A Lost Moment

Summary: We all have them. Defining moments in our lives where we can choose one path or the other. Where, though we might not know it at that time, we're making life-altering decisions that will forever change our future. Here is that moment for Draco and Hermione.

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. JKR is the lady who holds all the keys. But, Draco owns the key to my heart.

Beta Thanks: My sweet, wonderful, ever patient friend and confidant – Ronnie/RahNee. Thanks for listening as I worked this puppy out.

A/N – Story written for my darling, Avari20 to commemorate the grand occasion of her college graduation on Saturday, August 11, 2007. It's a week late, Ava. But, it's HERE!

I hope you enjoy Draco and Hermione's Lost Moment

Have you ever had one of those dreams; you know, the kind when you wake up and it's this revelation? This sudden realization, when all these old memories kind of mesh together and gel and form into one big picture? Like the pieces of an old puzzle that never quite fit, until finally a light flicks on and you see the pattern and those few rogue pieces fall into place. Not like a day after it happens, but years later?

I woke up this morning with visions of him in my head. I couldn't understand why I was dreaming about him after all this time. So, so many years have passed. I know he's out there somewhere, living, hopefully well, married…etc. But this morning events that took place well over twenty years ago came full circle in my usually speedy brain.

Maybe it's because it was him and I was in denial. To be honest I had never paid him much mind other than our occasional run-ins. Yes he was always there, and in the back of my mind I suppose I considered him attractive. Okay, he was, he just never really mattered. My thoughts were elsewhere. I was completely smitten and had always only had eyes for one man…well – almost always. Anyway, he wasn't nice, that's to be sure and I know that factored into my overall disregard where he was concerned. Yet, toward our final years of school he had definitely changed. Then by the end of the war – well – we know what happened there, no need to rehash.

The memory came to me in my fitful sleep last night, though. Not bright and crisp like it had just happened, but still unmistakable enough in my memories to recall it with clarity: He stopped me outside the Great Hall, I didn't think much of it at the time, but he grasped my arm and pulled me aside and told me he was sorry. I remember looking at his hand around my arm and then up into his eyes and he let go but didn't step back from me. I asked him what he was sorry for. Might as well make him say it, since he'd come to me. I'd thought.

His eyes were somber and his lips turned up briefly before he apologized for, in his words, 'Everything.'

Everything.

That was a lot of ground to cover for such a small, generalized word. I started to ask him to expound on 'everything' but I stopped, seeing the obvious uneasiness in his eyes and the way he licked his lips nervously. He looked decidedly more uncomfortable when he peered up briefly and caught the eye of someone behind me. He nodded at them curtly and his gaze came back to me. I didn't bother to look and see who it was who was probably regarding us curiously, because it didn't matter. I wanted to know why he thought he had to come forward now.

"Was this just a penance act for show?" I asked him. "Because now that the war is over and your family is going to be scrutinized, you think you need to start making amends by making grandiose empty apologies?"

I was surprised that he still didn't pull away from our close proximity. He looked me in the eyes; again his expression was somber, quiet even. "Is that what it will take to make you believe I'm sincere?" He scrutinized me closely. "I didn't think you were the type for ostentatious displays, no matter whether they were genuine or not." This surprised me, his frankness, his intuitiveness where I was concerned.

I shook my head. "No," I answered honestly, "That doesn't matter. What really counts is your honesty. Can you really, truthfully tell me that you're sorry, and that you mean it? What happened to all the years of disregard for my feelings, for not treating me with a modicum of human decency?" I was upset and rightfully so. He'd just said as much and it shocked me. "What's going on?" I asked finally. "What do you really want?"

He pursed his lips and twisted his head to the side, like the muscles in his neck were taut. "You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?" he asked. Then he actually smiled, and now I recall that it was the very first real smile from him that he'd ever given me.

He took a small breath and looked around; there were people milling about, not too many were looking directly at us, as I, too, glanced at the crowd looking to see where Harry and Ron were. I spotted them quickly; the Weasley clan was always so easy to find. I turned to him. "Do you want to speak outside?" His eyebrows shot up for a moment before he nodded.

The walk was quick out into the intense sunlight of early afternoon. It was a glorious day for a graduation I thought briefly as I gazed up at the sky, and then into his eyes. They were the very color of the blue expanse above us. Sky blue. I thought briefly of telling him that, but I guessed he already knew what color his eyes were, so I just stood there trying not to be nervous, but really I was half expecting him to shout a slur my way at any moment.

The look in his eyes changed immediately. He must have seen my uncertainty, I'm sure. His voice was low and steady when he finally spoke. "I have had a set of values and morals taught to me my entire life," he began. "I was raised by parents who loved me. They taught me to believe what they were taught. What they believe. What had been ingrained and instilled in them by their parents and their parents before them." I blinked. Yes, I knew this. At least, I'd imagined that was likely the case. So, I nodded. He grimaced and cleared his throat. "This," he paused, "This is harder than I thought it would be. And, I knew it would be hard."

