Firstly, I am floored at the responses thus far for this story! Wow oh wow guys, thank you! I honestly thought it was way too out there – but – wow. Thank you for the reviews and the many alerts! I'm touched. I really hope it's something you'll stick with – I'm going to do my best. I'm really friendly so any comments/suggestions/corrections are always taken into consideration – I want a two way open line of conversation between myself and my readers. This will be my last update until next week (I'm on vacation). But I hope it gives a little more background into Hermione's mindset. Draco next chapter – I'm already working on it. Warning – I do imply character death in this chapter.

LCailan

CHAPTER TWO

Hermione followed Ginny up the crumbling cement steps to the two room flat they now shared with Arthur, Percy, and George. It was cramped – beyond cramped with boxes and belongings strewn around the corners of the space and two dirty windows, one in each room.

Here they had lived for months, since the Burrow had been burned and Molly had died.

The first room served as a small kitchen with a coal stove and a table that sat four – and at night it served as the room Arthur shared with his sons. The second room was a smaller one with only a chair and several beds. Here Ginny and Hermione slept along with Lily and her two brothers – Ginny and Harry's children.

It was small, miserable and smelled perpetually of piss and sweat.

The fire that had destroyed the Weasley's home and all their possessions had only happened three months before. The Ministry of Magic had decreed that all pureblood families who were harboring muggle-born "abominations" would have to turn them into the Ministry for questioning.

When Arthur Weasley had refused to turn in his daughter-in-law, two officials had come. With a wave of their wands and a well placed incendio, the Burrow had been no more. And Molly had died in the fire.

The two young women were met at the door by James and Albus who immediately reached into the bag of food with eagerness and hunger. Hermione stood still, the children moving around her in the small space like a river of life as Ginny reminded them over their laugher and bickering that they needed to share, that all of them had to have some because there would be no more until the next day.

So this is what it has come down to.

Hermione fought tears, the same tears that she had been battling with all afternoon and even more so since being attacked by the fattened Ministry official.

"Bad day, 'mione?"

George was sitting at the rickety table, his face pale around a crown of fiery red hair.

"Not the worst ever."

She moved forward, as if jolted into life by George's words. Percy sat on the other side of the table watching her over his half taped half broken glasses.

"Officials?" asked Arthur, standing to help his daughter and his grandchildren with unwrapping the sandwiches.

"Only two," replied Hermione with a sigh.

"George and I can go get our rations next time," interjected Percy.

Hermione sighed, feeling guilty.

She knew that she was the reason that the Burrow and Molly were gone – because the Weasley's loved her enough to have fought for her rights, even if Muggle-borns no longer had any. And because her wand had been taken from her, Hermione could not find decent work and so she was living with the Weasleys, eating their food and sleeping under their roof but was not contributing at all.

Guilt was the most horrid emotion in the world, she decided.

"No, I can do it."

Her words were firm.

"It's the least I can do after everything you have done for me since Ron's death."

With those words the young witch looked down at her thin fingers, her bleary vision focused on the gold ring on her left hand. It was moments like these that she missed Ron the most – moments when she felt more alone than she ever had been before. And moments of realization that she was only here and most likely still alive only because Ron had loved her enough to marry her and welcome her into his family.

His pureblood family.

That was all that mattered now, Hermione realized.

To the outside world and to the Ministry who was trying with all their might to eradicate all those who were not of pure wizarding blood. Had it ever mattered that she had been top of her class? That she was one of the most brilliant women her age? Did compassion and understanding no longer have a place in this world? Love? Peace? Understanding? She heard the chair on the other side of the small room scrape along the wooden floor and then Arthur was at her side, holding her hand in his gently.

"You know we love you like you were one of us. And you are. You always will be."

The assurance had been one made to Hermione over and over again over the last few years, but still it felt empty. The tears came now, she felt free here. Free to cry even though tears never changed anything.

"Is it worth it to you? Losing your home, having to move here when you all loved the Burrow so much? Losing M-molly? What about all those who have died? Don't you see…if I…it's because of me! I'm here and I'm a danger to you. They won't stop, will they?"

George had gotten up.

"Look 'mione, if we don't have each other now, what do we really have?"

The words fell upon a silent room as Hermione could not find a reply and no one else spoke. The children were talking and laughing in the next room far enough away so that their words were not clear but loud enough to make Hermione's heart constrict with joy and pain. George was right – she loved the Weasleys, loved them like she had loved Ron, and if not for them, then this existence would have been unbearable. Especially with the way the world was now. She had not seen her parents in over seven years now and she did not know any longer if they even lived. And by chance if they had been spared the horrors she had been subjected to, still they would not remember their own child – Hermione had made sure of that.

The Weasley family was her family now.

She saw Ginny tenderly stroking James' hair. Hair so much like Harry's, Hermione thought with a near sob. And Albus – little Albus who was the only one with eyes the color of his mother's, though his personality was his father's. Three beautiful children, the light of Ginny's life now that Harry's had been so quickly and tragically snuffed out. Children who made their grandfather and uncles laugh. And Lily – little Lily whom Hermione loved like her own.

