AN: I wasn't going to update now, initially, but after realising I'd be out of commission for the next few days, I thought it'd be only fair.

While I'm sure you were all anxious to discover what happens in the present between our two heroes, I hope you enjoyed that voyage into the past. I have really enjoyed writing the memories, but I think the Christmas one was by far my favourite. Like I said before, Christmas is one of my favourite times of the year (my birthday, coincidentally, is two days before it), and also, times were lighter, despite the war for Draco, especially.

By the way, I love reading all your speculation in the comments. I love reading what you think about it, so if you haven't already, please leave a comment! I swear, it really helps in the writing and development of this story...

Thanks to reviewers Avanell, cmtaylor531, lostxatx7thxsea, Mela, Hermione09Weasley, xDracoBabeyx, Emilee, adrianna100, tankbbg, ShatteredTruth, confusednikki24-7, and Lina.

To those who really wanted to read about the present... well, here you are.

Stand and Watch It Burn

XVI. Don't Stand So Close to Me

There was a very pregnant pause.

If it weren't the fact Draco felt rooted to the ground beneath him, he would have sworn that it had completely vanished. He was suspended – in space, in time. Had time stopped? Nothing was moving, and yet everything was spinning. Everything in his peripheral vision was starting to blur. He suddenly felt acutely aware of the silence as he could only hear the sound of his heartbeat, racing. The silence was completely deafening.

Never had he dreamed something like this would happen… that she could be here, speaking to him. Of course, he had also never thought he could see her again and yesterday…Still, never had he dreamed she could come back here. Never had he dreamed that she would come looking for him. Never had he allowed himself to.

But here she was, standing in this very room once more, as she once did three years ago, looking at him beseechingly with her warm and beautiful brown eyes as if she cared. Here she was, in front of him, not moving. Was she even breathing? Was she real? Was this real? Or was this a dream? She couldn't possibly be here. Maybe he was really still trapped in Azkaban, and he'd finally lost it. Maybe this was some mad delusion, some crazed illusion…? There wasn't any way… but here she was…

Something slipped out of his hand and made a soft thud on the floor. The movement and sound of the flower falling pulled Draco out of his daze and finally his brain seemed to be functioning again. And though he still couldn't quite think clearly, he knew he couldn't stay. Abruptly, he spun on one foot and left without saying a single word.

x x x

Hermione saw his grey robes swirl behind him as he turned to go.

"Wait… Draco!" She ran around the chair and toward the door. Hermione saw him at the end of the hallway, entering the main lobby, and he was still walking away with great haste.

"Hetty, show our guest out," she heard him say, his words echoing in the large, hollow room.

"No, wait!" Hermione called out, running past the house elf and after him. But he didn't stop. He was heading up the stairs, not even bothering to look back. To his room, Hermione remembered. "Draco… Draco, I remember."

He had nearly made it all the way up before he stopped. He seemed to be taking very deep breaths.

"Whatever it is you think you remember, Granger," he said tightly, "is nothing but a strange fantasy that your oversized brain has invented. I am most certain of this. Now, Granger, if you would kindly stop bothering about such nonsense, I would greatly appreciate it. Your presence here is nothing short of irritating to me. So please leave before I have you thrown out."

Hermione walked to the foot of the stairs. His words had fallen on deaf ears. She was too busy looking at him – at the back of his head, at the lines his neck and shoulders made, at the way his hands were by his side, at the way he stood there. She remembered. Yes, it was clear to her now. She never was surer of anything. Looking at him now, she could feel something returning to her. The void in her heart was now gone.

"Why are you lying?" she asked.

His hands became fists. "I don't know what you're talking about, Granger," he said through gritted teeth. "I have already told you twice. There is nothing…"

"You're lying again," Hermione said. "I can tell." She walked up the stairs and stood right behind him.

"Leave," he said one more time, though it was more of a plea than a demand. "Leave me…"

"I can't," she whispered. "Draco…" Hermione reached out and touched his shoulder. "Draco, look at me."

He remained still.

