It had been five years since he last stepped foot onto British soil.

He still remembers clearly when it happened, when he and his family were thrown out of their homeland like a disease they wanted nothing with; like criminals they wanted gone and buried. And that was exactly the thing, they were criminals that Britain didn't want to be associated with, things of history they wanted buried deep down in the soil for no one to ever find.

He was seventeen when he was forced to leave his home. He remembers the hearing with the council, with the Minister, and with a selected few that were allowed in to hear his verdict. Half of the council had been eager to throw him into Azkaban, to let him rot and die along with so many others with the same disease, with the same mark of sickness and perversion on their skin for the rest of their lives. The other half had been hung on every word the famous Harry Potter had said on his favor, believing in the humanity that Harry Potter swore the accused still had and that he had been forced and threatened to behave so cruelly and viciously.

In the end, torn between hatred, anger, resentment and the words of the trustee, loyal, savior of the Wizarding World, the Wizengamot decided to banish him out of Britain for five years and with a mandatory rehabilitation course with the Ministry of whatever country he was assigned to live in. So without a chance to speak to anyone—for the council had decided that he must end all ties with anyone in Britain, friend or foe—he and his parents were led to the cross-line of French boundaries; Harry Potter, the Minister of Magic, and a group of Aurors overseeing that they left England without disturbances.

There had been a lurching pull inside his bones that ignited a rare emotion in his chest when he was being banished, when he was forced to leave his land, that he took with him to a restricted part of France. He had wanted to say goodbye to one person in particular, to find that person, to tell them what he needed to say, but he wasn't given a chance. He had lived three years of those imprisoning five waiting for her, sending illegal requests for favors to those he wasn't supposed to be in touch with so they could find her.

On the fourth year he received a single scrap of parchment that read: Notes Café, London. Every weekday, 9am.

The shred of paper had crumbled, decayed slightly, and ripped at the edges, but he still had it. He kept it in the pocket of his robes or trousers every day. It gave him something like an angry hope, bubbling in his bones as he waited.

It had now been five years and one week, and he was back.

X

She was running late, just like always. The alarm-clock hadn't gone off—that or she didn't remember shutting it off—and she overslept forty minutes, shifting her entire schedule as she rushed to do her responsibilities before work as efficiently as she could. She had already been a block away from her house when she realized she'd left half of her work necessities along with her wand. After dashing back to get them in record speed, she found anger tensing her bones at the clear realization that she'd woken up on the wrong side of bed and that the day was surely not about to get any better.

"Ah! There you are, sweetheart." Stepping away from a marbled podium that was draped in vines and flowers, a middle-aged woman with wrinkles around her black eyes smiled kindly at the flustered woman that had just walked into her shop. "I was beginning to worry."

"Good morning Mrs. Note," the heaving brunette greeted the woman. "How late am I?"

Mrs. Note reached the young woman with a carefree smile, and by the hand she proceeded to drag her a little further into her shop. "It's just half past nine, darling. You're not—oh, my! What happened?" And as the light had hit the girl perfectly, Mrs. Note saw various spots of green, yellow, purple and blue decorating her skin.

Blushing a little at the woman's dramatic reaction, the brunette tried to smile in an assuring manner before she went off and made a complete spectacle. "It was a bit of a long day at work yesterday, nothing to get too worried about."

"You simply cannot go out to the street like that, Hermione," Mrs. Note reprehended sternly. "Haven't you gotten any make-up on you, love? We need to cover that up. You look like someone's punching-bag!"

"They can't be covered up, Mrs. Note," Hermione sighed, leaning against the podium a little as she felt her exhaustion come out for a peek. "Believe me, I've tried everything in my knowledge."

The older woman shook her head. "Nonsense, you just weren't blending strong enough. I'll have Karla work on you before you leave. I'm sure her need to drown herself in make-up will come in handy to get rid of those nasty bruises."

Playfully, Hermione rolled her eyes at the clear distaste Mrs. Note had over her daughter's glittering use of cosmetics to enhance her features. Various times the woman complained that her daughter was becoming one of those girls who cared for nothing more than living at night and sleeping through the day.

"You work a barbarian's job, Hermione," Mrs. Note told the brunette, showing her distaste for something else as well. "But before I can spoil your morning with my disapproval of such things, tell me, how are your boys?"

"My boys are the reason why my job is so barbaric and I'm covered in bruises," the witch told the woman with a bit of a laugh. "But nonetheless, the idiots are perfectly well. Ron's worse than I am, but he deserves it."

"Another fight?" Mrs. Note mused, clucking her tongue disapprovingly. "Oh, sweetheart, it seems that's all you do nowadays. I'm assuming Harry's staying out of it, like usual?"

Hermione snorted, looking down at her watch; her foot suddenly tapping at the impatience as the need to take off invaded her skin. "He better stay out of it if he doesn't want to die. If he sides with Ronald, I'll kill him. If he sides with me, well, I'll kill him too. He knows who's at fault here and it's not me."

And as the older woman clucked her tongue once more, as Hermione looked down at her watch once more, and as a dark-haired girl approached the two by the podium with a white paper-bag and steaming cup of coffee, all of them were unaware of a pair of eyes staring intently at their direction.

There was a young man seated at a corner table of the shop, completely focused and intent on every word spilled by the other end of where he sat as soon as the brunette had arrived later than she usually did.

"Karla, you're a lifesaver! Thank you." Hermione smiled, her brown eyes twinkling as the newly-arrived girl handed her a bag with Notes Café printed on the front of it with beautiful black, cursive letters. "I swear if it wasn't for either of you I'd be incredibly malnourished."

Karla Note—a petite girl in her early twenties with dark eyes and dark hair and a wild aura—returned the brunette's expression. "Don't worry about it, Hermione. We're happy to do it. After all, what kind of citizens would we be if we let one of our own officers fend off criminals on an empty stomach? The scandal!"

Clearly noticing that the muggle girl was mimicking her mother's need for the dramatics, Hermione settled on controlling her laughter and not igniting Mrs. Note's constant frustration with her only daughter.

"But I don't really expect that's why she feeds you so often, Hermione," Karla continued, her smile turning into a smirk. "Mum's still hoping you'll drop your boys and she gets a chance to introduce you to my brother."

"For God's sake, Karla! Stop spreading lies. You know perfectly well that in these past four years I've grown an immense affection for Hermione and I worry about her health. With all the running around and investigations and messes the poor girl gets herself into the least I could do is offer her a proper cup of coffee and some sweets." Mrs. Note frowned at her daughter for a moment but then turned back to the brunette. "But seriously, dear, you'd love my Luca. He'd be a right step up from all those barbarians you're always around with."

At that, Hermione had to laugh loudly. "Oh, Mrs. Note. I really do appreciate your concern, but you know that I've already found the love of my life. Sure, he's not all that agreeable on most days and can be a complete nutter, but he—" The rest of what she wanted to say had been cut short when she blinked and saw something straight from her nightmares take up her line of vision.

There he was, seated in the middle of a circular table, teacup in front of him, sweet on the side, and two other people on his left side. His eyes were penetrating into hers, staring her down; looking at her in a way that taunted. There was no emotion on his face, no sneer or smile. He was there, right there.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?"

Summoning all of her will to look away from flashes of the past, Hermione swallowed her nerves and steadied the uncontrolled shaking that was already digging into her fingertips. "I…I got to go now, Mrs. Note. Duty calls, thanks for the food."

And before the two muggle women could say anything, Hermione Granger turned on her heels and hurriedly headed out of the muggle café. And with every step, as her hands shook and something like fear raced up her spine, she wondered what the hell he was doing out of Azkaban twenty years early.

X

Clink. Clink.

He had been standing behind an armchair where his mother sat, his father on the other side. All three of them were silent, staring firmly and unmoving at the man who had been sitting in a royal-looking chair on the other side of the desk.

Clink. Clink.

'You've been out of London for five years now,' the man had started with a low and firm tone, his dark eyes not looking sensitive or gentle as he did so. He had sounded almost reluctant, like he'd been hoping they never showed up. 'Your departure was amidst the ending of the war. After many trials and collecting of Death Eaters, the Ministry worked long and hard to create a different world that was not based on terror and corruption.'

Neither of them had said anything again, their eyes narrowing more at the man who banished them from Britain years ago.

'The Ministry and world you are permitted to enter now has changed indefinitely. Everything from those years of war has been put to peace, along with our dead and the confinement of the responsible for the destruction. By integrating yourselves back into us means learning our new methods and ways. You shall need to go around various offices of the Ministry and reacquaint yourselves, and inform these departments of your arrival. They shall provide you with information, and you're to exchange yours to them.'

Another moment of silence.

'As convicted Death Eaters and Voldemort's supporters, you are to inform the Department of International Relations every time you choose to leave or enter the country. That implies the use of Portkeys or using the Floo Network. Is that understood?'

One second, two seconds, and then his father had nodded his head solemnly at the man; assuring him that he and his family understood the rules upon entering their homeland once more.

'Very well,' the man had said, clearing his throat slightly. 'Since the Ministry has been rebuilt and departments have been added and some disbanded, you'll have a Ministry Official showing—'

Knock. Knock. Knock.

'Ah, seems she's here already.' The man stood from his chair, calling out an, 'enter.' And then the door was pushed open.

Clink. Clink.

He had to repress a smirk from coming out and playing on his face when he watched as she stumbled back the steps she'd taken into the Minister's office; looking like she'd been jinxed backwards. That completely overwhelmed and thrown-off expression she'd given off had been schooled and masked to nothingness in the next second as she had moved closer to the man on the furthest side of the desk; her eyes had looked at nothing but him.

After a warm greeting that had slipped from the Minister's mouth, which was not returned by the brunette woman that had marched in, the man had cleared his throat uncomfortably for a moment and then had proceeded to sit himself back down on his royal-looking chair.

'Due to yesterday night's raid that resulted in thousands of galleons worth of damaged public property and the misuse of rights granted to you by the Ministry,' the Minister began, reading off a parchment with a firm voice that did not match his dark eyes, 'for the next week you are to sit out of fieldwork and complete paperwork or other duties required from you that pertains to your department.'

He watched her clutch a fist, but nodded obediently nonetheless.

'Now, seeing as you're the first to arrive from the four of you that have been suspended from your title temporarily, you're to show our newly-arrived guests around the Ministry. They have paperwork that must be completed and you're to help them through that transition, Auror Granger.'

Clink. Clink.

Several minutes had passed by, no one saying anything as the pressure of not being the one to break that silence loomed over them. He narrowed his eyes, keeping that quietness, but scowling at the back of her brown curls as she proceeded to walk ahead of them.

Dressed in a fitted and well-sculpted black, pencil-skirt that rested a little before her knees, white button-up shirt that was tucked into said skirt, he could see the gradual changes that her appearance had given from the last time he saw her. She had flecks of that seventeen year-old witch in her still, but she was different. It was like something had happened to her, something that had switched her and rewired her.

Clink. Clink.

And even though he was just getting sight of her back—that had also gone some shapely changes—he found himself staring at the red heels that created unnecessary noise against the fine marbled flooring of the Ministry.

He wanted her to turn around, to give him something more to study. Five years had gone by and something had clearly caused an impact on her; making her brown eyes glitter with something more than thirst for knowledge and desire to save the world.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Hermione!"

Breaking the silence that had been the rule for thirty minutes now, he felt his body ignite with immediate irritation as their path towards the Department of Magical Transportation was halted by two intruders that turned from the opposite end of the corridor they were in.

Slowly turning in her red heels, he noticed her clench her little fist once more as she sucked in a breath and turned to look at the intruders. "On the opposite end of the corridor you'll find the Daft Duo, but please try not to stare too much or they'll slobber. Now, if we can continue to—"

"Hermione, we need to talk," Harry Potter, in all of his holy and damned glory, approached the small group slowly. "Please. It's important."

Hermione narrowed her brown eyes. "No, Auror Potter, we cannot."

Copying his best friend's actions, Ron Weasley took steady steps to the brunette with infuriated eyes cast in their direction. "Can you be a little sensible about this, 'Mione? I mean, Harry and I want a quick chat. That's all."

"Sensible?" And then Hermione snapped, making a clink, clink, clink as she took heated steps towards her two colleagues. "You, Ronald Weasley, king of the inconsiderate, want me to be sensible? You're mad!"

Harry leaned a little closer to Ron. "…I told you she'd react this way."

The redhead snorted, narrowing his eyes at the brunette. "Hermione, as an Auror—"

"Oh, shut up," Hermione hissed. "We're suspended from our Auror titles, if you remember. Which, as I recall, is your fault! Now, if you'd been a decent partner and didn't have the brain capacity of a troll and gotten me blasted from room to room during yesterday night's raid, after I specifically told you of the wards you were supposed to drop, which you chose to ignore because you were upset about Harry giving me the lead of that case instead, then maybe we could've talked. But right now I'm supposed to be showing the…these guests around the new Ministry seeing as they've come back from France—after being banished by the Ministry for five years."

And as the brunette turned around, beginning her march down the other end of the corridor as her guests silently began to follow after her, Ron and Harry turned to one another. "Rock, paper, scissors." They nodded their fists for a few seconds before throwing out a hand gesture each.

As Harry's fingers were shaped as scissors and Ron's hand was fisted into what was supposed to be 'rock', the latter grinned at his friend. "Your call, mate."

Gritting his teeth, letting out a giant groan of irritation and damnation, Harry hesitantly but quickly ran after Hermione.

Clink. Clin—

"Oi!" Being swept off her feet before she could take another furious step away, Hermione was tossed over Harry's shoulder. "Put me down!"

"Welcome back to London. I'm sure the Ministry's proving to be delightful and fits your necessities now that your back." Harry smiled dramatically at the three blondes staring at him with complete distaste. "This is Auror Weasley and he'll be taking over for Auror Granger. Good day now."

X

She was kicking him with all the fury she had, the points of her heels trying to aim for the family-jewels as he continued to ignore her protests as he had her sprawled over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

After wincing as her final kick did almost in fact impact with his manly-bits, Harry placed the brunette on her feet after they entered his office. With quick skill, he waved his wand towards the front of his office; placing a Silencing Charm and making sure it locked tightly while Hermione regained her balance.

"What are—no, Harry, you can't do this! Head Auror or not, you blithering idiot, I've got to go back and do my job!" The brunette hissed at the famous Chosen One.

Harry rolled his eyes, ignoring her. "Merlin, Hermione, your bruises look terrible. Haven't you tried to cover them up, or are you trying to make Ron feel bad?"

"Glamour Charms can't contain them," Hermione responded dryly, her eyes narrowing. "That entire street was drenched in dark magic. And after Ron so foolishly let me enter without dropping the wards, I was bombarded everywhere. And just in case you've forgotten your Auror training, dark magic wounds can't be covered!"

"Yes, well, it's a good thing you're just a different shade and not missing limbs, eh?" Harry gave her a sheepish smile, turning away from her as he headed to his desk and chair.

At his obviously clear attempt to distract her of her previous rage and embarrassment, Hermione took one deadly step towards the Head Auror. "You lied to me."

Harry looked at her, shame in his eyes but he tried to push it away as he sighed tiredly at the hiss of her voice. "Look, Hermione, there was no other alternative—"

"Yes, there was! It's the truth!"

"—to handle this," he finished, but he'd caught her comment. He frowned now. "If you wanted the truth, Hermione, you should've given it to us! How did you think we felt, what did you think we thought when we saw you crying like a nutter over his imprisonment? What did you think we assumed was going on when you drove yourself sick by worrying for him? You attempted time and time again to see him in his cell in Azkaban—for what reasons? You had no business there!"

The brunette was shaking in her stance, her red heels quivering from the pressure her legs were gathering not to march right up to her best friend and curse him to his death. "It was my life, Harry Potter, not yours! How dare you interfere with that? You lied to me for years!"

"As did you!" Harry snapped back. "Do you think it was easy? Because, bloody hell, Hermione, it wasn't!"

"You made me believe his confinement was definite," she bit back, not caring for the distress he thought he'd had on his shoulders for his lie. "You…You had Kingsley tell me that the Wizengamot had submitted him to solitary imprisonment! You told me he was never going to see the light of day! You had others lie to me, Harry!"

"And it was hard!" Harry retorted, shooting out of his chair and leaning over his desk menacingly. "We had to burn files, we had to make sure security at Azkaban didn't let you in, we had to make sure you were never on assignments out of the country—but we did it all for you! Can't you see that?"

He had gone from completely enraged to a collected calm, which meant he thought he was in his right and that he had performed an extraordinary act. Hermione knew this, knew him like the back of her hand, but she was not budging.

"The struggle it's been for you to lie to me, Harry, I care not for," the brunette told the man before her, expression not turning to that of understanding and compassionate she was known for. "Out of all people, I had the right to know what happened with him." And before he could counter-argue, she added, "yes, I lied, but I did have my reasons. You didn't have the right to interfere with things that involved only me."

"Your like my sister, Hermione," Harry kept his calm, trying to use the patience-method he'd developed since the war. "I saw you in pain, I wanted to get rid of it. What came after….Well, let's just say you needn't worry about him anymore. You've got someone better in your life now. Remember that before you try and seek him out."

