Chapter 6: The Power of the Past

And there's no time left for losing

When you stand they fall

Hermione rushed from Draco's room into her own, snatching open her underwear drawer and digging to the bottom, where she'd hid her wand. She never knew why she'd carried it with her once her powers had disappeared, but it always made her feel safe—she hoped that maybe, if she ever found herself in a dire situation, her powers might come back to her in the nick of time.

Now, in the oddest of ways, something magical had happened to her. She was falling in love with Draco Malfoy and objects were floating around the room like she was nine again.

Running back into his room, she gasped for air and brandished the wand as if it were a sword. "What do I do?" She asked, looking at Draco for direction.

Malfoy almost burst out laughing. The smartest witch of their generation just asked HIM what she should do in regards to magic. He smiled and took her wand hand in his own. "Since you seem to be good at levitating things…why don't you try wingardium leviosa?"

He began to move her hand in the swish and flick motion, but she shrugged him off with an annoyed motion. "I know how to do the handwork, Draco." She grumbled, and looked around for a simple, unbreakable object. She found it in a nearby book.

Walking over to the table that sat next to the fireplace, she took her stance and focused, "Wingardium Leviosa!" she cried, and the book vibrated, jerked, and flew across the room at Draco.

Draco reached out a hand, with his seeker's reflexes and caught the flying literature before it could impale him in the forehead and smiled. "Well, I'd say that's an improvement, yes?" he smiled at her, though he knew she was frustrated.

"Give that back. Let me try again."

He did so.

The second time, the thing exploded. Shrapnel and confetti went everywhere, and Hermione cried out and flopped down dejectedly in the chair. "This isn't working out at ALL!"

Draco bit his cheek hard enough to draw blood to keep from smiling at her. "Hermione, it's been over a year since you practiced magic. It will take you a while to get used to it again. We'll just have to find you…something a little more durable to work with." He took her hands in his own, and led her from his room.

Down stairs, in the kitchen, Draco laid a metal spoon on the counter. "There. Try moving that."

Hermione whispered the spell, hoping that if she said it softly, nothing serious would happen. The spoon melted. "Why is it doing that!?" Hermione looked at her wand as if she'd never seen one before. "I've never melted anything in my LIFE! And I could do magic before I even WENT to Hogwarts!"

"Calm down. I have other spoons. Several sets, in fact. I won't miss a few." Draco said, banishing the liquid metal mess, and setting another spoon in its place. "Try again."

Hermione whimpered, but did as she was told. This time, the spoon did levitate, tough it stuck, scoop first, into the ceiling.

"See! You're already getting better!" Draco said, setting another spoon before her. Hermione sighed, set a determined look on her face and tried again.

--

For the next several hours, Hermione and Draco made their way from one utensil to the next, testing Hermione's abilities. They switched from the levitating charm when Hermione sent a ladle flying through the kitchen window—on its own pair of wings—and instead focused on transfiguration, banishing, and summoning charms. Hermione's skills were dodgy—it was clear that sometimes they worked, and sometimes she just couldn't seem to get anything right. It was nearly dawn when they finally called a halt to the experimentation.

"I think that's enough for now." Draco yawned. "We've turned the kitchen into a battle zone."

Hermione cringed. "I'm sorry. I'll clean it up tomorrow." She said, looking at her toes.

"Don't worry about it. I'll clean it up. It won't take long—and it's all in the name of getting your powers back. I'd kill a thousand kitchens if that's what it takes." Draco said, wrapping his arms around her.

Hermione sniffed, and snuggled down into his embrace. "Thank you Draco. For everything." She murmured.

Draco didn't reply, only took her hand and led them back up to his room, where he laid them on his bed and curled himself around her, holding on to her tightly as they fell into a sound sleep.

--

It was mid-afternoon when Draco woke. He was alone in his room and he sat up abruptly, wondering where Hermione had gotten to. Mopsy was cleaning the mess of book-shreddings up, and Draco asked her if she'd seen the curly haired girl.

"Missus Hermy is down in the Great Room, Master Draco, she said something about searching…" Mopsy blinked her big green eyes up at him.

Draco nodded, dressed, and made his way back down to the first floor. There he found Hermione, surrounded with piles of parchment and books. She had dressed for the day, much as he had, in jeans and a t-shirt, an there was a half-eaten tray of sandwiches and cookies and a bottle of water sitting on the coffee table and it was clear she'd been there a while.

