Author's note: I do not own any of the characters that belong to the Harry Potter Universe. JK Rowling owns all rights to the characters in this story.

Happy Valentine's Day! Let's celebrate with some slow-burn Dramione! I promise we will get many more Dramione interactions as the story progresses. This is a War AU, Post-Battle of Hogwarts. It gets angsty and there's a lot of questions at the beginning.

I've been re-entering my Dramione shipping era (been a fan since the first movie came out). These two little idiots have revitalized me and my love for reading and writing. Please enjoy!

Works that inspired this one:

Fics—

Manacled by SenLinYu
The Auction by lovebitca8
Don't Look Back by Onyx_and_Elm

Movies—

In Your Eyes (2014)

Chapter 1

"The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting."

- Sun Tzu, The Art of War

08 March 1998

Rain pelted down unforgivingly, causing mud and rocks to slough along the hillside. Descending from the cloudy sky, two carriages led by thestrals landed on the designated pathway outside a very old stone castle.

Corban Yaxley stepped out of the carriage first, assessing the scene. He charmed the wheels to keep from sinking in the mud before making his way to the heavy front gate of the fortressed chateau. He was about to knock when the gate opened. At first he saw no one on the other side, but then a small voice greeted him from a few inches below.

"Bonjour. Master Lestrange waits in the grand hall," a small house-elf instructed. "Loupy will take you to Master."

"Wonderful," Yaxley grumbled, probably offended that Rodolphus sent a house-elf to greet him. He turned toward the carriage he came from as two young men stepped out of it. They were nearly close in height, but that was where the similarities stopped. Where one had a head of a mousy brown mop and heavy-set eyebrows that always made it look like he was scowling, the other was fairer in complexion with a shock of blond hair. That one simply looked bored.

Yaxley rolled his eyes. These privileged snots would soon learn.

"Nott! Malfoy! Bring the prisoners," Yaxley barked.

The two teenagers (the Malfoy ilk daring to give Yaxley an eye roll) marched over to the second carriage. The driver of the carriage lept from their seat to unlock the carriage doors for them. Out came two men, older this time. They had bruised faces and blood-stained clothes, their hands cuffed behind their backs. Nott and Malfoy yanked them down to the mud and dragged them toward the gate.

Once inside, Loupy the house-elf squeaked about the mud getting all over the stone floors, which Yaxley ignored with a poisonous grin. He clearly enjoyed getting Rodolphus' floors dirty and that he reveled in the house-elf's panic, the small creature throwing cleaning charms in their wake as they all made their way to the grand hall, all while muttering nervously in French.

Rodolphus stood with his head held high as Yaxley and his companions were introduced.

"Yaxley. I see you've brought my nephew and Nott's boy," he said, his dark eyes alight with contempt. They grew amused with the sight of the pair of prisoners also with them. "And the specimen. Fantastic."

"Let's make this quick, shall we, Lestrange?" Yaxley grumbled. "I have much more important dealings for the Dark Lord than acting as your delivery owl."

"Are you implying that the Dark Lord gave you an assignment so beneath you?" Rodolphus suggested dangerously, a slimy smile curling the edges of his lips.

"Not at all. I trust that my task here is finished and you're responsible enough to do well with my spoils," Yaxley retorted smoothly, motioning to the two prisoners. "Two Mudbloods, as requested.

Yaxley eyed one of the middle-aged prisoners in particular. He was an unremarkably ordinary man with unremarkably brown hair.

"Having a lovely family reunion?" Yaxley joked with a smug look on his face as he took in Rodolphus's enraged expression.

"This man is no family of mine," the Lestrange seethed.

"Not by blood of course. I wouldn't do you the dishonor," Yaxley mocked. One had the feeling he would do Rodolphus the dishonor if he could. "But this is your wife's brother-in-law if I'm not mistaken." With a tilt of a head, he then mockingly gestured to the young wizard who dragged said prisoner in. "Have you even greeted your other uncle, Draco? You must mind your manners."

To this, Draco said nothing, his eyes distant and unreadable.

Rodolphus, already spent from Yaxley's snide remark about his family relations, ordered Loupy to apparate the two prisoners to the dungeon.

"And how is the good doctor fairing with his experiments? Any progress?" Yaxley probed. "Or shall I report to the Dark Lord you've failed in bringing anything meaningful to fruition?"

Rodolphus scowled, losing his patience. "If you were as well-versed in the dark arts as I, then you know that a feat of this matter could take thousands of more specimen if not years to accomplish—"

'That's a fine excuse if the doctor proves to be an imbecile." Yaxley strode up to Rodolpus, closing the distance between them so that they were now more directly face to face. "Let's hope that Allard can come through on his promise. Or it's your head."

In response, Rodolphus merely laughed. "Careful Half-blood. You'll mind your tongue unless you want to end up one of Allard's playthings one of these days."

