I met Alex six months ago.

Harry had shown up on my doorstep with an incredibly beautiful Asian woman on his arm. Harry had been sent on an Auror mission after there was evidence of Death Eater activity in New York City. Alex was working in a law firm at the time and had been hired to defend Douglas Oliver, a man charged with the murder of two muggle children and their mother. Harry had been called in to testify.

From the moment I saw Alex and Harry interact, I had been green with envy. Only four years ago, I had thought I had that sort of easy, perfect relationship they had. Ronald Weasley had been my true love (or, so I thought) and we were going to get married. We were going to have children, and Harry was going to be their uncle. We were going to watch them play together on the fields, running around and shrieking as we laughed at their antics. But, as all girlhood dreams, it proved to be only a fantasy.

Alex had held out her hand and said, firmly, "Hermione Granger, I presume."

I had raised my eyebrows and took her hand. "Well, I suppose it's good that I don't have to make any introductions."

"You're somewhat of an icon back in the American wizarding world," Alex shrugged. "When I was first starting at UCWW, there was a Granger Girls for Independence club."

I smiled, even though it sounded ridiculous. "Well, it's flattering, at the very least."

"I, however, was determined to keep my admiration for your work a secret." She nudged Harry with her elbow. "Harry here couldn't laugh hard enough about how I had looked up to one of his best friends for three years."

Harry grinned. "You should have heard her, Mione. Honestly. On our first date, she asked me if you and I ever discuss the recent developments in gene therapy of wizarding conditions."

I laughed. I could only imagine the date; Harry awkwardly fumbling through his words, and Alex smiling into her glass of wine. "I suppose you realized rather quickly that Harry has little interest in biology."

"Clearly," Alex said. "I tried to get him at least a little interested in science, but it was a lost cause." She smiled at him warmly. "I should have expected nothing less from the Auror Extraordinaire."

Harry laced his fingers through hers and turned towards me. "I've actually asked Alex to marry me, and I wanted to make sure my best friend and my fiancée knew each other well before the wedding."

"Not to mention I'd been bothering him about meeting his friends," Alex inserted.

My smile dropped a little, thinking about what used to be the Golden Trio. Alex had been shocked to learn that neither Harry nor I ever spoke to many of the Weasleys anymore, with the exception of Ginny, who had long since turned her back on her family.

Alex and I had spent the rest of the night discussing the benefits of specializing in genetics rather than physiology. Alex had been accepted into Oxford to get her Masters degree in Biology, and she had a flat near the campus.

I rang the doorbell to Alex's flat, hoping that she was still awake. I considered just apparating home and waiting for tomorrow to come: tomorrow, when I'd have to tell Draco that his father had been struck by a curse that I had been unable to break. That I'd been unable to save him.

Just when I was about to leave, Alex answered her door, dressed in a pair of yoga pants and an over-sized t-shirt that read: Women: can't live with them, can't successfully refute their hypotheses.

"Mione?" she asked. "What are you doing here? It's four thirty in the morning!"

"I just let Lucius Malfoy die," I said, and then considered how ridiculous it sounded when I blurted it aloud.

Alex pulled me in, and I welcomed the rush of warm air. Alex was perfectly unruffled, despite the ungodly hour. It was to be expected; she always went to sleep early and woke up around four. She claimed her best research papers were always done at the earliest hours. "What do you mean?"

"Someone dropped him off at the hospital… he was convulsing. I tried every spell I knew to break the Dark curse, even the ones that were incredibly dangerous. None of them worked."

"Hermione," Alex said patiently. "You can't save everyone." She flopped down on her couch, setting her laptop on the coffee table in front of her. "You did everything you could."

"Clearly not enough," I snapped angrily. "You should have seen him. All of those spells should have worked. They've never failed before. Obviously I've done something wrong… maybe I let the way he treated me before affect my job."

Alex stood up from her spot on the couch and walked into her kitchen. My eyes followed her, confused.

Alex pulled a box of tea leaves out of her cabinet. "I think you need some tea."

"I am not a child. I do not need tea."

"Don't even think about insulting my favorite beverage, Granger. Honestly, I come to England and I expect you to all be sipping tea at three in the afternoon. But instead, I get my fiancée and my best friend complaining about how much tea I drink."

I couldn't help but smile. It was true; I had never been a big fan of tea. I preferred coffee, especially on those incredibly long shifts. I wondered if all Americans expected us Brits to be having tea and crumpets in the afternoon.

"Did I tell you I have to be the one to tell his son?"

Alex's eyebrows drew together. "You mean Draco?"

"No," she replied sourly. "I mean the spawn of the devil." I'd hated Draco Malfoy since school and, honestly, this was going to be the most painful experience I'd ever had. There was no question that Draco would blame me, and maybe I would end up with an accusation of malpractice against me.

Alex smirked. "I'm sure he's grown up a little since school. You have, you know."

I crossed my arms. "In what way is that?"

