Don't own any of this drivel, everything belongs to J.K. and I don't make any money off this fic.

AN: I can hear you all trembling in your shoes and your multitude of pitiful cries from way over on this side of the internet. Cut it out, whiny bitches. Or I will consider making a coat of your skins. So suck it up.

Oh, and to a certain group of someones who received my personal reassurances…I don't break my promises, generally, and I find lying about fan fiction to be tiresome. I have much better things to lie about. Chits.

Hermione went to the funeral. It was closed casket, on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. She, Harry, and Ginny were the only ones there, along with an unusually somber Sirius who stood in the background. Draco wasn't allowed to attend, Harry had told her, his face grim; and Draco was suspiciously quiet and withdrawn the entire day. Even when Hermione returned, leaning heavily on Ginny's arm, he didn't say a word.

Barely looked at her, in fact, although he spoke to Harry often enough, in hushed murmurs that stopped as soon as she came by.

Hermione wondered if she'd ever had a heart in the first place, since whatever it was beating in her chest felt pulverized and run through a meat grinder. As if there was nothing there at all.

Her hands felt too weak to hold the tea cup and it clattered back into its saucer noisily, tea sloshing over the sides. Ginny turned around, saw the look on her face.

"Hermione-"

"Don't," Hermione muttered, wiping her cheeks first, then the spill, with her paper napkin. "Just…there's nothing to say, is there?"

"Oh, please don't see it that way, Hermione. I know how it is. I do."

Hermione relaxed some, let Ginny put her arms about her shoulders- the one which was finally mending aching only a little.

"I know you do. I'm sorry, Ginny. I'm just so…it's all so much. I can't believe it- just five days ago he was alive and we were arguing and now this has happened-" She sobbed onto Ginny's shoulder, held her friend tightly. Ginny rocked her gently and shed a few tears, herself.

It pained her no end to see Hermione this way again. It wasn't like when Ron had died, of course, but still. She'd cared for Lucius and she loved Draco and now, upon losing one, she was losing the other.

"Hermione, I won't leave, alright? I'll stay here as long as you need me. Or you could come back to the city with me, or Mum and Dad would love to have you-"

"No," Hermione murmured, shaking her head. "I have to stay here. But you don't need to stay, Gin. I know you miss Harry. You should go back with him when he leaves tonight. Please. I insist."

"Hermione, you're in no state-"

"I have Draco, don't I? Oh, Gin, I appreciate all you've done the last few days, but I…need some time. Just to myself. I have things to keep me busy, anyhow. The horses are in that temporary barn and I want to read the book on building magic that George so kindly sent…"

Ginny pulled away, looked her friend over.

"I really-"

"Please, Ginny. I'll be alright. I'm not going to do anything stupid, I promise. You know me better. Besides, Draco and I…we need to talk. We have for days, but with Lucius I don't think either of us felt we could…"

Ginny took a deep breath, pressed her lips together. She hugged Hermione again.

"If you insist," she finally said. "But I'm staying until Harry leaves."

A voice from the doorway intruded on the moment.

"Which is going to be sooner than I anticipated," Harry said and the two women turned to face him.

"Harry-"

"I'm sorry Ginny, Hermione. I just spoke to Draco and it turns out there are some things I really need to deal with today."

Draco walked into the kitchen behind him, eyes down, face averted as he made his way to the tea kettle. Hermione's eyes followed him before she looked to Harry again. Harry glanced away. Hermione suddenly couldn't breathe and she clutched Ginny's shoulders tightly. Ginny looked at her with alarm and stared up at Harry.

"What? What is it?"

Hermione's lips formed the word and Ginny frowned.

"Draco? Harry, what is going on-"

"What's going on," came the subject's cool voice, "is that I'm leaving. In two days. That's what Potter has to take care of. The details of my escape."

Ginny didn't even bother looking at him, just kept her arms around Hermione.

"Harry, is that true? Is that what you two have been talking about in your quiet little conferences?"