Pressing her lips into a tight line, her chest filling with emotions she'd subdued for the past years, Hermione nodded at that. Though she hated the idea that she'd been lied to, Harry was right. She had someone now, someone worth more than the boy who left her five years ago.

X

It took him ten minutes to find her house.

Once Weasley had taken his documentation and informed that he would process it and that he and his parents were to wait in his office for a few minutes, he'd snuck out, claiming he was going to find the loo, and found a poor Ministry Official. And he meant it, the worker was poor. He paid him a few galleons to find him the information. Then, presto, here he was.

It had taken less minutes to take down her wards. She wasn't the very original type, not one to use any new spells or very old ones to protect her home. Her approach was practical, keeping out only those she had no tolerance for.

So with a flick of his wand, he wasn't surprised or flattered that he stepped out of her fireplace and onto her living room without a hex coming his way.

"I'll be right there!"

He raised an eyebrow, she was expecting company. She heard the fireplace go off, someone enter her home, and she hadn't bothered to come and see who it was. He'll have to have a chat about that with her later, that's even if he remembered or cared by then.

Her living room had marble flooring, brown that almost looked like fine wood. Her walls were a grayish-white, almost like a pale silver, and antique paintings hung from them. There was one giant window in the room, one that was divided into two and almost reached from top to bottom of the flat. Her sofa and armchairs were a russet color and a silver rug at the center.

It wasn't quite her—not the one he remembered anyway—but he could tell it was icy, expensive, and modern.

"I couldn't find those emerald earrings my dearest—" The clinking of heels were heard against the marble floor but then they came to a sudden halt as the woman exiting one of her rooms noticed her intruder.

He smirked at her, leaning against one of her grayish walls as he thrilled himself on her expression of complete and utter shock. "Hello there, old friend."

Knowing perfectly well why that damned leer was on his face, Pansy Parkinson erased her emotions from her face and replaced them with a nothingness she'd been trained to feel from a young age. "What are you doing here?" Her tone was cold, blue eyes narrowed at the intruder.

"Is that really the way to greet someone?" He asked her, his eyes still glittering darkly. "I have been gone for five years. I expected that you'd miss me at least a little bit."

She cleared her throat, trying to find some friendly smile to pull on. "Of course I have," she told him, her voice masked. "It's great to see you. I know that things are different from what you remember them and that you and your parents need help adjusting. I'd be glad to help some other time, but right now I'm a little busy."

He looked her up and down, inspecting her with with a judging gaze. She was still pale as ever, her skin untouched by any freckles or blemishes. Her short, dark hair had grown to her shoulders; completely straight.

"Since I've been gone, it's not hard to assume that you're waiting for some bloke, right? Someone else to obsess over." He looked back into her eyes, leer still vibrant. "If you still have to resort to short skirts, Parkinson, I can't help but to assume that this is some dodgy man. Tell me, is he paying for this flat?"

Her feigned friendly look was completely wiped away; her pale cheeks lighting up red with anger. "Get out," she spat at him. "Leave my house, and don't you dare come back. You already have a criminal record proceeding you, one Floo call to the Ministry and you'll be sent straight to Azkaban for breaking through my wards. "

His smug smile disappeared a few centimeters, a flash of anger crossing his features as well, but he chose to squash them. It wouldn't do for him to lash out at her. So with a deep breath and a gather of his indifference he stepped away from the wall and turned to head to the Floo. But right as he gathered a bit of Floo Powder, his palm clutching the sparkling dust, he said, "I saw her today."

And as the man had his back on her, Pansy stiffened.

"She was there at the exact place you said she'd be." Blinking away from the Floo Powder, he turned and looked over his shoulder. "It took you four years to gather that bit of information, Parkinson. You're hiding something. And I'm going to find out what it is."

And once he threw the powder into the Floo Network and disappeared through the raging flames, Pansy's protecting, blank walls fell down and her worry shone greatly.

Draco Malfoy should have stayed where he was and never had come back at all.

X

Letting out a giant sigh, Hermione kicked off the red heels she'd been wearing all day to the corner behind her door as she entered her home. Her head was pounding, her feet exhausted, and her bruises were stinging. To say that the day had not treated her well was an understatement. Things had complicated themselves from the moment her alarm hadn't gone off and she found herself forty minutes late.

"Let it go," she mumbled to herself, heading to her kitchen to begin dinner.

But even as she took a deep breath and tried to subdue all her thoughts, she just couldn't. How could she blatantly ignore that the Malfoys were back?

She had gone five years pushing him to the darkest corner of her mind as she continued to move on with her life. She had spent those five years forgetting, living, and trying to be somewhat accepting of the fact that he was going to be just something obscure that no one really knew about because he was supposed to be rotting his life away in Azkaban. She had accept that—the fact that he'd be imprisoned until the day he died.

At first, she thought she was seeing things when she'd spotted that blonde man sitting in a corner table at NotesCafé. There couldn't have been any way in hell that Draco Malfoy was sitting in her favorite cafe, especially not in Muggle London. But when she saw the glow of his silver eyes, when she noticed his parents loyally sitting next to him as they sipped on tea and ate pastries, she knew something was completely off.

She had run off to work, her insides churning and brain frying itself from the previous encounter, hurrying to meet Kingsley as he'd assigned her to show 'new guests' around the Ministry, and ran head on to Voldemort's ex-servants. By the look that the Minister had given her, by the way his eyes had looked apologetic, she knew her brilliant mind had been intact as always and she was not off her rocker.

The Malfoys were not in prison; they were feet from her.

So what was she supposed to do now? How could she not let all those things resurface if Draco Malfoy was free and clearly walking about London? How could she resist the urge to corner him and hash out all the things left unsaid?

No one knew what had transpired between her and Malfoy. The only ones who had a vague idea were Harry and the Weasleys. But even then, their ideas of what could've been that happened was completely off. The history that connected Hermione to the Malfoy heir remained between them; buried and stacked off behind curtains that were woven from the moment he was arrested by the Ministry.

She knew that Harry and Ron only wanted the best for her, but she could handle herself. She hadn't survived a war without knowing how to take a few curses and a torture session for nothing. She was strong, made of steel. She could talk to Malfoy and remain the raging force she always was...

Resting against her dining table, propped on her elbows, Hermione let out another tired sigh. Looking away from the pot of water she was waiting to boil, she glanced at the furthest wall of her living room and her vision zeroed in on the photographs hanging on it. When she focused on a picture of her and Harry, she had to grudgingly admit that he was right. She couldn't let Malfoy come back in; she couldn't let whatever had been drowned to resurface for closure she should've let go five years ago.

There was someone else in her life now. Someone that was her everything.

Shaking her massive curls, trying to push all old emotions away, she reached for a bag of uncooked pasta she'd set out on the table the day before and opened it. And as she walked to the stove, draining the long stems of pasta into it, her ears perked up and the door of her home opened.

After she stepped away from the stove, taking steps towards her living room, her eyes met a gorgeous face and captivating eyes. A smile automatically went on her face; her heart strings tugging amongst themselves as her chest filled with complete bliss.

"Hello," the love of her life said and she knew nothing mattered but him.

X

It had been a couple of days—three to be exact—but the news that the Malfoys were back continued to rampage through the Wizarding World like a wild fire. It had been the talk amongst everyone at the Ministry, on the streets of Hogsmeade, on the alleys of Diagon Alley, and on the cover of every magazine and newspaper. There had even been rumours that journalists and photographers were stationed outside the gates of Malfoy Manor, waiting to get a quote or something from any of the three members of the family. One would've expected that at the chance for public redemption or appearance that the Malfoys would've jumped on it, but all three of them had been keeping to themselves.

And so, the mystery went on.

Weren't they supposed to be in Azkaban? Why were they free? Why hadn't the Ministry let the public know that one of the most notorious family of Death Eaters was on the loose, and by law? Hadn't they thought of the citizens, of those who had lost so much because of people like the Malfoys? And what was the family planning to do now that they were free? And what were of those rumours that they had never been in Azkaban to begin with? Had they bribed the Ministry and its council and that's why they had been pardoned from prison?

Whatever the answers to these questions were, it seemed that there was but one person in the wizarding community staying away from the Malfoy controversy—if it were not for persistent redheads.

"Ginny," sighing with a withering patience, Hermione looked away from the endless amount of paperwork scattered on her desk from inside her office. "Can we please not do this today?"

Raising a fiery brow, Ginny scoffed aloud. "Hermione," she mocked in the same annoyed tone, "can you please not do this today?"

"I've got no time for this, honestly," the brunette told her friend, still holding on to her tolerance. "I've got so much work to do, and Kingsley wants it all filed by five o'clock; which will be in an hour. Please go back to wherever you came from and leave me be."

Ginny scoffed again. "Honestly, Hermione. Turn in the bloody documents three years late and Kingsley will happily smile at you." She placed a hand on her friend's desk and blocked her vision on her current stack of papers. "We're going to talk."

"Does Harry know you're here?" Hermione threw back, narrowing her eyes at the redhead. She wasn't getting her point across—she hadn't been getting her point across for the past two days that Ginny had been bombarding her with her unwanted presence, and now she was being resorted to blackmail. "He wouldn't be happy with you if he did, Ginevra."

"Go ahead and call for him if that's your intention," Ginny retaliated. "Maybe that way we will all have a serious talk about all this. It's about bloody time we get things out in the open, don't you think? It's been five years after all."

Hermione's patience died, but something cold and painful took its place. "...Please let it go, Ginny."

At the clear hurt on her friend's face, the redhead dropped most of her anger, but all her determination was still intact. "I'm not Harry or Ron, Hermione," she said slowly. "I don't want you to bottle it up, and I don't want you to let it go. I want you to face this. You need to face this. Don't you understand that? This is never going to go away, and especially not if you hide from it."

By feminine intuition, Hermione knew that Ginny was well aware of what might be going on inside her head and inside her chest. Things definitely were more complicated than the narrow advise Harry had given her: forget. How could she? It was a lot more complicated than to wish it away. Things like these didn't go away; no unresolved business did.

Yes, she wanted to talk; yes, she wanted to reveal truths she'd kept bottled up for five years; and yes, she wanted to find out the answers to some of her own questions, but she couldn't. Though Harry didn't understand that you can't order the mind to forget about something without the clever use of magic, he'd had a point when he said that Hermione was no longer alone.

"It's not that easy," she whispered in reply. And that was the truth, wasn't it? It wasn't easy, none of this.

"Well obviously!" Ginny retorted. "Look, I get that it's far beyond complicated, I can't pretend not to see that, Hermione, but it's not impossible. Talk to him. You need it. I can see the wheels behind that brilliant head of yours turning and turning. The only reason why you gave up on ever getting your answers was because of the lie Harry and Ron fed you. You have the chance to get those answers—go for it!"

Hermione cracked a small, meaningless smile. "You're being surprisingly supportive about this."

The redheaded woman did not attempt to lighten the situation with fake smiles. "I will never understand or see what could've linked you with Malfoy, him being a bastard and all, but I have trust in you, Hermione. Harry and my brother might have forgotten about that, but your judgement has always been the best. Something drew you to him, whatever it might be, and you have every right to get the answers that have had you in the dark for five years."

Inhaling once, trying to buy some time of silence, Hermione had to admit that Ginny's feminine intuition was spot on again. She also knew that she owed Ginny—hell, she owed Harry and the Weasleys some explanations of what happened so long ago, but she couldn't dive into those memories just yet. Or possible ever, really. She wasn't that girl anymore. She wasn't a teenager at war with the world, fighting by her best friend's side, and who happened to have found light in silver eyes by some tricky mistake.

"I've waited five years, Ginny," Hermione finally responded, "I can put it off for the rest of my life. As much as Harry's intentions were rubbish and not his responsibility, there's nothing that I need from Malfoy now. I've got someone..." She trailed off for a moment, blinking her eyes and catching the picture-frame standing on a corner of her office.

And as she stared at that person who owned all of her, his bright and huge eyes, her chest filled with complete love. That feeling that he caused, just the thought of him, was strong enough to push away all the memories of the once Slytherin Prince.

Ginny was about to retort about that, contradict her and tell her that was definitely not an excuse, when the door to Hermione's office opened without a knock or a request to come in. Inward came the Slytherin Prince himself.

He stood tall and almighty; his skin glowing a pearly-white from the contrast his all-around black attire provided. His hair was still as fair and shiny as always; tousled and reaching almost to his eyes. And, oh, those eyes. They were still as silvery and indifferent as the moon on a starless night.

"Well, will you look at the time?" Ginny rose from her seat, clearing her throat loudly as she gathered her handbag. "See you later, alright, 'Mione."

Hermione couldn't say anything, she couldn't find her voice. All she could do was feel the overload of shock and betrayal seep into her as the redheaded woman marched out of the office; passing the intruder with a calculating glare and then shutting the door behind her.

They were alone now and tension flew high and drowned the room.

Hermione swallowed a lump in her throat, her body tensing. Her chest started heaving, going up and down, up and down with an aching sensation. Her fingertips were tingling, going numb like her senses.

And just before she went into a full-on panic attack, Malfoy took several careful steps towards her. "You might want to relax," he spoke in a low voice, silkily dark as ever. "You'll overwhelm yourself. And you don't want to pass out, do you?"

She couldn't feel her bones—she was definitely going into overload. He still remembered. He still could tell when she was about to lose it; when her body became a traitor and wanted to shut down when her mind decided it was going into a frenzy from too much commotion.

But before she could faint, she remembered that he always had a peculiar way of snapping her out of it. And not being in the right state to let him take the liberty to do that, because she was sure he was still an arrogant asshole and he did what he pleased, she cleared her throat and managed to get her hands moving.

"Is there anything I can help you with, Mister Malfoy?" She asked as she stacked the archives into a neat pile.

Draco rose a blonde eyebrow at her; his expression blank as always. "I'm not here on Ministry affairs I'm afraid, Miss Granger." Fine. If she wanted to play games, then so could he. "But you can help me nonetheless."

Re-stacking her files, the brunette shook her head. "I'm afraid that's impossible. I'm a very busy person. If you have nothing Ministry related that I can assist you with, you need to leave."

"I'm not leaving," Draco told her smoothly, but there was a frown creasing his forehead. "You and I have matters to discuss, Granger, and you know it. It's been three days. I figured I was going to have to find you because you never would come to me; and it seems I was right.. What lack of Gryffindor bravery, if I may point out."

All against her will, Hermione looked up at the blonde man. "Bravery has nothing to do with it, Malfoy," she snapped at him. "I haven't gone off looking for you because there's nothing to discuss."

"I have countless of memories swimming in a Pensieve that say otherwise, Granger," he threw back just as acidly. "We have unfinished business. In fact, you have answers to my questions."

Hermione shot up in her seat, forgetting all about her would-be panic attack as fury seeped inside of her instead of complete and utter fright. How dare he make the suggestion that she had anything to tell him? She had been the one left like a fool while he was off in France! Sure, she understood the fact that he had been banished, but when exactly did Malfoys start abiding by the law?

Grabbing all the files on her desk, finished and incomplete, Hermione kicked her chair backwards. "You're going to have to let yourself out, Mister Malfoy," she hissed, sucking in courage to leave the safety behind her desk to head for the door. But before she did, she quickly grabbed the picture-frame on her desk and placed it face down on top of her work. "And next time, don't bother showing up to my office. If there's a chance that you did need something related to the Ministry, I'm sure the Head Auror would be happy to assist you."

"Don't run away, Granger," Draco growled, not moving from his spot as the brunette attempted to leave the confined walls of her office. "You owe me."

With one arm juggling all the files and her free hand reaching for the handle of her door, Hermione didn't bother to turn back at the blonde man. She waited a long second, weighing everything Ginny had said verses everything Harry had suggested. There was so much of the truth missing in both her friends allegations to deem either of them right, especially since she kept most of it to herself, but she couldn't find it in her to bring it out. She had indeed waited five years with the need to know what happened, but right now, right as her mind was in complete havoc, everything blurring from right to wrong, she assumed that maybe she didn't need the answers anymore.

She had someone to live for now; someone who owned her world and heart completely. Things had definitely changed.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione twisted the handle of her door. "You're the one who left me, Draco. Even before you were arrested." And with that, she walked out of her own office and left her past behind.

X

"Welcome! Welcome!"

There was a buzzing sound taking up all of Diagon Alley, and it was all coming from one place only: Weasley Wizard Wheezes. It was the midst of August now, summer holidays close to reaching the end, and Diagon Alley was alive with students and parents; all of them preparing and rushing last minute to gather supplies needed for an upcoming year of school.

Usually the shops owners and Diagon Alley regulars were used to the noise that came from the children all rushing around, but it had been years since that was the only sound once the ending of the holidays came. It had all changed when that new joke shop had opened almost eight years back—but now it had gotten worse. It was like a constant party in the alley: music, laughter, shrieks, and shouts invading the streets.