Pompous me blurted out before I could stop myself, "The good things in life, the things that are of any real value always are the hardest to do."

I could tell he wanted to rebut that, yet he only swallowed and nodded stiffly. "Yes, I suppose so," he said. "Regardless, I wanted to tell you that we--that my family and I-- didn't want to do those things, no matter what we thought. No matter what we had always believed to be true…" He trailed off and looked down at his shoes. I did too; they were immaculate, polished and undoubtedly new. He looked back up at me and cleared his throat again. I met his gaze evenly. "The things that happened at my house…" He took in a great breath and let it out slowly before continuing in a gruff voice, "I – I wouldn't have let her…let my aunt, kill you." He raked a shaky hand through his hair. "I didn't even want to let them know it was you…you and Potter and Weasley." He looked very shaken all of a sudden. And I felt shaken, the memories crashing back on me. I trembled involuntarily. He saw it, I'm sure, but made no comment. "I just didn't know what to do. My, my father, he's seen you before. And Weasley, he knew it was him…He was so scared, I've never seen him like that and my mum, she was half-crazed with fear too. None of us wanted you there. But my aunt Bella, she was…She would have killed all of us, not just you -" He shrugged helplessly and I felt a sting of anger.

He hadn't been tortured.

I felt heat flare upon my cheeks. And then I felt my lower lip tremble. I would not cry in front of him. Instead I only looked away and dashed at my eyes to quell the tears that were suddenly threatening to fall. "I," I said lowly, "was tortured right in front of you. Auntie Bella did not lift her wand to you."

His jaw was working furiously when I chanced a glance into his eyes. They had become dark, like grey storm clouds. "No," he agreed quietly, "not that day."

My head snapped up. "Did she?" My words were a tremulous gasp.

His cheeks were stained pink and he would not meet my gaze. "What happened to me is," he swallowed hard, "it's not your concern. My behavior was cowardly; there is no other excuse. I can't turn back the clock, but I can say I'm sorry. " He titled his chin up defiantly at his own words. "I am glad that you managed to escape. It's the reason I didn't fight Potter, you know, not really. I – I suppose I wanted you to get away." He turned his face from me and I noticed then, in that very instant, the few minute scars around the curve of his right eye and temple. Permanent reminders left over from that night I guessed. I wondered why he didn't have them spelled away? Maybe he wanted to keep them, so he would always remember. I know I always would. The sound of the massive chandelier crashing down from the ceiling directly upon him still rung in my ears so sharp and harsh sounding, I was sure he'd been crushed by it. I had thought at that moment I might be too. I felt a slight zing of old fear run down my spine and pushed it away. Funny, I thought, how some of us wear our scars from that night on the inside and some of us on the outside. I wondered how many scars he wore on the inside because I was sure he had some of those as well.

His voice pulled me back, away from the quicksand of fear that I had been fighting to escape since that night, and I blinked and tried to focus on his words. He looked at me for a moment, trying to assess how I was feeling I suppose, before he went on. "I have many other things to make amends for," he said, and again that uneasy look flitted across his face. "I think you and I already know what they are. Just, just know that I'm – "he paused and forced out a hollow sounding laugh, "I'm not as big an asshole that I've given the impression of."

At that I laughed shakily, too. "If you say so, Draco."

His eyes shot to me then, wide and surprised. I looked back at him and watched as their color changed from dark grey to lighter blue. He looked uncomfortable again, guarded. "May I?" He stopped, the polite words sounded funny coming from him, directed toward me. I'm sure he felt the same way I did, but he went on. "Would you mind if I--?"

I shook my head and held out my hand to him; it was trembling slightly, I let him see it. This was a big step. He looked at it for a long moment then slowly extended his own hand and grasped mine. "I'm Hermione Granger." I said. "You can call me Hermione."

His hand was warm, his grip firm. "Draco Malfoy." He looked at me intently. "Please call me Draco."

I shuddered and took in a trembling breath and nodded, never breaking eye contact with him. "Draco." I replied. "Thank you." The words came out as barely a whisper. He nodded too and released my hand slowly. There was a moment of silence between us; I didn't know what more could be said. I suppose he didn't either, so he began to back away. "What are you going to do now?" I didn't know why I spoke, and the words were rushed, nervous sounding. For some reason I guess I didn't want him to go just yet. This kindness toward me was extraordinarily surprising, but not unwelcome. That surprised me too.

"I'm," he flashed a tiny, hangdog grin, "I'm going to take a couple of years to go traveling. I need some time away…" He trailed off.