"How long have you been awake?" Draco asked, coming around to face her.

Hermione didn't look up from her reading, "Since about lunch time. I was hungry. And I had to come here and do some studying."

"Studying? You mean research?" Draco asked, taking a sandwich from the tray and munching on it.

"Yes. I have a hunch that there's more to this emotional bond thing than there seems. That's why my powers are so wonky right now." She said, finally meeting his eyes. "I've been reading, and I just don't understand. It sounds like while my relationship with you has reignighted the spark, I have to get a grip on my life for the rest of it to fall into place—but I have a grip on my life."

Draco raised his eyebrows at her.

"Well, I'm with you now, aren't I?" Hermione questioned.

"Yes."

"I'm not alone and miserable anymore. I'm not doing anything to hurt myself anymore—what am I missing?" Hermione asked, flipping back a few pages to reread a passage or two over again.

Draco sat down on one of the couches and pondered what Hermione had said. He thought, perhaps, if there was any validity to this, he might know just the remedy she needed.

--

More practice took them outside about an hour before dinnertime that evening. Draco had fished out a small blue and silver ball from one of his old play rooms and had ordered Hermione to practice.

Her magic was improving, albeit slowly. Levitation was less scary than it had been, and she did manage to keep the thing in one piece. Banishment, though, still needed a lot of work. The first time she tried, she turned the ball inside out. The second time, it simply disappeared.

"You're no fun to play catch with, right now, you know that?" Draco chuckled at her, and accioed an old set of Quittich balls from his equipment shed.

"You think I TRY to be this bad!?" Hermione cried, her hands on her hips and her hair blowing freely around her face in the chilly winter air.

"I never said you were trying—" Draco said, picking up the quaffle from the chest of balls, and tossing it to her. "Try sending that to me."

Hermione did so, and this time, succeeded.

"Great! Now take it from me!"

Success again.

"Brilliant!" Draco called and jumped a little with glee. "Come on, let's go inside for dinner and we'll do something else afterwards." Draco suggested, and Hermione nodded, sticking her wand in her back pocket and trudging back toward the house.

--

After dinner, Hermione suggested they go back up to the West Wing of the house. Draco was surprised at this—thinking surely she wanted to focus on her own dilemma—but agreed as not to upset her.

They chose a different hallway this time; Draco allowed Hermione to pick from a number of French doors, and they entered into a large, dark, marble-floored ballroom. With a flick of his wand, Draco brought light into the room, and though several large pieces of art and furniture were covered in white cloths, Hermione gasped at the brilliance that surrounded her.

"Oh Draco!" Hermione gasped, taking a tentative step forward and looking up at the large, crystal chandelier that hung in the center of the domed ceiling.

"Did I forget to mention we had one of these?" Draco chuckled, looking about the place himself. It had been a long while since he'd been in the room. His sixteenth birthday, to be exact.

"Yes. You did. What else does this Manor have that I don't know about?" Hermione asked, looking at him quizzically.

"Trust me, you might not want to know the answer to that. Not every room in this house is as beautiful as this one." Draco said, his smile falling.

Is there a…yes—a piano." Hermione murmured to herself and walked across the floor to where a large square-ish object sat under a white sheet. Reaching forward, Hermione ripped the sheet away to reveal a baby grand piano. "Beautiful." She whispered, tracing her fingers along the ebony and ivory of the keys.

"You like music?" Draco asked; he had followed her across the room.

"I always wanted to learn to play the piano. But I never got the chance before I went to Hogwarts." Hermione said, looking over the smooth curves of the organ's edges.

Draco smiled softly and took a seat at the bench. "Here, sit." He said. She did, looking at him. "Place your right hand here—" he moved her right hand to the upper register of the piano's keys and splayed her fingers out appropriately. "And put your left one…here." He said, placing her left hand mid-keyboard. Placing her fingers on the keys there as well. He put his hands over hears, his fingers tracing her own. Slowly, he began to press on her fingers, so that he was playing a slow, repeating melody.

Hermione gasped, and then giggled. "Oh wonderful!" She said as she watched their hands move together. "I didn't know you could play!"

