It was a long time before Hermione was able to talk to Harry alone. That was for the better. If she'd seen him in the immediate aftermath of her dismissal she might have said something she would forever regret. Potter. I've a few things to tell you. The utter gall of them both.

Her unsteady legs somehow carried her from Malfoy's tent. Calm had descended - probably while he was buried inside her. Is this a pity fuck before I'm hauled away? She could still feel the effects of their encounter on her body. Don't turn this into that. Don't ever say that to me again.

As Hermione approached the bonfire, weaving among aurors searching campsites and cataloguing contraband, she counted the burned tents - five. Pockets of the Carrows' guests - those who had reluctantly sobered up and presumably been cleared of wrongdoing - wandered aimlessly, discussing the turn of events and looking at her and the rest of the Ministry invaders suspiciously. She overheard that a few, including Alonso, had already been arrested and apparated away. Harry and Malfoy would soon follow. No fuss.

Several of the aurors were patting each other on the back for keeping everyone safe from the trouble they themselves had instigated. She could not look at them.

Instead she obediently assisted with the evaluation and supervision of the vampires. It was good to have something to do. Some of them were harmless but others were hopped up on potion-laced blood. She subdued them with spells and logged their names and distinguishing features on a parchment. They gnashed their teeth, offering to let her feed - which only reminded her of the bruise she'd made on Malfoy's neck. She hoped it was as dark as he'd wanted.

Hermione ignored the glances Merrick cast in her direction. He'd been tasked with conducting interviews of the Death Eaters. Though calling them Death Eaters was, it turned out, too strong. Most of Alonso's guests insisted they were just there to smoke roots, drink his wine, and fuck each other. "No one told me about an uprising!" was a common refrain. "Talk to the people who partied in Malfoy's tent!" was another. One of the wizards - who had been there for a good time and whose belongings had burned - complained bitterly to anyone who would listen. "Things were gettin' wild before you lot showed up. I'll bet anything that more than one Pure Blood baby woulda been conceived tonight, had Harry Potter and his goons not ruined it!"

She turned away, disgusted. But it reminded her - No Malfoy bastards. Don't forget to take a potion. It also reminded her, between her flashes of judgment of these people, that she was a hypocrite. You're no better than they are. You came here to fuck one of them, didn't you? She'd put off seeing Draco as long as she could - until the last possible moment - and then pushed him until he gave her what she wanted. Her blood still thrummed with the pleasure and the pain and the shame. The regrets. And the agonizing details of him, refreshed in her mind.

Several hours later she found herself sitting near the fire, head between her knees, waiting for the last of her colleagues to finish up. Spring mud had ruined her trousers. She didn't care. She was so tired -

"Minister Granger." Merrick's boots appeared in her periphery. "Potter called for a briefing in a few hours, after he's done at Azkaban." Finished, she thought, but did not correct him. Steaks are done, people are finished. "We can use my portkey to the Ministry or I can apparate you to your home to rest or shower."

Shower. She did not want to shower. Did not want to wash him off of her. But she lifted her head, her braid slipping over her shoulder. "You can apparate from Yorkshire to London?"

He shook his head, unashamed. "It'll take me a few stops. But I know the points from here to there. Unless you can make the leap?"

"I'm too tired," she confessed. Too emotionally devastated. "But I suppose showering would be polite. I reek of smoke and sweat." And sex.

Merrick smiled. "I don't mind. It's nearly dawn - if we leave now you might have time for a nap."

She was so worn out she let him pull her up and hold her hand. If she got splinched they'd probably make her go to St. Mungo's - she'd miss Harry's briefing and news of Malfoy.

It took him four jumps.

When they finally appeared across the street from her flat, in the point between the light pole and the trash can, she tried to miss the way his fingers tightened over hers. She also tried not to recall the absence of Malfoy's usual pride the day they left the cave. It is unfair to compare them. "Thanks," she said blandly, pulling away. "I'll see you at work."

A few minutes later she was in her flat, exhausted enough that she couldn't recall getting up the stairs. The couch or her bed beckoned. Lie down. Just for a bit. But she couldn't risk sleeping through the briefing. Harry would surely say something about Draco. She had to be there to hear. She stumbled to the shower.

Standing before her mirror, she closed her heavy eyes and gripped the edge of the sink. "Granger." The cruelty of the subconscious.

"You're in prison."

"Yes," he whispered into her ear. She shivered. "But I'm also here." Here, in her mind. Here, in her heart.

Hermione sighed. "You're just pretend."

She shook it off as best she could, chucking her ruined clothes in the bin.

"I'm here because you want me to be here." A firm truth delivered in Draco's voice. "You're not ready to let me go. And why are you getting rid of those delectable trousers?"

She turned on the water and stepped into the steam, motivated by the comfort of argument. "I'm determined that no one will ever see me in them again."

"No one else you mean." If she leaned into the spray she could almost feel the pressure of his hands.

It was too much. "Leave me alone."

"I'll go. Though I suspect you'll summon me again. Until then -"

Banishing him, she soaped herself, saving her sore cunt for last. The water helped to clear her mind.

How was it that he'd been in her arms mere hours ago? She tried to make sense of all that he'd said. Malfoy's anger and frustration had been palpable. But he'd listened intently when she said his scars were beautiful and that his presence was a gift. And his body had certainly responded to her. She could still feel the shudders as he came, the pressure of his hold so tight against her back.

He'd seemed resigned and desperate and . . . sad.

But then - so was she.

What a pair they made. A set of cynics.

And yet - her brain and heart had cobbled him together from memory and imagined him here, in her flat, to soothe and bother her. She wondered if he was doing the same in the depths of Azkaban. What did Malfoy feel when he thought of her? He'd said he wanted to use her - to make himself a memory. They'd certainly done that. She'd never forget the feel of his nose against her face, trying not to come, trying to make it last. Would that be the part he remembered? Or would it be her breasts bouncing in time to his rough tempo?

You'll never know.

Her watch whirred.

She held up her hands in the steam. Her fingers were pruny.

Time to go.

The aurors who'd been part of the raid were all at the debrief, along with Kingsley and the rest of Harry's Department. They crowded into one of the Ministry meeting rooms, hands full of coffees and quills and scrolls. Hermione slid into a spare seat toward the back.

Harry stood at the front. He lifted his glasses to rub his eyes. "Listen up, yeah? I'm as exhausted as the rest of you. Let's get on with it so we can disburse. Anyone who was with me last night is excused after this for the rest of the day. Go get some sleep."

There was a thankful murmur. Only Hermione sat numb and silent. She was going straight to her office to work. Sitting at home, alone, was the last thing she needed.

"Fresh intelligence indicates there is a small but determined minority of the Carrows' guests who were plotting some kind of uprising. We've arrested them and we're working on securing confessions to conspiracy or other crimes. They'll be spending a few weeks in Azkaban while we finalize our investigation - and if we can get charges to stick, we'll bring them." Harry read through the list from a scroll in his hand, voice loud and confident.

