A/N: I am so sorry for the delay in updating! I've been going through some difficult personal issues lately which have affected my ability to write and even think straight at times. However, those issues are being worked through and today was the first time I have had time to sit down and write a chapter for ages, which felt really good. There's a bit of drama in this one (but then, what kind of Dramione fic doesn't have a little bit of drama, eh?) and the chapter that follows this will also be quite dramatic. I plan to write that chapter either tonight or tomorrow - so perhaps if I'm happy with it you might get a superfast update of chapter 10! However I'm not promising anything as it isn't written yet. Hehe.

I hope you enjoy the chapter. A huge THANK YOU to everyone who has read, favourited, reviewed or added the story or myself to Story/Author alerts. You have got me through some pretty hard stuff recently and I am so humbled and proud to be writing for such a wonderful readership.

serenarian1 x

Chapter 9 – Head Is Not My Home

Draco watched silently as Hermione stood and walked Harry to the fireplace so that he could Floo back. The past few hours had been intensely difficult for two reasons; firstly for him to listen to and secondly for him to grasp. They had told him the entire tale from beginning to end, filling in as much detail as they could – or at least, as they were willing to tell him. Draco couldn't believe that Hermione's fiancé had been found dead next to his father. He didn't even know she had been engaged. And to hear that he had attended the same school as them – Hogwarts, was it? – meant that he had probably known him too.

Was that even possible? How could he have just forgotten seven years of his life? There was almost literally a gap in his memories where his schooling should have been. How was that even possible? He furrowed his brow, pursing his lips as he pondered this. At that moment, Hermione sat down next to him on the sofa; her concerned eyes meeting his. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly. "I know that must have been a lot to take in."

He nodded. "It wasn't easy," he admitted. "A lot of it was very hard to hear. I knew when you told me I was one of the Death Eaters that I couldn't have been a candidate for 'nicest guy ever', but to know that I was so hateful to you, and to Harry, and to your fiancé…" He trailed off then, unsure what else to say. She was looking at him; and despite everything in him telling him to avert his gaze, he lifted his troubled eyes to hers. "How did you do it?" he asked, his voice so low she had to strain to hear him.

"How did I do what?" she responded, keeping the eye contact. Draco swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. He would not cry. He could not.

"You took me in, knowing that I had done all those awful things to you," he explained. "You allowed me to stay under your roof. You've been training me all this time. Yet you didn't once take anything out on me. Someone you loved was found dead in my former home." He reached out and took her hand. "Hermione – why didn't you tell me he was more than your boyfriend?"

She looked away then and he heard her swallow hard. He presumed she was trying to compose herself. Eventually, after what seemed like an age, she turned back to him. Her eyes were wet but the expression on her face showed her determination not to break down. Her voice wobbled as she began to speak. "It doesn't matter now," she replied. "He's dead. The past is the past. Referring to him – referring to him as my fiancé just hurt too much."

"What was his name, Hermione?" The question was out of his mouth before he could collect my thoughts, and she looked up sharply before her face softened.

"I forget you don't remember," she half-whispered. "His name was Ron. Ronald Bilius Weasley." She suddenly stifled a chuckle, and Draco raised his eyes to hers again in surprise. "Oh Draco, how he hated you," she hiccupped. "It went both ways of course – the hatred was mutual – but the run-ins you had were legendary at Hogwarts. He once tried to curse you to eat slugs but his wand was broken and it backfired on him. Harry and I had to sit with him and a large bowl for hours while he vomited them all up." Abruptly, her face turned serious again. "It's one of the reasons I've not let you in, Draco. He would hate me for it."

Draco leaned back in horrified surprise at this pronouncement. She had basically cut him dead. His being with her had caused her to be upset – and if he knew her at all (and he thought he was beginning to) he knew that she had probably spent countless nights agonising over it, feeling guilty. All because of him.

He made a decision in that moment and gently let go of her hand. "Hermione – you don't have to do that anymore. You don't have to let me in. We don't even have to be friends if it's too hard for you." A pang shot through his chest with every utterance, but still he continued. "I'm not a selfish bastard like I apparently used to be. From now on, I won't pursue you. You will be my trainer, and I will be your student until I pass my Auror training. After that, you never have to see me again."

She looked at him in shock, her mouth dropping open. "But Draco, I-"

He stood up suddenly then, cutting her off. "If you don't mind, I'm going to go out for a walk. It's been quite a taxing day – I'd like to clear my head." He didn't wait for an answer before spinning on his heel and marching out of the room, grabbing his cloak from the coat stand and swinging it over his shoulders as he left the house.

His mind was buzzing with so many thoughts he couldn't focus on them. Instead he just kept walking, the rhythm of his footsteps on the ground blocking out the cacophony of noise inside his head. He walked until his legs began to cramp up. Looking around, he saw that he was in a graveyard. He was surrounded by large grave markers and statues; as far as the eye could see there were lines and lines of burials. "Funny how I ended up here," he thought to himself as he began to walk up and down the lines.