"Ginny…"

"Even before Lucius was dead?" she went on. "And now he's barely cold in the ground and you're already planning on leaving the witch who saved your bloody life?"

Draco felt like he'd taken a shot to the gut, but he knew he had to keep up the pretense, or he'd never make it through the next two days. So he pasted on his best sneer.

"But she didn't save my father's life, did she?"

Hermione gasped and pressed her face into Ginny's shoulder. Her own shoulders started to shake and Ginny's face drained of color.

"You son of a bitch," she muttered, twisting her head to see him. "How dare you-"

"This isn't your concern, Ginny Weasley," Draco hissed at her. "Hermione knew what we planned weeks ago. She agreed to it, encouraged it. So pardon me if my father not being here any longer doesn't give me much of a reason to stay."

"Oh my god," Ginny growled. "You know what? She's better off. Is there any way you can speed up the bloody process?"

Draco stared at her a full minute, his face pinched in anger- or anguish, before he set his cup down with a bang and then stalked from the kitchen. They heard the back door slam shut a second later and Hermione burrowed further against Ginny, still weeping. Ginny glared up at Harry.

"How can you do this to her?"

Harry looked more sorry than he could ever say.

"It's his choice, Ginny. I promised I would help him. And if he doesn't want to stay, do you really want him to stick around?"

Ginny's face crumpled and she buried it in Hermione's hair. Hermione chose that moment to speak.

"I'm still here, you two," she murmured. "I can hear everything you're saying."

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry said softly. "I- will you be alright here? Since I assume Ginny doesn't want to return with me?"

Hermione pulled away, shook her head and wiped her cheeks for what felt like the hundredth time that week.

"Ginny," she said to her friend, "go home with Harry. And Harry, thank you for all your help this week. I…respect…Draco's decision."

Although she could barely speak the word, it was that much of a lie. Ginny protested some more and Harry looked extremely sorry and guilty, although it wasn't like Draco's leaving was really his fault. He was just helping out a little. Hermione smiled bravely at them both, insisted on sending them away. Saw them off on the front steps, walked down the drive with them, watched them apparate away together.

She stood at the spot for a long time after that, just staring into space, watching the occasional car blow past in the lane.

She was trying desperately to steel herself for returning to the house. She had a feeling Draco would be unbearable, though it wasn't her fault, or even his. He was just more of a stray than ever, with his father's death and the entitling away of the Malfoy estate.

His father's death…she still couldn't quite believe it, as though the events from five days ago were just another nightmare she could wake from; and find Draco holding her, loving her, his father alive and smiling; and the three of them surrounded by flowering shrubs and kittens and ponies-

She felt a smirk cross her lips, felt it bubble up into a hysterical giggle. Desperate for control, she leaned on the fence post and let the laughter run its course until that awful grief gripped her heart again.

How could this be true, how could it be happening? What sorts of awful things had she done in a past life to warrant all this sorrow?

A deep sigh welled from her throat and she clung to the fence, suddenly drained. She couldn't stand out here all night just to avoid him. Besides, he would probably do a fine job of that all on his own. Slowly, one hand clutching the fence, she made her way back up the drive as storm clouds gathered overhead.

They didn't speak the rest of the evening, or the next day, even though time was growing far too short. It was almost strange, how they never seemed to be doing the same thing at the same time, but Hermione kept trying despite his sneaky skills. Rather, she would spot Draco leaving a room just as she was entering it and call out to him, but he would be gone before she could blink. And Draco- he was so attuned to her presence, her scent, that he didn't even have to look to know when she was entering the same space as him. Of course, it was extremely difficult to force himself away from her when all he wanted to do was run to her, to take her in his arms, to comfort her, to have her comfort him…but he managed. He managed by telling himself it was for the best, that she didn't need him, even if she did fancy herself in love with him now. Look at what he'd brought her- nothing but grief. And his own father…

He tore his eyes from the pages of the book on his lap to find her standing right in front of him.

Hell. He's been thinking about her so hard he hadn't even noticed- he stood up.