Among others:

Waldron MacNair, who'd come prepared with a variety of medieval weapons, magicked to do unspeakably awful things. The aurors who searched his tent had needed to go to St. Mungo's.

A Goyle cousin, who had drunk enough to admit, unprompted, to a variety of abuses against the witches in his life.

The Karkaroff siblings, who were found with a list of Ministry officials they wanted deposed. Hermione's name was on it, after Kingsley and Harry and various other Department heads. It would have flattered her if she could be bothered to care.

Tony Dolohov, who claimed Alonso Carrow had told him to start setting tents on fire if given an opportunity.

"I interviewed him myself," said Harry grimly. "He's guilty of arson, of course. But young and naive. He thought perhaps Malfoy and Alonso were going to have a public tussle and he could have ignited his fireworks then. We were an unexpected gift."

Hermione frowned, gripping her mug tightly. None of it made sense.

"Why would Malfoys fight with Carrows?" asked one of the aurors - the one with the bun. She licked her quill, gazing up at Harry and taking intense notes.

"Rivals, apparently. Jockeying for who might lead a revolution. Alonso hoped to pin any property damage on Draco - until he pinned it on us."

Harry looked down at his parchment for a moment. Glanced briefly at Hermione and back. Draco was next.

"Right, that's all," he proclaimed loudly. "More to come in the weeks ahead. You're all free to -"

"What of Malfoy?" asked Kingsley, his voice booming from the back. "Did he confess anything? Where is his father?"

The coffee in Hermione's mug sloshed from the tremor of her hand. She couldn't hear it, not in front of all these people.

Harry cleared his throat, avoiding her direction. "Draco Malfoy was taken straight to Azkaban. We have enough to hold him pending trial and while we continue to investigate. These things take time. He didn't offer much when I interviewed him - but I'm confident with thorough detective work -"

"Did he fight you?" asked Harry's hopeful protégé. Her eyes shone with a craving for a Harry Potter war story. "Did he try to hide or escape? Did you have to drag him?" Hermione wanted to grab her bun and yank it. I'll turn myself in without a fuss.

"Malfoy held his head up," said one of Harry's closer aurors. She recognized him from the New Year escort. "I watched him go myself. Proud to the end. Fucking wanker."

Proud to the end. Had he been? Yes - and no. He'd been proud, framed in that window, until she'd provoked him. Proud until he gave in and kissed her and gripped her backside like he couldn't stop himself. Proud until he flipped her above him and held her like a life raft. Proud until she tried to tell him again how she felt. Leave me my dignity.

"I heard they put him in his father's old cell," called another. She whipped her head to see him. "It's been reinforced since Lucius escaped. The guards called it poetic justice."

Several laughed.

When he was imprisoned after the war Lucius had been kept on one of Azkaban's deepest floors - no windows, no light. All of Voldemort's inner circle were. The Daily Prophet had sold a lot of papers, describing the salacious details of their terrible conditions. Hermione too - at the time - had loved to read about it. Back then she'd reveled in them receiving what they deserved, him and Umbridge and Yaxley and the rest.

Now, surrounded by her colleagues, Hermione kept her head perfectly straight. She looked vaguely at Harry but she couldn't see his face. Her vision blurred. She'd joked, once, about Lucius's cell sitting empty. The reality of Draco actually occupying it was devastating.

"I don't know about all that," said Harry roughly. "Prisoner conditions are up to the guards. But as I said, the investigation into Malfoy is still ongoing. I think that's enough for today. More to do, but I'm proud that we've disrupted this lot, at least for now. Thanks for your bravery and hard work." He dismissed them with a nod.

Hermione waited while the rest stood, chatting with each other and jostling for the exits. She expected Harry to approach her . . . but she found herself sitting alone in the silent meeting room, coffee cold, long after the last of the attendees had shuffled away.

All that day she sat in her office, waiting - in vain, it turned out - for Harry to come and talk to her. She drank about eight coffees to stay awake.

Ginny poked her head in and asked if she wanted to talk.

"No," she said shortly. "Where is Harry?"

"Running around like a mandrake with its head cut off." A hint of defensiveness.

Hermione scowled. "Tell him that he'd better put me on his to-do list."

She said it with enough anger that Ginny pursed her lips and excused herself. "Sure, Hermione. If I see him I'll mention it."

The door closed with a bang.

By five o'clock Hermione needed food and sleep so badly she gave up. The moment she stepped out of the Ministry elevator onto the London streets, Malfoy was there. She blinked. He'd appeared to her in his green jumper with the little silver snake. Odd, because she'd never actually seen him wear it.

"You're still not real. Go away."

"How was your day?" he asked. Smiling - but it wasn't sweet, it was flirty and amused and it irritated her as much as it got her smiling back. A man passing by thought she was looking at him and grinned lecherously, brows raised. She showed him a Muggle gesture her father sometimes used in the car.

"I accomplished not nearly enough and am ready for the weekend," she said to Malfoy.

"It's Tuesday."

"Exactly."

She could almost hear his laugh. "Let's get you home, Granger. Feed you and read a bit and then I think it's time for some sleep. You haven't looked this haggard since, oh, the third or fourth orgasm I gave you in the cave."

She stepped out of the way of a crowd of Muggle tourists. "Yes, well, I've had a bit of a shock, haven't I?"

"The shock of the impotence of the Death Eaters' big revolt?" He looked smug.

"The shock of the image of you, adjusting to a cell."

He chuckled at her side. She could picture how his hair would glow in the fading spring sun. "I think it's pretty clear this is a coping mechanism. As they go, it's a creative one. I'd certainly rather be pestering you on the walk home than starving in the dark."

"Is that right?" she asked dully. They were passing a grocery and she turned abruptly through the doors.

Draco continued his haunt therein - when she turned down the biscuits aisle she nearly ran into him. He looked young and fit, smirking down at her. "Don't forget butter. You're nearly out."

"I don't need any butter," she argued, mindful that a harried looking mother was staring at her.

"Don't skimp on the butter, Granger." He stepped between her and the woman, blocking her view. "Put it to the edges."

Like he had. She listened to him, this imaginary man, and scooped an extra tin of biscuits and a bottle of good wine into her basket.

"That's swill," he said, nose wrinkled as he bent to peer at the label. "My father's cellars -"

"Can't compare. Yes, I know. But it'll get the job done."

"What job is that?"

"The job of getting me through tonight without you."

"That'll be every night for the rest of your life. Are you going to drink through all of them?"

"For now," she muttered, getting in the checkout queue. An old lady asked her where they kept the tomatoes and Draco disappeared, the illusion ruined.

But he found her again on the street, matching her strides. "You were polite to her. I'd have told her to sod off and find her own damned tomatoes."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You say that but it's a lie. You'd probably have fetched them for her. You always do - did - that. Bluster to cover the kindness."

