A/N: Hello again! So excited to start off my next dramione fanfiction. It's going to be very different from my last, and I hope you like it! Please leave reviews/comments so I know what everyone thinks works/doesn't work and I just really love to hear what y'all are thinking! Enjoy. :) EDIT: Now have soundtrack for each chapter, links supplied on author profile

It was held within the lush embrace of the forest, an outdoor wedding in the comforting reds and oranges of autumn that reminded her change was inevitable and, sometimes, reassuringly gentle. Foliage had fallen during the ceremony, some clinging to her veil and reeling out laughter as her husband fought with the leafy veil, won, and sealed the marriage with a kiss. It went without fault; a simple engagement with the small group of family and friends who had seen Hermione through the maze of tragedy set before her and who had supported her despite her mistakes. It was perfect, and yet everything was wrong. Her corset constricted her ribs; made her writhe back and forth, and her gown dragged her down. Her wedding ring reminded her of the Chinese finger trap her parents had once tricked her into wearing as a child. The more she wrung at it, the tighter, the heavier it bore on her finger. Just underneath it was the shadow of the past it was trying so hard to hide through a layer of falsified happiness.

And it wasn't until the reception that she realized with deafening dread just why everything was pressing down on her.

She caught the blanched white hair out of the corner of her eye, past the blur of Ginny's face; a haunting ghost of a memory drifting through the emptying dance floor. There were the sharp jaw and cheekbones, the moons of silver for eyes that glowed brighter in the approaching darkness, the sly slope of a smile that always had her body on edge. Draco Malfoy had yet to catch sight of her, yet he enraptured her.

"Who invited him?" Hermione heard herself say through sandpaper pipes.

There was a pause that forced her to tear her gaze away to Ginny, whose face was strained.

"I thought you did."

"Why- how would I?" Hermione's vision grew cloudy the longer she tried to carry on conversation. Her whole body felt pulled in another direction, towards the man who had haunted her dreams for years since their relationship's decay.

She shook her head, dismissing whatever Ginny prepared to say, and built up the courage to follow the pull in her chest.

Within seconds, she was before him, hidden in a crowd of dancing guests who didn't seem to care about the bride anymore.

He was smiling; a secret held in the corner of those tilted lips he refused to ever share. But his eyes seemed to bear all to her as they watched her, drank her in as she indulged in the wine as well.

"May I have this dance with the bride?" His voice was pulled tight, yanking her closer. She didn't have to reply with words.

His hands perfectly filled the curvature of her body but held her far enough to be modest, painfully so. She wanted nothing more than to draw him closer, to breathe in his long absent scent and the memories that accompanied it like the addict that she was. And she knew from the clench of his jaw, the protruding vein in his throat, that he wanted nothing more than to let her.

"I suppose this is when I say that I'm happy for you," Draco murmured and she tried to smile away the screaming of her heart.

"I suppose you just did," she replied with a small laugh, devoid of humor.

"Good, then I don't have to try to mean it," he sighed.

Where she had once felt heavy, she now felt light. Too light. Everything that was meant to remind her that she was sworn to another lifted off of her, made her float closer to her lost love. And he silently accepted her. His arms coiled around her possessively, anchoring her.

"This could've been us." It was more wistful than bitter, yet it bit at her soul and left her body shuddering with pain. She clenched onto his shoulders, allowing herself the pleasure of resting her head there. It was a perfect fit, his body remembering her.

"You did everything you could to make sure it wasn't, Draco." Instead of recoiling and retaliating, as Draco always did during confrontation, his grip constricted further around her waist. He was selfish and stubborn; he wanted more of her, more than he was allowed. And she turned a blind eye to it. She let herself imagine that the two of them dancing at her wedding, to someone else, wasn't wrong.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. The regret sank into her locks with his breath, grounding her. She could feel herself being pushed down into the forest's soft, welcoming soil. She felt the tingle of fear of what lay beneath that ground grow, and clog her throat. She clenched her eyes shut against the sting of tears.

"I know."

Their past lay thick as a wall between them and yet, with every passing moment and shuffle of feet, they tried to permeate it and become that one soul they'd once been. She remembered his insecurities, his soft spots, his sarcasm, their fights, their kisses, the way the bed looked with the two of them in it. And she found herself wishing so strongly that it had been them who were married today.

"Do you miss me?" He breathed shamelessly, and she felt everything go hazy again, her focus drifting between the present and past. She wondered if the corset was cutting off her air, or if it was his greedy hold on her.

