Time Is The Longest Distance

A/N: Set in canon after HBP and told predominantly from Hermione's perspective, this story follows the trio on their journey to find and destroy the remaining horcruxes and eventually face The Dark Lord himself. When the situation becomes dire, Hermione has an opportunity to turn back time, for better… or worse?

Love, lust, loss, laughs, a little sex, a little death.

Pairings will run rampant in this story, including but not limited to: Hr/R, Hr/H, Hr/D, H/G, D/G, Lupin/Tonks, and Lupin/Sirius (in pensieve memories and recollections, of course).

Read and review, please. I sincerely appreciate feedback.

Disclaimer: All characters and most concepts are the sole property of J. K. Rowling, although I am grateful to borrow them for the purposes of this fanfiction.

"Now," Draco said. "I'm going to let go of you in a moment, Granger. If you scream or so much as think about going for your wand, you will regret it. I'm not here to tussle with a bit of fluff like you. I've got a message for the Dream Team, and my orders are to deliver it and get gone. Understood?"

Hermione nodded and Draco released her as promised, although he kept his wand arm aloft, almost lazily, as though it were a mere formality, as though he didn't really consider her a threat.

She ought to have proved him wrong. She ought to have reached for her wand, done something. But she hadn't, and it was too late now. She stood, arms by her sides, and glared at him.

He was every bit as tall and pale as she remembered him. He stood with a casual, arrogant elegance, a cat-like grace. He moved languidly, he spoke in a slow drawl. To look at him, one would think he cared nothing for time or the pace in which it passes. His face was drawn and he seemed thin. There was a panic hidden deep in his face somehow that Hermione didn't think had been there in the years before. But he wasn't the same boy anymore. He had done horrible things. Terrible things. He had sided with a dark and unforgiving people; he was not a boy anymore. He could not be a boy after having seen the things Hermione knew he must have seen. Who could remain a child after breathing in the searing smell of his own sizzling flesh as a mark was burned into his forearm?

For the second time that evening, Hermione realized that these people she had known, they'd none of them be young ever again.

Still, she had no sympathy for him. If Malfoy had lost his innocence he had done it willingly. She would not show weakness before him. She would not speak first.

"Sit, Granger," Malfoy commanded in his trademark drawl.

Hermione lowered herself into a chair without taking her eyes from his face.

Malfoy stowed his wand inside his robes and sat down across from her.

"This wedding is pathetic," he remarked, casually. "I'm a bit surprised Fleur would have settled for something so shabby. You'd expect the French to have a bit more flair, wouldn't you? Ah, well," he said. "We all go slumming at times. After all, here I am in this hovel. It's not always glamorous, being me. There's always sacrifices."

Hermione watched him silently. He was toying with her, and she would not be the first to speak. Let him deliver his message if he would.

"Your people are all daft, by the way," Draco continued, leaning back in his chair. "This party is full-to-brimming with members of the Order, and yet, all I had to do was walk through the front door. Now there's a Death Eater here to join the celebrations."

"I'm surprised you've the courage to admit what you are," said Hermione.

"Oh, I'll do better than that," Draco whispered. "I'll show you." Slowly he pulled the sleeve of his robe up over his arm. There, burned into the blackened flesh, was a gruesome skull with a snake twisting from its mouth. The Dark Mark.

He reached forward and took Hermione's arm. "Can you imagine," he said softly. "What it feels like to be linked to such a wizard? All he has to do is touch," here, Draco began running his fingertips lightly up the length of Hermione's forearm, giving her chills. "And my very flesh burns to be reunited with him. From every corner of the world, those bearing his mark will feel the burning and know what it is to be called home."

For a moment they stayed frozen that way, Draco leaning forward with his hair in his eyes, his fingers cold on Hermione's soft skin. But he dropped her arm suddenly and sat upright, making her wish, somehow, she had been able to pull her arm away instead, and leaving her to wonder why her skin still tingled where he had touched her.

Draco resumed a light tone of voice. "I know you're dying to know how I got past all of Moody's eccentric, paranoid security measures, and because I enjoy putting you people in your place I'm only too happy to divulge. It is exactly what I told you before; I simply walked right in. You're all so busy cuddling one another, who's going to notice one more devastatingly handsome fellow with silvery-blonde hair?"

Hermione's heart sank as Draco spoke. Of course. It was perfect. The Burrow was teeming with Fleur's relatives. Assuming he was careful, it would be easy for Draco to pass among them unnoticed.

"Slap on a French accent—which I flatter myself I do quite well—and all I had to do was sample from the buffet and stick to the shadows." Draco gave a self-satisfied smile. "Oh sure," he waved his hand airily, "There was a protective ward here, a dark detector there, but I had no intention of killing anyone tonight. The counter-jinxes were a snap. I simply mulled around until I could catch you alone for a moment. Although I did enjoy the floor show. Things not going so well for poor Scarhead, are they? I witnessed a bit of a spat between him and his lady. Potty never did have the proper charm. Then again, I don't see Weasel around, either, lapping at your heels as usual. Don't tell me he's back with Lavender," Draco smirked. "Even a half-wit Gryffindor like her could do so much better."

Hermione had had enough.

"Are you going to give me the message, or not?" she said finally.

"Struck a nerve, did I?" Draco sounded pleased at the thought. "Very well," he said briskly. "To business. We need to set up a meeting place."

"What?"

"A place in which to meet. How is it that you're top of our class, Granger?"

"What makes you think that we'd agree to meet you anywhere, Malfoy?"

"Not just me. Snape will be coming along as well."

"Oh yes," Hermione said. "I'm sure Harry would like nothing more than to pop round for tea with you and Professor Snape."

"Fine," said Draco. "I'll be going, then."

"Going?"

"Yes. Leaving. Removing my distinguished presence from this impoverished excuse for a dwelling. Going on my merry way."

"You can't just leave!"

"The food certainly isn't worth staying for, and I expect that that goes without saying when in reference to the company. I delivered my message. Snape wants to meet with you lot. You turned that down flat, without even discussing it with your mates, so there's clearly no reason for me to be here any longer."

"You held your wand to my throat to tell me that Snape wants a meeting?"

"Well, it was rather amusing. I was slightly disappointed. I'd thought the great Potter would have taught you to be a bit more offensive. Weaslette, on the other hand, she would've been a rouser."

"I suppose slapping you back in our third year wasn't offensive enough for you?"

Draco touched his cheek and smiled. "I was hoping you'd do it again."

"You disgust me."

"And you me, Mudblood. But, oh, can't we put aside our differences this once, and unite for the greater good?" Draco clasped his hands together and batted his eyes as he mocked her. "That's what you want me to say, isn't it? So sorry to disappoint, but that's not the message. The message is that Snape needs to speak with Harry, and if The-Boy-Who-Angsts won't grant him an audience, then I imagine Snape will have to force one. It's all the same to me."

With that, Draco rose from his chair.

"I suggest you think it over, Granger. You need us as much as we need you." And with those mysterious words he walked out of the Burrow. Hermione hurried after him, but when she got outside he was already gone. He must have apparated, Hermione thought.

"Bollocks!" she swore as she stomped her foot.

"'Ermineeee…" a voice behind her slurred. She turned and peered into a clump of bushes. Someone was huddled in them. Someone with a shock of bright red hair.

"…Ron?" Hermione asked. And then, a second later, "Are you drunk?!"