As a relief to Draco and Theo, the rest of the horrid night passed with little to note.

They slumbered uncomfortably in their assigned quarters, each grumbling the next day about how agonizing the beds in their rooms had been.

"At least yours had a window," Theo complained as they stalked down the halls the next night on their way to dinner.

"Yes, because the sight of gray clouds and fog is my favorite part about France," Draco sighed.

The Lestrange dining hall was like the rest of the castle—dim and cold despite it being in the beginning of spring. It made Draco wonder if his aunt had gone slightly mad even before she was ever thrown in Azkaban.

Yaxley and Rodolphus were already seated when Draco and Theo showed up. They took their seats promptly and ate quietly while Yaxley and Rodolphus regarded each other with the same cold snideness and cutting remarks as they did when they first arrived.

A few minutes in, Draco found himself staring blankly at the peas and roast on his plate, swiveling the food around on his fork without taking a bite. Theo sat across from him and, although wasn't scarfing down his plate, he had definitely eaten more than Draco.

"You should take after the Nott boy, Draco," his uncle commanded. "You'll need your strength for your tasks later. Both of you."

Draco and Theo spared each other a glance, knowing exactly what was implied.

Later that night, it turned out to be Rodolphus who would use an Avada to finish off Ted Tonks in the dungeons. An hour or two of dispelling the Crucio onto the prisoners made Draco grateful he'd eaten as little as possible for dinner.

31 July 2000

A misty air winnowed its way through the empty streets near King's College. Dawn would be upon them in a few hours, but for now, the usually occupied London neighborhood sat in an eerie quiet.

One wouldn't have guessed that just a few meters below the surface of a metropolitan thoroughfare, Hermione Granger was fighting for her life.

"Confrigo!" She took a chance to whirl around and aim the exploding spell towards the Death Eaters tailing her and successfully got part of the wall to blast.

Screams and the pounding of running footsteps echoed throughout an abandoned underground station, yet all Hermione could focus on was her own pace and breathing. She intended to stay sharp and not fall into the path of any of the curses aimed at her back.

Just as she rounded the corner into a parallel walkway from the old platform, a streak of that all-too-familiar green light whizzed just right over her shoulder.

These were the realities of war. She had learned, at much too young of an age, that what stood between you and the threshold of death was wits, speed, and luck.

"Rowle, you idiot!" one of the Death Eaters cried out.

Hermione shot a stunning spell in retaliation from around the corner and soon was on her feet again—leg muscles burning from the strain.

The faint glitter of moonlight emitted from above a staircase a few yards away, indicating her exit. Desperate, she tried to Apparate, but it was in vain. Death Eaters placed anti-apparition wards over the tunnel so nothing could get in or out. Plus, even if she could Apparate, she had little physical reserves left and risked a splinch or losing the potentially valuable object on her person, hidden in her beaded bag.

Reminding herself that she needed to run, adrenaline suppressed the pain and the discomfort she felt in her calves and lungs.

The surge of energy arrived for naught, however, because an implosion spell (from a shriek that undeniably belonged to a female) brought the ceiling above the stairs to collapse.

As flight was out of the question, fight was her only option. Hermione whirled around to face her attacker, wand at the ready.

She turned around and came face to face with quite possibly the worst person in the world (after Voldemort). Definitely on her list, if she had one.

The color brown always felt like a warm color to Hermione. On any other day, in any other moment, she would describe the richness of the hue to feel comforting, trustworthy, even homely. In fact, it was the color of her own eyes. She liked to think it suited her.

In the irises of Bellatrix Lestrange, the color never looked so cold.

"Our little birdy's trapped," Bellatrix hissed, mocking the phoenix mask Hermione wore. She nearly forgot she had it, but was very grateful to remember that her identity was concealed.

I have to find another exit. Hermione searched her mind for the schematics of the tunnel system. She would need to backtrack, but in doing so possibly run right into the hands of more Death Eaters. When their mission ambushed the enemy down here, she was sure there wouldn't be more than a dozen or so. She had arrived here with just as many Order members—though after the scuffle, everyone scattered and Hermione had been running on her own since.

Bellatrix raised her wand with a rippling scream of "Incendio!"

Hermione felt her body engulfed in flames.

Three Hours Earlier

"Happy birthday, Harry!"

The clock struck midnight, resulting in an erupting cheer. Someone even conjured up confetti. Supergrass played on the gramophone in the living room—courtesy of Dean Thomas.

The Burrow was abuzz with life tonight.

At one corner, Lavender, Cho, and Padma were holding a drink each, heads bent conspiratorially towards each other, all three stifling laughter. By the main table where the food lay, Tonks was holding Teddy in her arms while Andromeda doted on the young boy. Molly was next to them, equally as enamored with Tonks' son.

