Mankind never learns from its past mistakes. Worse, after defeating Harry Potter and affirming his power over Wizarding Britain, Voldemort takes it one step further. He looks back to a time when people were dragged from their homes in the middle of the night, when they were put in trains and sent off to concentration camps, where they either worked or died. Muggleborns, scum of the Wizarding World, undeserving of their magical powers, are the new targets. Will old rivalries grow deeper and deadlier in such dark times or will they be washed away by the horror of it all, in order to make way for something rare and precious…true love? A Hermione/Draco story.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Harry Potter.

Holocaust – I

She stood on the pavement, just across the street from the Leaky Cauldron. Light rain was slowly soaking her coat, drenching her curls. Her bare legs were blue with cold, two poles of pale flesh between her brown skirt and her muddy shoes. Her face was set, almost expressionless. Inside her, though, a turmoil of emotions. Chocolate eyes dulled so as not to attract attention. All it would take was to cross the tarmac and go in through the door. She was still a witch, whatever anyone said or thought. She vaguely wondered if Tom had 'Mudblood proofed' the entrance yet. All those new spells, all that trouble… The innkeeper had always been nice to her and her friends, especially Harry. He had warned her last time not to come back, to please find somewhere else for afternoon tea. The Leaky Caldron was after all quite famous and she could easily be recognised. But she had seen the sadness in his face, the regret. Maybe he'd let her sit in the kitchen for a bit. Maybe he'd let her pretend for a little while longer.

Yet Hermione could not get her feet to move from the puddle in which she was standing. Loose strands of hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks. She could almost hear her mother's worried voice. You'll catch your death, standing in the cold like that. To catch one's death… A sudden vision of herself, running madly after Voldemort, hands outstretched. A small laugh almost escaped her lips, but she managed to choke it down. Perhaps there was some comfort to be had in persecuting others rather than being persecuted. She instantly pushed that idea out of her mind, feeling ashamed. Only beasts like Malfoy thought that way. She shuddered involuntarily at the image of the blond boy, his pointy nose and trademark sneer. According to the precious few wizard newspapers she'd been able to scavenge during the past year, he'd made himself quite a name since Voldemort's triumph, since the last time she had seen him, covered in blood, unsmiling but seeming at ease. He'd almost finished growing into a man, then, but she seemed only able to recall the face of a child, unpleasant and condescending. She bitterly wished him happiness, wherever he was.

Shaking her head ever so slightly, Hermione focused her attention on the pub again, her gaze wondering past the oblivious Muggles. She envied their ignorance in a way. Forced apart from a world she loved, she would live till the end of her days with the notion that there had once been something invariably better…something worth fighting for. Something which had been lost. Do I dare try to taste it one more time? She took one step forward, out of the puddle. It was difficult, her heart beating against her ribcage in an almost painful way. Her stomach had knotted itself and her hands were balled into fists inside her pockets. Somewhere to her right, the traffic lights turned red for the cars. She took another step forward, freeing herself from the water on the ground. Faster than she knew it, she was practically running across the road and jumping onto the opposite pavement, her shoes slapping on the stone ledge. If she reached out with her hand, she could curl her fingers around the handle and turn it. Just as she was starting to do so, a voice stood out from the noise behind her, a voice so familiar it almost brought tears to her eyes.

"Hermione…"

She wanted it to be true, just as much as she was terrified and wished to run away without looking back. She'd spent so much time trying to convince herself it didn't matter, that she could live without them… How a name uttered in the rain like that of a ghost could shatter her already shaky will! Did she really want to be confronted with her past? The answer she found was yes. She needed to turn round and acknowledge him, just to check that he was alright. Years of closeness had made that need instinctive. So she gave in, taking her time so as to remember the moment forever. There he stood, a light black cloak fastened at the neck, the hood drawn over his head for protection against the weather. His robes had been charmed to look like Muggle clothing, but she somehow knew that rich, comfortable fabric had replaced the hand-me-downs of his childhood. His features had only changed in that deadening way that indicates a great grief not yet forgotten. Did she look the same?

"Ronald," Hermione heard herself whisper.