"Hmm. Ah, we're at your building. I'll see you at bedtime. Don't forget to think of me." He winked.

"I couldn't," she whispered. He faded away as she gathered her mail. She had a letter from her parents, asking if she could please make time for the spring holiday she'd promised. It was the kind of thing she'd liked to have shared with a boyfriend. Are your parents as pushy as mine? If only her boyfriend wasn't flighty and unavailable and a figment of her imagination while his corporal form adjusted to prison.

She dumped her groceries in her kitchen, pausing to open the wine and pour a generous glass. She carried it with her into her bedroom, pulling her work clothes off. Hermione opened her closet to deposit them in the laundry pile - and spied the back of her door. There it was, another mortifying remnant of her overactive and naive imagination. The collage.

She tried to ignore it, given that it was a reminder of a world Before Malfoy - a world she could barely remember.

But that night, wine in hand - Hermione lost her temper. She began to rip at the collage - you will never have this life. Give up the ghost. Ron's smiling face flashed. He was probably off with Pansy at this very moment. She looked at her watch. Bed again. Must be nice. She tore the pictures of him away so violently they resembled confetti. Then the pictures of a wedding - soft white silk and a field of wildflowers at sunset and a groom whose voice broke slightly during his vows. Get it out. The happy couple of her dreams had to go - they disgusted her.

The romantic holidays next. She chugged her wine so she could use both hands. She clawed at them - there would be no sweet rendezvous in Milan or Hawaii or Bali or anywhere else. No posh hotels or breakfasts in bed or fluffy robes.

The houses were last. For some reason they were the hardest to remove. Before she could destroy the little cottage with the red door, Malfoy appeared. "Granger - I thought I told you to not to touch that on my account." He sounded horrified.

She didn't look at him - his voice was motivation enough. "You did. But you're not here to stop me so you can fuck right off. These are the dreams of someone who didn't know any better," she ripped away the country house, nestled in the woods, "but I've learned. None of this is possible. Not for me."

He hummed in that irritating superior way. "I think you're calling it a bit early."

"Shut it, Malfoy." She had the last of the pictures off the door - the wood beneath bore the sad remnants of her sticking charms. But was otherwise blank. It looked strange. Mature. Appropriately hopeless.

She looked down at the scraps at her feet. At the magazine photo of the Muggle woman holding hands with her handsome companion, talking animatedly as he listened. Hermione stepped on it and slammed the closet closed.

She had a decent rest that night - which meant that her delusions of Malfoy were less present and harder to summon the next day. She moved through the routines - bathing, eating, taking a hangover potion, drinking a coffee - heavy with the knowledge that he was in the dark.

Did he have a bed or had he slept on the floor?

Was he cold?

Had the guards given him a blanket?

Had he thought of her at all?

It didn't help that spring in London was at its most aggressive. All that week - as the flowers turned glorious and the trees got dressed - Hermione found herself looking for Draco nearly everywhere she went.

You are twenty six years old. Stop acting like a teenager.

But - it comforted her, to feel his presence. It doesn't hurt anyone.

So when she left her flat in the morning she carried on pretend conversations with him. "Morning, Malfoy."

"Granger. Sleep well?"

"Can't complain." Compared to what you're enduring.

He smiled suggestively. "I'll come by tonight and comfort you properly." Yes please. "Talked to Potter yet?"

"No."

He didn't like that. "What kind of friend is he?"

"The kind who's avoiding me."

"Must have something pretty terrible to tell you."

"I'm realizing that."

They walked together all the way to the Ministry, where he disappeared as she buried herself in her work and her day and trying to pretend that her heart was not completely shattered and her mind was not elsewhere.

Her concerns for him were ever-present. Even something as simple as eating lunch was a struggle.

Did they feed prisoners on a schedule?

How was the food? He liked watercress and egg sandwiches.

He got cranky if he didn't eat every few hours.

His appetite can withstand anything.

Even confinement in small dark spaces.

While waiting for Harry she worked on clearing her desk. She was able to dispose of several of her project piles. She bundled them up and filed them away, annotated with their status:

Death Eaters - Complete & Neutralized

Azkaban Issues - Sufficiently solved per H. Potter; new occupants expected to be held indefinitely

Malfoy's Crimes - Referred to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Identify the Creature - Doesn't matter now On hold for lack of information

Only Catching Lucius and Fowler Kennilson's Connection remained, neatly stacked. Neither of them could be resolved without a conversation with a certain best friend. As to the latter, she intended to demand that Harry fire Kennilson for insubordination. As to the former, she wanted an update. Perhaps Draco had dropped a hint about his father's whereabouts when he spoke to Harry.

But Harry did not come to talk. Days passed.

Ginny visited her again one afternoon, claiming she knew nothing and that she'd hardly seen him herself. "I wish I could tell you what he and Draco discussed, but he didn't share." Hermione didn't know whether to believe her, but politely accepted a hug and some stilted small talk.

On Friday afternoon she overcame her stubbornness and went to find him - but Harry's office was locked and dark. His hand on her watch said Traveling. Wanker.

Hermione spent the weekend mostly in bed, nestled in the pillows and staring at the passing shadows. "Get up," she could hear Malfoy drawl. "You're better than this." He disappeared when she covered her head with the blankets. On Sunday she attempted a walk, but only got a block away before she forgot where she wanted to go and returned home.

The next week was more of the same. Hermione even risked the mobile tea cart, site of the terrible revelation about the Carrows raid, to see if there were rumors of any developments or Harry's whereabouts. Sure enough, she learned that he was leading the team that would make recommendations about which Death Eaters to charge and with which crimes.

It was only her recurring thought of Malfoy that distracted her from becoming vengeful. She wondered if Harry knew that the delay was beginning to impact their friendship.

On the first Monday in April Hermione finally asked Ginny why Harry was avoiding her.

Ginny frowned, surprised. "He still hasn't been by to see you?"

"I haven't spoken to him since he arrested Malfoy."

"Oh, that's odd. He's been slammed with . . . everything, but I'm sure he'd love to catch up. Go and see him in his office at tea time. I visit then if I need to nail him down on a wedding decision." She cut herself off, blushing.

Hermione hid her clenched fists behind her back. "Good to know he makes time for the important things."

That afternoon she caught him. She didn't give him much of a choice - she marched past his office every hour until she found it occupied.

Harry had definitely been avoiding her. It was obvious on his face when she walked in and kicked his door closed with her toe, two teas in her hands.

"Hermione! What a surprise."

"Have a few minutes to spare?" She set his cup on his desk.

"Of course. For you, anytime. Always."

"Hmm."

She sat while he shuffled some papers.

"What's been keeping you busy?" he finally asked.

"Waiting patiently to hear about Malfoy. I thought you would have come to brief me, oh, about two weeks ago."

