Chapter Five

Hermione fell backwards into her bedroom. She looked at her closed shades, the brightness of the winter sun peeking through the cracks. She sat up; her Pensieve was silent in its glow, the empty bottle on its side, the cork peeking out behind the pool of the curtain.

It felt like forever that she had been gone, but she knew it had only been minutes. Minutes of finding missing pieces of herself, of remembering who she used to be, a person she never knew. Her heart was beating its way out of her chest, her ribcage fracturing. She felt as though someone took her apart and put her back together with extra equipment that she didn't know what to do with. Her face was hot, her nose stuffed and eyes stinging.

Ginny rushed in, and stopped in the doorway, quizzically staring down at her. "Hermione?"

She hadn't realized that she was crying until she felt her wet face. "Oh."

"What happened?"

"It's Malfoy."

She shook her head, "what is Malfoy? The letter?"

"No, that was from me. It was all me."

"Did you hit your head?"

"Ginny, it was us. Malfoy and me. It was my memories, but... This was all about Malfoy..." Quickly, she stood up, feeling her pockets. She pulled out the letter, smoothing out its crinkles.

You must see what there is to see and meet someone important at St. John Parks. Go to the northern benches and there this letter will make sense.

"I have to go."

"Go where?" She grabbed her arm, her grip bruising her. "Hermione, you're scaring me. Where are you going?"

"To meet Malfoy."

"Have you lost it?! Malfoy? You've had to hit your head. Come on, we're going to St. Mungo's."

Hermione wrenched her arm from her. "I don't have time to explain. I will when I come back. I promise, Ginny. Trust me." She rushed past her, making her way to the door when she stopped and turned. There in the kitchen playing a song from the night that she received it. It was the box Draco gave her. She had assumed it was a present from someone, she hadn't given it much more thought but in her realization she thought it foolish not to question that simple but beautiful box.

Seizing her coat she stuffed her arms through as she ran down the block, her feet pounding the pavement, the cold breeze numbing her face. She thought of all the memories she gave up, how they wound like vines around a tree through her brain. They were no longer memories she visited but true memories that she lived. She felt everything that her past self felt, the way Draco smelled of some expensive musk cologne, how close he held her, how that smirk made her laugh, the way he twirled her when they danced, and how he had a scar on his shoulder when he crashed his broom as a child. He wasn't just a bully or the boy who was on the wrong side of the war. He was man who chose a dangerous path to save his family, he was arrogant turned compassionate. Most of all, he was Draco. He was hers.

Draco had been sitting on the bench for over an hour. He was freezing and bored. Watching the few families that were crazy enough to be out in the dreary weather had gotten dull. He leaned his head back looking at the slate gray sky, breathing in sharp shards of cold.

It had been a long year since he had seen Hermione, the longest year of his life. To see her in his Manor, being forced to identify her, hearing her tortured cries. It made him sick and they rung in his head that night, repeated over in his nightmares. They had an agreement, but he nearly broke every promise they made to each other to save her that day. He wished he had thrown everything out the window to protect her, but he didn't and instead she disapparated with her friends, and it was his turn to be tortured by Voldemort. He would never tell her that, to share his nightmares was to make them real once more.

Hermione had found Draco in their Sixth Year on the Astronomy Tower. He was leaning over the edge, thinking of how easy it would all end if he stepped over. Just one step and the wind would carry him down. Then, he heard a short scream from behind him and he spun to see her. His first instinct was to curse her, but he stopped himself, seeing her frightened face, her outstretched hand, as if he had been intending to save him.

Draco was never the same after that. Of course he wasn't, how could he be? She altered him completely, turned his life and beliefs upside down. It was perhaps too much credit to her, because his beliefs were already on the verge of destruction. His beliefs is what made his life miserable, it was what hurt his family. She pushed them over the edge, and she saved him.

Rubbing his neck, he sat up, and there she was. His breath ceased as he took in her plain brown hair massed into a plait, her doe-like eyes seeking him. The crazy witch was only wearing jeans and a t-shirt, her coat open, her hands splayed with some sort of red and gold coloring. She looked like a beautiful death with her pallid skin, a Christmas queen. A scarred Christmas queen, he noted as he took in the bone-white scar on her neck and wondered how many more there were.

Shaking, he stood, straightening his tie and pulling his coat closer around him. Soft flakes of snow fell from that dreaded gray sky. It speckled in their hair and coated their shoulders.

Her eyes met his, and she did something that he least expected: She ran at him. Throwing her arms over his shoulders she roughly brought him down to her. She smelled of chocolate and everything sweet. He held her tighter bringing her off her feet as he straightened.

"What took you so long?"

He laughed softly in her ear, "I didn't know what to get you for Christmas."

Back on her feet he saw her laugh, bowing her head shyly. "Oh, Draco, that was a poor excuse."

"Merry Christmas, Hermione."

"Merry Christmas."

It was a Merry Christmas, indeed. Hermione was returned to his arms right where she belonged.