"If you are so sure that what I think I remember is merely a fantasy, then turn around and look at me and tell me so," Hermione said defiantly. "Tell me that you weren't part of the Order. Tell me that you didn't help us fight against Lord Voldemort. Tell me that you didn't love me…"

He turned around. His face was completely blank, and his eyes were focused on something just past her. "Fine," he said shortly. "If that's what it takes to be rid of you. I wasn't part of the Order. I was a Death Eater till the end, when they threw me into Azkaban." He stepped backwards, up the stairs, and away from her touch. "Are you satisfied now? Will you leave?"

Hermione took another step up so she was right in front of him. "You didn't say the last part."

He was quiet. "Please go," he said. "Go home to your husband and your son. There is nothing for you here."

"I can't," Hermione replied. "Draco, I… please look at me. I remember, Draco, I do…"

"You don't," he said coldly. "Or you wouldn't be here…"

"I do!" she insisted. "Draco, I remember… the cabin, Dumbledore's tomb, the books, Christmas, the gardens, being here with you… I remember."

Finally, he did as she had requested earlier. His grey eyes looked straight into hers. For what must have been the tenth time today, her heart stopped.

"Well, then," he said, "what do you want?"

Hermione faltered a bit. "I… I don't know."

"You don't know," he repeated, his eyes once again moving past her. He laughed softly. "It's been three years, Granger. A lot has changed. You can't expect…"

"You don't love me then?" Hermione asked, moving even closer to him. "Go on. Say it. Say you don't love me still."

"Are you under some silly notion that perhaps we were in love?" he sneered. "Granger, you were always Weasley's girl and Potter's best friend… and I… I am nothing more than a useless, heartless, backstabbing bastard. Remember? You said so yourself." He gave her a resolute look. "Go back to Weasley. Go home." He turned and walked to the top of the stairs.

"Why do you keep pushing me away?" Hermione asked. He kept walking. She ran up the stairs after him. "Draco…" She grabbed his arm, stopping him from moving any further. "Three years ago, we were in love. I know we were. But then something… something happened… I don't know what…" Hermione strained trying to remember. Failing to do so, she shook her head and continued speaking. "But it doesn't matter. It doesn't change the fact that before then I loved you, not Ron. Shortly after New Year's Day, I broke up with Ron, remember? I left him because of you."

She saw him close his eyes and felt his arm tense slightly in her hand.

"You're right. I don't know what I want and I don't know what I should do. I only know that, three years ago, I fell in love with you, and that I still could…"

He took a deep, unsteady breath. "But Weasley… Aiden…"

Hermione hesitated. Of course. She had nearly forgotten…

"So caught up in the excitement that you almost forgot? See, Granger," he murmured, "perhaps we were in love… three years ago. But like I said, a lot has changed. You're married and have a son. Tell me this, Granger – do you love Weasley still?"

"He lied to me."

"But do you love him?"

Hermione couldn't answer, not because she didn't know, but because she didn't want to hear her answer aloud.

He understood her silence perfectly, as he always did. "Three years ago, you did leave Weasley… but that was three years ago," he said softly. "I know you. You wouldn't be able to do that again. Not now."

Still, Hermione wanted… needed to know. "Do you love me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He moved around slowly, and Hermione could see his face, his eyes… filled with loathing… and pain. "What does it matter?" He pulled his arm away and continued walking down the hall.

Hermione watched him go, unsure and uncertain.

x x x

"So what are you going to do?"

Hermione had just spent the last hour explaining her second encounter with Draco Malfoy to Olivia. Olivia had listened intently, not saying a single word until Hermione had finished speaking, and when she did, she asked the very same question Hermione had been constantly asking herself: what was she going to do?

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, slumping into Olivia's sofa. "It's just…" She fell into silence.

Olivia watched her for a moment before speaking. "At least now you know," Olivia said quietly. "You know what everyone's been hiding from you."

"Somehow, it's not enough," Hermione replied flatly.

"What would have been, though? Were you expecting that perhaps Malfoy would suddenly declare his love for you right then and there? Not that I think Malfoy's particularly smart by any stretch of the imagination but he's right, isn't he? It's been three years…"

"But it also hasn't," Hermione said.