It was the third annual 40% Off ALL Items at Weasley Wizard Wheezes. And every child, troublemaker or not, young and adolescent, heading to Hogwarts was there. The opportunity to stock up or witness the new products and creations were too tempting to resist.

"Honestly, George," Hermione ducked quickly as a flying Dementor action-figure zooming all about the shop almost crashed into her head. "I don't know if you're a brilliant salesman, or you do this nonsense only to aggravate McGonagall once the students return with loads of your latest creations."

Jumping off a ladder with a reserved package of an Aviatmobile, a flying toy car with wicked fast settings, George Weasley gave a toothy grin at the brunette waiting for him by the counter. "You and I both know I'm a wicked salesman, Granger," he told her cheerfully. "And how dare you insinuate I deliberately send the Headmistress trouble?" Hermione was about to retort when the redheaded man added, "I do it to hear the stories of Filch slowly driving himself mad with all the disaster the castle goes under, of course. It's been ages since I attended school, but a piece of me always feels humbled that I can cause the old geezer the same anger as back then. "

"Holding on to your glory days, naturally," the brunette muttered disapprovingly, pulling out her wallet from inside her handbag.

George kept his grin, catching the girl's comment. "Seems like I'm not the only one," he told her in a mocking, all-knowing voice. He leaned against the counter, peeking over her shoulders and scouting the faces inside his shop. "Where are your guards, Hermione? I was well aware that Harry assigned them to protect you; not for you to act like you can still take on the world with all that wit."

"I don't need protection," she said to him, placing a few sickles on the counter. "Harry worries too much. It's not like I'm going to get offed coming to Diagon Alley."

"Ron told me all about the raid last week. You captured some of the culprits, but a few got away and vowed revenge; especially since you killed the leader of the little gang." Pushing the money back towards her direction, George suddenly looked a little too serious for his usual appearance. "You're an Auror, Hermione, a bloody good one, but you can't protect yourself from those desperate to find you."

The brunette shoved the money back his way. "I didn't kill that man," she said through clenched teeth. "The killing curse rebounded off of my Protego; he caused his own death. And, besides, I think I can protect and hide myself just fine from unwelcome company."

There was a double meaning behind her last comment, one that George was smart enough to pick up, but he let it go. It wasn't his place, as much as he loved meddling for his own amusement. "So, where's your little man?"

At the change of conversation, Hermione sighed; forgetting all about her previous frustration and placing a small smile on her face. "He's around, sulking somewhere, I expect."

"Why's that?"

Hermione looked around, gesturing with her eyes that the answer to his question was around them. All the children. The parents with their kids, all of them stocking up on things since the clear departure to school was not far away for most of them.

"Maybe you should buy him a pet," George teased, handing her the package and the money. "I'm not taking your money, Hermione," he said after she frowned at the coins in her palm. "The bloody thing is for my nephew. It'll be like I bought it for him, anyway."

Rolling her eyes, the woman placed her package into her bag and the money too. "See you at the party, George."

"Yeah, yeah. Good luck with your little man!"

Laughing slightly at that, because her loved ones knew the troubles she had to put up with, all of them knowing that her 'little man' was a tough piece of work when he wanted to be, she pushed her way out of the shop; completing the only errand she had to do that day before having to head to Godric's Hallow. And as she did, as the light of the sun and its heat graced her exposed skin and eyes, she squinted through the crowd to find the keeper of her heart.

It took only a minute or two, but she spotted him. He was standing outside an Owl shop, looking inside as some excited First Years were in there, looking quite happy and excited to be purchasing their first owl before heading to school. He stood there, sulking completely; his bright eyes looked miserable, lonely and upset.

"Cruz," she called, walking steadily towards him. He didn't turn to her, not even as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, love," she whispered to him, gently pulling him back a step.

The keeper of her heart, the love of her life, looked up at her in resignation; sighing tiredly. "Are we leaving now?"

Hermione pulled on a smile as one of her hands moved to his forehead, pushing aside some of the glowing blonde strands of hair, a halo-like effect caused by the sunlight, out of his eyes. And without saying anything to him, she took her free hand and clasped his.

Both were making their way down the cobbled alleyway, not really saying anything to one another as they were both distracted. And as Hermione contemplated how she could make Cruz happy, how she could make him snap out of the funk he'd been under for the last month, she didn't notice when the latter crashed into a man or that someone turned towards her direction just in time; catching the little incident.

"Oh, sorry, Sir. We weren't watching where—"

"Yes, you will be sorry, Mudblood!" And right as Hermione had steadied Cruz, she barely had time to blink when that malicious voice spoke; or when the owner of it had whipped out his wand and directed it to her. "Stupefy!"

Once the spell was shot and the brunette flew backwards, there was a loud cry piercing the air as two cloaked figures zeroed in on Hermione and her company. The man that had attacked her gripped the person that'd been attached to the Auror's hand, yanking on his hair and halting him from daring to make any other move as a battle was being held between the single witch and the men who wanted nothing more than to kill her a few feet away.

"Crucio!"

Dodging one of the many Unforgivables being hexed towards her direction, Hermione screamed as she watched the man about to disapparate with the keeper of her heart. "Cruz!" She shouted, anger boiling in her blood.

But then there was a crack, Cruz's screams and cries vanishing, and she felt the digging and stabbing sensation of a curse invading her bones. She screamed with even more desperation, like a woman gone mad. And right as she was about to faint, her consciousness barely hanging on, she saw the jet of a spell shoot back her attackers—then it was all black.

Shop owners and visitors of Diagon Alley started poking their heads out, gasping and shouting, some rushing to send out a Patronus to the Auror Department, and the person who had watched the entire thing, who had saved the brunette's life, had gone and knelt before her. With both of his pale hands, he turned her over for a moment, very carefully. He could see the color of her skin turning a warning shade of white, her lips purple, blood gushing out of various parts over her, but he frowned disapprovingly and with dislike at her.

He had seen who she was with, he had seen who they had taken—unmistakable blonde hair, grey eyes and all.

X

He had been in his office, working on a few final details on the grand reopening of Malfoy Advancements when a frantic assistant had shot into the room, practically launching the glass door out of its place. He'd been upset when the freshly-out-of-school boy had interrupted him; he had made it perfectly clear that he needed silence and no disruptions. He hadn't spent the last three months since his return planning and negotiating the reopening of his family's company with precise care by dealing with the trivial things the assistants and new employees needed.

So when he had been about to patiently tell the eighteen year-old intern, through gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, to bugger off and let him do his work, the assistant had shouted that his father had been checked into St. Mungo's after an attack in an outing Mister Malfoy had insisted on taking by himself.

Gritting his teeth, more in deep concern and less anger than what he had planned to, Draco had nodded his head to the assistant named Toby and went straight to the Floo at the other side of his office.

And it was like that that he found himself rushing through a completely white hall, opening grand doors and entering the reception area of the hospital.

"Excuse me," he cleared his throat, trying to catch the attention of one of the Healers on the other side of the counter; his manners forced. "Can you tell me where—"

"Draco," a voice called him from behind, and he turned. "Why are you here?"

Looking at the man sitting tall and proud on the glass chair, composed and elegant as always, not a single hair out of place, Draco furrowed his brows at him. "I can ask you the same thing, Father," he said as he walked towards him, less urgency to every step.

Lucius Malfoy was about to respond to his son when the man next to him cleared his throat; making himself noticeable to the two blonde men.

"Weasley," Draco practically scoffed, hatred and fury entering his internal system. "Here for a monthly check-up with your Healer? Why, what a big boy you are. You're finally doing something without your mummy or Potter holding your hand."

Ron frowned, but snorted in a brush-off manner. "Actually, Malfoy, your daddy dearest is here because he's momentarily, how do you put it—oh yeah, contained." He smirked at his childhood nemesis, the same hatred boiling in his chest. "Three months back and already in trouble with the law. Not surprising, really."

"That's enough, Ron." Entering the waiting room of St. Mungo's, Harry Potter looked disapprovingly at his best friend. And with all the indignation he felt for having both ex Death Eaters in his presence, Harry turned to the younger one of the two. "Your father is being contained, but he's not in any legal trouble."

"Spoil sport," Ron grunted, crossing his arms and slouching down against the glass chair.

Ignoring Weasley, since it really wasn't that hard to, seeing as Draco tended to brush-off trash and filth anyway, he rose a blonde brow at the Boy Wonder instead. "Why exactly do you have him here then?"

"He was a witness to an attack. We just need him here for a while until we can get an Auror that specializes in interrogation. All for legal matters, of course."

"Aren't you the Head Auror, Potter? Can't you do it? My father has no business waiting about for anyone." Draco had just finished his comment when he chimed in again; cutting off whatever Potter was going to respond. "Who was attacked anyway?"

Feeling the irritation he always felt when Malfoy was around, Harry cleared his throat slightly as he looked away from his old classmate. He glanced at Ron, who was already looking at him with a blank gaze that said much more to him than what it could appear to anyone else, and he knew he was backed up against a wall.

"You know what, your son's right." Harry turned to Lucius, the look of an authority figure burning in his emerald eyes. "You're free to leave, Mister Malfoy. I think I can vouch for whatever it is that you've already told Ron and I. Have a nice day."

The redheaded auror was about to protest, but the look his best friend and boss threw him was enough to subdue it. He could see Harry's intentions. They—mostly Harry, really— had spent so much effort in keeping the Malfoys away from Britain, to get the youngest of them away from Hermione, that there wasn't a way in hell that they were going to give the ferret any access to their best friend so easily. They wanted him out of her life, and if they kept Lucius Malfoy involved for one more moment, things could go down the toilet.

Draco sneered at the two ex Gryffindors. He really did hate both of them with an intense passion, but right now he was a little satisfied that they'd ended whatever misery was about to come his way if he had to wait with his father in the presence of the Witless Duo.

"Excellent," he said offhandedly, not paying them or their eye-interaction much thought as he glanced at his father with an indifferent gaze. "Let's get going, Father. There's plenty to do still in the office and the more time we—" The rest of what he was going to say as he was folding up the sleeves of his button-up shirt was cut off when a woman came rushing towards them; making the Weasel stand immediately and embrace her with a firm grip.

Though the woman's face was buried into Weasley's chest, his long arms enveloping her as she spoke in mumbles, her words jammed as they echoed off his torso, Draco's memory was completely intact and perfect that he recognized the smell of her too expensive perfume crawling into his nostrils. It was a fragrance that smelled elegant, with the slightest hint of vanilla, but also of waterfalls. He knew that scent anywhere; he'd spent years getting headaches from it.

"Parkinson," he practically hissed, not believing his eyes.

At the mention of the name, Weasley and the woman tore apart a few inches. And surely enough, the owner of that nauseating smell that hadn't change since she was a teenage girl was the Slytherin witch herself. Pansy's blue eyes found her old friend's and a tensed second passed before anything else occurred. She had looked surprised, scared, nervous, worried, anguished—but then her well-trained mask turned the reflection of her eyes into one of nothingness.

Malfoy took one step closer to the dark-haired woman and the redhead. "It seems like you failed to mention to me that you get on with the Weasel when I saw you, Parkinson. I wonder why that is."

Pansy kept her head up high. She didn't look wavered by the daggers those silver eyes were throwing at her. "His name's Ron, Malfoy," she snapped in a defensive tone. "And I don't need to mention anything to you."

"Is it because you're ashamed?" Draco shot back. "Clearly when I asked if you were continuing to lower yourself I was right. My, nothing really changes, does it?"

Before Pansy could retort back, Ron had tossed her behind him and his wand had been whipped out the next second. He stared Malfoy dead-on, searching for that cowardly ferret that he knew was still very much in there. He pointed his wand directly between his eyes, the tip of it already glowing with a spell ready to destroy the blonde if he dared to blink.

"Or maybe it does," Malfoy said in a rough tone, not breaking eye-contact with his childhood nemesis.

"Stop it, Ron." Harry marched up this his friend, wrapping his fingers around his wrist and forcing him to lower his wand. "You've just gotten out of suspension, do you really want to get another report? He's not worth it."

Though Harry had a point that his career couldn't take another blow of suspension by attacking a civilian, even one as slimy and deplorable as Malfoy, Ron didn't drop it because of that. He had all the intention to at least poke a hole straight through the git's forehead with his wand, but that want was tossed out the window when loud sobs and thundering footsteps caught up with them.

Completely frazzled and unsettling, Hermione appeared into the waiting room of St. Mungo's with her hospital-gown still on and her wounds nowhere near healed. Her crazed and desperate eyes found those she had been looking for, Ron and Harry's.

Being the closest one to her, Harry was the first to react. He engulfed her into his arms, trying to get her to settle herself.

"They took him! They took him!" She screamed dementedly. She was struggling against her friend's arms, clawing him, punching him, trying to get him to release her since all she wanted was to leave.

Draco was instantly a part of the background. His silver eyes were open wide with outrage and shock. There she was, that fucking woman who had practically hidden under a rock for the past few months so she wouldn't have to face him, and he came to find her in the least place he'd expected.

"Hermione, please!" Harry begged, squeezing the brunette tighter to subdue her energy. She was kicking her legs everywhere, trying to escape.

Hermione did not stop fighting. She kept kicking, kept screaming and sobbing. "They took him!" She repeated with a gut-wrenching bellow. "I've got to go find him! They took him! They took him, Harry! I need to find him!"

Ron gaped at his best friends, his heart breaking. He could see the desperation, the insane fear taking up all that Hermione was. She was thrashing about, yelling at the top of her lungs and shedding endless drops of tears.

"Help me, Ron!" Harry hissed at the redhead, snapping the latter from his sad musings. "She's in shock!"

"He's in danger! Let me go!" The unsettled brunette had sunk her nails deep into her best friend's flesh. "I've got to find Cruz, Harry! Let me go! They took him!"

"We'll find him, Hermione," Harry was trying to reason with her, trying to give her reassurance. "I've got Aurors looking for him everywhere, I promise! Ron and I will find him!"

Through the screeches and piercing cries, through the confusion and the unsettling feeling, Draco could tell perfectly well that Granger was not listening. Her eyes were unfocused; her attention and mind were somewhere else. He still knew her that well to pay attention to her overall being.

Also staring at the brunette, Ron finally decided to act now before the image of Hermione on the verge of losing her mind haunted him forever. He pointed his wand forward as he noticed that no one was bloody helping, that the Healers all seemed as shocked at the scene that was going on, and he cursed his best friend into unconsciousness.

Hermione slumped in Harry's arms immediately. The waiting room of St. Mungo's was drenched in eerie silence, but the female part of the Golden Trio's hysterical sobs were still ringing inside their eardrums.

"I'll take her back," Ron whispered to Harry, his hands shaking nervously as he walked over to him. "Go back to the Ministry, Harry. You have to find him."

Nodding once, Harry handed over Hermione's body to Ron. And with one quick, silent exchange, the redhead proceeded to leave the room with Pansy Parkinson on his trail.

"Potter," stepping away from the background in which he had blended in to too, Lucius Malfoy called for the Chosen One. "I want to help."

The Head Auror knitted his brows together. "Excuse me?"

Mister Malfoy took one powerful step towards Potter, looking determined and focused. There was also a glint to his silver eyes, almost like a little regret that was obvious to the bespectacled man he was staring at. It made the Auror uneasy. "I recognized a few of Miss Granger's attackers," he informed nonchalantly. "If we head back to your office, I can go into exact detail of what I saw and you'll be closer to finding the person that Miss Granger lost."

Tightening a palm in a fist, Harry stood his ground as he narrowed his eyes at the ex Death Eater. As Hermione's best friend, he wanted to tell the man to fuck off and take his alleged want to help, but the Auror in him couldn't reject any information that could be useful.

"What do you expect from your involvement, Mister Malfoy?" That's what Harry settled for instead.

Lucius Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest. "To assist," he said simply. "With my knowledge on how these people operate, I can make the hunt a lot easier."

"You can give us your information," Harry told him sternly, "and that's it. Hermione is one of the best Aurors in this country, and she's my best friend. When we go looking for what those bastards took, you don't get involved. We take care of our own."

Holding his tongue for one more moment, Lucius waited until his son stood directly next to him. He could tell Potter's complete distaste for both of them, but he could also see the obsessed need to keep the Malfoys far away from anything involving the Muggleborn and the person that was taken hostage.

Mister Malfoy squared off his shoulders and lifted his head to signal his pride and his determination. He aimed a glance at his son, who was stoic with the spectacle and the confusion of it all, and then he turned it to Potter. The Head Auror narrowed his eyes more at his direction, noticing the certainty that was flashing in the older man's eyes.

"You take care of your own," Lucius repeated almost absentmindedly as he thought back to the person that the convicts had snatched from one Hermione Granger. "And so do we."

X

Everything was fading from her. She could see the blur of people passing her by, of the shapes of the buildings distorting themselves, of the cars zooming down the street turn into wash-outs of color, and the sky this giant blanket of white. She was looking for something. She squinted her eyes and kept walking, occasionally bumping into things that she couldn't tell were there because they faded out from the solid. As she walked, as she continued to search through the haze, she felt panic tickle a finger alongside her spine.

She was running out of time.