At least Ginny has her children? What do I have? I don't even have a memory of Ron apart from our wedding ceremony. And then that…that…

They had been in hiding that night, Hermione remembered. Shortly after Hogwarts had fallen to Voldemort, they had escaped, hoping to gather forces again, recoup and face that evil once more. Ron had been hurt and Hermione had done her best to bind him to make it easier on him to run – and they had. For weeks and weeks it had seemed, never in one place, never staying long.

Hermione had long forgotten what being settled meant.

They remained on the run for months and months. Ron's leg, even with Hermione's careful ministrations, would never be the same. But then, it hadn't mattered – nothing had, except staying alive. Waiting for the future had meant nothing to them – for no one knew what the next day would bring, if they would still be together, still be alive.

Harry and Ginny had married first, a short and sweet ceremony. She had already been pregnant with James then. A year later, it had been Ron and Hermione. It was the last good memory Hermione had, and she knew if not for the children that Ginny had given birth to, it would have been her last good memory as well.

At least for as long as it had lasted – exactly two hours.

Then, there had been an explosion – ear deafening – and Hermione had screamed.

Behind her she had heard Ron's painful wails and through the red hot fire she saw him burning, the fire lapping along the walls and down the chairs and along the floor, burning higher and higher –it had not been a muggle made fire. Whatever and whoever was after them had found them. And Ron…well, Ron had never had a chance, really.

Hermione could still hear Harry's screams to run, but she had stumbled, stopping to find Ron, to reach for him. Ginny, crying and clutching baby James to her breast with one hand whilst reaching for Hermione with the other had begged her to move, to run. They had to run.

He's dead, 'mione, he's dead! We have to get out of here.

Ron hadn't made it. The Death Eaters had found them, somehow – though how Hermione had never known. Ginny's words, her insistence that they run once more had seemed so pointless – for how could anyone run when there was nowhere to run to?

That night, Hermione had given up all hope – she had begun to believe that all would be lost eventually. With Ron's death, a part of Hermione's life had been snuffed out. She was still breathing and a broken heart still rattled within her chest, but she was dead in all other ways. And though she had never spoken of it, her fear was that soon all those around her would be like she was – dead and hopeless.

Hope held out, however. For a day, for a week, for a month. Through the birth of Harry and Ginny's second child, little Albus. And then…

As long as Harry lives, there is hope.

Except that three years after Ron had been killed, Harry met the same fate. With Harry's death it wasn't just Ginny, then great with their third child, who had lost the will to move forward – it was all those who had put all their faith in the boy who lived.

The boy who died.

Hermione shuddered as she stood in the doorway between the tiny kitchen and the even tinier bedroom where Ginny sat surrounded by her children. A twisting in the pit of her belly reminded Hermione that in spite of the death of both of their husbands, Ginny still had children. She still had memories and love, and Hermione hated being jealous but…it was what she felt. Amidst the guilt there were cold, sticky fingers of jealousy that bound themselves around her heart.

I'll never have Ron's children.

An iciness crept along her body as she stood watching the two little boys and tiniest girl. How she loved them! And how she resented them!

Albus wore the remnants of the sandwich he had eaten on his white shirt.

"Tergeo."

Ginny's whispered word rang through the room as if was magnified.

By order of the Ministry no witch or wizard without a wand was allowed to do magic – and yet in this small way she was rebelling. Because the Weasleys had been such staunch supporters of the muggle borns, they too were under abuse from the new Ministry – and their wands had been confiscated as if they were the lowest of the low.

Hermione knew that the Improper Use of Magic office was tracking all those not pureblood – so she did not dare cast a spell. Ginny, however, seemed to take a silent satisfaction from these small acts of defiance.

Albus' shirt came clean instantly and Ginny lifted her beleaguered eyes towards Hermione. There was a pause before she spoke, her voice hoarse.

"Draco Malfoy. The other official. I never thought I'd see him again."

Her words brought Hermione's thoughts back to the present, to the altercation in the streets earlier, and to the fevered silver of Malfoy's stare.

Yes, Ginny was right.

Hermione too, never thought she'd ever see him again. Her last clear memory of Malfoy had been in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, sitting broken and bruised between his two parents as death and destruction reigned around them. A coward, just as she had always believed him to be – a filthy coward who was facing an uncertain future, plucked from his life of luxury and pampering and thrown into misery, and in some way Hermione had wished him to suffer. Suffer like they all were suffering now. How she had hoped! And yet-

He had survived. His family had remained intact. He had not lost loved ones or a wife. And now he held a cushy job within the Ministry and bore the Mark of Voldemort's closest advisors.

Hate filled Hermione, a pure, white hatred that seemed to erase all other emotion and make all others in the room disappear. She nearly shook with it. How unfair life was! How utterly and completely unfair that those who did nothing got everything and those who wanted to be something were now less than…

"Are you ok?"