Olivia stared. "How hasn't it been three years?"

"I…" Hermione stopped to gather her thoughts. "I haven't lived with those memories for three years. To me it almost feels like it all just happened yesterday… Like somehow I'm living two entirely separate timelines. There's the Hermione who married Ron Weasley and had his son but then there's the Hermione who loves… loved Draco Malfoy," Hermione quickly corrected herself.

But her slip hadn't gone by unnoticed. Olivia raised an eyebrow. "Loves?"

"Loved. Past tense," Hermione said.

"No, that is not what you said. Is that why you're so upset, Hermione?" Olivia gave Hermione a searching look. "Do you still love him?"

"I… I… No, it's not possible, is it?" Hermione looked desperately at Olivia. "I can't love him, can I? I love Ron. I'm married. I haven't seen him three years. How could I love him? It doesn't make sense. It's not possible… not logical… is it?"

"Love isn't logical, Hermione. If it were, it wouldn't be so hard."

"Well, it should be."

"But unfortunately, it isn't." Olivia sighed. "Look, Hermione, I'm not forcing you to say or admit anything you don't want to, but I think you know rather well that denial is going to help you any."

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said. "He was right."

"No, Hermione, he was right that a lot of things have changed, but it does matter. If you love him then…"

Hermione shook her head. "Then what, Olivia? I'm married. I have a son. I can't… There's nothing…"

Olivia was silent for a while. "So that's that, then? You're not going to do anything about it? You've come this far and done so much to learn what it is you've been missing all these years, rediscover a part of you, and then you finally find it… Hermione, are you really just going to let it go? After all of that?"

"What would you do, Olivia?"

Olivia blinked. "I…" She smiled sadly. "You've made your point. But I still don't think you should do nothing about it. There must be something you can do."

"Perhaps," Hermione said doubtfully. She shook her head. "I don't know, Olivia… it's just too much. I can't handle it. I don't want to handle it. I'm so confused and lost, and absolutely none of this makes any logical sense at all. I wish I knew what to do… about Malfoy… about Ron… about all of this… but I have no idea and I'm so terribly frightened…"

Olivia wrapped an arm around Hermione and gave her a comforting squeeze. "Maybe it's best to leave this alone for a while," she said. "You've been through so much in the last few days… it'll be good for you. Try to relax and clear your mind a bit, and maybe in a few days, or a few weeks… when you've distanced yourself from it… maybe you'll be able to figure out this whole situation better."

"Sure," Hermione said half-heartedly.

"You will," Olivia said firmly. "You just have to believe… Remember, I have full faith in you, Hermione. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I know you'll do what's right."

Hermione looked at Olivia appreciatively. "Thank you… I hope you're right."

x x x

"Draco?"

Narcissa wandered through the hallways, wondering where her son was. She hadn't seen him all day. Though she and Draco did not spend that much time out of the day with each other, they always had their afternoon tea together. Whenever they were both in the manor, it went without saying: the two would have their afternoon tea together. Narcissa had spent the morning shopping and rushed home just in time for their afternoon tea. She had waited for almost half an hour before she realised that her son was not coming. It perplexed her. It was not at all like Draco to not be there.

She couldn't find him. "Milly?"

There was a crack. "Yes, Mistress?"

"Do you know where the young master is?"

Milly shook her head. "Milly has not seen the young master since this afternoon, after his guest came."

"A guest?" Narcissa asked. "Who was it?"

"I'm not sure, Mistress, Milly did not see."

"Why didn't you see? Isn't it your job to know everything that's going on in this household? I'm disappointed in you, Milly."

Milly cowered. "Sorry, Mistress! Milly is sorry!"

Narcissa looked down coldly at the house elf. "Words mean little, but I accept your apology. Do not let it happen again."

"Thank you, Mistress! Mistress is too kind, too generous…"

"Enough." Narcissa waved her hand, cutting off the house elf's rambling. "Go start dinner."

Milly nodded mutely and disappeared with a loud crack.