And when the realization hit her, she took off running. She couldn't see anything, couldn't tell what the blurs of colors passing her were; if they were buildings or people, but she rushed through them.

She was running until her feet burned, until her lungs pained her, along with her chest, from the lack of oxygen. And unwillingly, tears in her eyes blinding her even more, she stumbled and hit the ground.

"Hermione?"

Blinking wildly, having had sensed the jump her body gave on its own, Hermione found a pair of blue eyes staring at her cautiously as she drifted make to consciousness. She had her vision back now, and she didn't know where she was. The room was completely white: walls, sheets, marbled flooring, curtains, and the gown she was wearing.

The only pop of color inside the insanely white room was an arrangement of intensely pigmented carnations inside a clear vase. The bright pink flowers were beside the bed she was in, giving her the whiff of their smell that she hadn't really noticed.

"How are you feeling?"

She blinked again, swallowing the dryness in her throat and mouth. She tried to settle herself into a sitting position. But as her arms shook, feeling completely weak, the person inside the room with her automatically rushed over and assisted.

Piecing two and two together, especially since she noticed a clear cabinet all filed and filled with potion vials, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries imprinted onto the glass doors, Hermione let tears well up in her eyes.

"It's okay," the person told her in a whisper, embracing her. "It's okay, Hermione."

But Hermione really didn't believe that. Those attempted words of comfort were meaningless. She let those tears fall down her cheeks, creating trails of wetness on her skin as she cried deeply. She held onto the arms that were around her, sobbing into the embrace though the words they tried giving her weren't much of an assistance.

She was patted on the head gently. Fingers went into her wavy hair, soothing out knots as carefully as possible; trying to give her a sense of loyalty and support that way.

After a few minutes of this, Hermione released the hold of the embrace and leaned against the white wall behind her. She didn't stop releasing tears. "...How long have I been in here?"

There was silence.

She sniffled, but she was frowning. "How long have I been in here?" She insisted with force and a twinge of desperation.

"Going on three days," Pansy Parkinson replied carefully.

Hermione let out a choked sob. "Three days?" Tears, tears, tears. "Why? Why have I been here for that long, Pansy? Why would they keep me here?"

"Every time you've woken up you go into a state of shock." Pansy was usually a composed person; she thrived and lived on that. She was always serious, always collected, and always indifferent to anything and almost everything. But at the desperation the brunette was crying with, in the way she asked such broken questions with deep hurt, she couldn't deny the tickle of emotions in her throat. "Your Healer has been coming in every two hours to give you a sedating drought. They think if they let you stay awake long enough you'll harm yourself trying to escape."

"I'm not crazy," Hermione cried. Her colorless face was turning red from her tears, from the emotions inside her chest.

"I know you're not," the dark-haired woman said truthfully. "You're just someone that was robbed of the most important thing they had."

Again, Hermione cried.

She's been lying in St. Mungo's, hopped up on potions and the like to keep her sedated, to keep her bound to her bed while the love of her life has been missing for three days. He was out there somewhere, in the hands of people who hated her, who despised her and would not care to hurt an innocent as long as the desired effect was to crush her into an incoherent, unfixable mess. He was just collateral damage to them.

"Potter and Ron have been working extremely hard to bring him back," Pansy spoke again, noticing the torturous thoughts that were clouding the brunette's brown eyes. "They stop by when they can to check in on you, but they know that you rather them be out there. They love you, but I honestly think they rather be searching for Cruz than dealing with your breakdowns."

Hermione didn't say anything to the ex Slytherin witch. There was no need to reply where the truth had already been said. She knew Ron and Harry after all. They'd bleed themselves dry in order to find her happiness, to find her entire reason of being by foot if they needed to; as long as they brought it back to her.

"The Weasleys have stopped by, taking turns to sit in the room while you're asleep," Pansy continued. She was already back to being her indifferent self. It's not like the woman's tears didn't tug at whatever sympathetic feelings laid inside of her, it's just that she couldn't show them. She was still a Parkinson after all. And because she was, she had backed away from the brunette and put a comfortable distance from her. "They haven't been the only ones though."

Hermione glanced up at the dark-haired witch. There was a question about to slip out of her quivering lips, but Pansy's gaze turned to the carnations beside her bed and distracted her for a moment. Pink carnations—how did she not realize in that moment that she saw them.

Carnations were his signature.

"Lucius Malfoy brought them, though we both know who they're from." Pansy glanced away from the flowers after staring at them with a bit of disdain; she narrowed her eyes at the brunette. "According to Potter, Mister Malfoy was the one to spare you from being killed at plain sight in Diagon Alley."

The patient on the hospital bed swallowed roughly. Though a trickle of panic was starting to come out again, as it wanted to poke its way out to say hello and force her into another session of craziness, she heaved it all out.

The Malfoys mattered not; nor the memories of carnations and silver eyes.

X

Draco was in a seething rage.

It was going to be an hour now since all that venom, all that hate, all the evil that lived in him started bubbling and creating more of itself inside of him. Usually, he could go day by day with only a few ounces of it in his blood, only a few light degrees of it in his words and in his eyes, but his day had flown out the window when Weasley appeared into his office.

The disgusting weasel had come to collect his father upon the request of the Head Auror and the order of the Minister. The Auror department hadn't made their bequest of his father's help in the last two days, but now there was a need for him. When asked what they wanted from his father, Weasley had replied with an always so clever remark of, 'piss off, Ferret.' At that point, Draco could've stupefied him; the least amount of pain he was capable of causing.

But as they waited for Lucius to finish a meeting that was going to give Malfoy Advancements seventeen-million galleons by simply signing a few documents, Draco was being driven to the edge of a cold-hearted torturer.

Weasley had been tapping his fingers on his expensive desk, adding noise to the room as Draco reviewed a few blueprints of the expansion of a hotel the Malfoys had opened in France in their time of exile there. After three minutes of tap, tap, tap, Draco snapped his vision towards the redheaded idiot and found the latter already glaring at him with all the might his measly body was capable of having.

'Stay away from her,' Weasley had told him in a fashion that suggested he was ordering it; teeth gritted and determination and all.

And when Draco had responded in the same way with a 'make me', the Weasel had gotten more worked up the longer he was in the office.

'She doesn't want you,' the redhead had hissed, a fist clutching together tightly. 'I don't know what the hell happened between you two, and I honestly don't care anymore, but you need to leave her alone, Malfoy. Whatever curse you used to bewitch her back then has worn off. She's moved on!'

Draco had only scoffed at that. He really hadn't believed or entertained the thought that Granger knew romance or how to snag herself a man that wasn't the redheaded sidekick. Sure, she was a sight to see now with all her curves, but she was still the hardworking Bookworm he'd left behind. So when Weasley had brought up the point, he was all but keen to believe it.

However, that really didn't last when the Weasel King had added, 'She has someone else in her life. She's been with him for years now—she doesn't want you! She's practically driven herself mad because they took him hostage! He's the one that she loves! And she loves him more than anything, more than she could've ever possibly have had feelings for you. So, for fuck sakes, stay away from her!'

Then Toby the assistant had marched in and announced that Mister Malfoy was waiting for Auror Weasley by the lifts. And just like that, Weasley had left him in a slow and sure road to fury.

There couldn't be a way in hell that Granger had spent years with someone. There was no possible fucking way that while he was off, banished from Britain, that he was the only one thinking about those surprising connections that had mistakenly tied them together. He knew her, damn it. He knew Granger more than anyone else knew her, and he knew perfectly well that his previous thought was wrong. She had to have been thinking of him.

But when he tried to picture her sitting by a windowsill, looking out towards the moon and the stars, in her very muggle flannel pajama pants that he detested and an old Quidditch jersey that belonged to Potter, which he hated even more and was always on the verge of hexing her when she would just shrug at his dislike for it, that image distorted and formed into something else.

She was not the Granger of Hogwarts days in the thought; she was the woman she was now at twenty-three. He saw her in a little nightie, her massive curls calmed and flowing past her shoulders, sending off the waves of sunshine and flowers he remembered, and she was laying on a silk-sheeted bed. And instead of being a sort of fantasy, it was a fucking nightmare because she wasn't alone on that bed and it wasn't him with her. Someone was on her, touching her, kissing her, and he couldn't see who it was. It was a faceless, nameless fucker that had taken his place and claimed something that had already been claimed.

And that's when he decided his next and decisive action when it came to Granger.

So finally stepping away from his circling thoughts and need to destroy everything, Draco zeroed his vision on the man sitting behind another expensive desk. Lucius Malfoy had returned an hour ago, and he had demanded to know everything. And once his father had complied, telling him about the hostage that was all Hermione Granger had, all that the Aurors were fighting for, that's when he had started pacing; all while trying to come up with a plan.

"And you're certain Potter told you they were going to accept your service of helping with the hunt?"

Lucius nodded solemnly at his son. "Yes. Once they've located the safe-house I know in which the fugitives are hiding, that's when Potter will summon me."

"That hide-out is going to be crawling with Aurors and criminals." Draco stopped his pacing immediately. He made eye-contact with his father, silver meeting silver, and he marched a little closer to the man's desk. "A battle is surely going to break out. There is no way either of them are surrendering. Spells are going to be flying everywhere, and some are certain to die because of it."

Mister Malfoy's face remained impassive. He just reached for the small and elegant glass filled to the middle of golden-liquid.

"You've got to do something for me, Father." Draco watched the man drink his liquor, still not saying anything, but he knew he had his attention. He knew he would do anything he requested of him; no matter what it was. "When you're there, you must find the hostage. And when you do...kill him."

Lucius downed the entire glass of alcohol. Though he felt it sting the sides of his mouth, scratch his throat, and burn all the way down to the pit of his stomach, the man made no movement of acknowledgement of it. He masked the burning perfectly well; just as he subdued the sympathy he felt in that moment for his son.

"Very well," Lucius said after a moment. He reached to the side of his desk, collected another clean glass and that bottle of a two-hundred year old Scotch, and motioned Draco to sit on the open seat. "But if I do this for you, Draco, I require one thing from you."

The younger Malfoy nodded, signaling to his father that he was listening.

Lucius filled his son's glass halfway, meanwhile he filled his up practically to the brim. "I want to know absolutely everything about your relationship with Miss Granger. I want to know how it came to be, and what was the last occurrence between you two before our arrest."

Instantly, Draco reached for his glass of Scotch and downed it. Now he knew why his father had increased his liquor; this was going to be odd and unpleasant.

X

It was now the fourth day since she was attacked.

After she had regained consciousness and Pansy had informed her that the reason for not releasing her was due to her nervous meltdowns, Hermione did all in her power to sedate her troubling emotions and thoughts long enough for her Healer to release her from the hospital. It had taken a few hours, but she managed it. She was sent home—under the strict order that she'd stay there. The Healer had presented the Head Auror documents that stated that it was extremely necessary for her to take some time off. Hermione felt like she was seven years-old again and her pediatrician had told her parents she wasn't allowed to go to school until her chickenpox had gone completely away.

But she wasn't seven years-old now, was she? She had more pressing matters than whatever the Healer thought was beneficial for her health. She didn't care about her health, for goodness sake. And because she thought that way, she assumed she could just waltz into the Ministry and get going with the case. Of course, she hadn't counted on the security that awaited for her at the entrance of the Auror Department that Harry had set up to impede her path.

So after screaming bloody murder, she found herself completely miserable in her dark living room. Mrs. Weasley had arrived a few hours ago, voluntarily of course, but she had somehow taken a nap while Hermione feigned hers. She appreciated Mrs. Weasley's concern and affection, but she just didn't have it in her to talk. She felt like her entire life was hanging by a string that was slowly ripping by her weight..

And sitting on a wide armchair with her knees brought up to her chest, a baby-blue quilt that Mrs. Weasley had given her almost five years ago over her shoulders, wrapping her loosely and warmly with a scent that smelled like baby-powder, her thoughts varied from negative to gruesome. It had taken all of her willpower to push them away.

With tears in her eyes and a determination not to think about the awful possibilities of never finding the love of her life again, Hermione sunk deeper into a hole when she started thinking about other things that should've remained buried...

'...Why do you keep coming here, Granger?' Through aisles and aisles of books in the Hogwarts library, Hermione turned quietly into the one that no one ever visited. It was the miscellaneous section where the books were about muggle fairy-tales, how to repair old brooms that were no longer in existence, and cookbooks for the wizard with a fancy for snails. It was the once place in the library that collected dust, and the one where Draco Malfoy had taken to hide in at the start of the year.

'It's a library,' she replied to him casually, softly. 'I wouldn't be the Brightest Witch of my Age if I was out on the Quidditch pitch, would I?'

She would've expected a witty remark to bring her down a few pegs, but that blank look Malfoy gave her was all that she got. He just sat there, at the end of the aisle, knees brought up this chest, and his back pressed tightly against the narrow wall. He didn't ever say much, but his indifference told her so much more.

She can't particularly remember how they happened to get to these impassive bases. All she does remember is her stalking her way to that particular aisle, putting a Silencing Charm around it, and screaming at the top of her lungs. She had shouted curses that would've made the Weasley twins giggle, she had kicked sections of the bookcases, and she had cried. She had stepped away from the world to vent—except she had an audience member who watched her with cold eyes.

It took her almost six minutes to notice him, and when she had, the silence was deafening. They had stared at one another, nothingness from the Slytherin and rage from the Gryffindor. It took another minute and a half of her heaving heavily before she made a move. She had sunk onto the floor of the aisle, her hands still shaking from all the anger she had collected throughout the week, and just sat there. And Malfoy never said a word about it.

'I brought you something,' Hermione spoke again. She reached into the pocket of her robes, fumbled a little, and pulled out something wrapped in a napkin-cloth. She walked a few paces towards him and extended it forward. Once he took it, hesitantly as always, she reached into the pocket once more and pulled out a bottle of Butterbeer.

He gave her a questioning look.

'You missed all three meals today,' she replied with a shrug. 'Someone has got to keep you fed, right?'

He didn't say anything once more. He just set the bottle of Butterbeer beside him, and carefully unfolded the napkin and discovered a sandwich. He picked up the top slice of bread and noticed that something was missing, onions. He hated onions.

Hermione tried to stifle a little chuckle at the quick flicker of surprise in his silver eyes as she sat to the side of him. She pulled off the strap of her schoolbag, placed it on her lap, and opened it to retrieve her homework. Lately she found that the most peaceful place to get her studying done was sitting next to Malfoy, and that was less insane as the days went by.

It was strange to her that she was losing a sense of comfort around her best friends. Harry was off raving about his blasted Potions book, completely ignoring her better judgement when she told him he needed to get rid of it before something awful happened, and Ron was off sucking Lavender Brown's face off. And it was in all of her frustration of being tossed to the side like she wasn't their best friend was where she found, dare she admit it, comfort in Malfoy's presence.

She glanced up; inspecting him.

He was paler than usual, and that was saying a a lot. There were purple rings around his eyes, like bruises, signaling his exhaustion and his lack of sleep. His always slick and neat blonde hair was tousled, and not in that bedhead sort of manner, but in a way that suggested that he no longer cared to groom himself. He was usually poised and put together, elegant and refined, but she'd noticed his decrease in suits and increase in jeans and a jumper.

He was something not far from completely messed up, but she couldn't look away.

'Why do you keeping coming here, Granger?' Noticing that she was staring at him intently, something that she apparently wasn't noticing, Malfoy asked the same question he had when she had first arrived. His voice was just as blank and his eyes plain.

Hermione blinked. 'Someone has to feed you,' she replied as if she were talking to a friend.

The Slytherin looked down at the napkin on his lap. There were nothing but breadcrumbs resting on it. He looked back up at her and he saw something that he only saw in his mother's eyes—worry and affection. It was completely insane, but the Gryffindor cared for him. That could only be the reason why she endured his miserable company. She never asked questions, she never pressed on conversation; she just fed him when he skipped meals and sat in silence with him.

'Why do you keep coming here?' He asked again. He wanted an honest answer.

Hermione fingered the edge of her book, staying silent for a moment. And once she had gathered her courage she said, 'I don't know.'

Malfoy nodded once. It was the truth to some degree.

And because she still had her Gryffindor courage out, Hermione looked determinedly at the blonde boy. 'Why do you keep letting me come back, Malfoy?'

Their eyes met, silver and brown. For a precise second, they weren't the Gryffindor or the Slytherin; they weren't Pureblood or Muggleborn; they weren't a descendant of a Death Eater or a friend to Harry Potter—they were just Draco and Hermione. In that second, they were endless of possibilities and what-could-have-beens.

And because in that moment they weren't who they were, he told the truth and said, 'I need you to...'

She laughed humorlessly to herself as the memory faded away, and Mrs. Weasley stirred awake.

That's when it had all started; when she started walking down a path where there was no return.

X

When the sun had signaled a new day when he'd awaken a few hours ago, it had brought the ninth day since Granger had been attacked and they had taken what she thought was, regrettably, hers.

