

"I don't blame you, Mother. And I don't hate you."

"Then you shouldn't blame or hate her either."

"I... I just need some time, Mother. To think it all through."

"You've had 13 days for that, Draco," she said.

"I just... need some more."

"It was just once," Narcissa said after a pause. "I only paid her once."

"I don't want to talk about it, Mother."

"Fine, don't talk. Just listen. I only paid her once, for your first date. Nothing more, never again. Everything that happened after that was her own will. And she even tried to give it back to me, the day after your dinner, but I didn't let her."

"She told me that."

"She told you the truth, Draco. She loves you. For real, and with all her heart."

"I know, Mother," he said, dropping his glance. "I know that."

"Good," Narcissa said conclusively, and they lapsed into a silence for a while. Until a knock sounded on the door.

"Yes?" he called, and the door opened, revealing the three rather unexpected someones that he had missed before.

"Erm," Harry began, looking to Ron on his right, and Ginny on his left, who were busy with being uncomfortable and very reluctant to speak.

"Potter, what are you doing here?"

"Just came to see whether Mrs. Malfoy was alright," he explained, looking over at Narcissa.

"I'm fine, dearies," she said with a smile. "It is very kind of you to come and see me. But how did you know I was here?"

"Erm," Harry said again. "We... we were the ones who found you and brought you here."

He blushed, and looked away at that.

"What?" Draco exclaimed, clearly not expecting such turn of events. "Why? How?"

Narcissa was rather shocked as well.

"How did you get into the house, dears?" she questioned. "I locked it off against everyone but Draco and Hermione."

"We came through the window," Ron said, feeling a bit braver. "The window of Hermione's room opens for a password. We used that."

"You know the password to her window?" Draco asked, his tone incredulous, and dark. "How long have you known it?"

"Since yesterday."

"You know where Hermione is?" Narcissa asked sharply, while Draco felt almost nauseous at the fact that she had run to the Weasel.

"No, we don't," Ginny stepped into the conversation, noticing the dark look Draco was giving her brother. "We got a letter from her yesterday."

"What did she say?" Narcissa and Draco asked in unison.

Harry took out the parchment, but gave it to Ginny, who unfolded it, and started to read,

"Dear Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hannah, and whoever else might read this letter, I hope you are all doing fine. You might worry about me, but there is really no need, since I'm fine as well. Just needed a bit of time away to think. I know you want an explanation about the wedding and everything, but I just need a bit of time before I can give you that. Don't try to look for me, I really have to be alone right now.

"But there is one thing you could do for me. Please go check on Narcissa for me. I left her all alone, and I worry greatly about her. Just make sure she is fine. Perhaps you could keep her company for a while if Draco is not there. And please, please don't ask her anything about what happened – I'll tell you everything myself when I return.

"If she has done as I asked her to, and closed the house against everyone of Malfoy blood and myself, there is one more way you can get into the house. When you stand in front of the house, my window is the third from the left, on the fourth floor. Take your brooms with you, and fly there – it opens upon the correct password. And don't you even dare start coming up with your strange theories about why I have my window warded like that. All you need to know is that the password is dragonspell.

"Please do this one thing for me. I will answer to all of your questions upon my return. Tell Narcissa I'm fine. Stay well, Hermione."

"Can I see that?" Draco asked at last, breaking the long silence.

"Sure," Ginny handed him the parchment. "But she hasn't written down the name of the place."

She hadn't. Nor the date, which meant they couldn't calculate her distance by the time it took for the owl to get here.

"Erm," Ron spoke, "What happened then?"

Both Harry and Ginny gave him an evil look, but it wasn't too evil because they too wanted to know what had happened.

"None of your business, Weasley," Draco answered, still staring at the parchment.

"Did you cheat on her?"

"Ron!" Ginny gasped in horror, while Harry elbowed him in the ribs.

But Ron couldn't leave it like that. True, his hateful feelings towards Malfoy had lessened with time, first by Hermione's persuasion, and then by Hannah's. But they still had their moments of mutual dislike, and in addition to that, at present he was also worried about his run-away friend. Neither did curiosity improve his tact and manners.

"I said, that's none of your business, Weasley."

"So you did cheat on her!" Ron cried triumphantly, ignoring his best friend and sister, who had each grabbed one of his arms, and tried to drag him to the door.

Narcissa kept quiet, watching the exchange with interest. She was aware of the bad blood between her son and Hermione's less forgiving friends, and she knew that Ronald Weasley was one who sometimes still chose to walk on the borderline between hate and tolerance when it came to Draco. But usually it was either half-teasing, or for a good reason, and right now she knew he had one.

"No, I did not cheat on her, Weasley," Draco almost sighed, as if he had wished the situation was that easy.

Ron's face fell, but he stood his place and didn't let his friends drag him away, and only after a moment he brightened up again.

"Hermione realized she didn't love you!" he announced joyfully, then paused and frowned, "and she has left because... because... because she fears your revenge!"

Harry and Ginny let go of him now, and tried both looking apologetic for his behavior, and acting as if they didn't actually know him.