I understood. The thought of escaping for a while sounded good to me too. "I understand," I replied. "If…if you want to stay in touch -" His mouth dropped open. "I just – I have a pen pal too." My thoughts drifted to Viktor and how soothing and reassuring his words were when I received one of his letters. I could always tell him the things that I couldn't tell my closest friends. He was removed. Yet his friendship was steadfast and enduring and it was cathartic to be able to write my feelings to someone and know that I was not being judged. Maybe I could offer the same type of - friendship to Draco? The idea was crazy, but I'd put my own foot in my mouth. So, if he took me up on my offer, I would honor it.

"A – a pen pal?"

"I just want to say, if you need to write to someone who won't judge you; someone who will write back and who can be a – soundboard – for you, then you may write to me."

He looked skeptical, shocked – maybe even pleased? "I don't share my thoughts."

It was strange, but I knew what he meant instantly. "I would never share your letters. If you write to me, you're writing to me. I'm very trustworthy." The last words were murmured with a tinge of accusation. I couldn't help it. He flinched imperceptibly.

He nodded and grabbed at the knot in his tie, loosening it. "I don't know where I'll be. I'm not sure I'll be anywhere where I can even get an owl out..." His eyes snapped up then and his gaze locked at a point over my shoulder. His face closed off instantly.

I turned to see Ron striding toward me. He had that look in his eyes. The panicked, protective, terrified one that he'd had since the night at the Malfoys. Since then he'd barely left my side. It was so endearing, so wonderful.

I turned back to see Draco looking at me. He leaned forward slightly and took my hand for just a second and squeezed it gently. "Thanks," he paused and said my given name for the very first time, "Hermione."

"Hermione!" It was Ron. I turned to greet him and feeling my hand being released turned quickly back to Draco. He was gone. I felt…sad.

Ron wrapped an arm around my waist. "Did he hurt you?" He sounded angry, scared.

"No." I said quietly.

He was ready to go after Draco, but I held him close. "What then?" His words were clipped, demanding.

I grasped his jaw gently and turned his face to mine. "He – he just apologized to me."

Ron's mouth fell open. It took a bit more of my convincing before he finally believed me and stated loudly that it was about time the git said he was sorry.

I couldn't agree more.

--- ---

I had just come home and plopped down onto the couch for a quick nap before Ron arrived, when there was a tap at my window. I looked up and then sprung up when I saw the owl there. It was a glorious snowy white owl. It reminded me so much of Hedwig each and every time I saw it that it always left me a little surprised that the letters attached were not from Harry.

I set out a bowl of water and gave the owl some treats, taking a few moments to pet it lightly. I could practically hear the weary sigh as it settled in for a good long drink. "What exotic locale have you come from this time, humm, Neiguex? What has your master been up to?"

I opened the letter expectantly and began reading as the bird climbed upon the owl stand I'd had installed the previous year. Neiguex, Draco's owl, appeared one day and began showing up frequently after that and was usually exhausted. I finally decided that it needed somewhere better to rest when I started receiving his letters from places like Bangladesh and Nepal and Mongolia. Neiguex came into Draco's possession when he was in China on one of his wild quests. The letter detailing how he'd won the owl in a high stakes poker game – barely – and, in my opinion questionably - between a band of traveling gypsy fortune-tellers, three Chinese monks who had absolutely no qualms about shamelessly cheating, and a crazy Muggle archeologist bent on a quest to find a fabled, ancient Egyptian 'stone of power' was one of my most treasured. The first time I read it I laughed and laughed. It still surprised me how funny he could be and how smart he really was. His letters were full of quips and anecdotes that left my lips twitching and my mind racing to make sure I gave back just as good as I received.

I think he enjoyed reading my letters as much as I his. It was a strange sort of bond, friendship…whatever it was, that we'd formed. But one that I wouldn't change for the world.

I settled in and began reading and wondered where he was now? It took several months before I received my first letter from him. I'd not forgotten his roundabout way of asking that I not share his letters with anyone. I was true to my word and would not let Ron or Harry or even the ever-persistent Ginny near them. Ron definitely didn't like it, but he remained mum about the issue after several loud disagreements. Harry and Ginny just pestered me more to poke fun than anything else. I really think that Harry got why Draco left. Harry, I think, more than any of us deserved to run away for a while, too. To be free. But he chose to stay close to home. Harry, I had decided, was a great deal like Draco in most ways, except one major one. Harry would never leave, because he needed love, pure and simple. He sought it out. Draco, who was already loved, was not seeking it. I realized that love would have to seek him out.

Either way, I'd kept my promise, and eventually he had begun writing with some frequency after I replied almost instantly to each letter I received.

At first they were formal and cautious. It took time for him to open up, understandably. He told me how he wanted to explore – how he'd always wanted to. He told me of the great peace he found in knowing that the world was quite a bit bigger than the little corner he'd always known and that it felt good to get swallowed up in it and get lost even if was for just a while.