He reddened, examining his tea. "Sorry. It's been crazy."

"Harry."

He looked up.

"What did he say?" She tried, and failed, to hide the plea.

He swallowed. The moment of truth. "I cannot tell you."

Hermione exhaled slowly - no crying or yelling. She'd suspected he might try something like this. Letting on how affected she was served no one and would only drive him away. "That's unacceptable," she said cheerfully. "Why not?" To her credit, her voice barely shook.

"He exacted a promise from me. In exchange for - information essential to the Ministry."

"This is off the record. And what about information essential to me?"

Harry shifted in his chair, visibly uncomfortable. "There is no off the record when it comes to this. I simply cannot share."

"I already know," she argued. "About the monster. He admitted that he made it himself."

He nodded as if he expected that. "Yeah. It's terrible."

She waited. Surely there was more.

But Harry was silent.

He seemed to expect her to yell, demanding the details. She whispered instead. "Harry, if you don't tell me what you discussed after I left that tent I will simply die. I must know. It's all I think about. It's killing me."

He stared at her, green eyes sad. "He mentioned this might happen. He knows that you have . . . some kind of crush. Brought on, no doubt, by proximity and the nature of your treatment from the monster's effects."

She could feel her cheeks heat. "If you speak to me like a child I will scream."

"I'm not, Hermione. I'm really not." He fiddled with his wand. "There's nothing more to tell."

"I don't think I've ever been this angry with you." Hermione shivered with the strain of maintaining control. "The fact that you didn't come to see me and now you're withholding information and showing more loyalty to Malfoy than to me is-"

"I know you don't believe me," he said quietly. "But I was so rattled from chasing down Alonso Carrow - I hardly remember the details. Draco mostly tried to suss out if I knew where his father was. I didn't let on. Then I escorted him to Azkaban with several of my best men and the guards took it from there."

Azkaban. "Was whatever Draco confessed worthy of throwing him in Lucius's cell? I hear it's not fit for rats. He hasn't even been convicted yet."

Harry looked a little guilty. "I just spent months trying to increase Azkaban's security. I can't very well throw my weight around now and insist they keep one of their most famous prisoners in the nicest cell. It would undermine all we've worked on."

Her chest hurt. "Shouldn't the future Minister of Magic care about the rule of law? Shouldn't you insist on standards?"

"Politics aren't perfect. And he's going to end up in it anyway, Hermione. A trial is a formality." He ran a hand over his face. "Just - trust me."

"No."

"Then - sorry." He met her gaze. "I know you're upset. But I'm hoping that you can start to put this chapter behind you - behind us. That we can have a bit of a break from Malfoy drama."

"Maybe once Lucius is captured," she said softly. "Until then, I'm surprised to hear this from you."

Harry's anger flashed. "I've been working like a dog." He pointed at her watch. "Haven't you noticed? I'm fucking tired. The immediate crisis is handled - you insisted on being there to see for yourself. Lucius is looking like a long-term problem. So I'm going to address it as one."

She rose, huffy, and went to the door without another word.

"Hermione, wait." He felt bad. "I'd like to go back to how things were. Before we went chasing that thing on the moors last summer. I miss you. Ginny misses you. Her family misses you. Your friends miss you. And - I think you miss you."

She stood with her hand on the knob, stiff and resistant. Before you knew Malfoy. Before the visions and the depression and the pleasure.

"Going back to how things were? To a world where you and Ginny can't spend a few hours on the train without bickering?"

He made a face. "I mean to a world where you don't look sad all the time."

"You can't pick and choose, Harry. Life isn't like that. We're on this path now whether we like it or not. It's given you the gift of a life with Ginny. It's cursed me with - looking sad."

"But paths can be changed." He pushed his hair back, shaking his head. "They can be split and new ways chosen.

Her answer was to turn the knob.

"Wait. Will you let me try to take us back? I have some ideas." Harry's voice was plaintive. "Have a holiday with your parents - get out of here and get some sun. When you get back, Ginny wants your help with wedding planning. Unless you tell me no, I'm going to set you up with Merrick - no pressure, just dinner. I'll plan a pub night, like old times. With all of us. Even Ron and -" he sighed - "Pansy. You just have to show up."

Hermione felt depleted. Too depleted. Robbed of her strength and her will to resist.

And - why resist?

Standing in his office, looking at her oldest friend, she didn't want to. She was tired of feeling this way. Tired of Malfoy following her around, imbuing every dream and quiet moment and walk in the park.

Speaking of life.

This is the rest of yours.

The paths unfurled in her mind.

One reminded her of the way she'd seen after the creature attacked - the one that ended in darkness. It was a path of lonely weekends in her flat and living in the past.

The other was more painful in some ways. A path of awkward dates and reestablishing connections with her friends and venturing out into the world.

How to choose?

She knew what Malfoy would want for her.

"Alright," she whispered.

Harry fairly leapt from his seat. "Really?"

She cleared her throat, dropping her hand from the doorknob. "Yes. I like your ideas. I'll write to my parents."

"I'll help arrange the rest," he said quickly, crossing around his desk and approaching her. She let him hug her tightly. Fiercely. The hug of a friend - who will never quite understand you again.

He needn't know that though. His heart was in the right place. She even hugged him back, patting his shoulder.

"I love you," he said.

She nearly refused. But - what was the point? She had few enough friends. Alienating the best one wasn't going to help fill this hole in her chest.

"I love you too."

Back in her office, she pulled out her diary.

Holding it gently, Hermione re-read her entries from the past several months and the last two weeks. The notes about meals (not enough) and sleep (fitful) and herself.

You've done the best you could.

But Harry was right. Progress was not enough.

She picked up her quill.

Monday April 3. Harry has requested - and you've agreed - to try to move on. Draco is gone. Must accept it. Forget him - as best you can. You don't want to wake up six months, a year, five years from now and find that the time passed without living. You did that, already - for years after the war. Then one day you woke up and turned twenty six in a cave with a man you should have hated. But it was the first birthday in years that you truly enjoyed.

You must try to find that again - joy that insists no matter the circumstances.

So tonight you'll order Chinese takeaway and have a little ceremony. You're in need of a good cry.

Go on holiday with your parents.

Do some wedding planning with Ginny.

You agreed to a date.

Meet some friends.

And we'll see what comes next.

Holding the notebook in her hands, she wished it filled her with a sense of accomplishment. Some grand realization about life, or grief, or healing.

Instead it served as a reminder of how much she loved Malfoy, and how she shouldn't, and how time was maybe not enough. Time had done nothing so far but increase her desire and deepen her feelings. It certainly hadn't healed her wounds. Perhaps actions were the first step. Maybe Harry had been right. "The best way to get over someone is try someone new."

Merrick might be it - maybe.

Or maybe Hermione was the someone new. She had to choose herself.

So she put one foot in front of the other and carried her diary home.