She had only ever called him that when she was angry with him. Now it seemed like she possessed no other alternative, as though diminutives and affectionate nicknames had been forgotten along the path of their lives. Did it really make him wince ever so slightly? Surely he did not expect her to behave as though nothing had happened and this was just like any other day before the war. Well maybe for him it was… Did she still know him? The clear blue eyes were familiar, but what about that which lay inside?

"What are you doing here, Hermione?" he asked her, his tone neutral.

"Going in for a drink and a chat with Tom. You?"

Somehow, she'd managed to sound casual, as though this was something she did every day, at liberty. It surprised her, but not as much as Ron apparently, for he almost took a step back. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, something she could remember him doing quite clearly, whenever he was worried or slightly annoyed. Waiting patiently for him to find something to say, she glanced at the passers-by. She could easily be recognised standing outside talking to a wizard. Ron seemed to be thinking along the same lines, for he said rather harshly:

"But Hermione, you're not allowed near places like the Leaky Cauldron anymore. You could get into trouble."

As if she didn't know it! They hadn't seen each other for a year, a small eternity in Hermione's mind, and all he could do was remind her of her situation. Anger suddenly welled up inside her, fresh and strong as she hadn't been able to muster it in months. Turning back towards the Leaky Cauldron's entrance, she set her hand firmly on the handle and pushed, stepping forward.

"I don't care."

She didn't know what else to say to him. What did he expect? That she throw herself at him and beg for his protection? The sudden familiar tavern din, the warmth of a generous fire and the smell of hot food made her feel a little better, though her heart was still beating wildly. She tried not to care whether Ron was following her or not. Spotting an empty table in the far corner, she discretely began picking her way across the room, keeping her head down. There were quite a lot of people present, but they all seemed too absorbed in various conversations to notice her demure behaviour and strictly muggle clothing. None of them had the familiar faces of old Hogwarts students. It relieved her and made her a bit sad at the same time. She still did not know exactly who had moved on how, so it would have been nice to get a glimpse of anyone she had been friends with until the end.

Sitting down at the table with her back to the room, Hermione glanced at the menu while digging into the inner pocket of her coat. Straight after Voldemort's victory, as she'd fled the battlefield with a few other surviving Muggleborns, she'd had the good sense to rush to her small Gringotts Vault and take out what little wizard money she had in there, before any sort of decree was issued. Not long after, she'd heard that the Creevey brothers had arrived at the bank a day or so later only to find their account blocked and their Galleons, Sickles and Knuts lost forever. She hadn't ventured into Wizarding London that much since, so she still had a few gold coins left. Looking at the prices on the menu, she wondered whether she ought to spend it all this time, as she probably would never get another chance. She might as well stuff her face while she could, too… Selecting a salad, a chicken and bacon pie and some chips to go with it, she waited patiently for someone to come take her order. Instead, the footsteps that came up behind her didn't stop at the side of her table. Looking very annoyed and self-conscious, Ron slid himself into the seat opposite her. He shot a worried look at the other people present, who took no notice of him whatsoever, before whispering harshly:

"What do you think you're doing? Are you crazy?"

Turning round in her seat, Hermione raised her hand to a passing waiter. The young wizard nodded and smiled apologetically, lifting up the pile of dirty plates he was balancing on each hand. She would have to wait a few more minutes. Ron seemed to find her behaviour appalling.

"Hermione, are you mad? Do you reali-"

"Oh do shut up!"

She glared at him, long and hard. He has it so easy, with his expensive clothes and pure blood. A part of her was horrified at that last thought, the same part that was saddened by their arguing. The other part, however, wanted nothing more than to see her lean forward and slap him across the face, before exiting the building in a huff. Unfortunately, that would have attracted far too much attention. So Hermione sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Rainwater was still dripping from her hair down the side of her neck into her collar. She shuddered slightly, still cold, but her eyes never left Ron's, which were wide open. Her cutting tone seemed to have hurt him. I'd better make peace I suppose…

"I believe I'm in a better position to understand the situation than you are, Ronald," she said quietly, but not unkindly. "This was to be my last time in here, anyway. I'm sorry, it's just… "

Her voice broke, suddenly hoarse with tears. She hated herself for being so formal, for breaking down in front of him a mere minute into the conversation. It was just that she'd missed both him and Harry so much! The hours she'd spent crying alone, worrying. So many memories shattered by so much grief and horror. She felt like she would never get back what was hers by right… a very large portion of her soul. Aside from books and knowledge, her friends had been everything to her. Her parents had both been killed by Death Eaters at the beginning of her 7th Year, so she had turned to the only other family she knew. A single tear rolled down her cheek, but she brushed it away fiercely, wailing:

"I miss it all so much!"

