Hey guys! This is my first fanfic so go easy on me. I know that it's pretty short compared to a lot but I think that the later chapter will be much longer. Reviews would be greatly appreciated! Also, if you liked it, spread the word! Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy. xx
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It had been exactly two years since the end of the Second Wizarding War.
Draco noted this fact grimly as he sat in a small, usually unnoticed shop on the southern side of Diagon Alley. The unnaturally tanned hand that absentmindedly toyed with the handle of the glass of Firewhiskey was foreign to him. He despised the disgusting dark color of his hair and the muddy, brown color of his eyes. As the frumpy waitress replaced his empty cup with a full one, Draco idly rubbed the many hairs framing his face and contemplated the events that had deemed the necessity of his irksome disguise.
Just before Voldemort fell, his father and mother had fled as quickly as possible and went straight into hiding. They knew that, regardless of who won the war, they were not safe. If Voldemort won, they would face his merciless wrath. If Voldemort lost, they knew they would be hunted endlessly by the Aurors. They could not and would not decide which fate was worse.
They had no contact with the outside world for nine tense days following the Battle of Hogwarts. On the ninth night, Narcissa cast a disillusionment charm upon herself and stole off into the dead of the night to scrap any piece of information she could find. She returned with a two day old copy of The Daily Prophet with a headline that read "One week since the fall of the Dark Lord, yet things are far from normal." They all knew that this meant there was already a cell in Azkaban with the Malfoy name stamped on it. Draco eyed his father closely as his mother belayed the details back to them, and watched helplessly as his father's glossy eyes slowly turned to stone.
Three days later, he was gone.
Lucius Malfoy had always been an exceedingly prideful man, and being forced to live in hiding and shame had quickly taken its toll on the domineering Malfoy. He had always lived an audacious and superior life and change was not something he welcomed with ease. Although Draco noted the changes with great concern and frustration of his own, he would never have imagined that his father would abandon them.
Draco had not been allowed to feel anything at the time. The sting of abandonment struck him hard but with the Aurors blazing down their trail, he and his mother had been allotted no time to grieve. Constant vigilance, isn't that what that bloody mad Professor back at Hogwarts used to say? Draco chuckled darkly to himself, remembering the completely apeshit Professor with surprisingly good memory, given all the events that had occurred between now and then.
Were it not for his tactful mother, Draco felt sure that he would either be surrounded by the walls of Azkaban or dead. His mother had gradually but effectively led them home within what had seemed to be a few months. Narcissa had then appeared before the Wizengamot to plead innocence on behalf of her and her son. With Lucius now completely out of the picture, it was much easier to convince the witches and warlocks of the man's controlling nature and their unwillingness to partake in his evil doings. With a grand donation by the heiress, an agreement to be placed under a mild Trace and a Vow to turn any information regarding the whereabouts of the missing Malfoy over to the the Ministry, the officials had reached the verdict of not guilty.
Though Narcissa and her son were now safe from the Ministry and imprisonment, nothing could shield them from the bile and hate that remained from the war on both sides. Although it had been 4 months since the end of the war, both Draco and his mother knew that neither dark nor light side would be as forgiving as the courts. Even now, on the two year anniversary of pathetic Potter's victory, Draco could still not show his striking and pale face in public without instant recognition enveloping the faces around him.
It was for this reason that Draco sat in a quiet shop looking nothing like himself. His mother had requested that he pick up a few items for the Manor, and although begrudgingly, Draco had complied. It was the least he could do. Although he was not a compassionate man, he could not deny that his mother had kept him anchored throughout the most horrendous part of his life.
On his way to the décor shop, Draco had stopped in this little bar, which he now vaguely remembered was named Agstas. While reminiscing on his haunted past, Draco had emptied his second glass of Firewhiskey. He decided that he should probably head to the shop now if he wanted to return home before the sun was completely gone. As he neared the door he waved his Hawthorne wand to conjure a few sickles that glided towards the bartender.