Malfoy didn't meet her on the street. She didn't even look for him. Instead she lifted her face to the sun and let the Muggles step around her.

That night, in her flat, she took a long, scalding shower.

Put on her favorite pajamas.

Drank her wine and ate her takeaway.

Gathered the notebook - fingers stroking the embossed initials - and the pieces of her collage.

Hermione knelt before her fireplace and set it all in the grate in a careful pile.

Took a deep breath.

"Incendio," she whispered.

The light of the magical flames reflected in her eyes.

A tender moment with herself -

had Malfoy's fucking wards not intruded.

Just as the edges of the notebook and the shredded papers began to blacken and curl, they were doused by a slosh of water. Some kind of crazy anti-fire protection.

She tried again. "Incendio."

The wards might as well have laughed aloud. Malfoy certainly would have, if he'd been there.

Gritting her teeth hard enough to crack them, she tried once more. "Incendio!"

No, said his wards. She was going to have to change her clothes. And mop up her floors.

Damn him.

She threw the sodden mass out instead, slamming the lid of the bin.

She got that heaving, cleansing cry after all - curled on the couch, in wet pajamas.

Her parents were thrilled that she was still available for a spring holiday. Nearly as thrilled as Harry and Ginny when she told them. "Merlin, Hermione, that's great," said Ginny. "You deserve some time away."

"I feel bad for using it. I was gone so long last fall."

Harry cut the air with his hand. "That was work, as far as I'm concerned. You were still on mission. I'm glad you're taking a trip. Where are you going?"

The least romantic location Wendell could find. An all inclusive resort for elderly Muggles in Barcelona. She was promised plenty to eat and flowing drinks - so long as she didn't mind tragically early dining reservations and a few games of Bowls.

To avoid a Muggle airplane - even worse than a broom - she arranged for an international Floo from the Ministry. On the morning she departed Harry met her to say goodbye. He'd seemed attentive and apologetic since their conversation.

Hermione actually initiated a hello to several colleagues she passed on her way to the Floo line. They looked surprised, but returned her greeting. "Hello, Hermione. Going on holiday?"

"I am, yeah. With my parents," she said, shaking her little suitcase. "We should get a tea together when I get back - if you'll join me."

"Of course," they said, blinking at each other and then at her. "That'd be lovely."

Harry beamed as he waited with her.

"Blimey Hermione. What's gotten into you?"

"I've been thinking a lot about what you said." She smiled and patted his arm. "I can't live like I was forever. I have to try to find happiness. Make it for myself. If that means going through the motions for a bit - holiday with the parents and pub nights and saying hello to people - I'm going to do it. And maybe in time, I'll forget how sad I am beneath."

He kissed her cheek. "Spot on. I'm proud of you. Have a great time."

The resort was exactly as promised. Monica and Wendell made many a joke that they were actually the youngest ones there - since their daughter insisted on early morning walks, plenty of fiber at breakfast, and swim aerobics. The early dinners weren't a problem at all. Hermione was happy to take the first seating and be in bed by nine.

When they went to the pool she wore a very wide brimmed hat to match her exceedingly modest swimsuit. "Did you get that out of the sales bin at an estate sale?" her mother lamented. "Men are going to think you're a nun, dearest."

"Perfect," Hermione said dryly. She flipped a page in her book. It was one of the fantasy novels her parents had sent for her birthday. She was just about to get to a sexy bit - involving an inn and not enough rooms - so she closed it quickly. Skip that. She could pretend that most things were fine. But anything that reminded her of . . . kisses or bodies or cocks or cunts could set her back from her progress.

"How's that Kennilson fellow?" asked her father one night over their salads. They were dining on a terrace and the ocean breezes danced through her hair like a caress. It made her think of him - but she put it away, determined not to dwell. You're on holiday - from everything. Including thoughts of posh blonds.

Hermione took a nibble of tomato. Chewed thoughtfully and sipped her wine before she answered. "He's been fired, actually."

"Oh?" asked her mother with interest. "Do tell. I love a sordid bit of work drama."

Hermione smiled. "He was caught sharing information he wasn't supposed to share."

Wendall nodded knowingly. "Some things are the same no matter where you go."

She laughed. "Right. I suppose that's true."

Her parents exchanged a look, pleased to hear it. It made her feel bad that they'd been worried about her. Turn on the charm.

She asked them loads of questions - about the latest moving pictures they'd seen and their next dental conference. It was in America. They couldn't wait - her father told her all about the hiking they were going to do while they were there. It was lovely to listen to him - soothing. She was grateful that they didn't need her to be happy. A gift - perhaps the greatest one they'd ever given her.

Her only regret was that she hadn't asked their waiter to take away the fourth chair. It sat across from her, empty. A reminder. What would it be like, she wondered as she refilled her mother's wine glass, to have Malfoy in that seat? Would he meet her eyes, hiding a smirk, when Monica badgered her husband into having fish instead of steak? "Think of your cholesterol, Wendall, honestly."

Hermione sighed and returned her focus to an animated discussion of types of toothbrushes. She hid her own smirk. What would she give to enjoy this with someone else?

Her parents had a lot of wine that night and so declined her invitation to walk the next morning. That was fine. She was happy to meander alone.

Out on the beach she found a place without too many tourists and stood for a while in the surf. She watched a couple of gulls flirting over the water. The way the waves undulated under the shadows of clouds reminded her of the moors.

She stood there for a long time, keeping her thoughts controlled and blank. It was an effort. More than once she thought she saw a familiar body slicing through the sea. Showing off his long arms and strong legs. But she was able to blink and refocus her gaze - it was a trick of the light.

She knew she was improving, as the wind tousled her curls. Steps forward. Through the sand, back to the resort.

By the time she returned to her room, though, the exhaustion of progress loomed. Her mother patted her arm soothingly and encouraged her to take a nap. "We'll meet you by the pool, dearest. Whenever you're ready. No rush. It's a holiday."

So Hermione stretched out on her bed. She watched the curtains fluttering in the ocean breeze. Children played in a courtyard below, peals of their laughter floating past. She struggled to sleep. After awhile she slipped her fingers between her legs and tried - but it didn't work. She'd cleared her mind a little too well, it seemed. The desire wasn't there. Frustrated, she flopped onto her stomach.

Instead, she slid her hand beneath the pillow. To the wand she kept there, a bit of twine tied around it. Not to wield, it wasn't hers. But it was a comforting reminder - of what was real. This isn't cheating. You're still making progress, even if you haven't forgotten him.

Resting her fingers lightly upon the wood, she closed her eyes and was at peace.

Unfortunately, the peace was short lived. She returned to work - and a thick report on her desk. One she supposed she had expected to receive eventually.

Malfoy's monster had attacked again in Yorkshire.

Ginny delivered the update. The victim was a happy young groom on his honeymoon outside Laskill. He'd been posing for a sunset portrait against the backdrop of the moors. When his new husband stepped away for more paint, the creature had caught him from behind.