"Hetty!"

Another loud crack and the other house elf stood in front of Narcissa, looking slightly perturbed. "Yes, Mistress?"

"Draco was not at afternoon tea today," Narcissa informed the elf. "Do you know where he might have been?"

Hetty's perturbed look evolved to one of anguish. "Young master has locked himself in his room," she said, shaking.

"What?" Narcissa exclaimed. "Whatever for?"

"Hetty doesn't know," the elf practically wailed. "Young master won't let Hetty in. Hetty has tried… but sir keeps ordering her to leave. Young master hasn't eaten all day and Hetty is worried, Mistress. Hetty has tried to give him food, but he won't eat…"

Narcissa did a little bit of simple deductive reasoning. "This doesn't have anything to do with Draco's guest today, does it?" The elf was still sobbing. "Who was it, Hetty?"

"It was… young… young miss, Mistress," the elf blubbered.

"Young miss?" Narcissa racked her brain for girls that might fit Hetty's very vague description. Of course, Draco having female visitors hardly surprised her – he was so utterly handsome, charming and rich, after all – but all the girls Draco had been acquainted with that Narcissa could remember were either married or engaged and very unlikely to have come alone. "What did this girl look like, Hetty?"

The elf, now a little more controlled, sniffed loudly. "Young miss is a little shorter than Mistress. Young miss also has brown hair and brown eyes."

Narcissa frowned. That description didn't help much. "I don't remember such a girl, Hetty. But you do. Has she visited the manor before?"

"Yes, with young master," Hetty said. "Three years ago. Mistress does not remember because Mistress was away at Mistress's sister's house."

Three years ago? Narcissa felt a cold hand grip her chest. "Did this girl have ridiculously bushy hair?" she asked icily.

Hetty thought for a bit. "Hetty thinks so…"

"The nerve," Narcissa snarled under her breath. Returning her attention to the house elf, Narcissa said, "Hetty, go to the kitchen and help Milly with dinner preparations. I will be going to speak with the young master."

"But young master has…"

"Go."

A crack. Hetty was gone. Narcissa looked up the stairway. Draco.

Three years ago, Narcissa had heard some terrible rumours about her son. Rumours that he had become involved with a girl… Narcissa had dismissed them as rumours nearly trying to tarnish her son's reputation. But now… Were they true then? She wondered. Narcissa climbed the stairs and walked to the doorway of her son's bedroom.

Narcissa knocked. "Draco?"

No response.

"Draco, if you do not open this door, I shall force my way in using whatever hex I deem worthy. If you put any value on your room and your belongings at all, you shall open this door now."

After a brief moment, the door clicked open.

Draco was sitting by the window in his room, looking outside. He was still wearing those dreadfully plain and ugly grey robes, Narcissa noted. They were absolutely covered in dirt. He had been wasting more time in those gardens, no doubt. In his hand, he held a single white flower which he gently stroked with his fingers. "What do you want?" he asked quietly.

"It's nearly time for dinner."

He didn't respond. He merely let his head drop against the glass of the window.

"Did you hear me?"

"I'm not hungry."

"I do not care. It is dinner time. I expect you to change and be downstairs at the dining table. Draco, you are not an eight-year-old boy that I should constantly watch after. You're twenty-two years old and head of this house now. I should not have to remind you of your duties. Wash up and change into appropriate clothing."

"No."

Narcissa felt her temper rising. "Draco, if this is because of some filthy, dirty Mudbl – "

Draco rose up. "Don't you dare call her that," he said, his voice deadly low. "Don't you dare."

"The rumours are true then?" Narcissa glared at her son, daring him to cross her. "Are they, Draco? That Bella, Greyback, and Augustus found you in bed with her? Potter's friend? That Granger girl?" Draco didn't meet her eyes. He stared intently at the floor, his eyes bright. Narcissa shook her head in anger and disbelief. "I can't believe this, Draco… after everything your father and I have given you… after all we have taught you…"

"Taught me?" Draco asked, laughing mockingly. "Good load it's done, hasn't it? Look where Father is now. In Azkaban. Rotting away."