On the other side of the table, she watched as Fleur spoke casually with Angelina, Luna beside them and not entirely in the conversation, but still looking pleased to be there.

Entering from the back yard were Arthur and Ginny as she helped him carry in something from the shed.

At the far end of the room, Kingsley Shacklebot was speaking to Harry. It was an odd sight to see them both in high spirits as Hermione grew accustomed to the concentrated expressions they kept at Order Meetings.

One could call it amazing, the way war had trudged on for years at this point, yet there were still enough loved ones to fill a room. The downside to these moments was that it often had you wondering for just how long this would be the case.

Hermione stood in the corner, reading a European Wizarding newspaper. The headline focused on the state of the UK, relaying very neutral information about the war—nothing she didn't already know.

The Daily Prophet had long fallen into the hands of the Death Eaters, so the Order couldn't very well rely on information from such a publication. Ever since Xenophilius was killed last year, the Quibbler ceased publications and Luna continued her Healer studies.

That didn't leave many options for wizarding world news in the UK. So Hermione and anyone else in Wizarding Britain relied on various journals and publications from Ireland, the Continent, North America, and even Australia.

Something worrying she noticed was just how many witches and wizards had gone missing, namely in the last four months.

While kidnapping and disappearances were sadly common during war times, Hermione thought it alarming that the numbers had climbed so high in such a small amount of time.

When she brought this up during an Order meeting, sympathy was abound, but not interest. Many of the missing individuals hailed from different countries, so while it was a tragedy, the Order didn't think it was evident enough to investigate.

"We have more pressing matters" or "We can't waste the resources to look into it" was all she got whenever she brought it up.

Even though she was disinclined to believe The Daily Prophet about anything, Hermione figured it could be useful to skim through the paper anyway. It gave you a good idea of what the national sentiment was because, whether anyone liked it or not, many people adhered to the ideas being printed.

And then there, smack dab in the front page was a photo of none other than Draco Malfoy. In the photo, he stood firmly to the side of his father, Lucius. She hadn't seen the Malfoys in so long—though she was sure they'd probably crossed paths at various battles. But with everyone wearing masks these days (Death Eaters with their signature metal masks and the Order with their newer Phoenix masks to help further hide Harry) it was impossible to know.

She looked down at the headline which read:

Malfoys at the Ministry!

30 July 2000, LONDON — Lucius Malfoy, by approval of Lord Voldemort, has been appointed to Head the Ministry Cabinet. The elder Malfoy was joined by his one and only son, Draco Malfoy, at the ceremony on which the elder Malfoy was instated the position.

This news comes shortly after the retirement of Pius Thicknesse, who has volunteered to step down as Minister of Magic. No word yet on who will be taking his place. A source close to the Malfoys suggests that the announcement will be made within the month—

"Alright?" Ron greeted, walking up confidently with a plate piled high with food.

Hermione offered a smile and it ended up looking more tired than she intended. "I'm good."

"Blimey, are you reading the news again?" Ron shook his head, seeing the newspaper in her hands.

"It's important! We need to be aware of things going on in the world. Britain isn't the only place that exists and certainly not the only place where magic exists. Did you see this? Lucius Malfoy's been appointed Head of the Ministry Cabinet—"

"I mean, is that really surprising?" Ron grumbled.

Hermione sighed, Ron's tone indicating he did not want to have this discussion right now. She couldn't blame him. It was their best friend's birthday after all.

"I suppose not."

"Can't you just, I dunno, relax for at least an evening? For Harry?"

"Sure. Okay," she sighed. To appease Ron, she set the paper back down on the table.

"Oh, pardon!" Fleur apologized, nearly bumping into Hermione. As Fleur whizzed past, Hermione saw that she ran to greet Bill who had just arrived. The two kissed, looking as happy as they did the day they got married.

When she joined Ron's side again, Hermione was reminded of their uneasy and confusing relationship beyond struggled to move beyong the realm of the platonic. How it started with stolen glances, accidental hand-grabbing, and jealous fights in their teenage years and then cemented with a kiss she initiated in the Chamber of Secrets.

But then the Battle of Hogwarts hadn't turned out the way they expected. Hermione guessed that was the inciting incident where she started closing all the doors to her heart.

Ron once represented a possible future, one with wedding bells and children, and a house like the Burrow. Over the years, he now only ever seemed forever tied to an endless and tiresome war.

They all did. Maybe that was why it was so difficult for her to see a future where they won.

"Me? I'm having a grand time." Ron's sarcasm stung a little.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, realizing she hadn't been listening to whatever Ron was trying to converse with her about.

"You were away again," he told her. "You had that look where you're somewhere else."

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

"Stop apologizing! Just…I don't—" Ron, resigned, began to walk away. "I'm, um, going to go get more food."

"Right. Later, then," she replied.