"What do you think? You were my first love," she muttered, flinching against the tearing of her voice.

Silence, heavy with shared memories and thoughts that coursed between them fluidly. She could feel her mind slipping under them, suffocating there, buried alive. She thought she felt his grip loosen, her vision bleeding around the edges.

"And you, my last."

With a swift kick, she was throttled from the dream.

When Hermione awoke, she could still feel the scorching presence of hands on her hips, the whisper of words against her ear, the image of a past she had long forbidden herself from remembering seared into her mind. The sting of tears now burned against her cheeks as they freely poured out of her. Her body jerked hysterically about the bed, her hands whipping out for solace where she found none. She could barely process how lucky she was that her fiancé, William, wasn't there to see her or hear the name that escaped her lips as she reached out of the dream for an anchor, for a guarantee that it was just a dream. But as she grasped at reality, she realized it was no more comforting than the illusion she had been subjected to. None of the friendly faces she had grown accustomed to within the dream were there to soothe her. She looked instead at a barren apartment: the walls she was not permitted to paint, no matter how vacant the white scenery became for her, the straight and sleek furniture that were no more like her than straight and sleek hair would be, the kitchen she barely touched with a fridge filled with leftovers from dinners always eaten out – at a table for two now, if she was able to sit down long enough – and the pile of labeled boxes in the corner of her room ordering the movers to "handle with care." Within those boxes were the remnants of a refuge she had long escaped for a new one when all had crumbled. If she could find the gears within her mind that would allow her to move, she would rush to them and rustle through until she found the few pictures she still kept of Harry, Ginny, Ron, her parents, and Crookshanks. There were none of the ghost that roamed her mind at night. But she wasn't sure that confirming the reality of that part of her life would be a healthy choice, so she averted her eyes from the boxes.

She took a deep breath and tried to wipe away the dream with her hands as they dried her face. She tried not to feel like she was sinking under the weight of the ring on her finger, under the coffin she'd watched lower into the ground with Draco's body within, under the knowledge that war and an explosion of mistakes and sacrifices had taken him away from her.

She refused to give into the overbearing amount of gravitational bullshit that was trying so hard to pull her down and back to him. But it felt like she was banging on a sealed coffin lid.

"Get a grip," she muttered, sinking her jittery fingers into her hair and burrowing her head between her knees, shielding herself.

She felt the coming light on her thigh, peeping through the blinds and followed with the hesitant chirping of a nesting bird. Morning was pressing at her night terrors, but the night was resisting against the demands of the sun. She felt cold even as the light tried to warm her skin, the promise of autumn too fervent in the air around her and in the chilled blood within her. The closer autumn came, the nearer her wedding drew, the more frequent these cruel dreams became. She could feel the past creeping back up on her, rattling against the locks and chains she'd put in place to keep those memories sealed shut and away from her. And though the sun meant well as it tried to shield her from the shadows, it threatened to illuminate the very shadows she never wanted to see the light of day.

Hermione wasn't sure how long she stayed that way, petrified in the middle of the rustled sheets, and would have stayed that way had her cell phone not started ringing. She was jolted once more and stared at it for a moment in unreasonable fear. Did she think the dead were calling?

Ginny's name and face illuminated the screen. And so did the time.

She reached over and finally answered on the fourth ring.

"It is 8:10 in the morning and Miss Prompt is about to be Mrs. Extremely Late. Hermione, where the hell are you? I've been at this stupid bakery for the past ten minutes trying not to eat everything in sight. I did not walk all the way over here just to gain that weight back," Ginny's voice barked at Hermione, yet it relaxed her. Stiffened shoulders, shuddering muscles beneath the skin, eased.

"No one said you should walk that distance," Hermione retorted as she steeled herself to get off the bed.

"Should? I do what I want. And apparently, so do you. Are you coming to this appointment or am I picking the wedding cake myself? Because, if that's the case, say no more. I'll be glad to eat for two and take the cake I like the most."

Hermione's smile was less amused than usual. The clenching in her stomach and throat wrung tighter at the word "wedding".

"You mean three. Look, I'm running late. I'll be there in ten minutes, just hold off on the samples until I get there." She shoved herself into an outfit, not noticing if it matched or not, and snagged up her purse. She lingered for a moment, feeling a tug to stay but also the urgent need to leave. Hermione clenched at her keys, the sharpness of them against her palm waking her fully, alerting her to the fact that she had locked away the terrors of her past years ago. She had the power to keep them away and she refused to let those silver eyes follow her out of her dreams. So she left, shutting the door between her and her ghost.