Draco just smiled at her, told her to keep the finger movements up, and then removed his hands from hers she was playing by herself. He watched her for a moment; she was like a child discovering how to walk for the very first time; he absolutely loved being able to give her something like this. And he wanted to give her so much more. Slowly, he moved his own hands to the keyboard further down the register and began to play a counter-melody. The music surprised her at first and she stopped what she was doing, but with his encouragement, she continued, and they played for a while. He taught her his part, and they alternated. He taught her a few other songs as well and he marveled at how fast she learned.

Draco had never gotten much joy from playing the piano. His mother had forced him to learn before he began school at Hogwarts. She insisted it was part of being a refined gentleman. Draco grumbled that his father hadn't had to learn, but ultimately it was a fight he'd lost and he'd turned out to be quite the prodigy. He hadn't played in years, but, now, with Hermione sitting beside him, grinning like a small child having just discovered the world around her, he could have played all night long.

--

It was nearing four in the morning. Hermione was draped across Draco's bed dressed in her cotton pajamas once again sound asleep. Draco sat across the room and watched her intently.

His mind was working on a problem he couldn't quite explain, but he knew it had to do with Hermione's Past. He chewed absentmindedly on the skin beside this thumb as he watched her.

'I sparked the reemergence of her powers. What will help her gain control over them?' The question rolled around in his brain like a boulder. Smashing up against ideas—but none of them seemed to want to stick. 'What can I do to help her when I've already done what is required of me?' He pulled his thumb from his mouth, examined it, and then stuck it back again. 'Her past. Her past. Her….Potter.' The thought was like a bullet in his brain. It hit him so hard and so fast he stood straight up from his chair before he knew even what he planned to do about it.

Sitting down again, he ran options over in his head. She didn't want to contact the people in her past. She'd let them all believe she was dead if it was up to her. But that wasn't going to get her her magic back. Draco knew the answer, and he knew Hermione wasn't going to like it. He also knew that Potter didn't know about him and probably still hated him. That posed a problem.

Standing from the chair again, Draco marched with purpose from his room, carefully shutting the door behind him, and then bolted down the stairs to the study. There he rummaged around in his father's old desk until he found some parchment without the Malfoy crest on it, and a pen that still had ink in it and scribbled out a note to Harry Potter. He called for his Eagle Owl, but when he saw her fly through the window, decided against using her—she was far too recognizable. He called Mopsy instead.

"Can you deliver this to Harry Potter's residence? And don't tell him whom it's from. Do you understand?" He informed the elf, and she nodded and with a small pop, she was gone.

Draco sat down in the high-backed leather chair and brooded. Either Potter would be curious enough to meet him and patient enough not to hex him long enough to hear him out—or he'd have to track him down and drag him back to the Manor personally.

He was still in the study when Hermione woke around breakfast time that morning.

--

"This is for Mister Harry Potter, Ma'am." Mopsy said, looking up at a very pregnant Ginny Potter.

"I'm his wife, I'll give it to him." Ginny said, stepping forward to retrieve the note. Mopsy took a step back.

"I was told to gives it to him mah'self, ma'am." Mopsy said, holding the folded parchment to her bosom.

Ginny groaned and yelled down the hallway for her husband. He came grumbling from the bedroom, scratching his head. He only had one eye open and didn't look to be in a very good mood.

"What is it Gin? It's early." Harry muttered, and then noticed the elf. "Who's that?"

"I don't know." Ginny replied. "She has something for you." Ginny stalked off back into the kitchen.

Harry turned to the elf in his entry hall and raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you?"

"I was told to deliver this to Mister Harry Potter, sir." Mopsy said, holding out the parchment.

Harry took it, and before he could ask whom it was from, Mopsy disappeared. "That was strange." He muttered, unfolding the letter, and reading the neat scrawl inside. "Oh my god." He gasped. Harry turned pale, and dropped the letter where he stood in the entry hall and bolted back towards his and Ginny's bedroom.

"What was that all about?" Ginny called, walking back into the entry hall, she saw the open letter lying on the floor, but her husband was no where in sight. "Harry?" Grunting she stooped down and picked up the letter.

Potter:

Hermione is alive. Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron at Ten A.M. Leave the past behind you.