Ginny's question rang out in the stifling hot room as Hermione moved towards the tiny window. She had liked to sit here sometimes to pass the time. That was until the half blood witch next door had seen her husband murdered and then had drowned her baby and hung herself. Looking out of the window now seemed nothing short of horrific.

Sighing she stared sightlessly at the dirty little courtyard that connected the flats that they were sharing with all the other "impure" witches and wizards living in London now. She managed to answer Ginny, albeit her tone was strained.

"He'll get what's coming to him. Everyone always does. This…this persecution, this…world…it can't be like this forever."

She turned just in time to gather Lily into her arms and kiss the top of her soft hair. The little girl didn't seem to pick up Hermione's panic and hopelessness, even though the two boys were watching her with worry.

"Can it?"

The question remained unanswered and somehow this was more frightening than any answer she may have received.

Just before Ginny could speak again, George walked into the already crowded room, clutching the Prophet. Something on his freckled face told Hermione that things had gone from bad to worse.

"What?"

"There's...something here in the paper about…shuttling all…muggle-borns into confined parts of the city. The Office of Magical Cooperation announced it this morning at a conference. It's been on the radio only we don't have one so…"

He stared at Hermione with a silent sadness.

"They say it's to clean up the city and rid it of unnecessary magical activity but you know that's all rubbish. They want…"

Hermione felt tears prickling behind her eyes as she stood, her legs slightly shaky.

"I'll go, George. I can't stay here, you all know that!" she exclaimed tearfully. "They want me, they don't want you! I've been a burden. Much too long."

Percy's voice broke into the silence.

"They're calling them alienages," he explained thoughtfully. "Walled off areas of the city just for…well the paper says…just for mud bloods and their kind, but…"

Hermione willed herself to not cry again. Walled off from the rest of London as if she had some kind of disease, as if she were an abomination to be buried and forgotten about. It didn't matter any longer than she had worked just as hard as all the pureblooded to get the best marks in school, and that she had helped Harry Potter when he had needed her the most, and that…oh so many things!

And now she was nothing.

Her heart hammered as she reached for the Prophet.

I am nothing.

There was a photograph gracing the front of the paper that George held out for her. A grainy shot of what looked like dozens and dozens of weary and emaciated men and women moving – being shoved – along, some crying, some angry, all terrified…

George interrupted Hermione's horrific thoughts.

"Looks like there will be Ministry officials doing searches through the flats along downtown London within the next few weeks and weeding out-"

George was stopped when Ginny stood up abruptly stepping between Hermione and her brothers and father and taking the paper from her, tossing it aside.

"Don't you dare leave me," she whispered. "Let them come, what do we care?"

Hermione was touched as she struggled to reply, feeling the situation so heavy that she could barely wrap her mind around it.

"Ginny I can't do this to your family. Do you know what'll happen if you keep trying to hide me? Merlin's beard! Draco Malfoy knows I'm with you now, don't you think that he'll be sending one of those cronies here within days to get rid of me?"

Tears stained the depths of her chocolate colored eyes.

"I'm as good as dead."

Truly, for she had been dead a long time now.

Ginny's eyes widened with panic.

"I've lost my husband. My mother. My brother to this war, to this insanity! I can't lose you too! And my children, they…they love you!"

Her claim was reaffirmed when Albus wrapped his small arms around Hermione's bare leg.

"Don't go 'mione. You gonna stay, right?"

How could Hermione destroy someone else's hope even if her own was long gone? She crouched down to hug Albus.

"Of course I'll stay," she replied with reluctance but her brown eyes reflected uncertainty and despair.

"There might be…we have relatives somewhere, don't we?" George muttered. "Bloody knows we Weasleys multiply like rabbits."

Hermione watched him forcing a half smile, though it was nearly impossible.

"So you'd send me away? What's the point, George? You want to endanger another member of your family?"

The words were harsher than she intended and a flood of guilt washed over her. Putting her face in her hands, the young witch moaned.

"I'm sorry. I know, you're only trying to help but I-"

She turned towards the dirty window again that overlooked a drab, empty world. She felt the touch of Ginny's hand on her shoulder.

"'Mione, we won't let them hurt you. Don't lose hope. There's always hope so long as we're living, right? And we have each other."

A whisper, so soft only Hermione could hear. She nodded, trembling with fear and uncertainty.

When would they come? What would she do? Where would she go? There was a whole world out there, a world that hated her and thought her nothing. There were strangers who would hurt her, who would kill her and her family and friends just for being what they were now. It wasn't a safe place, it was frightening, lonely and harsh.

For a moment she recalled a flash of white fingers clutching a sandwich. A flash of silvery eyes. A second of kindness from a man whom she believed possessed none. She clutched Ginny's thin frame to herself, hugging her tightly as if she would never let go.

No, there was no kindness in the world – no fairness any longer. Only fear. Only uncertainty.