Though he was sure there would be an entire line of people calling him a downright bastard, Draco went throughout his day with a little optimism to his every step. He knew what kind of people had kidnapped that person that Granger so adored, and they were not the nice, cuddly kind. It had been nine days already and the poor fucker was good as dead. Sure, he wasn't particularly fond of the idea that Granger could potentially lose all her senses with grief, but her mind was too brilliant to let it get that far. He was sure she'd move past this soon and all would be different, and then maybe she'd stop hiding from him so they could discuss what's been pending for the past five years.

With those thoughts in mind, finding the drizzle of London not that infuriating as he usually did, the blonde man had parted ways with a few executives and legal council for a marketing company that was going to help Malfoy Advancements expand in several places in Asia and America.

So as he walked down a muggle part of London—where the meeting was held in a Greek restaurant, to be away from prying journalists from the Daily Prophet and the like who were still desperate to find out what the Malfoys were up to since their return almost four months ago—Draco considered that it might just be his lucky day. He hadn't made it towards the apparition point three blocks away, but he happened to stumble upon someone waiting for the cars to pass so they could cross to opposite street.

It was Ralph Travers.

The older man still looked exactly the way he remembered him from when he was a teenage boy. He was still long and lanky, wide-nosed, small black eyes, a wrinkly forehead, grayish hair—and incredibly inept.

As the man crossed the street, clearly not used to those speeding muggle automobiles, he almost got hit twice, and Draco knew it was going to be the easiest thing that's ever been handed to him. With a dark leer tugging at the corner of his lips, he followed the old Death Eater carefully.

Travers walked down a block, passing a few muggles, mumbling insults that no one paid attention to, and didn't bother to look for any watchers as he started heading up the steps of an old, brick-made house. He stuck an ancient-looking key into the lock, twisted it, and opened the door wide open for him to march inside. Along with a disillusioned blonde who had followed him without being seen or heard.

Now from inside, through the lack of light and his place against a wall as Travers moved around, fumbling with a few things, he could see that this place had just been rid of its original owners. (Unless Travers was secretly a black man with a wife and three kids in the picture-frame he managed to get a glimpse of.) He couldn't really tell what kind of tastes in home decor the muggles had because their home had been thrashed and ripped to shreds from the couches, center tables, and the chandelier that he guessed was once hanging from the entrance hallway.

Travers moved further into the home, kicking aside a few of the broken items and headed towards the visible sitting room. Naturally, Draco followed without being detected. And as he did so, just as he started reaching for the wand in his pocket, the fireplace inside the room started roaring and burning a different shade.

"Travers." At the call for him, the old man lazily stomped his way towards the fireplace, and still invisible, Draco followed close enough to get a peek at who it was.

"What?"

The face formed in the flames was that of Thorfinn Rowle's. There was no possible way Draco could forget it. Not after having to have witnessed it consort in pain, leak blood, and bruise up from the torture he had to give the man by the orders of the Dark Lord.

"It took you bloody long enough," Rowle hissed. "What were you doing anyway?"

Travers frowned. "That does not concern you," he snapped. "And you, when the hell are you going to send replacements? This is not what we agreed on, Rowle. You've gotten off the track we had planned together."

"We had to revise the old plan, you bleeding idiot." Clearly there was trouble. "Our plans to break Greyback out of Azkaban were obviously thwarted when that Mudblood killed his son. Now we have to act carefully to make sure we don't die in the process of everything. Greyback's pack wants revenge on that filthy girl and we can't get in the way of that."

The older man still did not look pleased. "If you hadn't cheated Greyback's son with that rubbish business proposition, and lost all the damn money, we wouldn't be taking orders from half-breeds!"

For men with the same vendettas against those they considered of lesser kind, Rowle looked just as disgusted as Travers had sounded. Not only were the two fugitives since the war had ended, thrown off their pedestals of blood superiority and forced to live off of what they could find, gain, or murder for, they were now force to deal with creatures that could easily destroy them. "I'm working on something, alright!" There were sounds of movement coming from the other end of the Floo call. "Look, just stay in your bloody place while things get sorted here. You can't leave our little prisoner unattended. You know that given his state and distressing location, he could blow up the entire house with a blink of an eye. So shut it, and I'll see you in three days time."

And with that, the Floo call ended.

This time not thinking about it twice, Draco pulled out his wand and pointed it to Travers' back. And without much trouble, he cursed him into a petrified state. The man landed on his front, never seeing his attacker or anything else. So with that, after making sure his spell was powerful enough to last a few hours, and taking his wand from him, Draco turned and headed to find that little prisoner.

"Homenum Revelio." Casting the right spell, with a few modifications, Draco's wand spun between his fingers and he was pointed to the direction of the other living thing inside the house.

It really was turning out to be a great day. He had managed to accidentally stumble upon Travers and Draco's problem without even meaning to. Sure, he had wanted his father to do it, but that was just because he was going to have the opportunity and not him. But since the world had granted him this, he was going to enjoy doing it.

Deep down inside, however, he knew that he was not a killer. This fact was proven back when he was sixteen years-old and had an old man cornered and unarmed. But things changed, didn't they? He saw things a little different now, and he was a man of extreme possessiveness now. It came with five years of being deprived of what was rightfully his.

It was a downright shame this person had to cross a path that wasn't his to cross; to integrate himself into the life of someone who didn't belong to him. Should things have been a little differently, if he was just a friend of Granger's, he could've made himself the hero and released him. But no. This person was the 'love of her life', as the Weasel so disgustingly put it, and there really wasn't any other choice. He had to disappear forever.

Ultimately, it was going to come down to a powerful memory charm, he knew. He didn't have it in him to kill that bastard, though asking his father to do it for him was much simpler; so he was going to make him a blubbering idiot and send him straight to Alaska without a ticket back to Granger's life.

He nodded to himself, accepting that plan, and reached a door. He could feel the magic that was bouncing off the black wood, indicating that it was warded and locked properly. And not without much effort into it, he flicked his wand and all of the magic in it disappeared and it was back to being a regular door. He reached for the silver handle and twisted it down.

Pushing the door open without a creak being made, Draco rose his wand in front of him. He wasn't going to give the man the chance to fight his way out of this. And with the Oblivate spell already at the tip of his tongue, he stopped as he saw the hostage sitting in the middle of the bed.

What the actual fuck, he thought.

Sitting with his legs crossed at the center of the king-sized bed was a small boy. He was clutching onto a torn teddy bear that he doubt he got from Travers or Rowle, and his little shoulders were shaking with his cries. From the sunlight that penetrated the room from the bared window, he could see every bit of him clear and distinctive. He had a small nose, a light wash of freckles over it, pale skin, white-blonde hair that was tousled into natural waves, and tell-tale silver eyes.

"...Cruz?" Draco said in a low tone, throwing out the name he had heard Granger shout in her deranged breakdown in St. Mungo's nine days ago.

The little boy shed more tears and gripped the filthy toy harder. "I want my mummy," he sobbed. "I want my mummy."

X

She could still hear it.

She could still hear the clear and perfectly pronounced words coming out of the Minister of Magic's mouth. '...Accused of treachery against the Ministry, allowing Death Eaters to enter Hogwarts and expose several innocent lives, and for carrying the dark mark, the Ministry finds Draco Malfoy guilty of all charges.'

It was haunting. All she could remember from that hearing was being pulled up from her seat, gripped tightly by Ron, Harry standing up from his place and marching over to the Minister, and those beloved grey eyes of the accused following after her as she was dragged out.

He was sentenced to life in Azkaban. She had lost him.

Shaking away the heartbreaking last memory she was going to ever have of the Slytherin, Hermione took a moment to inhale deeply. There was so much on her shoulders now, and it was all up to her to sort it out. And with that strength that only could be given to her by some divine miracle, she stood from the old cot that she'd been laying on for almost a month, and she walked out the worn door and headed for the spiral staircase.

It didn't take long for her to reach the bottom level of the house. As such, she had to inhale once more to gather more courage, and then she headed straight for the kitchen. All at once, several pairs of eyes found her as she entered. They stopped their eating and their conversations of awkward things as they tried not to dwell on the fact that it had been four and a half months since the ending of the war.

She took another deep breath, and her vision of all those people she felt were family to her was blurred by tears that were never-ending with her.

'I'm sorry,' she cried in a muffled tone. She broke down faster than what she had given herself credit for. 'I'm so sorry.'

She couldn't really make out this person's face, but someone had scooted their chair back and stood up to walk towards her. It wasn't until she was embraced tightly and the smell of vanilla entering her nostrils that she knew it was Ginny. 'Don't apologize, Hermione,' the redhead had whispered.

But the brunette wasn't listening to the comforting words of Ginny Weasley. 'Mister and Mrs. Weasley,' she called through her tears, 'I'm sorry for keeping my problems in your house. And R-Ron...Harry...' She didn't make it to their apology.

Mrs. Weasley stood from the table too and marched to the other free side of her. 'Oh, sweetheart, don't you worry. We're family, aren't we? You're always welcomed here, dear. We love you.'

There was another squeeze to her shoulders but Hermione was looking towards her best friends. She needed them. But all that she was getting in that moment were Ron's confused and angry eyes and Harry's calculating stare. They had every right to be upset, but she didn't know until what degree that was.

'I don't know how this happened,' Harry spoke, the kitchen becoming more tense and silent than what was possible, 'or why it happened, Hermione, and I guess we will never know, right? You refuse to share with us your secrets—'

'I can't tell you yet,'

'—and that's fine,' the Chosen One finished, not letting her speak. 'There were times when I didn't have all the pieces of the puzzle but you stuck beside me, Hermione. You were there regardless of anything because you loved me and trusted me. I don't forget that.'

There was a moment of silence and Harry stood from the table. And as he did so, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley stepped away from her and headed back to their seats.

'I love you, Hermione. We all do. And...regardless of what you keep to yourself, I'm always going to be there for you. You're like my sister, and I'm going to be there.' Harry grabbed one of her trembling hands and squeezed it. 'For you and the baby. We all are; count on us.'

Hermione's vision blurred Harry out, but she embraced him quickly. She clung onto him, releasing all her tears, fears, and heartaches. She had no clue what was going to happen to her now, or what was expected out of her. She was going on three months pregnant, and the father was locked away in prison without knowing of the fetus' existence.

Back at the table, Bill and Fleur both leaned towards a certain redhead and smacked him at the same time beside the head. With that initiative, Ron grumbled a curse at them and headed for his two best friends. He was the one having more trouble dealing with the fact that she had a relationship with Malfoy, and it was because of that and her feelings towards the Slytherin that Ron was now a faded memory of a would-be boyfriend. She had her heart broken, but she had broken his for accepting Malfoy.

But seeing her so scared, seeing the way she clung onto Harry for her dear life, Ron knew that none of that mattered. She was still his best friend. And because she was, he didn't waste another second and hugged her too.

X

"...Alright, just a few more questions, okay?"

Blinking away from the spot on the carpeted floor that he'd been staring at since he was told to take a seat inside the office of the Head Auror while they tried locating him as soon as possible, Draco turned his eyes to the two people sitting beside him.

"While you were away from home, when those men took you, did you hear any specific names?"

The person sitting in the middle, between the blonde man that had found him and the Ministry Official asking him questions, he swung his legs in nervousness. "Trabers," the boy said. The Ministry Official gave him a soft look, but knew that he meant to say Travers. "And...I can't 'member the rest. Sorry."

"It's okay," the worker told him. "Now, do you remember anything specific about the places they took you? Try to think about the location, what was in the house that you noticed, or how many people were there."

Adding to the swinging of his legs, the little boy started wringing his hands about. He was getting uncomfortable with all the questions because he didn't know the answers to them. There was only a whole lot of black and sore bones from sleeping too much. "I dunno," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Again, the Ministry Official told him it was alright. "While they kept you, where you hit or touched—"

"That's enough!" Standing up from his seat, Draco marched over to the other man and pulled him up from his. He shoved him away and towards the door. "Can't you see that he hasn't a clue what happened or where he was? And don't ask the boy those questions! I've already handled that, didn't I? Don't make it worse or you'll regret it!"

Clearing his throat, the other man said nothing. He knew the rage that was instilled in Malfoys, and the blonde was several inches taller than him and more built than he was. He'd die in an instant where he to defy the ex Death Eater's wishes.

Draco gave the man one more threatening look, and then turned to the little boy in his chair that would probably be a bit shaken up by the sudden yelling and violence in the air. He took slow steps to stand in front of his chair and then squatted down; they were at eye level now. And as the boy held his gaze, though a little frightened, but still somewhat unmoved, the silver in both their eyes could not be denied that was the same exact shade.

"Do you want to go down to the cafeteria? I hear the Ministry serves excellent pizza." He didn't know what he was doing, but he thought it was sort of fair since the boy probably didn't know how to feel or what to do either. "Come on, my treat."

His mind was a little hazy from being trapped inside rooms for a long time, but the boy got a curious thought that he'd seen this man before today. There was something very familiar about him, about his indifferent expressions and cold grey eyes. It didn't scare him, it just made him feel comfort because it was the only thing he knew he recognized. So with a small smile and a nod of the head, he said, "can I have three slices?"

Draco nodded. But before anything else could happen, the doors to the office they were in were banged open and he heard loud footsteps and voices shouting back and forth.

They had located the Head Auror.

"Cruz!" Only seeing the one thing he needed to see in his office, Harry Potter went straight to him and picked the boy up into a tight embrace. "You're alright, kid. You're alright now."

Sniffling, Cruz hugged the man tightly too.

"Oi! Where is he?"

Because there was another bang that opened his doors, Harry had to settle the little blonde boy back onto his feet as he recognized Ron's heavy stomping. And just as he managed to, his redheaded best friend knelt down and gripped the boy like he was a sack of golden galleons.

"You gave us a downright scare, didn't you, 'Ru?" Pulling himself from the boy, Ron still kept his giant hands on his little shoulders as he examined him carefully a few inches away. "Rumor has it you skipped town with some little lass that lives down the street from you."

Leaving it to Ron to mold over everything with a few jokes, Harry turned to the short man in his office that he had spotted now. "Hector, we're going to have to go over the questions I want you to ask him, understood? He's a boy and things should be handled with precise care, especially considering who's son this is. Now, find me a Healer and bring them to my office quickly. I want a full report on everything that's happened to him."

"Actually, Mister Potter, a Healer's already checked him." The man walked towards the Head Auror and handed him a few stacked sheets.

After ripping them hurriedly from the worker's hands, Harry was quick to scan them. There was no damage done to the boy that was irreversible. He had been put unconscious for a few minutes to study him properly, and only a few fading bruises were discovered on his back, wrists, and jaw. And when they had kept the boy awake, he had told the Healer that he was mostly kept asleep throughout everything, and the only times he was awake was when they were changing him rooms or fed. (Though the feeding wasn't quite a lot either. The report stated he was malnourished.)

"Good job, Hector; you thought fast."

"I'm afraid I had nothing to do with that, Mister Potter. Mister Malfoy was the one who found the boy and threatened to destroy St. Mungo's if they didn't send a Healer to come and check the boy when they arrived."

At the cursed name he didn't want to hear in these moments he considered intimate, Harry slowly turned his head in an angle and found two blonde men staring back at him. One he knew was there, they'd both arrived together after a scouting mission to a safe-house was deemed worthless and he'd gotten the Patronus informing him about the boy's return, but the other...It was never a good time seeing that smarmy bastard.

Harry stood straighter, back tensed, chin up, and green eyes hard. "You found him?"

Though Draco nodded impassively, there was cool hatred in his stare when he looked at the damn Boy Wonder. If he had it right, and he really hoped he did since he loved hating Potter and blaming everything on him, everything was starting to make sense to him now. He thought back to his trial, how Potter had defended him, how Potter had made the Minister close down the hearing with no witnesses but himself and Weasley, and how Potter was the one to suggest that a sentence to Azkaban for the Slytherin should be revised and another punishment used for him and his parents.

The four-eyed, scar freak had wanted to keep him away for a reason.

"I'm sure you're going to want to interrogate my son," sensing the tension in the air, Lucius Malfoy began to speak as an intermediate for both men. "And that's understandable, Mister Potter, but what I will not tolerate is for you to treat him as a criminal rather than a witness and rescuer."

Harry frowned but had to nod his head in understanding. He was the Head Auror and he needed to, regrettably, treat Malfoy as the person who had rescued a victim.

"Uncle Harry?" With small and silent steps that the three men hadn't heard, the little blonde boy marched his way towards the dark-haired man that was family.

"What is it, 'Ru?" Harry asked, squatting down slightly to be a little less intimidating to him.

The man grabbed his hand, squeezing it gently, the way he's seen him do to so many people when he wants them to know he supports them. And because of that, the little boy's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry I didn't go to Teddy's party," he said before he started sniffling again. "And I'm sorry that I was being mean to m-my mummy when they took me."

Harry gave the boy a small smile. Hermione had told him the story of what happened the day he had been kidnapped, and the boy was just in a sad mood then. Everyone who was close to the boy knew that he was always lonely, that he always felt lonely; like he was missing something that kept him an inch away from being truly happy.

"Don't apologize." Harry rubbed away the boy's tears with his thumb. "Besides, Ted's still got his cake and his birthday presents wrapped. He said he wasn't going to do anything until you came back."