Half a second later, Ron had pulled his chair round and was hugging her as tightly as he could. Sobbing openly into his shoulder, Hermione vaguely recalled a time when he had recoiled from any sort of affectionate demonstration. They had only really started touching each other at the end of 6th Year, after Dumbledore's death, when the notion that they might easily loose each other finally dawned on them. They had even dated for a while, but had ended it by mutual agreement after a month or so. It wasn't really fair on Harry, who'd just pushed Ginny away, and they had too many other things to think about. Hermione had secretly felt relieved and she was sure Ron had too, for there had been no passion, no life in their relationship. They had managed to stay best friends until the final battle, and for that she was grateful. Presently, Hermione could feel him try to dab at her cheeks with a handkerchief and slowly lifted her face from his cloak, leaving a watery stain there. She snuffled noisily a couple of times, before taking the hanky and blowing her nose, which had become a blotchy red.

"I'm so sorry Ron."

There. It had come back to her, just like that, and rolled of her tongue like the most natural thing in the world. She actually smiled ever so slightly, leaning away from the redhead to look at him, to see if he was still angry with her. There was an expression of concern on his face, along with something deeper. He suddenly lent forward and hugged her again, almost harder, whispering inaudible things in her ear. Crushed, Hermione kept still and was silent, letting him, for it felt so good to be held again, to feel human warmth seeping through her damp clothes into her freezing skin. The best restorative in the world.

"- been so worried about you. I actually thought you were dead, until I saw your name on one of the lists at the Ministry. I couldn't exactly go looking for you, for obvious reasons, but I was so relieved to know that you'd survived that terrible battle. Not one day goes by without thoughts of you and Harry swimming round my head…Hermione… I haven't been able to mourn…"

It was her turn to comfort him, for she well knew what he meant. It was a miracle they'd let him live. In order to start the new life they'd mercifully granted him, he'd had to adhere to their strict rules, their iron laws. It was forbidden to utter the name Harry Potter in the Wizarding World. Those that had stood by him in battle and survived were not allowed to look back, to show any trace of emotion regarding what they had lost. They had been taken in by the new regime and were expected to abide by its will, or face terrible consequences.

"It's ok… inside you have. We all miss him and will never forget him, whatever they do to us."

Ron's grip on her loosened and he straightened himself as the waiter finally approached their table, a notepad and an enchanted quill floating in the air beside him. Hermione's eyes widened slightly at this display of magic and a deep sense of longing filled her. It had been so long… It was with a slightly shaky voice that she ordered her food, glancing uncomfortably at the tabletop as Ron ordered his. When the waiter finally left, she could not bring herself to look back up again. Instead, she breathed deeply and asked quietly:

"Didn't you have someone to meet around here, something to do? I don't want to keep you from your obligations."

"No, it's ok. I was only going to Quality Quidditch Supplies to buy a new broom servicing kit. I can do that later."

"Oh, so are you a famous Quidditch player now? Go on, which team? Not the Canons!"

Hermione could feel the forcefulness in her tone, but hoped Ron would be too busy telling her his good news to notice it. Quidditch was never something she'd been interested in and it now seemed more irrelevant than ever… but then if her friend had found something that made him happy, she thought she should show some enthusiasm. However, Ron looked crestfallen as he replied in a whisper:

"No. I haven't played since that day… since we won only to loose everything a few hours later. I just couldn't…"

The game. That was something she'd completely forgotten about, in the light of what had happened just after it. Harry had won the Tournament, snatching the Golden Snitch from in front of the Slytherin Seeker's nose. With Malfoy gone at the end of their 6th Year, his opponent had been no real match, but the stands had still erupted, Hermione along with anyone else. The tension had been building up almost to boiling point as of late, what with all the attacks on the Muggleborn students' families. They'd needed this small victory, craved it. The elation didn't last long, though, for the alarm was raised right in the middle of the after-game festivities. The Death Eaters were attacking the school. Hermione had been congratulating Ron on his superb keeping of the goal hoops. Harry was nowhere in sight. The rest was pandemonium.