"Aha!" Ron exclaimed again. "I knew it! I knew it!"

Draco turned towards him to give him a glance that murderous that even Ron bleached, but instead of jumping at him or cursing him, he dropped his gaze and sighed.

"Mother paid her to go out with me."

"Come again?" Ron questioned, certain he hadn't said what he thought he had heard.

"Mother paid Hermione to go out with me," Draco repeated louder. "And she accidentally let it slip before the wedding. That's what happened."

Ron's expression went blank as his jaw fell open, but Ginny managed to react, gently poking Harry's shoulder.

"Did he just say what I think he said?" she questioned.

"I don't know. I depends on what you think he said."

"What do you think he said?"

"I'm not sure. But what I heard was something about Hermione being paid to go out with him."

"Oh good. So did I," Ginny sighed in relief, then thought for a moment, and realized she would have preferred being wrong.

Their friend and brother before them was opening and closing his mouth, no voice coming out of it for a while, and they really couldn't blame him. In the end, however, his brain was able to turn these shocking news into pleasantly shocking news, and once again there was a smile on his face.

"I knew it!" he declared. "I knew she couldn't go out with you out of her own will. I knew she would have never done it. I knew there was something more to it. I knew it!"

His happiness, though, was rather short-lived, only this time not ended by anyone's words but by his own thoughts.

"Hermione was paid to go out with you," he repeated darkly. "But that would mean that she did it for money. That she... sold... herself... for money..."

It was very clear that Ron disliked such idea even more than he disliked Malfoy, and despite all the hard work of his brain, he couldn't find a viewpoint from which it could be overlooked. On the contrary, his face turned gloomier and gloomier, and when he finally managed to voice the awful question, his tone was weak and desperate.

"Is that why she wanted to marry you? For money?"

Instead of answering Draco slowly turned to face her mother, looking straight into her eyes. Narcissa remained calm, and bore his glare, giving a sincere answer to the question he was silently asking her once again. He knew she couldn't lie to him, not like this, and she knew he knew it.

Poor Ron had to suffer a moment longer in his terrible suspicion, before Draco finally ended it with his answer.

"Of course not, Weasley. Someone should punch you for even thinking that. She is your friend for crying out aloud. How in Merlin can you consider her capable of something so low?"

In any other situation Ron would have either taken offence or started to justify himself, now he was just too relieved to say a thing.

"So she was paid only for the first date?" Ginny asked, seeking a clear understanding of things.

"Yes."

"And she didn't get paid for anything else?" she inquired further.

"No."

"Oh," she said, paused for a second, but decided to speak her opinion anyway. "That's not so bad at all."

Draco glared at her.

"How would you like to find out that your family had paid Potter to go out with you?"

She knew the question was simply a retort, but she considered it for a moment, and formed her answer.

"I'd be angry with them for a while, of course. But then I would realize they only did it for my happiness, and how can I hate anyone for that? Although this could never happen in our case since my family can't afford to buy me a husband, least of all the great Harry Potter, who has enough money of his own. So in my case, I should be happy I was able to snatch him with my own charms entirely."

She stopped, winked at her husband, and added,

"Though, I wouldn't have minded someone paying me something to go out with him."

Harry's expression of surprise turned into a mischievous grin at the look she was giving him, and it would have turned into a lot more had they not have been in public.

"That's not the point!" Draco rudely spoilt their moment. "I'm not angry at my Mother for doing that. I'm not even angry at Hermione for taking her offer since otherwise we may have never got together in the first place. Although," he fixed Narcissa with a sly glance, "I think she would have found another way to get us together, like her subsequent behaviour has proved."

"Then why did you drive her away?" Harry questioned, feeling it was his turn to say something.

"Because she should have told me about it!" Draco shouted, looking very much like he wanted to slam his fist down on the table, but for the lack of table, didn't.

"Oh, I can imagine it so well," Ginny replied calmly, her tone mocking. "'Draco darling, there's something I must tell you.' 'What is it, Hermione?' 'You know the first time we went out – I did it only because your Mother paid me.' 'That's okay, sweetie, I realize she only did it to make me happy, and I know you love me now. Thanks for telling me. I forgive you.'"

Narcissa snorted at this performance, but quickly disguised it as a cough. Draco glared at her for a moment, then turned back to the redhead girl.

"What was that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"Elementary," Ginny smirked. "Do you really think you would have forgiven her that easily?"

Draco opened his mouth to answer in affirmative, but paused, thinking about it. The longer he considered it, the clearer it became, and if he still had some doubts, Ginny's next words had disastrous impact on them.

"Of course not," she answered her own question. "You would have blown up, just like you did now. And it's even more complicated. If she had told you this in the beginning of your relationship, you would have left her for good. If she had told it to you later, it would have simply hurt you more, and you would have been angry at her for not telling it to you before. And you still might have left her for good. Try to think it from her point of view for once. She had a secret she feared might destroy all the good and beautiful you had. If it had been your secret instead of hers, would you have revealed it, knowing that it might cost you the love of your life, and not only that – it would also hurt the person you hold most dear to your heart."

