Disclaimer: If you really are that curious about whether or not I really own any of this, go to the first chapter. Which you should have read anyway! Slacker!

Draco sat on a patch of rock overlooking the lake, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his thick jacket. It was by no means the sort of thing he would ever have worn a few years ago. It was quite monstrous, with no style or grace at all. But it would be winter much too soon, and anything sharper was highly impractical.

How things change.

He was nervous, but trying hard to pretend that he wasn't. He had declined all offers of an armed guard or escort, thinking that it would've been a markedly unfriendly way to begin this escapade, but he regretted it now. If he'd brought a guard, he could've had someone to fetch him a mug of some bloody coffee. Caffeine, he'd found, did wonders for the nerves. Well, they heightened them, really, but in such a way that you were nervous about everything. Thus making your original stress much more general, and the original object of your stress less… stressful.

The fact that he was analyzing the benefits of coffee for nerves told him how very nervous he was. God, he needed to get off this rock. He was slowly going completely mad.

And where the hell was Zabini?

He withdrew a hand from the depths of his jacket, and consulted the wristwatch he'd gotten as a Christmas present from Severus. It was hideous, but kept perfect time. Yes, Blaise was late. How very like him.

Draco took advantage of the opportunity to curse the general uselessness of his secretary, and rested his head on his knees.

The six years had changed Draco markedly. He was much taller, and had been thinned by the years of lean living in the wildes of Greenland. He was freshly scarred as well, though the marks that covered his back and legs were invisible under his trousers and shirt.

Yes, he had fought in the battle. He'd felt obligated. And he'd killed for the first time there. And the second, third, fourth, and fifth time. Then he'd been cut down as well, by a particularly nasty curse that had ripped apart his back. He'd been left on that smoldering stretch of field, bleeding, with the stench and the mud in his nose and mouth, for hours. Finally he was dragged off into the tiny shack that served as a hospital for the wounded Death Eaters, where he had been clumsily treated and then left to fend for himself. There was no St. Mungo's for the Death Eaters left alive. They would die of their wounds, or they'd treat themselves. At the time, the fear and paranoia was so wild, that there was no guarantee that a known Death Eater wouldn't be killed upon entering a place like Mungo's.

The scars on his the back of this thighs were relatively recent. He's gotten them from a fight with the warlock who'd been living in the fortress before the Rebels had arrived. He was one man in an enormous pile of stone, and he was quite grateful to have the company, at first. But months of taking instruction from a mere boy had finally gotten to him, and he'd challenged Draco to a duel by attempting to blow his legs off from behind with a cleverly-timed curse.

Well, suffice to say, it wasn't cleverly timed enough.

But the changes weren't all outwardly apparent. Maybe it was all the killing that had inwardly changed Draco. He no longer threw up after he killed someone. When he'd killed, it had always been the necessary thing to do. That didn't change the fact that he could barely sleep at night, though. Ah, well. It was a small price to pay for keeping himself and his people alive. That was enough for Draco.

Or it had been.

But though the act of killing had clearly changed the direction of his life, it was the actual deaths that had probably wrought the most change in him. After the Epic Battle, long before he'd had any thought of fortresses or rebels, he'd heard his mother and father killed from his hiding place in the floor beneath them. All because they'd been on the wrong side, and a drunken mob of neighbors had been unable to let them live for it. Draco, at the time only just eighteen, was suddenly homeless. He had no family, no safe adult to turn to, and he had barely recovered from the devastating damage done to his back. So he'd taken the only option he'd been able to. He'd grown up, and survived.

People began to flock to him. He was the poster child for those wronged by the Order and the wizarding world. He was a symbol for the survivors, and the fact that he'd survived gave them hope. Then, without really meaning too, he found himself no longer a poster child, but a leader. And he was good at it. It was the first thing he'd really ever been good at.

Draco shifted, trying to keep warm. Looking up, he watched a flock of geese soar over the lake. It would've been beautiful, if he hadn't been so annoyed.