"What do you do then?"

"I'm an International Magical Co-operator. That's the only reason why I still use a broom."

"Can't you Apparate? You did get the licence in the end!"

"Oh I do, if it's very far away. It's just become very complicated, as everywhere is getting warded off against it. There are only a select few Apparition points still open to the public in most countries. I still need my broom to fly from there to whatever place I need to be."

"It sounds like a very interesting job… you should be proud," said Hermione, a tad envious.

Ron did not seem to share that opinion, though, for he shook his head slightly. He seemed uncomfortable, for he shifted nervously in his seat, glancing around to see if their food was ready. Indeed, the waiter was heading towards them, two plates of steaming food before him. Drinks followed behind him, floating in the air, occasionally spilling a drop or so on unfortunate customers, to whom they apologised instantly. The redhead looked relieved at the prospect of stuffing himself, for he picked up his knife and fork while saying rather abruptly:

"It's just work. I do what I'm told."

His tone was final. Hermione knew she'd get nothing more out of him on the subject and decided to leave it at that. After all, she had so many other questions to ask. Cutting her pie into smaller pieces, she swallowed a few, barely chewing. The food tasted so good, after all those weeks of cold supermarket dinners! The prospect of a full stomach! Drinking deeply from her glass of pumpkin juice, she watched Ron scoff down his own lunch, transported back to many a happy feast at Hogwarts. He hadn't changed so much after all and of that she was glad. Picking a chip up with her fingers, she popped it into her mouth, savouring the salty taste.

"How is everyone? I mean everyone who…your family?"

"Fred and Charlie didn't make it… we were all devastated of course, but George was the worst. He's… he's in St Mungo's. In the psychiatric ward… I was going to go and visit him this evening, though I doubt it'll change anything if I do. He doesn't even recognise Mum anymore."

"Oh how awful… poor Molly, it must be so hard on her… on you all. What about Bill and Fleur?"

She couldn't bring herself to ask about Ginny, not just yet…the other person she missed the most, her only real female friend throughout Hogwarts. They hadn't seen each other at all during the battle, hadn't had a chance to say good luck… goodbye. So, piling her fork with peas and bits of chicken, she ate in silence as Ron told her of his older brother and his wife.

"They're a happily married couple, though you can imagine how hard it is what with Bill's, er, condition. I think Fleur, who's a strict vegetarian, is getting rather tired of having to serve him huge slabs of meat at every meal. They're not sure whether they want children… which is understandable. I don't think I could stand a bunch of little half-werewolf redheads running round shouting 'I vant ze treacle tart, I vant!'"

They both laughed at the idea, though their minds were elsewhere. There was an uncomfortable silence where Ron guessed what Hermione was thinking about and seemed to make up his mind what to tell her. The former Gryffindor waited with baited breath, her glass halfway to her lips. Ginny had survived, but that didn't mean she was coping well. Was she ill? Had she gone mad like George?

"She's…ok. Look, Hermione, I don't know what you might have heard…"

"Nothing. I've heard nothing."

"She… you remember when the battle started? When we couldn't find him anywhere?"

Hermione nodded, her throat tightening. Mechanically setting her glass down, she folded her hands on her lap. She wasn't sure she fully understood what Ron was getting at.

"Well it turned out later that Ginny was missing too. They were together… celebrating. It took her quite a while to tell us, but by then Mum had already guessed…it was becoming pretty obvious too. She had a baby boy, three months ago."

Hermione's hand flew to her mouth as all the implications of this revelation hit her. Ginny… Ginny was a mother. What was more, the mother of Harry's child… She suddenly wished she had been at her friend's side all those months of wait. How terrible it must have been for her to know that her baby would never know its father and would probably never be told his name, either! That it would have to grow up in a world such as theirs had become!