Draco found he liked the graveyard. Not because it contained a very large amount of dead bodies – indeed, he tried to forget that small fact – but because it was peaceful. The only sounds were the gentle swish of the wind and the birdsong in the trees that surrounded the graves like guardians. He began to idly read the names on the headstones as he walked. Lavender Brown. Cedric Diggory. Colin Creevey. Fred Weasley. Ronald Weasley. He stopped cold as he looked down at the headstone, the nearly carved name jumping out at him. Suddenly he felt an impulse to do something that sounded insane, even to him.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Draco cleared his throat. "I don't really know why I'm talking to a headstone," he began quietly, "but I felt I needed to. I don't remember anything of Hogwarts. Hermione and Harry are being very kind to me – but I'm sure you know that, wherever you are." He sat down on the hard path in front of the grave before continuing. "Hermione really misses you," he added. "I'm sorry if you've seen what has happened. She is incredible, and I care very much about her… but it's not going to happen. It's too raw for her, and she doesn't want to dishonour your memory." He lowered his head, nervously twisting his fingers together. "She tells me you and I hated each other. I don't know as I don't have the luxury of those memories anymore; but I promise you, mate – I'm backing off. I care too much about her to give her any reason to feel upset or guilty. I just wanted you to know."

Getting up abruptly; he brushed off the front of his jeans before beginning to walk again. His mind had calmed slightly but not enough to give the mental relief Draco so desperately craved. He needed to stop thinking completely and there was only one way he could think of to do that. He remembered that there was a store somewhere in the neighbourhood where he could get what he needed and headed in that general direction.

ooooOOOOOoooo

I sat there in stunned silence as I heard the door click shut behind Draco. What had that been about? We had just been talking and suddenly the mood had darkened quickly. The room felt cold and I shivered before reaching for a nearby blanket. I slipped it around my shoulders and hugged myself, trying desperately to warm up.

I bit my lip as I tried to figure out what had upset him so suddenly. He had asked me about Ron, and I had given him the few details I could bear to give at the moment. After a few minutes of racking my brain, I gave up in frustration and decided to Floo Ginny. I threw the powder into the fire and stuck my head into the flames as I called out where I wanted to contact. A few moments later, I saw Ginny approach the fireplace. "Can you come over?" I asked almost pathetically. "Draco's stormed off, and I can't figure out why for the life of me."

A few moments later, my redheaded friend stepped smartly out of the fireplace, smoothing her dress down and fixing me with a quizzical look. "Okay, what do you mean he's stormed off?" she asked, getting straight to the point as she always did. I sighed and relayed the conversation over again as best as I could remember it, while she listened and nodded in all the right places.

"…and then he just said that I wouldn't have to let him in anymore and once he finishes training I don't have to see him again and just stormed off," I finished, taking a deep breath.

"What did you tell him about Ron again?" she questioned, and I related that part of the conversation again. She shook her head. "Well then, there you go. You pushed him away, Mione."

"Where did you get that from?" I asked, incredulous.

Ginny leaned forward, a patient expression on her face. "You basically told Malfoy that he had no chance in hell with you, because your dead fiancé wouldn't have liked it. What was he supposed to do?"

I could do nothing but look away in consternation. "That wasn't what I meant," I whispered, half to myself and half to Ginny. "He never let me finish."

Ginny sat back in her chair and regarded me with an almost amused expression. "Can I ask you something, Mione?" I gestured for her to continue. "What do you feel for Malfoy?"

"I don't know," I said tiredly. "I really don't know."

"Harry told me you kissed him during the discussion you guys had here earlier," she said, raising an eyebrow. "You wouldn't do that without a reason, I know you."

I sighed harshly. "Ginny, it doesn't matter what my reason was or how I might possibly feel about Draco – it can't happen. It won't happen. I told myself when Ron died that I wouldn't look for love again. I would never care for another man in that way. I promised Ron that," I snapped.

Ginny's eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Hermione, that's ridiculous," she replied, her voice soft. "Ron would never want that for you. Yes, we all knew you were in love with each other, and we expected you to get together – but he would be mortified and angry if he knew you were holding back on his behalf."

I shook my head stubbornly. "No, Ginny. He would be incredibly angry if he knew I'd kissed Draco. I mean this is Malfoy, Ginny! You know how much Ron hated him!"

Ginny fell to her knees on the rug in front of me and took both my hands. "Look at me," she demanded gently, and I had no choice but to comply. "Hermione, as much as this hurts me to say – Ron is gone. He's not coming back." Tears began to roll down her cheeks as her startling brown eyes stared gently into mine. I felt matching tears sliding down my cheeks as she continued. "My brother may have been a hot-headed idiot sometimes, but he loved you and he would want you to be happy now that he's no longer with us. That much I know, Hermione." She rested her forehead against mine and we cried for a little while until I heard the chime of the clock.

She released my hands and got to her feet, looking out of the window. "Wow, the rain is really heavy out there now," she commented. I stood up and followed her gaze. She hadn't been kidding – the rain was coming down so hard that it was bouncing off the ground.

"Oh Merlin," I said suddenly, my hands flying to my face. "Draco's somewhere out there – he only took his cloak, I think."

Ginny's eyes flashed quickly to the clock. "How long ago did he leave?"

I took note of the time and tried to work out in my mind how much time had passed. "About two hours ago," I eventually concluded. "He just said he was going for a walk, but I would have expected him back by now."

She picked up her cloak and transfigured one of my cushions into a large golf umbrella. "Come on," she rallied, her voice decisive. "Let's go and look for him."

I quickly grabbed a waterproof jacket and followed her out of the house, sending up a small prayer to whichever gods were listening. Let Draco be all right. Oh Merlin, please let him be all right.