"I was just leaving," he began and she reached out, touched him. He want to grab her hand and drag her to him at that touch, but instead he sat back down. Her hand fell away and she looked about helplessly, rubbed at her face some, and finally stepped back to sit in the chair opposite him.

"That's the trouble, isn't it?" she asked and her voice sounded hollow. His heart ached more than usual.

This was why he had to avoid her. Why he couldn't be in the same room as her. He felt entirely too much…

"Draco," she murmured. "Please, talk to me." A wild smirk skittered across her lips as the irony of her plea was not lost on her. He exhaled, looked away. Closed the book in his hands.

"Talk about what," he said.

"I suppose you think there's nothing to say," she responded. Silence hung between them. He shifted in his seat.

"There's probably loads to say, I reckon," he said and she caught his eyes, those brown orbs full of pain and compassion.

"Draco, I'm so sorry about Lucius. I think I loved him too, as a friend, or an uncle. He was a good man. I don't have much family," she went on, "but he was something like it."

Draco felt his heart turn over in his chest. "I know you felt that way, Hermione. And I'm sorry for the things I said about you and him, before…" The fire, ran the rest of the sentence.

"We never meant to," she said. He caught her eyes that time and she again had the uncanny feeling that he was trying to impress something upon her, the same as Lucius had.

"I know," he replied. "But we never meant to, either, did we? Could it truly have been anybody, Hermione? Not just us?"

She was quiet for a minute and he could see her struggling against tears. She won.

She was braver than he was, already, and he was envious.

"I think the possibility always exists for it to be anybody," she returned slowly, thoughtfully. Kindly. "But it's you, now. And has been."

His heart beat fast and she went on.

"…and will likely continue to be-"

He cut her off, he had to.

"You can't know that," he said. "Not as long as I'm here."

"Then how do you know the same about me?" she asked.

He closed his eyes. It was the only way he could get the next sentence out.

"You're right," he said. "I don't."

Hermione's struggle against the tears grew more difficult, but she prevailed again and he opened his eyes in time to see her face hardening some, growing cold. He felt sick.

"But does it matter, either way?" he pressed on. "We knew I was leaving. That's why you made me promise-"

"What if I don't care about that promise anymore?" she said, no longer looking at him. "What would you do-"

"Hermione," he replied, voice shaking, "I'm leaving. Tomorrow, in fact. I'm just waiting for Potter's final call tonight and in the morning-"

"It has to be this way, doesn't it?" she asked of no one in particular. Draco answered her anyway.

"It's for the best," he responded and Hermione snapped.

"For whose best?" she cried, finally angry- really, truly angry- for the first time in days. "Your father said the same blasted thing, and he's fucking dead! He wouldn't even try-"

"Don't blame him," Draco pleaded, unwilling to fire back. Let her have her anger, her bitterness. If it kept her going, more the better. If hating him did for her, then he was happy to help. But he couldn't bear to drive anymore cruelty into her. He could see his inaction was cruelty enough.

If things had been different, it might have given him a thrill of hope to know that. Now it only made him sad.

"When he gave up? When he took that bloody one-way ticket out of here without even considering you-"

"We talked about it, Hermione, and the extent of his injuries-"

"I could've saved him," she ended fiercely, glaring at him and then sitting back in her chair, crossing her trembling arms and biting her lip.

Draco crossed his arms as well, to keep himself from reaching out to her. Maybe Ginny was right. Maybe he was being selfish, unfair. Hermione turned to him again.

"You might have," he corrected her gently and she closed her eyes.

"I hate this," she whispered and he grit his teeth. Stop looking at her, he told himself. You'll make it worse.

"I do to," he admitted and his eyes flicked to her again. "But are you really saying you'd ask me to stay?"

After a long, quiet minute she shook her head. "But not because I don't care about you," she added, rising from the chair. She walked away and he thought she might leave it there until she paused in the doorway, turned her head.

"Because I do care," she finished. And then she left. He heard the back door open and close.