"Where is he now?" Hermione asked, staring at the map on her office wall.

"St. Mungo's. Oh, Hermione, I can't believe it." Ginny looked devastated. "I'd begun to think that horrible thing had died or something. We'd heard nothing about it for so long. Not since right before Christmas - it got that poor Muggle."

Hermione had never gotten the chance to ask Malfoy about that. She'd meant to - but Kirby's revelations about his betrayal were a distraction. She patted Ginny's arm and shook her head. "Draco probably set it loose to roam before he was captured at the Carrows'. But we should go and take a look - see if there's anything noteworthy at the scene." Seeing Ginny's face, she apologized. "Oh Ginny, I'm sorry. You don't have to go, of course."

"Well I can't very well leave you to face it alone. We'll just have to be careful." Her lips trembled. "I don't think I could survive it a second time," she whispered.

"I know," Hermione agreed, pulling her into a hug. "But we won't go chasing it. We learned that lesson."

The next day they Floo'd to the closest village. Harry and ten of his aurors - excessive, she thought - joined, rigid and on alert. They all quietly trooped up to the site of the attack - a tree-covered hill overlooking Malfoy lands.

"How is the victim doing?" Hermione asked while they climbed.

"Relatively well," said Ginny. "We relayed the treatment right away. St. Mungo's said they were following protocol and had him in a private room with his husband attending."

Hermione blushed. "Right. Well, hopefully he'll heal faster than we did."

"For his sake, I hope so." Ginny pushed her hair back with pretend confidence. "But we're okay. He will be too."

Right.

At the top of the hill they cast their magical traces - and confirmed what she already knew. It was definitely the same creature. The trace glowed mockingly in the dusk.

Now what would they do about it? She looked down to where the trail led, out onto the moors.

"How close are we to the cave?" asked Harry quietly. He was looking in the same direction.

Hermione had studied the location carefully. "Not far. Just over a few ridges."

Ginny was fairly jumping with the stress. "Can we go?"

But Hermione's eyes couldn't leave the moors. "I'll meet you back down the hill. I'd like a few minutes alone."

Harry was torn, she could tell, between soothing Ginny and keeping a watchful eye. "You won't go running off after it, will you?"

She laughed. "I'm no martyr, Harry. I'm far too selfish for that. I just want to linger for a bit."

"Alright," he agreed. "I'll be just down there, and watching you every second. So - don't make me regret it."

When he'd led Gin down to the aurors, Hermione turned back. She savored the breeze and the rustle of the trees. To the east evening had already met the land in an indistinguishable blur. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Time marches -

A flash of blond and a ripple of robes - far off, a blip against the darkness.

Hermione blinked.

You're seeing things.

She squinted - and saw it again. On a hill, too far to hear if she called out. Her heart pounded. Bright hair. Pale skin. Black robes. Even if he was a hallucination, he was a welcome sight.

"Harry!"

He was beside her side in a moment, breathing hard and reaching for her frantically. "What is it?"

She pointed out to - empty moors. "I saw - I swear - I thought -"

"Saw what? The monster?" He conjured a pair of binoculars and peered out, his glasses clinking against the lenses.

Her throat was too dry. She swallowed painfully. "In that direction - I thought I saw Draco."

Harry lowered the binoculars, looking at her strangely. "Oh."

She laughed, feeling the condescension. "I'm going mental, aren't I?"

"No," he said gently. "I think you're seeing what you want to see."

You idiot.

"He's in prison, Hermione. He's not wandering the moors. You're safe."

"Of course."

The next Saturday, she found herself sitting on an uncomfortable settee, flute of bubbly in her fingers, staring at a beautiful witch in white robes. Smile, Hermione. This is a happy day.

She was thankful to have taken a calming draught. She'd pulled it out of Malfoy's potion kit, fingers trembling, as she was on her way out of her flat. "No shame needing a little help to survive this," she said to the mirror, downing it in a swallow. "He'd be glad you're using it."

Walking to Diagon Alley, sun on her skin, she wondered for the thousandth time what he was doing in Azkaban. Was he used to it yet? Did have a cellmate? Was it loud or quiet? Were they feeding him enough? That was the worst thing to wonder - whether he was hungry. Feeling ill, she waved cheerfully at Mrs. Weasley and Fleur and Ginny, waiting outside the dress robes shop.

Mrs. Weasley started crying before Ginny even came out in her first possible option. Fleur delicately handed her a handkerchief and rolled her eyes inconspicuously. Mothers-in-law. Right. Hermione wondered whether she'd ever have one of those.

Though they all needed a handkerchief when Ginny emerged, smiling serenely. Her red hair contrasted beautifully with the gown.

Hermione patted Molly on the shoulder. "Congratulations," she whispered. "She's going to be the most beautiful bride."

Even Fleur dabbed delicately at the corner of her eye, agreeing. "She eez gorgeous."

Ginny blushed. "Do you think Harry will like it?"

"Yes," said Hermione softly. "He will."

Several dresses later, having found The One and clinking glasses to celebrate, Hermione walked Ginny home. They were both flying high with the buzz of success and champagne.

"You're doing so well," Ginny said, leaning into her side. "It's amazing how you've improved since March."

"Thanks. I'm glad people are noticing." It's been a lot of effort.

Ginny squeezed her arm. "I was so sure you'd have a hard time after Malfoy was taken away. But maybe the risk of seeing him was bad for you. He's gone and now you're better!"

Hermione's head swam. Malfoy. Malfoy, in the dark and dank while she sipped drinks and debated satin versus silk. Malfoy, imprisoned and awaiting a forgone verdict. Malfoy, bored and caged - alone, while she stumbled home in the late afternoon with a friend. "Please don't bring him up any more, Ginny. I'm really trying to move on. I think about him enough as it is. I don't want to . . . talk about it."

"Of course." Ginny grimaced. "I'm sorry. I should have known. Oh, look - my building!" She rummaged in her pocket for her wand. "Where is that dratted thing?" Hermione summoned it and handed it to her. "Have fun tonight with Harry."

Ginny giggled. "He loves it when I'm tipsy and wanting a snog."

Hermione couldn't help but smile. "Enjoy each other." She looked on until Ginny was safely inside.

A couple of days later, Merrick met her on the street outside her flat at precisely seven o'clock.

He wore denims and a jumper, his robes draped over his arm.

"Minister Granger," he greeted her, eyes glittering.

"Ha." She nodded weakly. "You can call me Hermione - since we're not at work."

He lifted the robes. "I made two reservations since I didn't know what you'd prefer. One at a restaurant for Muggles and one at a little place in Diagon Alley where we'd need these."

"Ah - you're fine with Muggle places?"

He gestured in the right direction and she fell in step beside him. "My father's Muggleborn."