"Where are you, Zabini?" he growled through gritted teeth

"Right here," Blaise said from behind him.

Draco leapt up and whirled on his friend, automatically reaching for his wand. He relaxed at the sight of the other man standing before a growing rectangle of purple light, and dropped his hand.

"Don't do that!" he snapped "It's ridiculous. Where have you been? I've been dying out here and—what?" he asked, taking in Blaise's rumpled appearance and overall look of barely suppressed panic. "What is it?"

"Well…" Blaise said, looking over his shoulder nervously "…it's… well… Draco, they've sent… Um…"

Draco's mouth went dry. "Who? Who've they sent? Where are they?"

"I managed to get a little way ahead of them. I wanted to warn—oh, shit."

They were through. Hannah stepped down onto the stark rock, and looked around her with trepidation. Hermione was just behind her.

She saw Draco at the exact same time he saw her. They both froze.

Draco went absolutely white. His gray eyes were wider than Blaise had ever seen them, and his hands slowly clenched themselves into fists.

Hermione had flushed a deep, dark pink. Her eyes were as wide as his, and they shot fire. She was starting to shake, clutching her bag in her hands. Her knuckles has gone white.

"You?" Draco hissed, barely able to force the words out from behind a suddenly locked jaw. "They sent you?"

"They sent me too, you know." Hannah pointed out. She was opening her mouth to add something, but Blaise seized her arm and dragged her back, making frantic shushing noises.

Hermione was apparently frozen. She felt sick. She was going to explode, she knew it. It was taking all of her self-control not to fly at him, not to push him off that cliff and never think of him again.

"Yes," She said, trembling. "They sent me."

Draco was shaking now too. He could not believe this. He could not believe Hermione Granger was standing in front of him, on his land, in his home. There was a roaring in his ears; his vision was beginning to waver slightly.

"Why?" He raged, lunging forward a step. "Why you?"

"Why not?" she shouted back at him, not moving "You're the one who invited me! Are you surprised?" She was scared, yes (When had he gotten so tall?), But she was also furious. She could remember the last time she'd seen him. Of all the memories she'd tried to banish, that was the one that could be counted on to keep her up sobbing into the morning. She felt the bile rise in her throat, but she would not throw up in front of him.

"You vanished!" he said, every line in his long body rigid with the effort of standing still. "You were not supposed to be the one to come."

"Yes, that would've been convenient, wouldn't it? If I had disappeared? One less person who knew the truth about that you, right? You're still such a… such a brat." she spat, throwing her bag away from her.

Draco snarled, a horrible, inhuman sound, and plunged his hand into his jacket. Hermione's face twisted, and she had her own arm reaching for the wand in her back pocket in an instant.

Anticipating this, Blaise was before Draco in a moment, one hand on his shoulder, the other fastened around his wrist. Hannah raced to Hermione, pulling her around and gripping her shoulders with both hands.

"You. Have. To calm. Down." Blaise hissed into Draco's face "Now. Is not. The time."

"Listen to me!" Hannah said fiercely, shaking Hermione slightly harder than was really necessary. "We are here to do a job! Pull yourself together!"

"How can you say that?" Hermione howled, looking over her shoulder at Draco "How can you say that when you know who he is? When you know what he's done? When you know that he's a monster?"

Draco heard. He flushed, and his eyes took on a wild look that Blaise had never seen in them before. He was suddenly much stronger, tugging away from Blaise with suddenly frantic strength. This is too much, Blaise thought desperately, clutching Draco as tightly as he could. I knew he hated her, but this is insane…

"Stop it!" Hannah said, pulling Hermione around to face her again and shouting into her face. "I know it's hard! But you have to stop this! Now!"

Hermione took a deep breath to shout something back, and realized, to her horror, that she was about to cry. She tried again, but she choked on the words, and went rigid, staring fixedly into the space before her. This isn't it, she thought, closing her eyes for a moment I won't let this be all. He can't win this time. She grimaced, and bit down on her lip to bite back the angry sob trying to wriggle out. Unaware of her thoughts, Hannah's grip relaxed, and she averted her gaze to give Hermione some privacy.