Harry trotted down the hallway again, fumbling with his shirt and pants. He'd managed to get his pants on, but had failed to button them. And his shirt was on inside out. "I gotta go." He told Ginny, as he passed her.

"Not like that you're not!" She cried, and waved her wand at him, his clothes righted themselves and he called his thanks as he slammed the front door.

"Lord I wonder who this is from?" Ginny replied. "If it weren't for this little one, I'd be right there with you, Harry." She murmured, holding the parchment to her chest. The fluttering of her heart couldn't' be ignored, and she raced back into the kitchen to floo to her mother's.

--

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked, looking up from a book she'd brought with her to the table.

Draco looked up nervously from the shirt he was buttoning. "I have to go in to work for a while. Seems they've managed to royally muck things up in my absence. I have to go fill out some paperwork and sign a few things. I hope to be back before long. He hoped his lie was convincing—he used to be good at lying. But with her, it was entirely different. "I was thinking, since you're on your way to getting our powers back, we can start working on remodeling the West Wing whenever you're ready. I never could have done it alone—but, with our help, I'm sure it'll feel brand new." Draco smiled at her.

Hermione smiled brightly. "I've been thinking about that all morning! I'd love to start with the second floor! We could turn those rooms into rooms for the elves. I know they sleep in the kitchens—and I know they'll probably scoff at the idea—but you have the room, and…" Draco kissed her into silence

"That sounds wonderful. If you can talk them into it—feel free." He smiled at her. I'll be back soon. And with that he apparated away.

--

Harry paced back and forth outside the Leaky Cauldron impatiently. It was five till ten and he was anxious to meet the person who'd sent him the letter. He'd spent five months searching for Hermione. Three of them, right after Ron and she divorced, and two after the Muggle police department had claimed she was dead. He'd kept in contact with her parents hoping maybe they would hear from her, but there was no such luck. He had suffered the loss of one of his best friends and he hadn't been able to do anything about it. The guilt gnawed his stomach still and he grew nervous as the minutes ticked by.

Draco watched Potter pace from across the street and debated his approach. He knew that Harry cared deeply for Hermione—knew that he'd spend a lot of time and energy—money too, probably, trying to find her once she'd gone missing—and he felt sorry for the way things ended up. Taking a deep breath, Draco stepped across the street and approached the raven-haired man.

"Potter." Draco greeted Harry cautiously. He stood in front of him so his meaning could not be misunderstood.

"You?" Harry spat, "Is this some kind of joke?"

"There's no time for jokes, I'm afraid." Draco said, his tone even. "Hermione needs your help." Without waiting for a reply, Draco stepped though the doors and found a small, secluded booth at the back.

Harry had no choice but to follow.

"You called her Hermione."

"That's her name, isn't it?" Draco asked.

"Since when do you call her anything but…" Harry hesitated to say the word they both were thinking.

"Potter I haven't used that word since before my graduation from Hogwarts. There is a lot you don't know about me. And I suggest you do as I asked and forget the past. I'm not here to discuss our old rivalry with you." Draco's eyes narrowed at the man seated across from him. He motioned to Tom for a bottle of Ogden's Finest, and when the bartender brought the whiskey, they both took a glass and downed it.

"So you've seen her alive? When."

"Just this morning, in fact." Draco said, he twisted the glass around in his hands.

"Where was she?"

"In my kitchen."

"You're lying."

"You'd be surprised, actually, what I choose to tell the truth about these days." Draco answered, taking another sip of his firewhiskey.

"Why would she be in your kitchen?"

"She's been staying with me for nearly a month now." Draco replied, looking Harry directly in the eye. "Do you want to know how I found her?"

--

Draco told him the story of how he'd run into a girl who looked like Hermione one day coming from a Muggle coffee shop. He described the way she looked to Harry and he noticed the way Potter's face fell. Then, he told him how he found her three days later.

"She was selling herself. For money to eat on." Draco ground out. It wasn't pleasant for him to talk about. He didn't like to remember Hermione that way.

"Impossible. She would never do that." Potter muttered. But his tone told Draco that he believed his story.

"Potter, she faked her own death and hasn't yet told her parents or you that she's still alive. She doesn't see anything wrong with that. But—there's something else." Draco lowered his eyes to the table.

"What?" Harry pleaded.

"Her magic." Draco said. "When she ran away—she had no ability to use magic."

