Your patience and reviews are very much appreciated, thank you for your understanding and encouragement it means the world to me! I hope you enjoy this short chapter, I'm hoping to have another one or two out not long from now. Happy weekend readings!

Owls bombarded an exhausted Hermione over morning tea. Lucius had been right, even with over eight hours of sleep the panic attack had depleted her energy. The shower left her with prickly skin and frizzy hair, doing little to revive her from her lethargic state. Hermione kept the kitchen window open for the birds as she awaited her toast and sipped at the tea. Her mind drifted aimlessly through the dramatics of the previous evening, swirling memories of death narratives combined with the feeling of Lucius Malfoy's strong arms enclosing her in an embrace. Not an embrace, a smug part of her corrected, a hug. It hadn't been a bad hug, no, it was nearly an enjoyable experience save for the panic attack that had preceded it. The comforting, predictable black of his shirt had coddled her and pulled her back to normalcy, sobriety. Though she wonder if she could have ever been truly sober if she'd been grateful—pleased, even—by his body surrounding hers. Exhaustion milked yawns from her as she fought her damp curls into a mess resembling a bun atop her head. Going through her morning motions, she couldn't help but wonder how Harry or Ginny would have reacted had they'd been the ones to find her, head resting against Lucius' chest with his cool hands wrapped in her hair—well, the moment was past—she'd never know. Hermione turned to the growing post pile with heavy hands.

Dear Miss Granger,

Thank you for your support and organization last night. Your passion will make a difference.

Much obliged,

Victor Shelley

Hermione didn't know a Victor, but was happy to help. She wrote so in a quick response to him, as well as the dozens of other letters that had sang similar tunes. The gratitude she received rejuvenated her more than a full night of sleep ever could have; there had to be an inspiring saying about the importance of helping others but she was too tired to fish in her memory for one that suited so instead she returned to the growing pile of envelopes. Knowing there was something childish in taking immense pleasure from receiving mail, Hermione decided she didn't care as she plucked her way through the pile with half a mind wondering if that was what she missed most about her column.

There were few things she loved like the feel of peeling back a seal, when she'd first started at Hogwarts she'd started a small collection of the wax stamps in her trunk. When she'd gone home that summer between first and second year her mother had found them and tossed them out with a lecture on hoarding, Hermione had been too shy to admit she'd kept them as proof that she'd been to Hogwarts—that her world was real, in case they decided to kick her out—in case they realized she wasn't worthy. Looking back she realized it was a rather ridiculous thought process (considering she had her textbooks which she reviewed all summer) but the fact that she was still alive to be fighting for change in this same society that she had once hoarded seals to keep proof of, was something worth celebrating, surely.

Hermione,

Harry and I have to reschedule it to lunch, mum popped by. She sends her love (and wants to know when she can expect to see you again—Halloween party?) Leaky Cauldron at 1? Hope you're feeling better!

Love,

The (soon to be) Potters!

Quickly she scratched out an acceptance to Mrs. Weasley's Halloween party as well as their lunch date at the Leaky Cauldron before turning back to her pile. If she had collected this next stamp, it would have been her first green in the collection. As well as the only one with a serpentine "M" imprinted within it. Her stomach flipped as she quickly, but carefully, unfolded the soft parchment,

Miss Granger,

I suspect you're feeling better this morning. Attached are my recommendations for psychiatric care, as promised, your secret is safe with me and my ears are open if you're ever in need of a helping hand. Many congratulations are in order for your success last night, your ears must be ringing with all of the talk of you this morning.

Your Friend,

Lucius Malfoy

This letter caught her off-guard and she struggled with a response for a half hour over cold tea before she managed a response she was adequately comfortable with sending. It was jarring to be receiving a letter from a man she was supposed to hate (for so many reasons) and yet his sign off left her mind reeling. "Your Friend." Pondering the statement as she washed the dishes, she decided she could not revolt against the term, even if he had gotten her fired, only a friend would behave the way he had the night before—right? For some reason, it was Ron's voice which resounded in her ears: No, any decent man would help a woman in need like that. But Hermione knew there was something more, it took more than common decency for Lucius Malfoy—or any Malfoy, she assumed—to reach out in the manner he had the previous evening. She'd been expecting, at the very least, a well-aimed lecture on mental health or an overbearing warning about the Ministry's watchful gaze and instead received an invitation for friendship, the unidentifiable voice in the back of her head would not let her pass that option up, no matter how much the logical part of her wanted to chuck the entire letter onto the stovetop.