I always was open and myself with him, answering honestly to whatever statements or questions he asked. I tried not to censor my answers, but to be a good voice for him to bounce his feelings off of. I got the impression he needed that extra assurance. Even though he was enjoying his sabbatical, he was still lonely and needing companionship. Eventually he opened up more and began to tell me of some of his more personal reasons for leaving. Expressing his desire to grow and experience life on his own terms. He revealed that he had been terrified since turning sixteen that he would not make it to see seventeen or eighteen. He hinted more at some of the sufferings he'd been exposed to at the hands of the Dark Lord and even his aunt Bella, for making the mistake of trying to speak for himself on rare occasions when he just could not do the things they'd asked of him. He'd eventually given in, because he was afraid of dying the kinds of deaths that were happening all around him. He never went into great detail, but I knew the torment was there. It was just under the surface of his writings and it scared me and made me sad to know that he had had to endure that first-hand, everyday. I had only had a small taste and the memories haunted me still. I could not fathom what kinds of dark and twisted evils were forced upon him.

I told him I was glad that he was able to breathe in new air and look upon new skies and see that the world can be beautiful and peaceful. I believed with each step he took that there was one less stone weighing down his burdened soul. At least that was what I wished and prayed would happen.

Draco Malfoy, I discovered, was something of a philosopher as well. He'd surmise in his writings and debate, not so much with me but more with himself, about all the beliefs and doctrines he'd been taught as a child and then break them down, examine them and reevaluate what he knew to be true. He spoke about applying his teachings to the practicality of everyday life outside of the Wizarding community and then shook them up and when the dust settled, I was so very pleased to see that he was considering things differently. Nothing life altering at first, but he began to observe that the world had both good and bad people in it. This is important to note, because he no longer distinguished Wizard from Muggle – they were both people.

I remember stopping and reading one particular letter when he made this revelation over and over again until I cried. It was a privilege to be a silent observer to the baptism into his new life and it thrilled me to realize he was allowing me to share in his discoveries more than he was writing them to me. Somehow I felt even more honored to watch from my distanced vantage point, as Draco Malfoy became a man worthy of respect. I didn't interject too many of my opinions, I didn't feel they were warranted. I only told him he needed to follow his instincts, to go with what his heart was telling him and to trust in himself. I believe he took my words to heart.

Another pleasing discovery was that Draco rarely spoke ill of anyone he met in his travels. He had come across both friend and foe on the road, yet each had a different story to tell, not about him, for he was only a passing onlooker in their life's journey. He took this idea to heart and I found he was growing into a fair and just man.

He loved his family, although he didn't speak of them often. When he did, it was evident that he missed them greatly. They were close knit and his being away, although not directly said, was clearly a great sadness for his parents. He wrote more of his friends though and how they were perhaps disbelieving, and I suspected by the way he danced around the issue, not very understanding of his need to be on his own, for his ambition to rise above and go beyond the rank and file of his previously neatly laid out life. I got the impression his family was more worried for his well being, but that his friends had begun to shun him for his change in behavior.

However, mostly his letters chronicled the glorious far away lands that he visited more than anything else; though I got the inkling that there was a lot more going on in his journeys that he was sharing with me. Sometimes the correspondence was clipped and hurried, almost like a testament to where he had been in case someone needed to go looking for him. Other times they were leisurely and long, full of rich, colorful descriptions of the people he met and the unexpected differences in cultures that continually fascinated him. He stayed mostly in Muggle areas, I knew. He'd mentioned off-handedly once or twice that he thought the best way to get to know them was to be immersed in their lifestyles, in their cities and villages.

Sometimes he would send photos, never with him in them, but they were always breath-taking images of distant lands with violet mountains shrouded in a veil of diaphanous clouds, or fields of brilliant green rice paddies with towering mud huts dominating the landscape that looked more goblin-made than human. I'd get picture after picture, sometimes three or four of the same location taken from different angles, of terraced hills cultivated over every conceivable centimeter with crops that seemed to capture all the shades of green in the rainbow, stretching on as far as the eye could see. I put them in a scrapbook in hopes that one day I would return the book to him, as a keepsake or testament of his – well, not necessarily of his travels, but of his journey.

This letter, however, was different.

He told me he was on his way to Petra and returning briefly to England before he left and that he would like to meet for lunch. He said he had some things he'd like to speak about in person and hoped I could make the time to see him, as he would only be in town for a couple of days. I responded immediately. Of course I would be happy to see him.

As I'd sent off my reply, I sat down and pondered what I would say when I actually saw him. I'd been speaking regularly to him for almost two years now, but this communication was…safe, I suppose would be the right word. I didn't have to put myself out there too much. He was the one reaching out to me. I never sought him out, he always communicated with me. I was more his listener, his silent friend whose voice rang clear through pen and ink, not sound, not sight. That's what I wanted to be for him. I wanted him to know I would always be there, trustworthy, reliable…and unseen.

Was that selfish on my part? He was my secret too – although he was a known one, but his letters to me were private and, well, personal.