Cruz looked up at his Uncle Harry with hopeful eyes. "He's my bestest friend, Uncle Harry."

"And you're his best friend too, Cruz," Harry chuckled. "Just don't tell Victoire, alright?"

The boy rolled his eyes at the mention of Victoire Weasley's name, that nosey girl that always shoved him and Teddy in the mud. (Though, he missed her when he was gone. He was just never going to tell her that.) "Can I go see my mummy now, Uncle Harry? I miss her."

Harry immediately rose back up to his full height. "Of course, kid. She misses you so much too."

Making himself known again, Ron went to the boy's other side. "We'll take him to Hermione together, and then we'll come back and deal with all this rubbish. Deal, mate?"

The Head Auror had nodded again. And once the two best friends made movement to head towards the doors, Cruz halted them as he released their hands and walked towards the silent man at a corner of his Uncle Harry's office. And as he approached him, all eyes were on him and the room started lacking oxygen. There was a secret out in the open that the boy knew nothing of after all.

Though he was only looking at the youngest of the Malfoys, both father and son looked down at the boy carefully. They were studying his features once more, twice more, like they still couldn't believe what they were seeing. Draco squatted down again, trying to be around the same height as the boy so he could stare into his eyes, examining them, making sure he didn't miss a flicker of them.

"Thanks for finding me," Cruz told the man. "I'm really appreciated."

Draco swallowed the chuckle he wanted to give at the way the boy worded the last sentence. Though it's not what he'd meant to say, Draco knew the boy really was appreciated and loved—by others that had known of him. And that was not okay, was it? "Anytime. Just don't make it a habit of getting lost, yeah? I've got a business to run and I'm not sure if I'll always be there to find you."

The boy smiled at the teasing words. "'Kay. But you owes me pizza, 'member?"

Draco wasn't given the opportunity to say anything else as the always-meddling Potter grabbed the boy's hand once more and led him out of the office. The blonde looked towards his father as they were the only ones left in the room, and it was right then that he knew that the older wizard never had any attention to follow through his promise of killing the hostage. He had known all along who it was.

Lucius' facial expression was that of the Malfoy mask, but his eyes were clouded with something he knew his son felt too. "He looks exactly like you did at that age."

"...Except he's got his mother's curls," Draco finished.

X

She had been walking on her own, that brilliant head of hers filled with distractions and memories, her bones filled with exhaustion and relief, her chest panging with loss, heartache, and some joy. There was so much going on everywhere else, so much going on inside of her, that she just needed a moment on her own.

She had gave Ron's hand a squeeze, getting up from the table she was sitting in with the Weasleys, all silent due to Fred's death, not to mention Tonks and Remus' too. Ron had just nodded once, but turned back to Percy and both brothers looked destroyed as George cried into his mother's chest; sobs no longer heard. Harry had picked himself off from his seat, intent on following her away from all the survivors and their grief.

Once they had reached the shattered doors of the Great Hall, Harry had told her quickly that he was going to go to Gryffindor Tower, try to get some sleep and quiet, and maybe summon Kreacher for a sandwich. He had asked her to join him, sure that the girls dormitory was going to be as empty and available for her to find some silence too. Though she was seeking for silence, she didn't think she was going to find anything in Gryffindor Tower to mend whatever powerful hole she was feeling inside. Leaving that bit out of course, she had said a 'see you later' to her best friend, and went his opposite way.

She walked for several minutes, passing several corridors, turning into halls, jumping over rubble to get across; finding that every step took her further from people and the silence was deeper as she continued on her way.

It had been two minutes later, after blinking and realizing that she had somehow ended up in the dungeons, that she was met with another's presence. At the moment, however, she hadn't know they were there, until they had gripped her and pulled her into an opening of a wall she had not noticed was opened at all.

She should have screamed, should have maybe assumed that a Death Eater was still roaming the castle and was prepared to kill her, but she smelled the aroma of mint and fine cologne in that exact instant that she just flashed with emotions and let herself be dragged in.

'I followed you.' She had been right on a Death Eater still roaming the school, but this one wasn't out to murder her. Draco Malfoy stood a few inches from her, his silver eyes digging into her brown ones with no guarded emotion she was used to seeing in him. He looked anxious.

'I noticed,' Hermione replied, pulling her arm away from his grip. 'You shouldn't have, Malfoy.'

The blonde looked a little put-off by her impassive tone. 'I needed to speak to you, Granger. Don't you think we have things to discuss?'

The brunette shook her head. 'No, we really don't.'

'Don't do that.' He had lost his patience now; whatever little he had been holding on to, she figured. 'Don't brush me off, Granger. Don't punish me for what happened.'

She crossed her arms over her chest, just to hide the fact that she was clenching her fists. She didn't want him to see that she was angry, betrayed, and completely demented for thinking about him all this time. Her heart was broken, and it was his fault—it was both their faults. Him for stomping on it with that cruelty he'd always had, and hers for giving it to him when she knew nothing good could come from it. But, oh, she had hoped. And that's her fault too, isn't it?

'I'm not punishing you for anything,' she replied, speaking again in that tone that suggested she felt nothing at all. But that was a lie. She felt it all. She felt everything he had ever stirred up in her; and all of it was wrapped up in pain. 'There's just nothing to say. You chose your side, Malfoy, and I mine. We just ended up where we were meant to.'

'That's not true!' His reserve was definitely gone. She could see that as he took heated steps towards her, coming too close that she could see those odd, yet beautiful flecks of blue in those stormy-grey eyes of his. 'I didn't want any of this to happen, Granger!'

And just as his wall had broken down, her determination crashed to the floor of the Slytherin Common Room and she was equally as infuriated as him. 'But you let it!' She retaliated. 'You let those Death Eaters into the castle, Draco! You let them attack us! You chose your side! And you certainly stuck beside it when your aunt was torturing me right in front of your eyes and you did nothing! You let her hurt me! You let her humiliate me!' She marched towards him now, her right hand rolling up the sleeve of her left one and exposing the scars of MUDBLOOD craved on there.

He pressed his lips into a tight line, but his eyes were alive with everything raw that could possibly exist. There was disgust, pain, anger, hatred, sorrow, remorse and nostalgia. And when he had been unaware that tears were now welling up in his eyes, Hermione knew that her desired effect to wound him was completed.

She wanted him to feel the same way he had made her feel, or much more worse, really. She wanted him to be pushed behind a line, a line that he was not permitted to cross since the other side was made of complete concrete and things that could never change, things he could never have. She wanted him to feel like she had been a centimeter away from his fingers, except that he was stuck and couldn't reach. She wanted him to feel self-loathing for wanting something that didn't want him back purely. She wanted him to feel the excruciating pain she had been carrying with her since the day she saw him leave with Snape back in Sixth Year.

But the same way she wanted him to feel all the bad, she wanted him to feel all those bubbling emotions inside of her that were constantly on the fritz. She wanted him to feel the sudden peace that she felt when he was near, or the exciting nervousness in the pit of her stomach. She wanted him to remember every single memory they shared about their accidental relationship. She wanted him to remember the shake to their fingers the first time they held hands, the comfort they felt the first time he allowed her to hug him, the surprisingly softness of the first kiss, and that sensations of a chest welled up with sincere emotions when they were alone and in their own little world before it all went to hell.

She wanted him to feel the love they had damned each other with.

Not thinking twice about it, though she knew she really should have, she launched herself towards him and gripped him in her tight embrace. She didn't give him a second to react, she found his mouth and devoured it. She kissed him with all she had, with all the longing, resentment, and love she'd been holding inside of her. She snaked her hands into his blonde hair, pulling at the roots with all the frustration she felt over all of it.

And with every passionate action she gave him, Draco had returned it just the same. He had gripped the back of her thighs, pulling her up in a swift movement so she could wrap her legs around his waist. He slammed her to the back of the wall they had entered from, knowing perfectly well that no one would be coming down to the Slytherin Common Room soon. He steadied her with one hand, the other was busying moving its fingers to her shirt in an attempt to rip it off.

In all that raw movement, in the way Draco slammed his hips against hers, in the way she moved hers, the way both of them moaned, the way their desire grew as they didn't waste no time to peel the rest of their clothing off, they forgot about the outside world. They forgot about the consequences of war, of the deaths, of the survivors, and of the fact that the dark mark was still branded on Draco's skin and that his freedom was wasting away with every second.

They forgot about everything, except the perfect way they moved together and the way they fit.

X

He was back again. He knew she didn't want to see him, didn't want to talk to him, especially after the things he'd said to her, but there he was. He was seated in an uncomfortable chair, looking at the direction of where she'd be coming through.

It took all his patience and almost an hour later, but the slowly-burning fire in the fireplace grew wildly and burned emerald. A second later, right out of the flames, came the person he'd been expecting.

"Really, Malfoy?" Sighing in frustration, Pansy rolled her eyes at the blonde waiting for her in her living room.

"Really, Parkinson?" He shot back, his tone much more mocking than annoyed. "You think that you would've learned to put up proper wards to keep me out since my last visit. I guess you never learn."

Pansy removed her traveling clock, shaking it off a bit to get rid of the dust of the fireplaces she'd been through, and then proceeded to carefully and neatly hang it up in that ridiculous coat-rack she received for no apparent reason as a gift. "Need I ask why you're here?"

"Need I ask that you already know?"

Turning around to face the blonde, Pansy was frowning at him. Her eyes were narrowed, completely looking more than annoyed. It almost made Draco reminisce about the young, pug-faced teenage girl that used to follow him around like a loyal puppy; all ready to go to serve him as he pleased and to retrieve what he demanded.

He wasn't used to getting those types of looks from her, the ones that suggested that he had no hold over her anymore. Not that he wanted to have any hold over her, just that he wanted her to be that girl that was filled with too much information and was always willing to share it without worrying about the consequences. But he supposed things change, didn't they? Even Pansy Parkinson.

"What do you want from me, Malfoy?" She asked, her expression still blank and void from emotion, even her blue eyes that went from angry to just a shade of the ocean.

The blonde man took a deep breath, searching for a moment to gather his thoughts. And like it was in his holier-than-thou attitude, he made a gesture for the dark-haired witch to join him on the russet-colored armchair across from his like it was his home to do so. As the woman begrudgingly did as he silently asked, he decided where he was going to start. "Tell me why you never mentioned him."

It was a simple enough statement, but Pansy knew there was an order behind it. It was a demand, and she'd be stupid enough not to answer it. And she was, but she was going to tell him her story first. He needed to see what she had before he started accusing.

With a deep inhale of her own, she kept her face expressionless and crossed her ankles. "The first time I got a letter from you it was on the second month that everyone assumed you were incarcerated. It was surprising to know that the Ministry had secretively tossed you and your parents to France, but what was least surprising was what you requested.

"I knew about you two," she added in as he rose an eyebrow, signaling that she had caught his attention. "I didn't know how or when it had happened, but I started to see the way you looked at her. It was the year that you started changing. Sixth Year, I remember. And there wasn't any hate in your stare, nor in hers. It was something secretive, something that I couldn't interpret because I'd never seen it before. But it was there, and I knew something had happened between you two. Anyway, when you requested for me to search for her, to gather all this information for you, I denied it. I wasn't going to waste time on her, or you. You weren't here anymore and I needed to move on with my life."

This, though without her sentiments or lack of obedience, Draco knew. He had sent the note and had gotten nothing back. He had sent another a month later and nothing. After the thirteenth letter that he'd sent, without a curse so she'd die for ignoring him, she had finally wrote back. It was a year after he'd been in France.

"I had to plan carefully how I was going to do it, because she would've not been naive enough to fall for a simple bump in the street and then an impromptu apology following the incident. So three months later, after forcing my friendship back with Zabini, I was having lunch in the Ministry with him. Of course, I had to feign surprise when Zabini had mentioned that in his quest to be an Auror he had been partnered up in a case with Weasley and Granger. And I had to feign more surprise when Zabini said that he was friends with Weasley.

"Not a month after, I was having lunch with Blaise and his partner. It took Weasley a while to warm up to me, about six months, and I was in. We were having little gatherings, eventually without Zabini, and we had some sort of friendship going on. It took about another half a year of playing the field with him until Potter and Granger came into the equation. There was a speech of letting the past be the past, and a somewhat forced apology on my behalf to them, especially Potter, and then they had accepted me fully.

"We were in the middle of your second year of being in France and I was still your little minion; spying on Granger and trying to get to know anything that you needed. But then...it wasn't an act anymore." She sat taller in her armchair, raising her chin to show her pride and confidence. Draco knew that she did that when she was about to confess something she deemed too emotionally revealing. "Potter turned to Harry, Granger into Hermione, the Weasleys into familiars, and...Weasley into Ron. I forgot all about you, all about what had started all of this, and I did it all for me. I felt something when I was surrounded by them; I felt cared for and appreciated. And with Ron...with Ron I figured out what it was that you and Hermione used to look at each other with. It was love."

Draco narrowed his eyes at the dark-haired woman, his defenses shooting up and wrapping around him like a cocoon. He was starting to remember those stares from the Slytherin table to the Gryffindor table, that little shy smile on his Bookworm's face, and the blush of her cheeks. The love that there was inside of him was stirring up.

"Then on the third year, everything was different. Ron and I had started dating, his family was like the one I'd never gotten, and Hermione and I had become close friends. I was loving my life. I had everything that I'd never thought I could have, and it apparently showed. And it was because of that, because of the fact that they could see my true intentions that they shared a secret they were hiding. Hermione had invited Harry, Ginny, Ron and I over for dinner one day; where they all had something important to let me know. Well, you could guess my utter and true surprise when I saw what it was that they'd been keeping from me...

"I remember that all I could do was gape. There he was, this little thing...and it was all you, Malfoy. He had your eyes, your coloring, the blonde hair...but there was a lot of Hermione in him too. He was sweet, adorable, and already learning how to read at three years. After that dinner, where I masked what I was truly feeling, I came back home and mauled everything over. It was obvious you didn't know of his existence, but there he was...You had made that. You had made that life with Hermione, Draco, and you didn't know..."

He had assumed his walls of steel were strong enough against anything, but one of them had cracked against the image Pansy had painted. It had cracked and sent a vibrating energy to smack him full-on on the chest, denting him with something that he knew was absolute pain.

"I disappeared from their lives for two weeks, ignoring letters, Floo calls, and even their knocking on my door. I was debating on what I should do, on how far and complicated it had gotten with the reveal of their secret. But through that, through those two weeks that I didn't have them—that I didn't have Ron with me, I remembered that I was selfish. I was in love with Ron, and I wanted him in my life." She cleared her throat, trying to hide her vulnerability when it came to that redheaded man. She was unaware that the blonde was having his own struggle and continued on. "I went to the Ministry, gathered up Ron and Harry, while Hermione was off on a mission, and I told them everything. I told them why I had started to befriend Ron, what my intentions were, but that I had fallen in love with him. It took twenty minutes, but he believed that I no longer meant any harm. I had even offered to make an Unbreakable Vow with Ron, to ensure that I wouldn't tell a soul about Hermione's secret.

"Ron had refused, but Potter did not. He was not willing to place Hermione's fate and their lie about you being in Azkaban all your life on my hands, so he asked for me to make the Unbreakable Vow with him. And because I had failed them, because I'd cheated them when all they'd done was accept me, I did it."

She paused for a moment, thinking back to that fateful day that tied her life to Potter and two secrets that pertained to Hermione. "Things went back to normal after that, and I got to know more of him, of Cruz. I saw the way he was so intensely loved, the way Hermione dedicated every second she had free to him. He was pure, completely fragile and marvelous. And I knew that I made the right choice, that the Unbreakable Vow was the best thing for everyone. Because...he was happy, Malfoy. And you didn't have any right to know about him and taint him."

The blonde man bared his teeth. He looked like an animal about to strike, being contained when all he wanted was to launch forward and murder the prey.

Her words had cut deep, adding more cracks to his walls of defense.

"In the middle of the fourth year, I decided to send you that note about where Hermione goes every morning before work. And I didn't do it for you, I did it for him. Because he was happy, but he had started to ask about his father and there was sadness and loneliness in his eyes. And I thought of you, of how you looked exactly the same way when you were a boy, when all you wanted was for Lucius to love you and how you needed his affection. So with that note I figured that if you loved her still, if she really had made you into a different person, then maybe you'd be worthy..."

And that was the real question, wasn't it?

X

She was staring at her child from the edge of his bed. He was sprawled across the small mattress like he was claiming an ownership, arms and legs wide open to let no one else even manage to properly sit on it. She had found it slightly frustrating when he was younger and she attempted to sleep with him, her maternal instincts being too over the top for her to place him in a different room; so she suffered the sore bones and his kicks in the middle of the night. But when he turned four and requested his own bedroom, after getting used to that idea, she just found it amusing to see.

Leaning a little towards him, Hermione gently brushed away the blonde strands of hair that feathered over his pale, soft, baby-smooth forehead. She stared lovingly at him. There was a hole in her chest that his disappearance had left in her, like she was sure any mother would feel after her child had gone missing, that wasn't somewhat mended until Harry and Ron had brought him back to her. It had been like they took all the good she had, all that was worth every breath she took. She didn't live life for herself, she lived it for him. He really was the love of her life, the keeper of her heart.