"Well, first of all, you aren't an insufferable know-it-all. And you don't correct people's grammar in the middle of their sentence." She carefully cast a cooling charm when the tea was at boiling point.

I shrugged. I wasn't going to try to deny it. "Harry told you countless stories about me and my grammar obsession, I presume?"

Alex smiled. "Harry tells me everything. Besides, from what I can tell, it seems he had a little crush on you back in school."

"And how exactly do you figure that?" Draco Malfoy had tormented me regularly for six years. I couldn't imagine him ever feeling any affection for me.

Alex shrugged. "This is what boys do when they've got a crush."

I rolled my eyes. "Can we please change the subject?"

"Sure, of course. I can always try to shove you out of your state of denial later." She smirked again and turned to walk into the kitchen. "More tea?"

I had always hated Malfoy Manor.

It was large, cold, and unfeeling. It wasn't like a castle, exactly; it was more like a giant prison. And, besides, it wasn't as if the Manor held fond memories. This was the place I'd been tortured by Draco's aunt. I never wanted to go back; in fact, on that day, I made a vow that I would never return.

I briefly wondered about my safety as I stepped onto his front porch. Would he hex me on the spot? Would he call the aurors and get me arrested for trespassing?

Well. There was really only one way to find out. I knocked on his door, lightly at first; when no one answered, I knocked louder. I desperately hoped he was at home. I hadn't thought to send an owl alerting him of my arrival beforehand.

Finally, interrupting one of my insistent knocks, he opened the door. "I told you, Blaise, I don't…" He trailed off as he caught sight of my face. "Granger?"

"Yes, it's me. Hermione Granger. From Hogwarts," I said, and then added a "hello," compulsively.

"What are you doing here?"

I coughed nervously. "I'm afraid something's happened. I assume you heard that your father was admitted to Saint Mungo's last night?"

His blank stare was answer enough. Before I could elaborate, he said, "I assure you I am woefully out-of-date with my father's medical history. So, no, I had no idea."

"Well," I said awkwardly. "I'm afraid that… well, he's not… well, what I mean to say is that…"

"Please, move at the glacial pace of a snail, Granger. It's not as if I have anything more important to attend to."

"He's dead." I blurted out.

He stared at me for a moment, and then sighed. "I think you should come in."

The inside of the house was exactly as I had remembered it: unfeeling, impersonal, and stuck in the Dark Ages. All the furniture was so ancient that I refused to sit on any of it, afraid that I would diminish its value.

"Tea?" Draco asked from the kitchen.

"No thank you," I said back neutrally. There was no way I was accepting beverage from a Malfoy, especially when I had just informed him that his father was dead.

He came out of the kitchen with a single cup of tea, and gestured for me to sit down.

"This is a lovely parlor," I told him lamely.

He smirked. "I know you hate it, Granger. It's not as if you're good at keeping your emotions off of your face."

I shrugged. His playful exterior dropped suddenly. "How did it happen?"

I cleared my throat, prepared for this conversation. "Someone dropped him off at the hospital and disappeared. I suspected he had been cursed with Dark Magic. I tried every reversal spell I knew…"

"But none of them worked," Draco finished for me. When I gave him a quizzical glance, he elaborated, "My father had a lot of enemies. Anyone who would curse him with Dark Magic would make damn sure that none of the usual reversal spells would work."

"I tried the best I could." I had no idea why I felt like I needed him to know that. Perhaps because this was an entirely different Draco Malfoy than I had ever seen, and I liked it.

"I know you did, Granger. I've heard of your work as a Healer, and I know of your devotion to your patients."

"May I ask you something?" I asked, twisting my hands nervously in my lap. When he nodded, I continued. "How on earth can you be so calm about this?"

"I haven't spoken to my father since I left Hogwarts. I went to magical business school, and I never looked back. I had already accepted that he would no longer be in my life. This only makes it official." He traced his finger along the rim of the cup of tea. "I'm sorry that you lost a patient, Granger."

"And I'm sorry that I couldn't save your father," I answered diplomatically.

"I'll send you the invitation to the funeral," he replied wryly, pulling a small box out of his pocket. "Would you like a cigarette?"

"Of course not. Do you know how bad those are for the lungs?" I scolded him sharply.

"Interesting," he said. "I've never been on the receiving end of your insistent nagging."

"I do not nag, I merely make suggestions," I replied stubbornly, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "Although I assume you already know the health risk of smoking those ghastly things."

"It's a habit I picked up. Most English businessmen tend to smoke, and when you're making deals, you stick to the behaviors they are familiar with. It's the first thing you learn in business school."

"Well. I'm glad I decided to learn to heal instead."

"And that's all for the best. You'd be a terrible business consultant."

"Fair enough." I stood up, grabbing my coat and holding my hand out expectantly. "I expect the invitation to the funeral to come to me through owl."

He shook it with another one of his signature smirks. "Will do, Ms. Granger."