Hermione sat on the counter nursing her 3rd (4th?) champagne glass as everyone showered Harry with birthday greetings.

Many of her Hogwarts schoolmates were now fully adults. Harry in particular was now 20. Hermione, already on the verge of turning 21 in two months time. She breathed in deeply at the reminder. In the blink of an eye, their childhoods came and went.

"Hermione."

She's met with a mop of red hair and brown eyes (an inescapable event, at the Burrow). There was the added bonus of a quizzical grin.

"Could ya please move, love? Your arse is blocking the pumpkin pasties."

"Sorry, George."

She slid off the counter and walked aimlessly away. At some point, a piece of confetti accidentally drifted into her drink.

A pair of arms sprouted from her left and soon Hermione was engulfed in a hug from another ginger. This time, a young woman, whose warm spirit, although welcome, served as a stark contrast to how Hermione felt inside. Just hours ago, the Order held a meeting of plans to storm a Death Eater hideout in London. If they could disrupt any activity and gather information from whatever they were doing there, all the better. Otherwise, they had nothing. There was also talk of capturing a hostage and interrogating them for questions. Although Hermione was no stranger to the frequent dangerous missions they pursued, it always made her feel a little fidgety. Hence the champagne clasped in her hand.

"You're in a cheery mood," Ginny mused, staring at Hermione knowingly. "Did you get into another row with Ron?"

"Not a row," Hermione answered. "It was my fault. I wasn't listening to him."

"You have to stop doing that," Ginny said.

"Doing what?"

"Always apologizing whenever you two don't get on. He's my brother and I love him and I would lay down my life for him, but he's a git."

"Well when you put it that way," Hermione relented, sipping on her champagne.

"Have you ever tried looking—you know."

"That's not really in my cards," Hermione said, knowing what Ginny was getting at.

"You could always give McLaggen another go," Ginny laughed. "He's stationed in Inverness and I heard he's still single."

"Ginerva Weasley, I'll vomit."

Ginny giggled, the champagne making its way through her system now. "I just don't want you to be lonely."

"I'm not. I have all of you," Hermione meant that with sincerity. Ever since having to hide her parents away in Australia, the Weasleys and Harry (who was basically a Weasley now), were naturally her found family.

"C'mere ya softy," Ginny laughed, putting an arm around Hermione. The youngest Weasley turned her attention to Harry who stood chatting with Dean and Ron.

"He looks happy," Ginny mused.

"He certainly deserves to be," Hermione replied, taking another sip of her champagne.

The birthday boy raised his glass of champagne to tap it with a spoon, quieting everyone in the room.

"I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all for this," Harry began, "I know we don't get to do this a lot and, well, it means the world to me that you are all taking your time during these circumstances, to celebrate. But besides that," he looked over in their direction and Hermione saw that he and Ginny must've made eye contact. He beamed before continuing. "Besides that," he repeated, "I wanted to give a toast to the one with whom I share this celebratory night with."

The atmosphere grew somber then. And if anyone wasn't sober, they surely sobered up now.

Harry raised his glass. "To Neville. Who would've turned 20 just a few hours before me. The bravest boy I knew."

Suddenly, in her mind's eye, she can see Neville, standing in the Hogwarts courtyard. He looks so sure, so ready—Godric's sword in his hands. Nagini is in sight and he knows exactly what to do. Neville didn't hesitate.

Bellatrix didn't hesitate either.

Even now, Hermione can hear Bellatrix's Avada Kedavra curse aimed at her dear friend as clear as day.

"To Neville," the room echoed, bringing Hermione back to the present.

Once all the official toasts and general greetings were seemingly finished, Hermione quietly excused herself from the bustle of the party. She locked herself in the restroom, splashing cold water in her face. For a moment, she laughed to herself.

If this life was normal, this would be around the time Hermione could be training for some Ministry job or conducting Healer research for a special project at St. Mungo's. Or maybe she'd even decide to go to Muggle university to appease her parents.

My parents, she thought with a stab to her soul. Before she could succumb to what would certainly be an emotional spiral downwards, a loud ruckus interrupted her thoughts. Her initial instincts already told her that the noise was not just a normal party occurrence, knowing better because they were—and have been—in the middle of a bloody war. And no amount of pretending they weren't could change that.

What was even more disconcerting was the lack of sounds—cheery, blood-curdling, or otherwise—that followed the initial alarm. Hermione couldn't remember if she Apparated downstairs or if she ran. Either way, she found herself with the party attendees, staring wide-eyed at a glowing figure shaped like a doe.

'We've found them,' breathed Snape's Patronus. 'You must strike fast.'

Notes:

I've been re-entering my Dramione shipping era (been a fan since the first movie came out). These two little idiots have revitalized me and my love for reading and writing. Thank you for reading and please enjoy!