"Oh." This is the time to find common ground. But instead she let silence descend until he broke it.

"Did you, uh, tell Potter this is happening?"

"Oh yes," she laughed. "Harry was thrilled. Got him off my back for at least a month."

She looked at his face and found him frowning. "Are we going out tonight to keep him happy?"

"Of course not," she insisted politely. "It's just - a nice side effect."

"Right." But Merrick had a tone.

"Let's do the Muggle place," she said. Fewer people to recognize them.

When they got there he pulled her chair out at the same moment she said she'd use the loo and be right back. Which meant he had to stand again when she retuned, moving awkwardly between the close tables to try to be a gentleman. "Don't bother," she said, sliding into her seat. "I can move my own chair."

Merrick sat stiffly and picked up his menu. "What do you like to eat?"

Gods. Not this. It was coming back quickly - why she'd abandoned dating. "Uh, anything. But no meat."

He smiled at that. "Tell me more. Vegetarian? How long?"

Since a cranky blond Death Eater's monster showed her enough visions of slaughter to turn her stomach for the rest of her life. "Um, about eight months. I just - gave it up one day."

"Ethical reasons?" He sipped his water. "Or health?"

"Neither. I lost the taste for it."

"Interesting," he offered kindly.

"Not really. Let's talk about something else."

"Summer is nearly here. Do you have any fun holidays planned?"

"No. I just got back from a Spanish resort for old people with my parents."

"That sounds nice." He looked at her expectantly.

Oh right. You're supposed to ask him a question. "What about you? What's your idea of an ideal destination?"

"I like anything active. Hiking. Quidditch. Swimming. Caving."

Gods not that. Hermione knew she looked revolted.

"You don't like active holidays?"

"I'm more a book-in-a-hammock kind of witch."

Merrick was extremely glad that their waiter arrived to take their orders. She got the pasta. And a whole bottle of wine, which surprised him.

"Didn't take you for a big drinker," he said when she finished her first glass in about three minutes. He refilled it - a stingy pour - politely.

"I'm not."

It was his turn to grimace. "Merlin, Hermione. I didn't expect this to be so awkward. Am I that awful?"

Yes. "It's not you," she insisted. "I'm out of practice. I'm sorry." She blushed with the shame. Merrick was perfectly nice. He got more than a few looks from the other diners. Even their waiter ogled him, which he acknowledged with a humble smile.

But he ate too fast. His bites were too large. He cut his food with the side of his fork instead of precisely with his knife. He didn't like what she liked. And he didn't laugh when she made a hilarious joke about grindylows.

It's all wrong.

Everything he said and did - it reminded her of Malfoy. His impeccable manners - unless he was in her kitchen and eating leftovers - and the delicate way he handled cutlery. His laugh. And how they both enjoyed chess and reading and walking on the moors.

She drank more than she ate and they didn't order dessert.

On the way back to her building they talked about work between silences.

But Merrick kissed her at the end. His lips were wet and slightly too thick.

He tasted like obligation and felt like nothing.

"I'm sorry," she said, pulling away.

Merrick smiled, disappointed. "I knew from the moment I picked you up it wasn't going to work. But - I had to try. Maybe, in a few more months, you can let me know if something's changed?"

"Maybe," she said. Knew she would not.

"I think Potter is worried - that you're going to choose to be alone forever."

"I'd rather be alone than be wrong."

He blinked, wounded. "Understood. I'll leave you be."

True to his word, Harry planned a pub night. The place was crowded. Happy patrons shouted drink orders and greetings and laughter. Their long table felt like an oasis in the middle of it.

Hermione was sitting across from Neville, catching up. Padma was at her side. Luna at his. Ron and Pansy were at the end, trying to act normal. It was very obvious that they were playing footsie beneath the table. "Let them be," she said to Padma, smiling. "They're pretty sweet, actually."

Padma looked horrified. "Sweet? Ron and Pansy Parkinson? Hermione," she touched her forehead, "are you ill?"

"Har har." Hermione took a generous sip of her wine. It was swill. She finished the glass. "Really though, once you get used to the idea of them you'll see - they're a good match. Opposites attract, I guess."

Neville interrupted. "That's what I hear. With you, and, uh, a certain Slytherin. Late last year? Rumors abounded."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Who told you that?"

"I ran into Blaise Zabini, actually. He's taken over running his family business and he got in touch with me about a joint venture."

She snorted. "Stay away from those. They can have unintended consequences." She gestured at their waitress for another drink.

Neville looked confused. "Uh, thanks for the warning. But Blaise knew about you and Malfoy. He asked if you were still seeing him."

"I didn't date him. Just - we spent some time together. On a Ministry expedition and then in the months that followed."

"Ah. I didn't know Malfoy moonlighted for the Ministry." Neville sipped at his butterbeer. She was thankful that everyone around them was engaged in their own conversations - Padma and Ginny (weddings). Luna and Harry (the intellect of dementors). Ron and Pansy (no talking, actually, just sex eyes).

"He doesn't," she agreed. "But he was . . . conscripted on one of our missions. We got to know each other. It's over now, obviously. How did Blaise know about it?"

"It was the talk of those circles - lot of Pure Blood matriarchs are apparently pretty keen on knowing whom Draco Malfoy is dating. Blaise said you showed up at his New Year's Eve Party and you snuck off together and that confirmed it."

"I suppose."

Neville's eyes narrowed. "Are you alright? I know he's locked up. Did you two end on bad terms?"

Yes. No. "We ended the day his father escaped from prison." Their waitress handed her a fresh glass. Hermione changed her tone. "I'm doing much better. Though I'm sorry I've been out of touch. I needed some time alone. To - sort out my path forward."

Neville patted her hand. "Happiness is a choice, Hermione. Same as peace. You know that better than anyone."

She smiled back at him as Padma asked whether anyone knew of any single men who might want to take her out for a drink and a meal and then a good shag. "It's slim pickings out there, I'm telling you. I've been on three bad dates in a row -"

"I, uh, may know one," Hermione suggested. "He's tall. Handsome. An auror. Harry likes him."

"What's that I like?" Harry leaned forward down the table.

"Merrick," she said, inclining her head at Padma and lifting her brows suggestively.

Harry's lips twisted. "For Padma, eh?" His eyes were sad.

"I've thought a lot about it," Hermione said. "And I'd be delighted to set him up with someone worthy."

Harry sighed - but she saw the acceptance.

"Can I have this bloke's owl or not?" Padma asked, trying to hear them.

"I'll bring him 'round," Harry promised. "Next pub night. Hermione's spot on. He'd be a great addition to this lot."

Padma and Neville started talking about his dating prospects and Hermione laughed along, enjoying the moment and the conversation and her friends. It felt good. Familiar.

If it wasn't for the lingering open place in her heart which refused to heal, it would have been a perfect night.