Would it be awkward? The last time I had seen him was on our graduation, when I'd watched his rapidly retreating back as he ran from his old life headlong into a new one full of limitless possibilities.

I smiled as I realized I was actually proud of him. So very, very proud.

I knew how he had changed inside, but I now thought about how he would have changed physically? I'd not really thought of him like that for a while. Ron and Harry had grown even taller, filled out more. They'd become men.

I realized with a start, that Draco would too have grown into a man. A fluttery feeling started in my belly and I fought back a small shiver at the idea of being excited to see him.

I'd never asked him why he didn't send me pictures of himself. I suppose I never really thought I had the right to ask for one of him, although I was admittedly curious.

Well, I would know soon enough.

--- ---

The day had been a pretty one. I recalled thinking so while strolling to our meeting point in Muggle London at a quaint eatery I'd suggested. It was a breezy, sunny afternoon, the air was clean and fresh and the sky clear from early morning showers that had swept a freshness into what would have otherwise been a muggy day. Draco had sent me a note when he arrived in London saying he preferred to meet in a Muggle area as he didn't want too many eyes watching over us.

I agreed. The idea of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger having a casual lunch in Wizarding London, after he'd for all intents and purposes vanished from Wizarding society for almost two years would surly raise a few eyebrows.

I spotted him before he saw me. I found that I'd been holding my breath, when I let it out after a long moment while I watched him sitting quietly sipping a glass of something cool.

I observed him, just taking in his changes so it wouldn't be quiet as awkward when I was face to face with him. He'd grown tall, I could tell even while he was seated. His shoulders had broadened and his arms looked well defined beneath the crisp blue shirt he wore. He was, in a word, handsome. Well, more ruggedly handsome, which is a word I never would have thought to associate with him, but it was very apt.

Truth be told, he looked like an adventurer. His once pale skin was now had a golden glow to it and his previously immaculately styled hair was somewhat long and a bit on the shaggy side. I thought it suited him though. He had a very dashing, roguish look about him. Like he and Indiana Jones would be good mates running off on perilous quests together. I held back my giggle at the thought of Draco in one of those ridiculous bucket safari hats and made my way to our table.

The look on his face when he saw me made me catch my breath. He stood, graceful as he'd always been, to greet me and I was a bit caught off guard when he reached out and gave me a quick, but firm hug. The smile that lit his face was genuine and looked as comfortable as if he'd been smiling at me his whole life. It made me smile back happily.

Lunch was surprisingly easy. Conversation was not stilted once I told him to elaborate about some of the tales he'd written me, but that I longed to know more details about. It was at the end of one of his funnier stories that he seemed to catch himself, and that brought a somber look to his face.

"You know I'm headed to Petra in a few days?"

By the look on his face I could tell the pleasantries were over. I nodded. "Yes, you mentioned it in the letter. Why are you going there? Sightseeing?" I tried to keep the fear out of my voice, to be cheerful, but from the thoughtful, serious look on his face I knew I was failing.

He finally smiled. I was learning to cherish those smiles I received. Thus far I'd only been rationed a small amount in the years that I'd known him, so these were treasured gifts. He shook his head slowly and I watched as his eyes scanned the crowd around us. He measured up one or two separate tables more closely before settling back on me. His lips turned up slowly at one corner and I found myself mesmerized by them for just a moment.

"No," he said, "not sightseeing." He paused. "It's the reason I wanted to see you before I leave. I –" he stopped again and I saw the slight color rise in his cheeks. I thought it was charming. "I wanted to see you." His eyes met mine and I felt my stomach fall. "I wanted to tell you a few things in person, so" he cleared his throat, "so someone knows what's going on in case I don't come back."

I blinked. Don't come back… "What?" I couldn't help the panic in my voice. I was scared. "What do you mean, 'in case you don't come back'? Why wouldn't you come back? What's going on?" His gaze was steady on mine, like he'd been expecting something close to my current reaction. "I just knew there was more going on than you were telling me." I muttered under my breath.

Apparently he still heard me. His lips twitched. "You're right, Hermione." My eyes widened. It was still a shock to hear him use my proper name. It somehow made things so much more intense and serious. "There is more going on than I've told you. A lot more."

I swallowed. "Go on." He pulled a letter – Muggle style, not a scroll-- from his pocket and placed it on the table, sliding it to me. I stared at the inscription on the envelope and looked back up at him. "It's addressed to the Ministry of Magic."

His eyes dropped to half lids. "I know that, Granger," he drawled. "I'm the one who wrote it."

I felt my cheeks flare up and saw a hint of the old Malfoy in him when his eyes twinkled. "Don't tease." I admonished softly.

The light spark that had been in his eyes faded, "No more teasing," he agreed. "You know I've been, er, finding myself these past couple of years." I nodded. "But, while I was looking for Draco, I also discovered a few other people I'd not been looking for." His eyes flicked to the letter still sitting in front of me. "That will give the Ministry all they need to go on in case…" He trailed off and shrugged a shoulder. "Just in case."

