Chapter 5

The days that followed Zachariah Frankford's death were a blur for Hermione as she found herself thrust into the spotlight of national news, giving interview after interview.

That afternoon Hermione was standing before a small crowd of reporters, poised and professional as she addressed them, repeating the lines she had rehearsed: "We mourn the death of Zachariah Frankford, who was not just our leader but a wonderful friend and role model. His legacy will continue to live on in our work as we continue to fight for the rights of all magical entities."

There was a flash of bulbs as photographers snapped away meanwhile a steady roar of questions echoed around the space. One voice rose above the rest, a small man from the Daily Prophet spoke up, "Rumor is that this was the work of a vampire. Do you think it is related to the other attacks?"

And suddenly other reporters were triggered to ask about the threat of vampires, of werewolves and other beings the public deemed too dangerous for society. Hermione didn't waver, raising a hand to calm the barrage of words being thrown at her.

"Rumors are just that, rumors. We don't know who did this and will leave the detective work to the Aurors. As for the Frankford Foundation, we will continue to serve the needs of our clients. Thank you and that's all I have time for today."

Hermione walked away and ignored the questioning that dogged her steps as journalists continued to yell over one another.

The publicity of the tragedy induced the same exhaustion she had faced after her participation in ending the war. Only now she had the obligation to see to it that the foundation's hard work over the years was not to be undone. Despite the oversight of three other wizards beside Frankford, Hermione knew their involvement was almost entirely in name only. The men that had helped build the foundation along side her boss's grandfather were very old themselves and therefore Hermione found herself steering the helm of day-to-day affairs.

Because the investigation into Frankford's death was still on going, the entire office had been closed off as an active crime scene. Thankfully, they still had access to the third level of the building. It was less glamorous and with only a handful of desks, most of the employees were working from home for the time being.

Hermione was startled to find that her make-shift office was already occupied when she arrived. Draco was sitting in an oversized leather chair, looking bored or simply deep in thought. Hermione admitted she could not quite tell with his expressions.

He looked up when she entered the room, collecting himself.

"Can I help you, Malfoy?" She said with conditioned exasperation. But as Hermione recalled his bold and unexpectedly brave actions in defending her against the mysterious attacker, both her voice and expression softened. "What I mean is, how have you been?"

Draco quirked an eyebrow but to Hermione's relief, didn't draw attention to the change in her demeanor towards him.

"I am fine," he said. In the afternoon light, his eyes were an icy shade of blue that reminded Hermione of how the lake at Hogwarts looked during the winter time. Frozen and fathomless, they hid many secrets beneath the surface.

She caught herself staring.

"I told Mr. Grey and his associates that I was meeting with you today to get some documents signed," Draco said matter-of-factly, "but that isn't entirely true."

"Excuse me?" Hermione pressed.

"Because I am really here to tell you I think you might be in danger," he said softly with caution in his voice. Draco was hesitant and he saw Hermione instinctively reach for her wand. While he was not surprised by the movement, he did nothing.

"You better start talking now Malfoy," Hermione said sharply.

Draco said flatly, "I am not sure entirely if you would believe me without any proof. But I didn't want it on my conscience if there was something going on. Henry Gray, that mean-looking American bloke from Compton Enterprises, he said something at the ball...about keeping an eye on you to make sure you didn't get in their way."

When Hermione did not say anything, Draco continued. "It just didn't sit well with me, especially after the attack the other night."

There was a long silence in which Draco became more uncomfortable. Eventually he snapped, "Could you bloody say something, Granger?"

"Why are you telling me this?" She finally asked.

Draco had expected the question but wasn't sure what to say under Hermione's scrutiny. Many words he wished to say came rising to his mind but died on his lips. Draco felt the heat on his neck rise until he willed himself to exercise composure. The feeling of vulnerability that plagued him in that moment wasn't routine to his emotional repertoire.

"Because it is the right thing to do," he said quickly, as if he hesitated he might not have the courage to be forthright. Draco didn't make eye contact. Instead his gaze stretched beyond her, focusing on the window but more so on the distant past as though looking into his personal pensieve. "I know we have never been fond of each other in the past but I am not the same person I was as a kid. Surely that isn't too difficult to imagine?"

"A bit, yes," she said. Hermione saw a brief flicker of emotion in Draco's expression and knew her incredulity stung. "You fought for him and called me hateful things, Malfoy. I want to believe a person can change but something like that…"

"I am not about to grovel for your forgiveness," he bit back but just as soon as the words left his mouth he knew it wasn't the right thing to say. Draco's pride continued to rebel against his desire for sincerity. In exasperation, Draco sighed and tried to choose his words carefully, "What I want to say is, I am not proud of what I did back then."

Draco wasn't sure why he wanted her to believe him, why it mattered that she knew that he wasn't the same person from their youth. That by the time he realized how wrong he was, it had been too late. His heart was pounding and the threat of anxiety made his chest tighten. He could not bring himself to explain to her what had set him on the path he took, nor could Draco express how he had arrived where he was today.

"You think the worst of me and that is probably rightfully so," he eventually said. Just below the surface Draco felt the familiar pangs of anxiety let him know that he was heading into an episode. The sort of mental pain brought on when he confronted the past. "But it's not all black and white..,"

Without reaching into her thoughts by means of Occulmency, Draco wasn't sure what might have been going through Hermione's mind. And then unbidden to him he got a glimpse, whether from her thoughts or simply his own, a flash of the Death Mark. Voices screaming, and the smell of smoke.

"What—" Hermione began to ask a question but Draco cut her off.

"Forget it, Granger. Just watch out for yourself," he said abruptly before turning to leave. His pale skin had taken on a clammy complexion. He didn't give her time to reply before he was walking away.

"Malfoy!" She yelled but he didn't turn around. Hermione went after him and grabbed his arm, forcing him to acknowledge her. "Wait!"

There was something in his expression, like he wasn't entirely there. She recognized it because she had seen it in the others who had gone through the war, at times, Hermione had even witnessed it in herself.

"Malfoy…Draco come back here," Hermione said firmly but she wasn't just telling him to stay physically, but also mentally as well. Hermione knew all too well how the war's horrors had a way of sneaking into one's mind and suddenly the past as stolen one's present.

He blinked, the sound of his name drawing him from the prison of his memories. For a moment Draco stared at Hermione, confused by the concern in her face and the hand that still held his own.

Hermione let go of him quickly, a discreet tinge of pink crossing her cheeks in embarrassment.

Draco noticed but made no comment about it. "I don't like to think of that time," he said eventually. "It's why I left for the states right after I turned eighteen. I kept seeing Lord Vol-him, in the shadows. Hiding just beyond my peripheral. I felt—"

"Haunted," Hermione finished his sentence quietly. Draco nodded.

He ran a hand through his hair and Hermione realized he was feeling anxious. She wasn't sure why the realization that Draco Malfoy was in fact a real person came to her as such a strange thought. Perhaps because for so many years she had built him up in her mind as impenetrable. Cold.

"I don't know why I am telling any of this to you," he eventually said with a sigh as he too, realized the vulnerability of the situation. Draco had confided in what he thought to be one of the least likely people.

"You said not everything is black and white," Hermione said. "What did you mean by that?"

There was a long pause as Draco considered the weight of her question and the burden of the truth. "I did a lot of things I should not have done but I was desperate to save my family."

Hermione thought of her own mother and father, of what she had done to keep them safe. For the first time in their long history Hermione wasn't looking at her nemesis, but someone who had been forced into the same horrible world she had been in.

Perhaps, Hermione considered, she understood Draco more than she thought possible.