Lucius,

I must express my extreme sense of gratitude for your assistance last night; I am afraid to think what would have occurred had you not arrived when you did, thank you. As for your congratulations, I am flattered and overwhelmingly pleased with such a positive response. Though, I must inquire how you could deem this underground organization allowable but not my Prophet column—before you mentioned you had business in getting me fired…Care to indulge me over supper or drinks?

Friendliest regards,

Hermione Granger

P.S. – If you insist I call you by your first name, I insist you use mine. Cheers!

Only one owl remained once she had finished sending an owl out to Malfoy Manor. Lucius' recommendations were folded and tucked into her kitchen junk drawer, not out of any bias toward him or therapists in general but Hermione knew her pride to be too strong for a therapist to be of any use. She tossed the letter in the trash before returning to her toast and letter pile.

"The thing with therapists, you see," She spoke aloud as she struggled with the final envelope, "is you must accept their advice if you bother going…Don't much see that happening…" When she saw the first line of the letter, Hermione nearly dropped the parchment into the jam.

Dear Miss Jane,

How she had failed to recognize the calligraphy on the envelope was beyond her, but she still forced herself to take a moment and appreciate the fine penmanship and beautiful parchment she held. The parchment was definitely an expensive brand, she didn't recognize it from a shop in Diagon Alley. It was softer than the sheets on her bed and flower pedals were pressed into the paper, the edges were frayed as if it had been hand-ripped instead of pressed, sliced, and rolled like the cheaper and more professional scrolls she was accustomed to using at the ministry. Cursing herself, Hermione could not help but find the small yellow and purples pedals pressed into the paper to be as utterly romantic and intoxicating as actual the exotic smell of it.

Congratulations on the first meeting of…? You will need to name this group, though that will make all of it horribly official so I can understand the reluctance to do so. This is not your first dalliance into illegal activities, from what I garner, however I am swayed to think it will be your must successful. It was an honor to be in your presence last night, you were superb. Although you did seem a bit peaky there at the end, should I be concerned? My desire to reach out to you and shake your hand to thank you for your kind words and service was nearly undeniable. I am glad you escaped before I could reveal my identity but I do wonder if you thought of me last night, if you too were curious over which enraptured face belonged to your friend…I do hope you will consider me your friend.

I must thank you for taking the necessary actions to create this outlet for so many people with stories similar to my own. Pondering over the shared stories I heard, even in our short time together last night, left me emotionally drained and feeling rather dazed. The damage we created will be etched into our bloodlines for ages to come, no matter how the Ministry may try to erase our existence we must never forget the horrors afflicted upon all families during this war. Thus, I must continue to send my utmost appreciation to you for taking action and following through on your word. If there is anything the group or you require (or desire, I must add as I feel you would be too polite for ask for anything but emergency supplies) please do not hesitate to owl. Be wary of your members, I saw faces there last night that would be familiar to a ministry official—I must ask you, is this wise, Ms. Granger? What shall you do if you are found out?

This post box will be checked daily; I am at your utter (and full) disposal and hope you will take full advantage of that rarity. For now, the real world calls. I reiterate, do not shy from contacting me about any needs, concerns, and desires. Consider my many congratulations and continuous gratitude being sent to you.

Yours,

The Fallen One

Hermione was hard-pressed not to stick the parchment onto her fridge. The handwriting was nearly familiar, though she couldn't place it exactly and brushed it off as being the same upper-class cursive that her peers had emulated and strived to perfect years ago. For reasons beyond her comprehension the letter sent butterflies throughout her body. The man's troubled past combined with his pension for well-aimed compliments and loyalty pulled at sensitive heart strings she didn't know she possessed. As she set another kettle on, Hermione pulled out her nicest parchment and quill. The metallic, quixotic scent of ink softened her mind as she put quill to parchment and a response flowed through her.