My mouth dropped open and I leaned forward, surprising myself by reaching across the table and grasping his hand. "What did you find out there, Draco?" I asked quietly.

His eyes bore into mine, then dropped to where my hand was resting on his. They lingered there for a long moment until he placed his other hand atop mine and gave it a gentle squeeze. He took a deep breath, "I want to tell you…I planned on telling you, but I have to let you know right now that you're not going to change my mind."

I pulled my hand from between both of his. That feeling like my stomach had fallen was back again. I repeated my earlier question. "What did you find out there?"

He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest and assessed the other patrons of the café before speaking. "Not what, but who." His eyes flicked to a passing waiter and he sent the man away with a quick shake of his head. Finally he looked at me, I was getting antsy and knew I wasn't going to like what he was about to tell me one bit. "Death Eaters."

Yeah, I was right. I didn't like it at all.

"But…" I sputtered, "How? I thought – the Ministry thought-- we got them all. We sent out so many Aurors, all around the world. And – are you sure?"

He smiled again. "I forgot how much fun it is to see you flustered. You know, I used to go out of my way to pester you just to see that very look you've got on your face right now." I let out a frustrated sigh and he grinned. "And to hear those, too," he added cheerily.

"Malfoy!" I groaned.

He chuckled. "Music to my ears, Granger. You'd best stop; you're taking me on a very nostalgic trip down memory lane. I might forget myself and start besmirching the good name of your beloved." I watched as his eyes narrowed slightly. "You are still with Weasel?"

A personal question. Funny, but in all our communications, I really didn't discuss too much of my personal life with Draco. I guessed he just didn't want to hear about it and he never really asked, so I didn't volunteer anything. "I – Yes, we're still together." His eyes left my face to rest on my left hand. "No ring yet, I see."

My cheeks felt hot again. "No." I agreed. "Not yet."

"May I ask why?"

Oh. I wasn't sure I wanted to have this conversation. It usually didn't sit well with Ron when he got round to the 'future' discussions, and I would put off the 'starting' of our future until later. Until I was sure… "Truthfully I think we're both too young to get married. I'm in Uni and Ron still has some – well, some growing up to do. And so do I."

Draco searched my face before he nodded. "I guess I'm not the only one who is still finding themselves then, yes?"

I smiled quickly, immensely relived that he understood. "Yes," I said softly, "I guess so." I looked away so he wouldn't see the tears that suddenly sprung to my eyes. Emotional, silly bint that I am. "But, let's get back on topic, shall we?" I looked back and straight into his eyes. "Tell me about the Death Eaters."

"You recall the barmy old archaeologist I told you about ages ago?"

I nodded readily. "Oh yes! That is one of my most treasured letters. The Muggle from -"

His eyes widened in what looked to be pleasured surprise and we both said at the same time, "Egypt."

He grinned grudgingly. "That crazy old coot has got to be one of the wiliest people I've ever met. He'd definitely be in Slytherin if he was a Wizard, not a doubt in my mind." The fond smile faded from his face then. "He got himself into a right good bit of trouble, I'm guessing. Went missing about six months ago. He's been on this absurd quest to find some fabled ancient Egyptian stone or gem of," he rolled his eyes as he said it, "Ultimate Power."

My eyes lit up I'm sure, by the way his lips twitched when he saw me practically bounce in my chair. "No need to raise you hand, Granger. I can see you've got something you want to add." His eyes were twinkling again.

I shot him a sideways glare. "Oh you!" When he apologized I continued. "Well, you know you can't just drop a little nugget like that in front of me and not expect me to do some research."

His eyebrows rose curiously. "Is that so?" He replied. He looked a little skeptical. "You found out something then?"

"Oh yes! There are a only a few vague references in regard to ancient Egypt and 'stones' of power in any of the texts I found, but there are far more when you take the hieroglyphic for stone and replace it with 'gem.' Then there are quite a few references referring to –"

"The Light of Egypt." We said at the same time.

He nodded curtly and raked a hand through his hair. "That took me bloody ages to find out. You might have mentioned you'd found out something about it in one of our correspondences over this past year." He looked rather displeased.

"Oh…Well, you, you never mentioned it again, and I didn't want to overstep my bounds."

"Really? Since when have you ever kept within your bounds?"

I felt a sting of anger and hurt. "You never asked for my help, or my opinions really when you write to me, so I didn't know if you wanted them."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Hermione," he leaned forward and looked me squarely in the eyes and I felt my face begin to burn with the intensity of his stare. "Let me tell you now, you have my official permission to overstep any bounds you so desire." His voice dropped an octave and he looked a little sheepish, his eyes shooting down to the table when he said gruffly, "Besides, why do you think I've been writing to you all this time if I didn't value your thoughts and your opinions?" He looked up at me, "If you've got something to say, for Merlin's sake, say it. Don't hold back on me anymore, alright?"