She walked home from the pub through Diagon Alley. Drunk. They all had been. Neville and Harry both offered to escort her but she declined. "It's just a few blocks."

"Be careful," they slurred. "We mean it."

She took the long way back, picking up another bottle of wine - in for a knut, in for a galleon when it came to hangovers - and a baguette and cheese for a late night snack. Wizards and Muggles mingled together unknowingly on the streets, enjoying the warm spring weekend. She was juggling her bag, pulling out her wand, when she saw a flash of familiar blond out of the corner of her eye.

Perhaps it was the drunkenness - but instinct flared. Hermione whispered the glamour charm she'd used at New Year, even as she twisted to and fro, trying to see through the crowd.

There! She saw it again, across the street, in the space between the light pole and the trashcan.

Heart pounding, she weaved and dodged, stretching her neck. Could it be? But when she got a clear look at the curb, it was gone. The apparition point was empty.

You're just drunk, she scolded herself, trying to breathe. Your thoughts and imaginations are pervasive and pathetic - you're seeing things.

Turning back to her building, she struggled to get the door open. Her fingers were clumsy and thick on the handle. She could have sworn - she'd know that hair anywhere. Checking over her shoulder one last time, she went upstairs.

She struggled to sleep that night, blaming the wine.

In the days that followed she looked for it, that bright head, every time she left or arrived at her flat. She didn't see it again.

By the time she flipped her calendar to May, she'd forgotten it. Written it off as an aberration. The flash of blond was evidence that despite a return to normalcy - productive work days and lunches with colleagues and laughter with her friends - her healing was still, and might always be, incomplete.

The day that everything changed started like most of the others that spring. It was a morning so lovely Hermione had all her windows open. She sipped a leisurely coffee, curled up on her couch, while she admired the sun streaming in through the trees. The world was awash in green.

When she could no longer delay getting ready for work she dressed to match, in a soft white frock embroidered at the hem with tiny flowers. Too casual for the office, but she'd have robes over it. And on a day like this everyone would be leaving early and escaping into the sun, too distracted by their own lives to care about her attire.

She left her hair down, the curls loose and shiny. She pressed a little extra blush onto her cheeks. Pretty, she conceded in the mirror. You put on a good show.

Someone knocked at the door.

"Hullo?" she called as she nipped down the hallway to open it. Must be a neighbor?

No.

It was Harry.

Harry and several of his aurors, in their Ministry robes, crowded outside her door. They all looked anxious and severe. And very, very tired.

"Hermione. Can I come in?"

She stepped aside, confused.

"Wait out here, chaps," he ordered firmly. "We'll just be a few minutes."

When he'd closed the door behind him he gestured to her couch. "Let's sit."

"Can I make you a tea?" she offered automatically.

"No, thank you. I have news."

Yes, she'd guessed. She struggled to breathe, imagining the terrible possibilities that prompted such a visit. That put such a look on Harry's face. She checked her watch but the hands blurred.

"Gin?"

"She's fine. Ron's fine. Everyone's fine."

He sat beside her on the cushions, both of them stiff.

Then Harry took her hand. Her heart pounded painfully.

"It's Draco."

Gods, no.

"Is he - " Unspeakable.

"He is . . . out of Azkaban."

She was flooded with relief - and fear, and concern.

"Released?"

He spoke slowly. "The guards report that he escaped."

Like father like son.

Malfoy, free. No, that wasn't right. Malfoy, a fugitive. Ten or twenty years had just become the rest of his life, when he was re-captured.

Hermione counted to eight and breathed through her nose.

"When?" she asked.

"Sometime yesterday. I found out last night. I was just leaving work when Kingsley's Patronus arrived. Don't worry, he won't be missing for long." He said it like he was disappointed. "I think every single auror in Europe is looking for him."

"Thanks for telling me." What else was there to say?

Harry frowned, his eyes very sad. "That's not all."

Oh Merlin. Was he dead?

He couldn't be.

She wasn't ready.

She'd never be ready. Not for that. Not for the permanence of losing him, of losing all hope.

"To confirm he wasn't there, the first thing I did was lead a contingent to his Manor. We questioned his elves and his mother. And - searched the whole place, top to bottom."

Kirby. Narcissa. Hermione couldn't help but feel bad for her, alone in that big house and fearing the worst.

"That makes sense. But what's it to do with me?"

"I think you should come back with us. You must. To see something."

"Just tell me."

"I can't. You need to come."

Which was how she found herself, lightheaded and clutching Harry's elbow, as he apparated them to the Ministry and then led her into a cloud of Floo powder. "Malfoy Manor," Harry commanded. His tone scared her.

They didn't go alone. But when they stepped from a fireplace into the Manor's foyer, he ordered his aurors - six of them - to stay behind.

Her heart was a rabbit in her chest.

The Manor was silent save for their footsteps. It looked very different in the day - brighter, colorful. Rich carpets and tapestries and moldings, all carefully composed and impeccably clean. It fit him.

"Where is Narcissa?" she asked as they climbed the stairs.

"The elves report that she's taken to her bed," Harry said grimly. "Apparently she's in shock."

Hermione nodded. They were in the long hallway full of portraits. She avoided eye contact with the Malfoys who kept watch, intense and brooding.

Harry stopped her at a set of doors with a gentle hand. "Hermione - I don't think Draco wanted us to find this."

Find what? "How do you know?"

"It was in a safe - heavily warded and locked in about a hundred different ways. It took my best witch several hours to get it open."

"I see."

"You will."

He opened the doors.

The library looked the same - neater, though, than the last time she'd seen it. The study tables were cleared, polished and waxed. The sun filtered through stained glass - she hadn't even noticed those windows last time. They cast dancing rainbows on the floors. The painted ceiling was bright as day, fluffy clouds slipping past. It smelled of books - and felt like Malfoy. As if he'd been here.

How could anything bad happen in a room like this?

Her eyes flitted to the shelves he'd pressed her against, hands roaming over green silk.

But Harry gestured toward the fireplace. Toward the exact spot where Draco had held her and kissed her as the clock struck midnight to begin the year.

To a pensieve.

An old one, large, with strands of silver swirling madly. The contents were itching to be revealed.

"I think it's best you watch without me joining. I saw enough. I promise I avoided as much as I could. A lot of it is - very personal."

Hermione tried not to faint.

"Oh, and take this." Harry drew a small bottle from inside his robes. "It's a headache potion. Draco is a natural Occlumens. It was . . . a sacrifice for him to extract these. I imagine it went against all of his instincts. Just observing them gave me a splitting pain. Hopefully this will help spare you."

She swallowed it sluggishly. "Thanks."

"I'll sit right here," Harry promised kindly, settling into one of the massive armchairs. His eyes were big behind his glasses. They were brimming with pity. He felt sorry for her. "And I'll catch you if you fall."

Merlin help her. How bad could it be?

Hermione summoned her strength - and fell into Draco Malfoy's memories.