Blaise was having marginally less success. Draco wasn't shouting, but he was straining to get at Hermione, enraged at being called a monster by the likes of her. Fortunately, Blaise was taller, and could hold him. He was still gripping Draco's wrist, trying to keep him from cursing Hermione into tiny bits.

"Let me go!" Draco snarled "I'm going to kill her this time! This time she won't be able to sneak up on me from behind! Get out of my way!"

"Control yourself!" Blaise said harshly. "This is not about you and her! You need to stop acting like a bloody child!"

Draco shook his head, eyes fixed on Hermione's back. "This is precisely about me and her!"

"No it isn't!" Blaise exploded, shoving Draco back. Draco fell hard against the rocks, and gaped at Blaise, stunned. "This is no time for petty revenge and wounded pride! Remember who you are, for Christ's sake! What the fuck would killing her accomplish?"

"It'd make me feel better," Draco said sullenly. He was still slightly shocked. Blaise had shoved him.

"Oh. Well, that's fine, then," Blaise said sarcastically, folding his arms in front of his chest. "You alright?"

"Fine," Draco said through gritted teeth. "In fact, I think I might kill you now."

Blaise scoffed. "You'd never. Who else'd put up with all your shit?"

They looked at each other, and then both relaxed. But Draco did refuse to let Blaise help him to his feet. His back really hurt.

Hermione was resolutely facing away from the cozy male-bonding going on behind her. Hannah was a comforting presence beside her, murmuring softly about calming down, but Hermione was still shaking. She couldn't believe it. She could not believe that she was here, and he was too, and it all felt like some sort of nightmare. And the last thing she needed was to burst into tears in front of him, but that's exactly what she was afraid she was going to do.

She hated him so much. She could feel the hate coursing through her, making her ears ring. A chorus of angry voices in her mind were all screaming at her to leap at him. To get rid of the man who'd killed so many others, to erase all traces of him and his horrible stain on her life.

But, she admitted to herself, Hannah was right. They were here to do a job. And she would have to just do it. And try not to either cry or scream whenever she saw him.

She knew she had to do it, but she doubted that she really could.

Draco took a few deep, slow breaths. Blaise wasn't holding him, but he had placed himself between Draco and the emissaries. Draco briefly registered this as vaguely ironic before focusing on the visitors themselves. The other one, who looked vaguely familiar, was looking at him. Her expression was unfathomable. Unnerved, he looked stiffly away. Inconceivable. Hermione Granger. Just thinking of her made him furious. Hermione Granger. Taller, and older, but still markedly her. Still the same girl that he'd last seen six years ago. It felt like yesterday. He would never, ever forget that night. Or her part in it. He could allow his hate for Harry Potter to slide away with time, but this hate was intrinsic. It was always with him, often ignored, and occasionally dimmed, but there. Always.

He had to pull himself together. Blaise was watching him warily. Draco gave him a small reassuring nod, and turned away from them, looking again out at the lake.

"Zabini, please show our guests to their rooms. See that they're comfortable," Every word felt like an enormous effort. "And I'll send word to Matthews. Just so he can… prepare everyone. Get ready for a bloody big mess anyway."

"Are you coming in?"

"Eventually." He said, the tone of his voice warning Blaise that the conversation was now over. Apparently Blaise understood. There was silence, and when Draco turned around again, the three were gone. If he squinted, he could see their outlines against the rising wall of the fortress.

Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger. Robbed of his red-hot fury, he sank to the ground, and allowed himself some time to shake a little. Just until the panic subsided.

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A/N: I really can't tell you how much fun I had writing this chapter. But I have a new respect for anyone who has action in their stories. It is hard to write! This is officially the last of the stock chapters, so… um… just be ready for a longer wait. Longer than the last wait, I mean. Sorry!

Please review. I love it when you review!