I nodded and fought down a sudden lump in my throat. "Alright." I agreed and decided to change the subject. "How did a Muggle get mixed up with Death Eaters?"

He frowned. "When I heard he went missing I started doing some inquiring. Found out that he'd been being followed for a while by masked, cloaked men with strange powers. Sounded too much like Death Eaters, so I decided to go visit one of the cities where I had heard they'd caused some trouble." His face became grim. "The villagers told me about the destruction they left in their wake. The people they hurt and about the fire that came from their hands...These are simple people, Granger. They didn't know what they saw, but I've no doubt in my mind it was Wizards they encountered." Our eyes met and I nodded mutely, still trying to grasp the idea that Death Eaters were out there. I felt sick.

"Sounds like it." I agreed. "Your friend – Do you think he actually found it? Found the stone?" I knew I sounded incredulous; those myths seemed to be just that. Lore, legend, nothing substantial.

Draco nodded. "I do. Last time I saw him he was running his mouth off all over the place about being so close to that bloody stone that he could practically feel it sitting in his pocket. It would appear that my old friend was onto something after all. Either he found the stone and got a whiff that trouble was headed his way and went underground, or – he's in trouble." Draco closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. I noticed then the fine edge of fatigue that seemed to linger on his face and suddenly thought he looked quite a bit older than his twenty years. He opened his eyes and went on. "But, from all of our run-ins over these past couple of years I'd say it's the latter. Either way, he's mixed up with Death Eaters and I've decided that I don't like having any of those bastards running about free any longer. Besides, we have to ask ourselves the bigger question here, Granger. Can you tell me what that is?"

"Why are Death Eaters following him in the first place?" I asked hoarsely, my mind already whirring to startling conclusions.

"Why indeed, Granger." Draco's eyes narrowed. "Why would they be following some fool Muggle around who is spouting out garbage about his 'big find' if there wasn't something to it."

"Oh my God," I whispered. "They want the stone."

"They want the stone." He repeated grimly. "I'm guessing they think they can do some heavy damage with a talisman that promises ultimate power, don't you think?"

"Draco –" I said quietly, "You can't do this by yourself."

"Yes I can."

I chose not to listen to him. "But you don't have to! You shouldn't. We can talk to the Ministry together! I'll be there with you. Ron and I can go with you on your trip we –"

"NO, Granger. No Ministry. No Weasley and there is no way I'd ever risk you going out there."

I didn't like being talked down to. "Why! I'm not a child, Draco. I can help you. I'm smart and you know it. I'd be a valuable asset to you. I'm a good fighter too an –"

Draco tossed his hand up. "I'm not putting you in danger, Hermione, period. So just forget it," he snapped. "This is something I have to do on my own."

"But the Ministry! I know they can help you! They can help us!" He was talking like a crazy man and I was terrified for him.

He scoffed. "I'm the son of Lucius Malfoy. You remember him, don't you? He was the bloke who was hosting the Dark Lord in his home while the crazy bastard plotted the downfall of the Wizarding world. Yeah, my reputation is stellar. They'll welcome my help and information with open arms." Draco looked away, I'm guessing so I wouldn't take the scowl on his face personally.

"I see." And I did. He was right. There was a black mark on the Malfoy name now and though some time had passed, I feared that not enough had gone by for the Ministry to take Draco seriously. Even with Kingsley as the Minister of Magic, I was sure I'd have to do quite a bit of reasoning and pleading to get him to take either Draco or me seriously. "But Draco! This, this is a fool's mission. You need help. You can't do this on your own."

"So then help me." He said seriously.

I blinked. "You'll let me help? Really?"

"Yeah. If I need research I'll send it your way." My heart plummeted.

"I'm not talking about ruddy research!"

"That will help me. I need that big, giant brain of yours safe and sound and close to libraries where you'll be most able to find out what I need and fast." He took my hand and pulled me to my feet and handed me the letter from the table. His eyes shot to mine. "And then there's this. Just hold onto the letter. If I don't get in touch with you in the next three weeks take it to the Ministry. There is irrefutable proof in the letter about the Death Eaters. They'll have to listen then."

"But," I cried, "Why can't we take this to them now? If there is proof, then why don't you use it? Why wait-"

Draco looked nervous. "It's – That's old magic in there. It's like a pensive, but on paper. It's like one of those Muggle video recorders. You can't take it to the Ministry now, Granger, because I'm still alive. If I die that is going to hold all my memories. It's going to show them where I was when they found me. It will be an account of my death. I know it will be at the hands of Death Eaters, they're the only ones who will be able to get to me, so that will be the Ministry's proof."

My mouth hung open in utter horror. "Draco!" I gasped, "NO! You – you can't –"

"Yes, I can, Granger," he replied cutting me off. "And I will. My mind is made up." I stood there stunned and unable to process what he was saying and what I was now holding tightly in my trembling hands. Draco pulled me out of the cafe and began walking me swiftly down the street.