Draco stood up, unable to help himself, intent on following her. He couldn't play this game any longer. She'd just all but said the words, she'd confessed how she felt, and he was going to leave? All because it seemed like the best idea? Preposterous. He would go to her, find her, tell her how sorry he was for the charade, for pushing her away, for letting her think he didn't care-

The telephone rang insistently, startling him from his determined course; and he stopped in the middle of the hallway, poised to head for the door; but head turned, eyes on the noisy device.

That would be Potter, telling him things were ready. Telling him it was all a go. She'd be free of them soon, once and for all.

He turned his head slowly and looked towards the door again and his face fell. Then, reluctantly, he jogged back to the phone and lifted it from its cradle, aware that with the action, his opportunities for something- anything else- had dwindled to none at all.

It was nearing midnight and Draco still couldn't sleep. He was tossing and turning and trying to get comfortable, but it was incredibly difficult when he was lying across from where his father had slept peacefully for weeks.

He was used to someone else being in the room.

And of course, he was dreading the morning hour, meeting Potter at dawn, catching a train to god knows where, leaving Hermione forever.

Forever. It was a bleeding scary word, that, but somehow it hadn't seemed so bad two weeks ago, when he'd had a willing witch in his arms and his father had his health. Now he was facing things alone and in the humid evening air he found it impossible to relax. Not that he hadn't faced things alone before, but he'd gotten so used to her being there, helping him. How could he live without that? It was enough to make him want to claw his eyes out, the irony of it all. That he'd gone years relying on no one but himself and now, faced with the same situation, he could hardly stand it.

Then there was the fact that Hermione had begun crying just as he thought he might be dropping off to sleep. He'd nearly made up his mind to go downstairs when it had stopped abruptly and he'd heard the creak of old floorboards. She'd probably gone into the kitchen, no doubt. At any rate, it was the first night he hadn't gone to her when he'd heard those pitiful sounds and he was certain his heart had shriveled some from the meanness of staying away.

He rolled onto his back, stared up at the dark ceiling. A cool breeze broke the wilting humidity and he knew it would likely rain again tomorrow. Wasn't that good luck, in some parts of England? No, that was good luck at a wedding. And what he was doing tomorrow was as far from a wedding as one could possibly get.

The crying began once more and he saw her quite clearly in his mind, hunched over the counter or the kitchen table, letting her tea get cold, wrapping her arms about herself and wishing for someone to hold her…

With a soft swear he tore his cover off and practically sprang from the bed before throwing his door open and racing down the stairs as fast as he dared.

She wasn't crying anymore by the time he opened the door of the kitchen and stepped inside. She'd gone quite still, standing at the counter, one hand on a mug and the other holding a shawl about her shoulders. He could see the bruising on her still healing shoulder, saw the bright red scar from the horse's hoof. It just brought home to him how terrible he felt over everything. How this was supposed to be best. And he hesitated.

She spoke first. "I heard you on the stairs."

Yes, she would have. He'd thundered down them in his need to see her, hold her- something pulled at him painfully, but it was nothing new.

"Do you want some tea?" she asked. He saw her give a small sigh, push an already prepared mug down the counter towards him.

He took the invitation. It was better than nothing. And still he was silent. He couldn't think of what to say, where to begin. With an apology? A confession? She broke the silence for him.

"Draco, I don't want you leaving…like this. I understand if you have to go, but I want…I want…" She paused, floundering for the courage to finish the sentence. He set his mug down again, approached her slowly. She turned to face him.

"I want one last happy memory," she explained and he swallowed, reached out and ran a hand over her shoulder. She didn't flinch away.

"Are you sure?" he breathed and saw her nod once. It was all he needed to buoy his own courage, and he drew nearer, sliding his hand around her back, wrapping his other arm around her waist and pulling her to him. She gave a small gasp as she thrilled at the contact they hadn't shared in days- his hard body pressed to her softer one; and she could feel him respond, felt his heartbeat speed up simply from holding her.