Her son was all that there was.

When she had discovered her pregnancy, not even a month after Draco had been arrested, she hadn't a single clue on what to do. And all her worrying had multiplied when he had been found guilty, taken to Azkaban for all his life, as Harry and Ron so cleverly lied to her, and now she had been stuck on her own. She was a brilliant girl, but motherhood was not something she could learn from a book; it was going to take every fiber of her being to get right.

When he was born, when he had first opened his eyes and she saw the unmistakable stormy-grey eyes in him, or noticed the whisper of pale-blonde hair, she had cried with a broken heart and fear. She had tried the first few weeks of his life to suck it up and take this as a challenge, but she had grown so tired of sleepless nights and the pain in her chest that she had an unavoidable meltdown. She sobbed for hours, leaving her child in his crib, and melted to the floor. Things had gotten too out of control for her, nothing was in her grasp, and she just couldn't take it anymore. She didn't have Draco and she didn't know how to be a mother, or even how to be herself anymore.

It had been almost midnight when she had gotten a visit to the small flat she had been renting then. She had been so wrapped up in her own misery, in her own selfishness, that she didn't know if her baby had stopped crying or if he had still continued; because all she could hear were the sounds of her own. Fleur had marched into her room, carrying her son, pressing a bottle to his lips and let him feed, and Ginny had followed pursuit, but had reached for the disgruntled brunette on the ground.

'Don't do this to yourself, Hermione,' Ginny had whispered into her ear, her voice cracking as she embrace her with all her love and support. 'That's your baby; he's a piece of you. He needs you, Hermione. You're the only parent he's got. Fix yourself.'

It had taken an hour in the presence of the two women—after Ginny's comforting and motivating words and Fleur's vow to help assist her until she got the hang of it, even promising that she'd take care of the baby so she could get some of the sleep she direly needed—before she rose up to her feet and took her child into her arms. It was then, as she looked down at his innocent face, already dozing off and his little mouth formed into an 'o', that she knew she had to make it right. She had to pull herself together, Ginny had been right, and give her son the best life she could give him. After all, they only had each other.

And it was since that day that she dedicated her life and entire focus on him. All her strength, love, comfort, and affection lived in him. He had been a symbol of the tragic, yet amazing thing she had gained through the devastation of the war. He had been the memory that she had loved Draco Malfoy, that they had shared something magical before a bloodshed ripped them apart. But in placing him with such pressure and expectations on his little shoulders, Hermione knew she'd robbed him of something more important.

He was missing something that she couldn't give him, something that his Uncle Harry or Uncle Ron couldn't give him. He needed his father. And she needed to stop being a coward to make things right; for all of them.

X

"I didn't like that at all, Mummy."

Blinking wildly, her vision spotting and trying to adjust after all the swirls and pulling, Hermione managed to smile through her own dizziness to look at her son. "I know, sweetheart," she said, squatting down in front of him, "Mummy doesn't like it as much either. But I promise we'll no longer apparate anywhere, okay?"

"Why did we have to app...am...do that, Mummy? I like the trains we take to get to places." Looking thoroughly confused and curious as to why his mother would want to experience that nasty feeling of being shoved down a tube, like a slide that shrunk and wanted to squeeze their eyeballs out, Cruz let his mother's fingers adjust his clothing. She tugged at his shirt, straightening it, removing any wrinkles, and then proceeded in smoothing out his trousers.

And once she was done fussing over his attire, she started moving the strands of blonde hair covering his forehead. "You need a haircut, love," she commented absentmindedly, shaking her head at him. But since he didn't remove his question stare, she decided to answer. "We can't take the train here because we're not in Muggle London anymore, darling. This is a very special place."

"Special like Godric's Wallow?" The boy asked, taking his mother's hand the moment she offered it. They started walking down a pebbled pathway, nothing much in sight but a lot of open space. His mother corrected him on the name where his Uncle Harry lived, and he ignored it when he finally spotted something up ahead.

The pathway had no longer been filled with pebbles that made his feet hurt, or almost twist his ankles; it was now smooth pavement. And as they walked along that long and narrow concrete, he noticed the green bushes rising up what seemed like miles to him towards the sky. He kept looking right and left, left and right, at all the trees growing on both sides, the bushes in some odd shapes that he thought looked funny. But after a few moments and nervous twitches of his mother's hand, they had pulled up to a giant black gate. And behind that gate was the biggest house he'd seen.

"Oh. I didn't think about—" Whatever his mother was mumbling to herself about, it had stopped the moment the black gates had turned to a smoke. He looked up at her and she looked upset, but also relieved. "Recognizes his blood," she mumbled to herself again before squeezing his little hand and beginning the march towards the giant house.

"Are we at Hogwarts?" As they got closer to the house, Cruz thought that the place looked like a castle. His mother had told him that Hogwarts was a castle, and this place looked big enough to be a school.

Hermione made a noise that answered his question.

As they got several of feet deeper into the giant space, between looking at all his surroundings, he spotted a giant, white bird with a large tail roaming the right side of the front garden. It was a peacock, he had seen several in his books. "Are we at the Zoo, Mummy?" Again, Hermione had made a noise that answered his question, but before he could ask her where it was that she brought him, they had reached the massive front doors.

X

Sighing with deep-rooted frustration, Draco got up from the leather armchair in the main sitting room of Malfoy Manor to cross towards the expensive, and finely-made cabinets with eccentric details where the collection of old and pricey liquor was. He had called for his house-elf to cater to him, but he had felt the wards of the manor signal intruders. And having specific orders to get rid of all the damn paparazzi that has spent almost four months gathered outside the gates to try and get interviews on the position in which the Malfoys find themselves in since their return to Britain, Draco decided to let the elf off the hook and he went to fetch his own drink.

Once opening the crystal doors that hid the alcohol behind them, he proceeded to reach for the bottle of Bowmore Whiskey he had purchased in a drunken spur in France when he'd been nineteen. He had already been too far gone when he'd gotten it, already far deep in the hole that his memories dragged him into, that he only managed a swig out of it before he passed out in some alleyway. He had kept the bottle as an anecdote of his misery.

It was ironic that he was back to this particular bottle, especially since the reason for his dire need of it was because of the same memories of brown eyes that made him drink in the first place. Before, it had been because he missed her, because there was so much remorse, regret, and longing for her. But now? Now he was pouring some of the strong liquid into a glass because he hated her, because there was so much anger, resentment, and unshakable love for her.

He couldn't give an exact time, an exact place or day when he figured that he had fallen in love with her, but he can name the moment that he knew she was deep in his bones and that there was no possible way that she was ever going to get out. She grew and grew, into his ribcage, into his heart, and made everything inside of him smell and shine like her. She was so deep in him, and he'd known from the very beginning that she was going to be the end of him.

Five years had gone wasted due to his waiting for her, but the more he drank, the more he convinced himself that it was time to let go. And with every sip of liquor he'd taken, he hoped he could drown her essence in him and destroy it forever.

But with the way the world turned and the mocking way that the fates laughed at him, that desire to wipe her out was pushed aside when he was halfway into refilling a new glass when those brown eyes from his memory found him in the present moment.

She stood nervously by the entrance of the sitting room, practically shaking in her boots. Her brown waves were left swinging down to her waist, he could smell her aroma of sunshine and flowers from his place feet away. From the small bursts of light entering through the grand windows of the sitting room he could see those doe-like eyes and those waves sparkle with certain glimmers of gold that were only ever present in the sun. She was wearing a regular pair of jeans, simple black boots, and a black and white stripped jumper that fell loosely off her right shoulder.

She was so damn simple, but for fuck sakes, no matter the amount of alcohol or hatred, he still found her simply breathtaking.

"Um...Hi." She cleared her throat, fiddling a bit with her fingers as she summoned her bravery to keep eye-contact with him.

Bad choice from the get-go. He frowned at her, continuing to fill up his glass to the brim with his whiskey.

"We, erm...We need to talk, don't you think?"

Placing the bottle back into the cabinet, Draco still remain silent as he took a good sip of his glass. He just stared at her from his place, not bothering to head towards her or give her any form of acknowledgement. If he did so, he'd be contradicting the poison in his system that he took just to push her away from his thoughts.

Hermione sighed nervously, and maybe a little irritated at his lack of response. "So much has happened in the last five years—goodness, so much has happened throughout all of our lives that spun out of control. I never imagined that I'd be standing in front of you again, or that we would find ourselves in this situation, you know. But here it is, and you were right: I am running. I've been running for so long from you that...well, I just need to stop, don't I?" She took in another deep breath, trying to steady her nervous fingertips and unsettled heart. "I guess I was overwhelmed, and I should've told you about—"

"You were overwhelmed?" He didn't shout, didn't growl with irritation, he just simply interrupted her with a dry tone. "That's unfortunate for you, Granger. I'm sure you were the one who stumbled onto the fact that you had a son you knew nothing about."

Whatever words she had come up with to say to him suddenly died at the tip of her tongue due to his interruption. She stared at him carefully, a twitch to her fingers that signaled that she was already starting to transition from nervous to angered. "I thought you were in Azkaban," she began again after a tensed moment. "I thought you were in solitary confinement, spending all your life there, Malfoy. I spent years trying to wrap my head around that fact, but eventually I had to give up on the hope that you would ever going to—"

"Charming, Granger," he interrupted once more, sounding exactly as emotionless as the first time he cut across her. "You were just going to let me rot in Azkaban. Somehow I pictured you as the type to never give up, but sure. You went ahead and gave up on me. That doesn't sound too strange for you, anyway. Not like you haven't done that before."

Another twitch to her fingers told her that, yes, she was no longer in the nervous stage. "I never gave up on you, you smarmy bastard!" She stepped into the sitting room, no longer waiting for an invitation further in. "You were the one who gave up on me—on us! I begged you to stay that night of Dumbledore's death, but you ran along with the Death Eaters! It was your fault that we were separated then, and even when you were arrested! Every step you took had a consequence, Malfoy, and this is the product of all of that!"

She was now so much closer to him, her beautiful scent reaching his nostrils with more force than before that he had to swing back the rest of the whiskey in his glass. He didn't bother to wince from the deep burn it left in his throat, he was going to need its push to deal with what was coming next.

"I was at every trial you had, remember that! I was right there, fighting and hoping you'd get out of prison! I never gave up hope on your freedom! But then your verdict had been called and they took you and I never saw you again! I was killing myself because I didn't have you!" Her last retort brought back the miserable nights she spent crying, staring out a window to look at the stars, to look at the moon to find that unique shade of grey that was only his. She felt a knot in her throat, her breakdown not far from coming.

"I can't recall anything from the pregnancy that wasn't me thinking about you. And after I'd given birth, after I saw how much he looked like you, I drove myself half mad with the gaping hole your absence left." Tears welled up in her eyes and momentarily blurred the blonde out of her sight. "The day I realized I had to let you go was the day that I abandoned Cruz. I regreted after, as much as I still do, but that was the moment that I knew he was what was going to keep me alive. Everything I've done since then was for him, and only him, Malfoy. I..." She had to stop, that knot in her throat forbade her from saying anything else. She just let those tears stroll down her face, bringing him back into focus with no glaze.

His fingers twitched to reach for the bottle of Bowmore, but he had to resist that urge to drown himself in more whiskey. A part of him, a part that had not been affected by the liquor, a part of him that Granger had turned the lights on so long ago, told him that he needed to face this like a true man.

Hadn't he been waiting for this moment? Hadn't he spent the past five years of his life hoping that he'd have her right in front of him, to say everything that needed to be said? Hadn't he endured the past five years because of the ultimate wish that when he saw her again his life would begin again?

"I waited five years to get back to you." Though his tone wasn't loud, it was still a little forced to not reveal so much emotion. "I did nothing but wait and try to rebuild myself so I could finally have you. I knew that Potter and Weasley kept my departure to France a secret, but I hoped that when I was allowed back that you were still waiting for me. But you ran, Granger. You ran like I didn't fucking matter."

Hermione let out a small cry. "...I was scared."

"And that's the thing about us, isn't it?" He replied after a moment that he found that it was hard for him to swallow, especially since those emotions he was trying to keep at bay wouldn't listen to his orders to piss off. "We're constantly scared. I was terrified of what I felt for you back in Sixth Year, terrified of how far things had gotten during the war, terrified that you'd die at the hands of Bellatrix the day you were brought here, and terrified the moment that Weasley had made it seem like you had long forgotten about me. But you, Granger? What did you have to be terrified of? I came willingly to you."

She glanced up at him, after staring at the floor's expensive rug during his explanation because she'd lost her spark of courage, and felt every bit of pain he'd ever caused her. "I was scared of the way I feel about you," she whispered in a heartbreaking manner; speaking through her tears. "And I was scared that having you back would bring back the pain I felt for being without you and...and I didn't want to do that to our son anymore."

Draco pressed his lips into a tight line to keep his own cry inside. Those fucking emotions had forgo-ed his demands to stay neutral and keep him composed. But he was far gone from being cool and composed. The way she was being smacked with the pain she felt because of his absence, he too felt the aching agony that he had to endure by hers.

Wiping her tears from her cheeks, Hermione took closer steps to him; every one of them shaky and anxious. She reached him, and she watched him swallow with difficulty. His silver eyes, those beautiful eyes that she was forced to see on her child every day since he was born, all those days that had added up when she'd been without Draco, were glazed over with tears he was unwilling to release.

Ginny had once told her that there couldn't possibly be any logical reason of why one would assume that Hermione could fall in love with Malfoy, and it was because of that humanity and those feelings in him that Hermione had loved him. Ginny had also added that she didn't understand it, but she trusted her judgment. And honestly, Hermione trusted her judgment too.

The reason why she had stopped seeing Malfoy as the git who loved to hate her was because she'd gotten to see Draco, the git who was more than arrogance, discrimination, and wealth. She had met the one who was scared, the one who cried, the one who smiled purely, the one that kissed with a softness, the one that held with desperation, and the one that loved with true passion. There was so much more to him that met the eye, than what he allowed to see, and that's whom she was in love with. She was in love with the light that he held inside; the one that was always trying to fight the darkness.

With trembling fingers, she slowly pressed both her hands at the sides of his face. "I don't like the person I am without you, Draco," she murmured through her intense and sobbing emotions. "And I don't like that I need you this much to be alright, but I do...I do need you, and perhaps I always will."

Just as carefully as she raised her hands to his face, he did the same to hers. And the moment that his fingertips felt her skin, it was like the sun had burst through the window of the room and engulfed him from head to toe. "I love you, Hermione, and I'm positive I always will."

And really, that's all she needed for everything bad to wash away. She just needed to assure herself that he would stay, that they were in this together this time, right on time and exactly as it was meant to be, before she rose on her toes and kissed him.

It was still as passionate, desperate, and pure as the first time.

X

"Granger?" Humming a reply as she was throwing her sweater back onto her body, fixing her brown waves that had been tousled and gone awry, she turned to face Draco. "How did you even get inside the manor? You didn't free my house-elf, did you?"

Hermione frowned at him as he looked around for his shoes; she made a mental-note to remember the fact that he had house-elves and to interrogate him on his treatment to them. "Actually, I didn't," she replied, forgetting all about her disapproval as she smiled nervously. "I was let in willingly and without a complaint."

"So you murdered my house-elf?" After spotting his left shoe underneath an armchair, Draco faced the brunette with a teasing shake of his head. "My, Granger. Were you seriously that desperate to ravish me that you killed an innocent? He had a girlfriend, you know."

"No, you idiot," she rolled her eyes, sighing like she had just discovered a lost cause. "Maybe you should call the house-elf in and find out why I was let in with a bow and all."

A little intrigued, Draco summoned the house-elf. Usually the little thing was here with an instant crack and asking his young master what he'd like, but it now took its time. He had straightened out his attire, tucked his button-up shirt in, adjusted his hair, marched over to Granger to kiss her heatedly on the lips after she called him vain, and been about to take her once more before the house-elf appeared at the doors of the sitting room. And it wasn't alone.

Attached to the elf's bony hand was a blonde little boy, who stared around the room with a bit of curiosity, his eyes lingering at the paintings; all while not dropping the toy broom in his hand. Finally blinking away from a few portraits, the boy found the two people in the room and a smile went instantly on his face.

"Mummy!" He exclaimed excitedly, though he stayed in his spot with the house-elf. "You brings me to Mister Malfoy! He owes me pizza, you know?"

Hermione kept her nervous smile on as she nodded at her son. "Yes, sweetheart, I brought you to Mister Malfoy, and he promises to give you your pizza, but right now Mummy needs to tell you something, okay?"

"'Kay," Cruz breathed a little disappointingly as he let go of Gus the house-elf's hand.