"You will not speak of your father like that!" Narcissa yelled. "As if joining the other side has done you a lot of good, Draco? They threw you in Azkaban all the same. Or have you forgotten the last three years? The last three years you were imprisoned in Azkaban, forced to suffer? Because I haven't. For three years, I believed my husband and my son gone to me forever… all thanks to those who claim to have saved the world. I believed that I had lost everything."

"If it weren't for Lestrange, Rookwood, and that rabid werewolf, I…"

"If you hadn't crossed over, you wouldn't have been in that position in the first place!"

Draco looked at his mother with fury. "That's it, then? You blame me? For betraying you and Father and all your beliefs…"

"No!" Narcissa exclaimed, walking toward her son, holding her arms open. Draco, however, moved away. "Never, my son. Never. It was the Order who called you a traitor…"

"I don't understand you, Mother," Draco cut in, avoiding his mother's embrace. "Whose side were you on? The Order's? The Dark Lord's?"

"Neither." Narcissa crossed her arms and looked away. "Neither," she repeated. "Only my family… that is all that matters to me." Narcissa cradled her son's face in her hand. "My husband and son, on two separate sides… both abandoned by those they were loyal to…"

Draco twitched. Narcissa looked at her son… her only son. "Draco, please… You're all I have left now…"

"Mother, don't." He brushed her hand away.

"Why did she come?" Narcissa asked, her voice verging on hysterical. "What did she want? Why was she here?"

"Mother," Draco said warningly.

"Well, Draco? Are you going to explain to me why that filth was in my house?" Narcissa stared at her son who was so carelessly ignoring her. "What did she want? To tear you down some more? To destroy what's left of you?"

"What do you want from me, Mother?" Draco asked tiredly.

"Stay away from them… from her," Narcissa pleaded, nearing tears. "Please, Draco… haven't they hurt us enough? Haven't they damaged you enough?" She walked up to her son and threw desperate arms around him. "Please, Draco… I can't lose you… not again… Promise me you will stay away from them. Promise me you won't see her again…" Narcissa broke down.

Instead of replying, Draco put his arms around his weeping mother, effectively calming her. Narcissa's breathing slowed until it was normal again.

When Draco released her, Narcissa noticed an odd look on his face. "I'm sorry I missed tea today, Mother," he said tersely. "I will change and be down for dinner shortly."

"Draco…"

"I need to change, Mother," Draco continued. "So, if you could please leave and allow me to clean up and change my robes…"

"But…" she started to protest. She stopped herself, thinking it better not to say any more. Narcissa sighed. "Of course," she whispered. "I will see you downstairs then."

"Please close the door on your way out."

Narcissa left the room and shut the door quietly. She stood outside, staring fiercely at the door as if somehow, if she stared hard enough, it could give her all the answers she was searching for… all the answers Draco had failed… refused to give her.

Communication had never been Draco's strong suit. At least, not about feelings or emotions. They were never something much discussed or really, encouraged at all. Draco always managed to hide them very well, learning from his father and mother at a young age to put such frivolous things aside. But perhaps, three years ago, something changed… Narcissa could see the pain on her son's face. He had tried to hide it from her, she was sure, but it was written so clearly in his eyes, it was impossible to miss. And Narcissa recognized it. It was the pain of losing of something… or someone that he loved.

It was the pain of feeling empty inside.

Narcissa brushed her hand against the railing of the swirling staircase. Slowly, she walked down the stairs, toward the family dining room. If only there were more she could do for Draco… for her son. But she knew there was nothing more she could do or say.

AN: Oooh. Well, for those of you who were wanting a tearful reunion between Draco and Hermione, I hope you weren't too disappointed. Don't worry; this isn't the last time they will meet. But you didn't expect Draco to run to her with open arms right away, did you?

I thorougly enjoyed writing the last scene between Draco and Narcissa. It's perhaps one of my favourites so far.

I am rather struggling with the next chapter, so it may be a while before it comes out... but something tells me that reviews would help inspire me a bit. Hint hint.