"She wanted to name the baby after him, but of course that's not allowed. So she chose James instead… actually, it was as far as Mum would allow her to go."

"But are they safe? I mean, does anyone know that…that Harry is…?"

She couldn't bring herself to say the words 'Harry' and 'father' out loud in the same sentence. Accepting that one of her best friends had gone as far as to start a family forced her to grow up in a way she wasn't yet ready for. It instantly made her feel childish and selfish, for she had known how much Harry wanted a family of his own, after loosing his parents and Sirius. Recalling the countless nights they had spent in the Gryffindor Common Room talking about their future, about their plans, she felt tears well up in her eyes again. Wherever you are…watch over them, she pleaded silently, knowing that he already did.

"Apart from the family? No, of course not. I dread what they'd do to them both if they ever found out. Dad forced Ginny to say she had been raped during the battle, so the date would correspond and the whole thing would appear credible. They don't allow abortion anymore, as they need as many new wizards as they can, what with the old bloodlines dying out…she wouldn't have gone through with it anyway," said Ron, shaking his head.

And I completely understand her, and so should you Ron! Hermione silently screamed. Of course Ginny could never have abandoned her baby, Harry's baby even less, even if it meant she gave up safety instead. She'd loved him too much. She probably still did, poor thing.

"I'd like to see her…talk to her," she said, suddenly, surprising herself almost as much as Ron, who replied in a cold tone:

"I'm afraid not. They'll know instantly if you come to the Burrow. It's already terribly risky for me to have lunch with you, especially in here… if they find me, they'll arrest me, Hermione."

"What do you think they'll do to me?" she murmured, almost inaudibly, pushing her half-finished plate away from her, her appetite suddenly lost.

"I… why aren't you wearing your insignia, Hermione? Haven't you been given one?"

He meant the brown drop of material she had been trying to sew onto her cloak earlier, only he called it her 'insignia' because it made it out to be something else than what it really was, something she knew Ron refused to acknowledge… a marking of her blood. She was an outcast, a target for something which had only started to unravel. Something she'd only heard rumours about, rumours that made what they called her dirty blood freeze.

"Yes, I have. Shortly after the battle, they found me. They took away all my magical possessions, ruined most of my muggle ones. They snapped my wand in half and burned it before my eyes, giving me a piece of fabric instead. I refuse to wear it."

"But you have to! Hermione you must! It is a form of protection, according to the papers, their papers. If you wear it, then you are registered and no harm can befall you. But if they catch you without…"

Draining her pumpkin juice, Hermione fished a Galleon and a couple of Knuts out of her pocket and set them down on the table with a clang. Getting up, she waited for Ron to get to his feet, which he did with almost alarming rapidity, grabbing hold of her arm.

"Don't go! I'm sorry… I can't begin to imagine what it must be like for you out there… I wish I could do something for you, Hermione. I miss you."

All the anger and revolt that she had felt a moment ago dissolved at his last words. Of course he could not know. Hugging him again, she let herself smile one last time. He had given her far more in the hour they had just spent together than he could ever fathom.

"I miss you too… but I really must go now. Give my love to everyone…especially Ginny and the baby. And take care of yourself, Ron… don't get caught up in it too far."

With that, she turned and slowly made her way back across the room, keeping her head down as she had become accustomed to do. She didn't see the tears in Ron's eyes as he stood watching her leave. She didn't see the torn expression he wore on his face, indicating an internal struggle between the urge to damn the consequences and catch up with her, and that to sit back down and act as though nothing had happened. As though he hadn't just been openly enjoying the company of a Mudblood. The other thing she didn't see as she closed the door behind her and gave herself over to the rain once more, was the tall dark figure sitting at the bar, his thoughtful gaze fixed on her, his thin lips twisted into a malevolent little smile.

A/N: I don't usually write chapters that long (just so you be warned), but this one just seemed to flow out of my fingertips and into the keyboard. I hope you enjoyed it and that you will let me know your thoughts… I'm on holiday for the next two weeks, but will be terribly busy, so I don't know when I'll next be able to update.