I didn't know how to answer him, so I remained quiet while trying to figure out how to keep him from going after Death Eaters all alone.

There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but didn't know where to begin. I was literally speechless. I felt like I was willingly letting a man walk to his death with no way to stop him. I was crushed.

"Quite a bit to take in, yeah?" He interjected, breaking me from my thoughts.

"Quite a bit." I said dully. "That is an understatement."

He chuckled and stopped, turning to look at me. I gazed up at him, and mentally confirmed that he had indeed grown very tall. The things our minds flit across when we're terrified always seemed to amaze me. I was going to lose him. "I don't want you to go." I said softly.

Something changed in his eyes then and it made me catch my breath. He reached out a hand tentatively, slowly lifting it to graze my cheek and jaw. "No?" he questioned.

My eyes were locked on his. "No," I said firmly.

He swallowed and then he reached out and pulled me into his arms and hugged me tightly. I clung to him and felt that old sensation of terror zinging back into my body, only this time the fear was not for me. I held him tighter.

Finally he pulled back just a bit and smiled. His smile was full of sadness and, now that I look back on it all these many years later, I recognize what I didn't then – longing.

There was a moment when we were adrift in the depths of each other's eyes, then as one we leaned forward and our lips met. It was as if time stopped as his lips brushed slowly against mine. I gasped as he pulled back just a breath from me, his eyes searing into mine before descending once more. He took my bottom lip in between both of his, then the top and I was lost. I opened my mouth to him in invitation and I heard his quiet groan as he kissed me once more before slowly pulling away.

I was left with an invitation that he did not take. I didn't know if I should feel grateful or betrayed. His warm palm was on my cheek again and his thumb slid across it gently. I didn't realize I was crying until he wiped the tears away.

"I'll be alright you know. I'm not going to let anything happen to me." He smiled bravely. "I've got a lot to live for."

I trembled. Did he? Was I part of what he wanted to live for? I wanted to ask, but the words – I didn't know how to ask that. I didn't know if I wanted to know the answer. I touched his cheek with a suddenly clammy hand and agreed with him.

He told me to keep the letter close at hand. Keep it safe and that he'd be in touch with me every three weeks until this was resolved one way or the other.

Again I agreed numbly.

He held my gaze for a long time before turning and walking away. I didn't move, didn't breathe as I watched him leave. Should I stop him? Something inside of me wanted to do just that. To run to him. To stop him from leaving.

But why? My heart hurt and I felt tears spring to my eyes again.

Yet, I didn't listen to the pull of my heart or my mind.

I remained still. Heavy limbed and frozen, watching him walk further and further away from me. Further and further away in so many ways, it seemed.

He turned back once and raised a hand and I did too, waving until he smiled and turned away.

He didn't look back again.

--- ---

True to his word, Draco wrote every three weeks. He kept the letters coming and I helped with research where I could.

Time passed swiftly and the years slipped away one into another and before I knew it, I was here: Married to Ron and the mother of two wonderful children with twenty years of life behind us.

I had been cleaning out an old box full of mementos when I came across a tied bundle of well-read letters. I smiled fondly and stopped to read a few of them. I sorted through some of the early letters and read a few of the last ones Draco Malfoy wrote to me.

It was that night that I had my dream. The next morning I woke up and all those puzzle pieces just fit right into place and I sighed. It's not that I don't love my husband. Ron is a wonderful man. Sure, he tries my patience and yes, he's not the most even-tempered of men. But he's solid. He's trustworthy to the very end. I never doubt his love for me.

But –

I sat for a while and thought about that day. That one moment when I had Draco in my arms. When I had told him I didn't want him to go. What would have happened if I'd just said one more word to him? What would have happened if I'd been brave, like I felt I should have been then and there? What if I had stopped him liked I'd wanted to? Would things have changed? Would my life be different than it is right at this moment?

It's a question with no answer.

It was a lost moment.

I chuckled bemusedly at the folly of my thoughts and re-read another of Draco's letters. They were filled with tales of great adventure, of danger, thrills and yes, even of romance.

I tucked them away securely once more and thought about perhaps sending some of them to him. I wondered if he'd like to relive the memories as he'd written them to me?

Maybe I'd do that.

If you're wondering more about all that happened to Draco, well, I'd love to share those tales of intrigue and exciting quests with you…but that is not my story to tell; it's Draco's…

A/N – Well, there you have it. Another one-shot (sort of) under my belt. If this feels like it might possibly be an introduction to another fic…well then, it just might be. IF I get a positive response and if I think people would like to hear the tale of how Draco went off on a fool's errand in search of 'The Light of Egypt' and ended up with the grandest adventure of his life and, coincidentally the love of his life…then let me know, people.

Cheers,

Lorett