And as the boy walked towards the side where she and Draco stood, she could feel the latter stiffen and grow almost stoic at the approaching figure of the boy. They hadn't mentioned how they were going to handle the entire situation with Cruz, but Hermione knew that too much time had been wasted already and that the best approach was to be straightforward. She had a lot of faith in her child, especially since he was already understanding of his surroundings and the people in his life. He had asked for his father twice, and after trying to hide her look of heartbreak on both occasions, the first time she'd told him that his father loved him so much, but he just couldn't be here; and the last, Hermione had promised that one day she'd tell him all about the man. And now was that time.

"Sweetheart, remember that I once told you that I was going to tell you all about your daddy?" The boy nodded calmly at her. "And remember I said I was going to let you know where he was, who he was, and all of that? Well, I think it's time we talked about it."

Again, the boy nodded casually. "'Kay, Mummy. But can you and Daddy buy me my pizza first? I'm hungry."

If Draco had been frozen in the spot when the boy walked in, Hermione had become an iceberg at his previous comment. Both adults looked at him with skeptical eyes; wide with surprise and a decent amount of awe. The way Cruz had spoken, the way he'd flashed his eyes towards them, like it was the most casual thing in the world, like he'd already known where the conversation was going, was like being hit upside the head.

"Erm, Cruz, sweetie, how do you—?"

"Gus told me," the boy answered swiftly, smiling a little at the funny faces the two adults were making. "He showed me pictures of Daddy when we went playing to his room. He has a lot of toys."

Blinking for a moment, just a quick one, Draco narrowed his eyes at the house-elf. Sensing his master's skeptical stare, Gus bowed his head and refused to look up.

"And Uncle Harry told me too," Cruz added as he casually looked down at the toy broom in his hand. "We were playing hide-n-seek one day when you were out with Aunt Ginny, Mummy, and I hids underneath your bed. I found a picture of Dad. I showed Uncle Harry and he told me that was my Daddy, but he saids that I couldn't tell you because you'd have a snitch-fit."

Between flushing at the embarrassment—because she indeed had a picture of Draco tucked somewhere that she only took out to look when she needed to, and at the anger at Harry, because he'd told her son about Draco and because she knew that 'snitch-fit' was actually a bitch-fit—she couldn't find herself doing anything but stare at her child.

Feeling a twinge less of hatred for the Boy Wonder, because even though he'd tried and keep Hermione and Cruz from him, he still told the boy about him, and a little relieved by the casualty in which the boy spoke with, Draco found that he'd gotten a push. He cleared his throat a little, and squatted down to be at eye-level with the kid.

They stared at one another for a moment, silver on silver, and Draco could see the similarities between them; but he could also see all those things in him that made him a part of Granger too. He was perfection at its finest. "Are you okay with that?" He asked the boy with the gentlest voice he could muster. "With me being your father? I know that I haven't been around, but...I want to be here now."

"Uncle Harry said that you weren't here because you couldn't," the almost five year-old spoke with complete innocence. "And Mummy told me once that it doesn't matter what happended before. What matters is what happens now." Furrowing his blonde brows, Cruz turned from the man to look at the woman. "Is that right, Mummy?"

For the second moment that day Hermione's brown eyes sparkled with tears. "Yes, love. That's completely right."

Cruz nodded at her direction and then turned to his father. He gave the man a toothy smile, extending him the toy broom he'd taken from the room the house-elf had taken him to. "Sorry I took your toys, Daddy."

And just like Granger, Draco felt emotional all over again. He put his hands on the boy's little shoulders, returning the smile. It was as pure and true, the kind that made Hermione swoon. "It's okay," he whispered, speaking slowly so his words wouldn't break with his sentiments, "they're all yours, Son."

While the three, parents and child, shared a moment, no one but the house-elf noticed the the fireplace at the furthest end of the majestic sitting room started burning from ruby to emerald. It didn't take two seconds until a person appeared, halting immediately at what they had walked into. A moment later, the fire roared green again and someone else marched through the flames; however, this person hadn't noticed who was at the other end of the room.

"Honestly, Lucius, did you have to be so rude? The poor man was just going—" After not really giving much credit to her husband's stillness, Narcissa Malfoy was halted from her scold when her blue eyes were invaded by two pairs of silver eyes and one brown.

The air inside the sitting room became thick, but not with tension or hostility; it was pregnant with a ticking time-bomb of surprise. Mister Malfoy had forgotten to mask his usual impassive expression from the utter shock he was feeling; Mrs. Malfoy had a hand on her chest, something glistening in her overwhelmed eyes; Hermione was once again plunged with nervousness; Cruz looked around the room, then glanced back down at the toy at his hands; and Draco looked between joyful and smug.

And because he was feeling smug that his parents looked as put-out as he'd felt, Draco rose back to all his height and leaned against the armrest of the armchair arrogantly, crossing his arms over his chest while he was at it. "You'd be pleased to know that the wards on the manor work perfectly. The gates truly do only open for Malfoy blood."

The elder witch and wizard were still shell-shocked, but Hermione had snapped out of her nervousness by Draco's amusement of it all. She rolled her eyes at him, reached over and pinched his arm to reprimand him, and then she decided to once again handle this as she'd done before. "Cruz," she began again, bending slightly at the hips to look at her son carefully. "That's Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, they're your daddy's parents."

Cruz lost a bit of his interest with the toy as he glanced at his mother, at his father, at the two blondes ahead, and then back towards his mother again. He pointed a finger towards the blonde man he remembered from his Uncle Harry's office the day he was found. "So he's my Granddad? Like Granddad Arthur is my Granddad?"

Lucius made a movement now, and it was a look of distaste for being compared to Arthur Weasley, but also a similar joy due to the smile the boy was now giving him.

"Yes, sweetheart," Hermione confirmed, smirking a little. "And this is their house. You do remember what I told you you must do when you're in someone's house, right? You greet them."

"Oh, sorry," Cruz said immediately. He turned to his father, handing him back his toy broom, and then he proceeded to walk towards the two blonde adults. He didn't look nervous or overwhelmed, he swaggered his way confidently towards them like a true Malfoy.

He first reached Lucius and extended a tiny palm to him. "I'm Cruz," he said politely, waiting for the man to take his little hand. The man blinked slightly perplexed, but then it was quickly turned to amusement as he took the boy's hand and shook it. And once smiles were exchanged between the two, Cruz headed towards the woman. But instead of giving the woman his hand, the boy tugged at the woman's robes; signaling that he needed her to come closer to him. And once Narcissa robotically did so, the surprise in her eyes melted into complete and utter affection when the little boy kissed her cheek tenderly.

"Thanks for having me, Gran," Cruz said with his charming smile.

That's all it took for the woman to snap out of it and take the boy into her arms. Narcissa swooped him up with so much eagerness, that her husband and son had to wonder where she got the swiftness and strength from; she usually was so graceful and never carried anything heavier than a letter.

X

Resting her back against the headboard of her queen-sized bed, Hermione calmly looked through the open window of her room. She could see the sky's perfect midnight-blue coloring, without a single grey cloud or signal of drizzle, and the gleaming full moon and twinkling stars in it. It was the strangest thing, but for two months now she saw something in the moon that she hadn't seen before; that she hadn't seen in years since she was a teenage girl. And that was the illuminating light that reminded her of Draco's perfect glittering shade when the moon's light hit the silver in his orbs.

Twelve weeks had passed since things between the once Gryffindor and the once Slytherin were patched and molded back together. But to say that things in those following days were smooth and lovely would be a lie, there was some definite hectic moments...

'No! No! No!' Ron Weasley was gaping at his best friends, denial written all over his face as the rest of his family shook their heads at his dramatics. 'How can you take back Ferret Boy, 'Mione?' Not giving the brunette a chance to answer that, Ron turned his accusing glare at his other friend. 'And you! How can you be so bloody okay with this? You were the one that wanted him far from them!'

Harry sighed tiredly. He had been hoping that this question wouldn't come up, Hermione could tell. Though she hadn't heard the statement leave his lips of why he was suddenly calm about her and Malfoy reuniting, Hermione had been well aware of the reason. She did know Harry very well. 'Ron, if that was the reason, why would've I sent him to France for five years?'

'Because the French are intolerant and we knew it was only a matter of time before Malfoy pissed one of them off and they murdered him!' Ron looked betrayed now. 'Or was that only my wish since you sent the slimy git away?'

Harry let out another sigh, this time adjusting himself on the chair around the dinner table in the Weasley home. 'If I would've wanted Malfoy to stay away forever, I would've never testified for him and would have let Kingsley send him straight to Azkaban.' He picked up the spoon from his plate and moved his soup around casually, trying not to meet anyone's eye. '...By the final hearing we knew about Hermione's pregnancy. I didn't understand why she would chose to...you know...with Malfoy and all, but I knew he needed to get his act together before I would even let him anywhere near Hermione and the baby...

'I figured if he truly loved Hermione, being somewhere else, away from the accusations, would help him rebuild himself after the war and then he'd be back for her after the five years were up. What I hadn't counted on was for Hermione to lose her mind because he was gone. That's why when Malfoy returned...I just wanted to make sure she'd stay strong, just in case.'

He trailed off slightly, stopping the playing with his spoon and looking across from him. He found a pair of brown eyes with specs of gold; the eyes of the only sister he will ever know. 'I never meant to lie or hurt you, Hermione; nor did I mean to be a complete git about it. I just wanted him to deserve you and Cruz. And I wanted you to know that if he were ever to leave—'

'I'm not,' finally speaking through the disaster of this little feast at the Burrow, Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes testily at the Chosen One. 'I won't ever leave her or my son.'

Silence had taken over Harry, a willingness over the Weasley clan by Malfoy's honest statement, but Ron was still frowning. And catching this, like the very smart little boy he was, Cruz stopped eating the food his Grandmum Molly made him. 'Don't be mean to my daddy, Uncle Ron,' he said sternly. 'Mummy says it's mean to be mean. So don't be mean to him, he bought me pizza and he's my daddy.'

At the disapproving stare being given to him by the boy he considered a nephew, Ron grumbled. 'Pass the salt, Malfoy.' And that was the first step to a reluctant acceptance.

Hermione laughed gently to herself. If Draco, Ron and Harry had ever been willing to hex each other into their tombs, it was the love they had for Cruz and her that stopped it all. It made them polite to one another, only mumbled insults that the others pretended not to hear. It was as much as she could ask for in such a short time, but she had faith that things would get better.

And with that faith that not everything had to be dark shades, Hermione remembered that the past three months had also held happy memories...

'So he'll be five next week?' Looking up from the little blonde boy playing with a kid's set of Wizard's Chess on the grass not too far from her, Narcissa Malfoy focused her attention shortly on the brunette woman sitting on the chair across from her. 'Any plans?'

Hermione cleared her throat lightly to try and hide the fact that she wanted to laugh. They had all been having tea outside in the Malfoy's garden, enjoying the fleeting moment of sun that wouldn't last all day. And as soon as Mrs. Malfoy had asked that question, after she had mentioned casually that Cruz's birthday was almost here, Hermione couldn't help but to find that all the three Malfoys around her looked expectantly at her; nervous and anxious. They wanted to be a part of the boy's life, Mister and Mrs. Malfoy, she could see it. And though she couldn't really say that she'll be as close to Draco's parents as she was to Ron's, she wanted to give them something in return.

Mrs. Malfoy was open to her, nice and polite, always asking questions about her work, life, and Cruz, but there was still this hostility in the air; like regret and shame from the woman. And from Mister Malfoy, well, their interactions were at the best they could be given their history of the man trying to kill her numerous times. He was polite, greeted her accordingly, but his attention was on his grandson only. And the same way that Draco put up with her loved ones, Hermione decided to be open enough with the Malfoys because they shared their love for Draco and Cruz.

'Well, being an Auror doesn't always give me so much time to spend with him, but Harry always stretches my days off around his birthday so we can get away for a few days. Last year I took him to a muggle resort in America; he loved it dearly.'

'Ah,' Mrs. Malfoy said casually, looking back down at her estranged grandchild. 'So you'll be taking the boy? Just you and him?'

Again, Hermione tried to hide her smirk. 'Actually, Mrs. Malfoy, I was thinking that Cruz and I should stay here for his birthday. I don't think I've ever thrown him a proper birthday party, and I'm sure he'll enjoy it now that he's a bit older. Would you mind if we held it in the manor? I'll need your help too, if you can.'

Mrs. Malfoy's blue eyes widened, filling with excitement and sentiment, but they were quickly covered with simple and unaffected acceptance. 'Of course, Hermione. We'll get everything settled.'

Sitting next to her, finally making a move as he too was focused on the boy trying to figure out where all the pieces of his new game went, Draco reached over and squeezed her hand. He held it, fingers intertwined with hers, and he gave her a sweet smile that always made her heart flutter. He was grateful, she could see it, and she was glad she was doing this for him.

As the atmosphere filled with complete contentment and an odd feel of peace and comfortableness, Hermione decided to keep adding to the day. What was the harm in giving the cold, distant, and emotion-free family a little bit of what she was all about to spruce up their lives?

'Cruz,' Hermione called for her child. 'Sweetheart, come here and join us. I've got a surprise for you.'

'Is it a puppy? Because Teddy already got one and we decided to share it, and I don't want Spots to be jealous,' Cruz rambled, walking over obediently to the garden-table his parents and grandparents were sitting at. He made it to his grandmother's side, leaning against her legs until the woman happily pulled him onto her lap. 'But if you got me a dragon, I can share him and Spots can be friends with him.'

Before she could say anything else, Hermione turned to look at Draco. 'You will not get him a dragon,' she warned and the latter snorted. He had been going crazy in buying Cruz everything to make his childhood a happy and adventurous one, much to Hermione's disdain by the amount of money that seemed to require.

Returning to the moment, she took a deep breath and looked at the people around her. 'Seeing as so much has happened these past years, especially to your family, I thought that...given the circumstance and the unfortunate way that none of you got to meet Cruz until now, I thought that you all deserved the right to know that...Well, that I'm pregnant.'

Deep silence filled the area, a pair of blue eyes and three silver stared at her with utter surprise.

She raised an eyebrow at them. 'It's Draco's?' They still didn't move. 'Due to last week's raid where I got hexed, Harry made me get a full check up. The Healer told me I was two months along now. The baby's perfectly fine, by the way.'

'So I'm not getting a dragon?' Cruz spoke up, jumping off his grandmother's lap. 'That's 'kay, Mummy. I think I wants a baby brother better. But I don't have to share with Ted, right? Aunt Ginny's already giving him one.'

Hermione was about to reply to her son when she was picked up from her seat and embraced tightly into warm and hard arms. 'We're having a baby!' Draco practically shouted in her ear, squeezing more tightly than ever.

Mrs. Malfoy put a hand over her chest, tears welling up in her eyes, and her husband swallowed roughly; a gleam of his own version of joy burning in his eyes too. 'Yeah, we are,' Hermione replied, aiming his parents a smile before she hugged Draco back as strongly.

She hadn't really contemplating on having another baby after she had Cruz, but she reckons with herself that i was because she didn't have Malfoy with her. She never really gave the dating-life after Malfoy was allegedly sentenced to Azkaban; she just took care of her son, worked, and did it all over again. And when she found out that she was pregnant, the first time that she had sex with Malfoy after five years, well...it seemed almost perfect.

Stirring beside her, a little head poked its way out of the thick blankets on Hermione's bed. "Mummy?" Cruz called, a little sleepily still, but also somewhat annoyed.

"What is it, love?"

"I'm really happy now, Mummy," he said to her, his silver eyes a little droopy as she could tell that he was still sleepy; given the time that it was almost four in the morning. "I don't feel alone, and I promise never to be sad again 'cause Daddy's here, and so is Gran and Grandad Malfoy..." he paused, putting a little hand on his mother's stomach. "And baby, but...can we get a bigger bed?"

At that, Hermione laughed loudly. She let the sound come out of her throat, jolting the baby inside of her, and even making the bed vibrate. And as Cruz raised an eyebrow at her, clearly startled at why she was laughing at his request, she peeked over to his other side. Right there, laying with his arms and legs sprawled open like ownership of the mattress was being claimed was Draco.

Hermione laughed some more, equally as loudly as before; not caring about the time that it was. And because of her noise, Draco pulled his cheek away from the pillow, rubbing his eyes with one of his hands as he hesitantly rose into a semi-sitting position. Like father, like son, she thought.

"Granger," he called in a voice thick with sleep. "We need a bigger bed."

Ignoring him and Cruz's nod of agreement—though the boy already had a bed of his own, in his own room—Hermione squished her son into her side and into Draco's too. She turned on an angle, throwing an around around Cruz, her palm barely making it to Draco's exposed, pale chest. She looked at her two boys with eyes like the glowing moon and smiled blissfully, just as both of them looked confused at her.

"I'm really happy now too," she whispered to them. And all she remembered after that was Draco leaning towards her to capture her mouth in a kiss, and Cruz's protests of being squashed and his hasty attempts to jump out of the middle.

Things were definitely in their rightful place.

AN: Tada! I had an idea a few weeks ago and this is what I got. Hope you all liked it. (:

P.S. I've recently discovered that I'm so into the Draco and Hermione shipping that it's become real life. For a few days I actually believe the couple was cannon. Oh, well. I've always got my imagination xD