My dear Fallen One,

Your praise means more to me than so many other regards that have been sent this morning from even closer friends. I had hoped it was obvious by now that I count you as a close confidant and very much a friend, but I suppose it doesn't hurt to write it out. I am grateful for your friendship and support on this endeavor. Thank you, a million thank you's, for setting me out on this journey. Your concern warms my heart perhaps more than it should. Did you see faces there that you believe would be happy to turn me in? I would have you note that I say "me" not "us." Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley have announced their engagement and I could never allow them to take any blame for something I have brewed up with an anonymous ex-Death Eater. I am sorry to refer to you with such a blameful label, but I do hope you see how this all looks.

I hope you don't take this as a guilt trip, although I must admit I am infamous for those, but instead as another heartfelt plea for your identity to be made honest to me. There were so many moments last night when I wished I had known who you were. If we are being frank (anonymity does give us the courage to be, I have found) there are so many times throughout most of my days where I wish I knew who you were. Please, friend, I would love for us to be able to sit over tea like normal companions, but I am too proud to beg so I will simply leave you with that thought.

I do have a favor to ask. I hope you will not think poorly of me for inventing a request so soon, but do you know any psychiatric specialists who would be willing to help with the group? Confidentiality is obviously of the utmost importance.

Yours,

Jane.

"Mum's all worried about you." Ginny spoke conversationally with a mouthful of burger, a bit of egg poked out of the corner of her mouth but she didn't seem to notice. Even during the lunch rush, on weekends the pub was mostly empty save for a few scattered couples around the corners.

"Why is that?" Hermione had ordered a bowl of potato soup, the excitement of the last twenty four hours had rendered her mostly too overcome to eat.

"Thinks you're holing yourself up in your flat to protect yourself from the world, some bits of mum advice followed her fears but I'll spare you."

"No that's nice of her truly," She sputtered through giggles that had her choking on her butterbeer, "but I'm doing fine. You know, considering everything, I could be much worse off." Harry remained silent but the way he studied her over his drink reminded her eerily of Dumbledore's curious twinkle that she'd been subjected to various times throughout her academic career.

The pair filled her in on what she missed while she was having her episode, nearly nothing but a few more tears than she probably would have been able to handle anyways, and she revealed she was asking for more professional help…as well as her friend's cryptic warning.

"I know! I saw Malfoy there and was surprised you didn't give him a beating and throw him out."

"There'd be no point to that, Gin, then he'd go straight to the ministry and report us." Harry's point was what Hermione found herself nodding along to, though she hadn't exactly told them of Lucius visiting her when she was ill. That entire occurrence felt a little too personal to divulge, which in itself was a ludicrous thought, yet she felt herself only willing to share,

"He told me my whole job-trial-affair was ordered business, nothing personal. Something tells me we don't have to worry about him." The two shared a glance that Hermione didn't care to interpret and the conversation moved on, thankfully.

"Well speaking of Malfoys, have you heard about Draco?"

"No." Ginny and Hermione answered in unison, Harry looked slightly giddy to be telling the story.

"Apparently he and mummy have ran off somewhere; your dad says she's got family in France, Gin. So that's my guess."

"Wow. Any speculation why?"

"Because they got sick of living with that git, Hermione, come on. Just because he held your hair back while you were having a barf doesn't mean he's a good man. He got you fired a few weeks ago, member?" Ginny's words were easy to laugh off though even Hermione was starting to wonder if her laugh was genuine or even believable,

"You've got me there, I can't imagine any of them being easy to live with—let alone Lucius the Terrible."

Dear Hermione,

My, my you are a curious one. Noted, though your continuous thanks are embarrassing. Let us not mention it again. I would be honored to indulge you for supper, as you say. Let's do seven. Mine or yours?

Cordially,

Lucuis Malfoy

Post Script- I've used your first name, you're required to be pleased.

If there was ever a time to have a change of heart, this was it for Hermione. The thought that this was the point of no return loomed largely overheard as she quickly scribbled out,

Lucius,

Seven at mine works splendidly. Hopefully your refined palate can handle my suburban cooking.

See you soon,

Hermione

PS- Only snobs write out "post script."

Sorry for a bit of a filler chapter, obviously things will be picking up again soon. I've found myself writing a bit of an anti-government piece and struggling to do so in a way that keeps up the mystery as the mystery of the Fallen One's identity was certainly not very mysterious.

Anyways, I hope to update soon. Please review for my inspiration and thanks for reading :)