He didn't answer, and she felt encouraged to go on.

"Don't take it the wrong way because I'm not accusing you of anything, but I'm sure you do have such deep secrets of your own. I know that past is past, but yours was dark, and I'm sure there are a few things you would rather forget yourself. There are things you regret, and things that haunt you, and things you wish to undo. I know you have. We all do. But there's nothing you can do about them, there is no way you can change your past."

"Is there a point in your story somewhere?" he demanded, a flame burning deep in his eyes, as he was suppressing the darkest of his memories.

"I'm getting there," Ginny assured. "And let us take one of such deep dark secrets that haunt your nightmares. Would you tell Hermione about it?"

"She knows my past."

"In general, yes. But she doesn't know the details, does she?"

He was forced to concur with the statement.

"Would you tell her about it? Would you tell her all the little sordid details of it? Knowing that it would hurt her, knowing that perhaps she couldn't look at you the same way after that ever again? Would you tell her?"

"That's not the same thing!" Draco vehemently protested. "For one thing, whatever secrets I may have, they have nothing to do with our relationship. And for another, should I have them, they would be hundred times worse than hers."

"So you can't forgive her for this, but want her to unknowingly forgive you something a lot more terrible?" she countered.

"She knows what I was! And she knows what I am now!"

"And you know that she loves you! And you know how much it hurts her! And you are still too proud to take away her pain, to protect her like you promised!" Ginny screamed back, finally losing her temper.

Harry and Ron were staring at her with their mouths open, but they knew not to interfere whenever she became like this. Even Narcissa was a bit surprised at the sudden fierceness of the girl, even though she couldn't disapprove of it. Not when she was telling the truth. And when there was a chance she might be able to make Draco see it as well.

But they never found out what Ginny, or anyone else, was going to say next because at that moment the door opened again, and a Healer ordered everybody out, reprimanding them seriously for such a behaviour in front of a patient who needed to rest. Everybody save Draco, that is, who refused to go, but promised to be a good boy.

For a moment both mother and son sat in silence, and Narcissa knew better than repeat any of what had been yelled before. But she also realized from his expression that those words had not been said in vain.

In search of a new topic, she turned back to her previous worries.

"I'm really worried about her," she stated.

"The Weasley girl? She has always been a shrew like this."

"No, not about the Weasley girl, although she is a Potter now," Narcissa corrected. "I meant Hermione."

Draco didn't say a thing.

"The letter is a good thing, it shows that at least she is capable of writing, and sending it. And even though it was hopeful..."

"What are you hinting at now, Mother?"

"Simply that we don't know where she is, or when she sent the letter. Or what has become of her since then."

"You are not suggesting that..." he began darkly.

"No," Narcissa cut him through. "All I'm suggesting is finding her as soon as possible."

"You do know that she could be anywhere in the world? And that she could be hiding her tracks well?"

"I'm counting on it," she agreed. "I'm just saying that we should find her."

"Perhaps you're right, although I'm sure you are overreacting. But it's going to take a while."

"Draco," Narcissa said, being dead serious. "I'm fine, and I probably would have been fine without Harry and his friends finding me. But her condition was worse than mine when she left, and if she is hiding from everyone, there is no one to help her."

He looked up sharply, his expression one of horror. A thousand different images were running through his head, each worse than the previous. He knew Hermione was a powerful witch and a strong woman, but he had also seen her fragile and on the verge of a breakdown. And he was quite aware when he had seen her like that the last time.

The last time. Oh Merlin! What had he done? Possibly, and quite probably everything was all right, since his beloved wasn't one to do silly things, but what if it had been something she couldn't have helped? What if... what if...

All the 'what ifs' were way too horrible to even think about, and he knew he would never forget himself should one of his nightmares prove true. He was still angry at her, yes, and not quite ready to forgive, but never in his life (or at least since the beginning of their relationship) had he wished any harm upon her. No, on the contrary...

And you are still too proud to take away her pain, to protect her like you promised!

The little ex-Weasley had been right. He had promised to protect her. And should he fail... Draco wasn't sure what he would do then, but he did know it was the worst thing that could happen. And he knew that he was ready to do anything, anything to stop it from becoming true.

"I'll send people out at once," he announced, standing up.

"Draco, no. We have to find her now," Narcissa insisted, further frightened by her son's horror.

"I know. I'll do everything I can."

"Draco," she stopped her again. "There's something else you can do."

He halted in his steps as if struck by lightening, and turned back to her mother, his face pale.

"They'll throw us in Azkaban if they find out," he said calmly.

"I know."

"It's a complicated spell. I can't manage it on my own."

"I know," Narcissa replied.

"I'll take the whole blame should it ever come out."

"It won't. Now get me out of here."

"I'll talk to your Healer," he promised, and left the room. He was so full of determination he hardly noticed anyone on his way, failing to pay attention even to the young woman bumping into him in the hallway.

-----

Note #2: I hope you liked it. And I hope you liked the name of Hermione's bookshop - it took me quite a while to come up with it, but I'm rather proud of it. :) REVIEW!