Harry seemed to consider this. "That's why she ran to the Muggle World." He murmured to himself.

"That's my guess." Draco confirmed. "In the past weeks she's been at my house, we've been researching ways to get her magic back." This was the hard part. Draco had to tell Harry about his developing feelings for his best friend.

"Have you found anything? Is there anything I can do?"

"Potter, as you know, our magic is tied to our emotions. So when Ron and She severed their bond, she was so emotionally distraught by the act she severed herself from her powers in the process. In the books we've read, there have been rumors passed back and forth about ways to cure this ailment. We think we've found one that works." Draco was trying to make Harry understand.

Harry listened intently—wanting to help his friend if he could.

"You won't believe this. I don't expect you to. But if you draw your wand on me, I will be forced to return the favor." Draco warned. He leveled his gaze on Harry, whose eyes narrowed. "I've fallen I love with Hermione." Draco admitted. When Harry didn't say anything, he continued, "I think she feels the same way."

Harry sat silent for a moment with a sour look on his face. "Now I know you're lying." He retorted, finishing his glass and pouring himself a new one.

"She's regained the ability to use her wand, Potter. She has to have fallen in love in order for that to happen." Draco ground out.

Harry starred at Draco for a while, contemplating all the information that had passed between them. Then, after finishing his second glass of firewhiskey, he took a deep breath. "Okay. Let's say that I do believe you. What do you want from me? Why did you contact me?"

"Hermione needs your help. I already told you that." Draco said flatly.

"Why. You said she has her magic back."

Draco pulled a mutated wad of metal from his pocket. "This was a spoon. She tried to leviosa it. Instead it melted into my kitchen counter." Draco said, letting the thing clatter onto the heavy wooden table.

Harry stared at the thing for a moment and then looked back at the blond man across from him. "What does that have to do with me?"

"I am not enough." Draco said simply. "I reignited the flame of magic, but she must make peace with her past in order to regain control over it."

Harry nodded slowly. "When can I see her?"

"She's not expecting you, you know that." Draco said, laying coins on the table in order to cover the bottle of whiskey they'd shared.

"I know." Harry relied. "I asked when."

"Let's go."

--

Hermione had a menagerie of elves helping her magic her way through the rooms on the second floor of the West Wing. She had at last convinced most of them to accept the rooms, provided they weren't fancy, and on the condition that only she and Master Draco—besides the elves themselves, of course—had access to it.

She'd secured several rooms already, cleaning out all the old furniture, replacing light fixtures, and adding elf-sized things she thought they would need. She was so caught up in her work that she didn't hear the pops that reverberated in the Entry Hall.

Draco heard the rumbling noises coming from the West Wing and grinned to himself. Hermione was in full SPEW mode, of course, and had persuaded the elves that they had a right to a room of their own. He led Harry into his father's study, and told him to wait there, "I'll bring her down." He said.

Harry sat down in a chair by the fire, then immediately stood again and began to pace. He was nervous and excited and he didn't know what to expect. Finally, in order to calm his nerves, he began to focus on the books that lined the shelves.

--

Draco found Hermione just where he thought he would and wrapped his arms around her from behind. "You've been busy!" He grinned into her hair.

Hermione smiled. "You knew I would get them to cooperate!" she said, and turned to kiss him. "Have you been drinking?"

"I had a glass, yes, before I came back—is that ok?" Draco swallowed nervously.

"I suppose so." Hermione murmured, looking around at her handiwork. "This will be done in a few days—the elves are really handy with magic—and I know they don't need a lot, but when I get my powers back for good, I'll really fix it up for them."

"I have no doubt, love." Draco said, smiling. "Come with me. There's something I think you need to see." He said, taking her hand and leading her down the stairs and to his father's study.

He pushed open the door and Harry turned immediately to face him from across the room. Draco stepped aside, and Hermione and Harry's eyes locked for the first time in over a year.

"'Mione..."

"Harry?"

Harry crossed the room in three great strides and scooped up the brown haired girl in his arms and hugged her tight, tears flowing down his face.

Author's Note:

Chapter 6!

This'll be drawing to an end soon, folks. Just to let you know. A lot will be happening in the next few chapters :D

Thanks for sticking with me so far—I'm truly humbled by all of your wonderful reviews…