The heavily disguised Malfoy heir stepped out into the bitter wind and instantly wrapped his dark robes around him more tightly. He sensed a wrongness in the air about him but nevertheless kept his head forward and his eyes on his destination which was no more than 30 steps from him. While he was fighting his way through the thick crowd, Draco heard the bell of the décor shop ding as a customer exited. The dark haired man who had just left the shop kept his head bowed down as far as it could go, and just as he turned his back to Draco, conjured a familiar looking mask over his suspicious face.
A fleeting moment of recognition struck Draco for barely a moment and the entire alley was quiet for no less then a second before the chorus of explosions instigated around him, bodies flying in every direction. Draco's frightened eyes searched everywhere for the masked man who must have been the cause of this chaos before darkness swallowed him whole.
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May 2, 2000.
Hermione sat resting her head in her palm and her elbow on her desk staring blankly at the date on the calendar.
Exactly two years since the end of the war and yet things still were not back to normal. She had a dreadful feeling in the pit of her stomach that it would take many years before the terrors of Voldemort's reign were forgotten from the minds of the Wizarding community. It definitely would not fade from hers anytime soon.
Although the attacks and crimes had diminished greatly since Voldemort had fallen, there were still many patients to look after. The fourth floor was always the busiest which is why Hermione liked it best. The rare moments when all of the current patients were content and no one was popping in with a missing eyeball or an irreversible jelly-legs jinx were close to torture for her. She was the kind of person who had to be doing something productive at all times to feel useful.
There was always the paperwork to do. The moment this thought entered this head she snapped out of her trance and immediately set to work filling out patient charts and reports and filling them accordingly. She immediately shifted into studious Hermione and went over every piece of work thrice.
After filing a couple of papers she fell into a routine so familiar that it required minimal thinking. Although she tried to stay focused, it was to no avail. Her mind wandered into the past as she wrote furiously.
After their immense victory, Hermione had naturally been beside herself with happiness and elation. Despite the devastating casualties they had suffered, there was a world to look forward to. Her misconceptions of the future lasted mere months before she realized that the prejudicial ways of the wizarding world were far from abolished. Although there was certainly more hope, Muggles and Muggle-borns continued to be attacked and demoralized.
These attacks are what first led to her interest as a Healer. Although she had briefly considered becoming an Auror, she had decided that she had seen enough dark magic to last one thousand lifetimes. The brilliant Muggle-born decided that the Healing position offered a satisfying balance between directly helping others and managing paperwork, which she had always had a knack for.
Hermione was fairly positive that she could have completed training with flying marks without her last year of education but nonetheless decided that it was something she needed to do for herself. Ron and Harry had begrudgingly accompanied her. Mrs. Weasley had encouraged them all to go back, insisting that school was the quickest way to move forward, away from the dark years that they had endured.
Many student had not returned to Hogwarts, anda the school was eerily empty throughout the school year. Although not unexpected, the absence of Draco Malfoy, all of his cronies and their relentless teasing had left an irrational hollowness in her chest, however glad she was that they were gone to who knows where. The Golden Trio completed their final year at Hogwarts, Hermione with top marks as always, and Ron and Harry surprisingly close behind.
Hermione and Ron's short-lived romance during the battle was exactly that – short-lived. The end of the war brought about a great change between the friends and although she would always love Ron she knew that they would never be successful as a couple. Especially not now that Ron had taken a fancy to none other than Romilda Vane. However happy Hermione was for Ron that he had found someone who could handle him properly, she had a hard time removing the gorgeous and assertive woman from her memory.
Harry picked things back up with Ginny shortly after the finish of the war and headed to Auror training while she completed her final year. Ron, on a whim, decided to join Harry in training, which would never have been possible without the invitation from Shacklebolt to everyone who participated in the war. And Hermione, sensing a small wound to the Trio, quietly slipped off to St. Mungo's.
Her train of thought crashed immediately with the sound of people apparating all around her. Within a few moments Hermione and the other fourth floor Healers were surrounded by hundreds of limbless, bloody, crying, cold bodies. There was a moment's pause before Hermione slipped into action.