He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply, then began layering a series of sweet kisses along her forehead, her temple, her eyes, her cheeks…mouth… She gave a moan and he held her tighter.

"Alright, Hermione," he finally murmured, pulling away slightly and gazing down at her. "One last memory. But I won't make it in the middle of the kitchen."

She didn't bat an eyelash, clearly determined to keep the ghosts away for the whole of one night- their last night.

"Fine, Draco," she whispered up at him before reaching a hand up and tugging his head down to hers for another sweet, brief kiss. "Then take me to bed."

It was all the permission he needed, and a moment later they were passing from the now darkened kitchen and down the hall to her room, where the door closed upon them with an easy click; and then they were falling to one another in earnest, with eager lips and hands, and making certain of two things, at least.

One, that Hermione would never forget Draco Malfoy, or how much she'd loved him; and two, that her heart would forever be at odds with itself- because as long as she remembered Draco she could never be alone…yet as long as he left, as he seemed determined to do, she felt sure she would be lonely the rest of her days.

And in his arms, in the dark, she felt something broken inside her mend again, just as something that was mended broke. She hid her wretchedness with lengthy sighs of desire and cries of ecstasy, but she was certain that he could feel it too- the trembling in her arms as she clung to him, the breaking of her heart as she climaxed around him. But he didn't say a word, just continued to place soft kisses upon her face, put his hand along her cheek…and take his time, so that it was nearly four in the morning when Hermione finally curled against him, sated and weary.

Draco pulled her close and tucked her head beneath his chin, feeling the pleasant sensation of her breath on his bare skin, her hair spilling over his chest and arms. There were hundreds of things he wanted to say in those seconds between satisfaction and sleep, but he kept his lips closed, pressed them to her forehead instead, and continued to hold her as she drifted to something other than nightmares.

Outside, a fine mist began and turned to a steady drizzle; and eventually, the sound of rain pattering from the leaves of bushes and trees and dripping along the eaves lulled Draco to his own slumber.

It was still raining when Hermione woke three hours later to find Draco gone.

Draco stepped off the muggle bus and thanked the driver for pointing him in the right direction before heading off down the small, dead-end lane. The driver merely shook his head and pulled the doors closed, driving away. He couldn't understand it. The fellow had spoken with a British accent, but then acted all wonky, like a bloody tourist. Of course, it was an English accent. It was only the duffel over Draco's shoulder that kept the others on the bus from making passing remarks about him, after all.

Not that he hadn't noticed they'd been staring at him a lot. He'd noticed, alright. He'd just decided he had better things to do than get after them, like figure his way around- although Hermione's muggle instruction (and here his heart contracted painfully) had helped a great deal. And here he was, in Scotland- a country he'd been to plenty of times before, after all, though never quite in this manner- ready to set foot into what looked like a right miserable little cottage.

But it was the best Potter said he could do at such short notice, since the circumstances of his escape to penury had changed. With a steeling breath, Draco put a hand to the door and knocked before reaching for the handle and pushing it open. He was met by a familiar face almost immediately and he couldn't stop the leap of his heart as he walked over to the other man, who was sitting in a chair, legs covered with a blanket. There was a kitten curled on his lap, sleeping, and the man was petting it gently. Draco dropped his duffel and knelt down to eye level, taking the man's other hand and sharing a long look with him. Then he laid his head against his legs and closed his eyes. The man transferred his hand from the kitten to Draco's head and started to stroke his hair reassuringly.

"It's over, then?" he asked in a weak voice.

Draco managed a nod and felt a few tears escape his eyes.

"Yeah, Dad," he murmured. "It's over."

The irony of his words didn't escape him, but it also didn't change anything. He was still kneeling on the floor, head in his father's lap, crying like he was five years old.

Everything was over, and yet the endless road of heartbreak and recovery was only just beginning.

AN: Hahahahaha! PSYCH.

And yeah, I'm really pleased with myself. XD A few chapters left, my friends! You ready for the happy ending? I AM.