When she arrived at The Blushing Bakery on Fleet, in ten minutes as promised, she spotted a flare of ginger in the corner with an equally bright slice of carrot cake approaching her mouth. Scattered on the table before Ginny was an array of flamboyantly colored, calorie infested, and "criminally delicious cakes" – or so she'd been told by a coworker who had recommended the venue for her wedding cake. Ginny seemed to agree, with each sample slice having already been dug into by her ravenous fork. She didn't even flinch when Hermione popped up in her rearview, too consumed in the delight of free cake to care that it was supposed to be the two of them eating together.

"Finally," she said around a bite. When she turned, Hermione noticed the ever-growing bulge that was Ginny's gut. "People have been staring at the fat lady eating this bakery whole."

Hermione grinned, couldn't help it, when Ginny started glaring at the salesperson that was hovering awkwardly behind the counter. She moved closer so as to put a gentle hand on the speed bump of a belly. "I hope the baby enjoyed eating my share of the samples."

Ginny rolled her eyes and adjusted herself on her seat as Hermione moved over to sit across from her. Hermione shifted the chair so she could get a good look over the entirety of the bakery from her spot in the corner. It was warm, despite the stirring chill outside, and quaint for a London business popular for its catering and wedding cakes. It eased her, letting her feel safe with Ginny, despite its rough proximity to the Ministry of Magic. The only person who bothered to look at her was Ginny, whose face was growing more and more troubled by the minute now that Hermione had arrived.

Hermione realized she had yet to try any of the slices and reached for the fork provided for her, but her fingers froze and hovered there unsurely. She didn't exactly have an appetite and the smell of sugar in the air was intrusive to her senses.

"Well, not as much as she would enjoy her aunt being there for her birth," her friend slid in, a bitterness in her voice that didn't taste well against the sweetness of baked goods. Ginny was watching Hermione's every move, a stubborn jut to her lip that held back a barrage of questions and accusations that had been lying in wait for weeks now. Hermione began to get the sense that this wasn't just a cake testing appointment. No wonder Ginny had been so adamant about going with her, William backing off to let the girls have their time together. How Hermione wished he were here instead.

Hermione sighed. "It could be a boy, you know," she sidelined, her nerves too on edge to take on yet another uneasy topic of discussion. She fumbled for the fork and began picking at the cake slices around her, if only to stuff something in her mouth as an excuse to drop the conversation entirely. But Ginny had grown even more stubborn and impatient since her pregnancy, her hormones making her as sharp and volatile as a knife -or like the fork she began to stab into a helpless red velvet cake.

"Boy, girl, you won't know either way since you won't be there."

Hermione tried to swallow but the pound cake lay lodged in her throat. She pushed that sample away and shoved her hands under the table, pressed them into her thighs where they balled into fists.

"Ginny, we've talked about this. I can't." Her voice sounded steadier than she felt over this matter, the fact that Ginny had refused to drop it since she had come to her weeks before about her pregnancy, about the desire for Hermione to return to the life she had cut herself out of.

She heard Ginny's fork surrender, saw it as it was placed with a gentle 'clink' to the table with smears of red velvet that made Hermione's nails dig into the flesh of her palms. She eased her eyes off of the cutlery to avoid the gory deformities her mind shaped them into. Ginny was frowning, a dab of icing still clinging to her lips, as if to ease the bitterness that occupied them. Feeling it there, she bit at her bottom lip and it was gone.

"Hermione, I get it. I honestly do. I get that you've been through a lot. We've all been through too much. But," Ginny bit her lip again and tried to cover her words with that faint gentle sweetness as they both braced themselves for the conversation they'd been skirting around, "It's been four years. You're getting married in a matter of weeks, and the only reason any of us know- the only reason your best friends found out about your nuptial – is because Harry and I managed to track you down to let you know about the baby."

Unnerved and uncomfortable, Hermione's already pale face was drained to the point that her freckles stood harshly against the vacant canvas of her skin. She fidgeted and glanced around the shop, hoping that no one was paying mind to their conversation. They were in a secluded corner of the modestly sized bakery, only a few others lounging at the tables towards the front of the place, but the windows let in an overwhelming amount of natural light that highlighted the soon-to-be bride, her maid of honor, the line-up of pastel and white and loud cakes, the splayed samples on the table, the unspoken tension that coiled around the entire ensemble. The baker, who was supposed to guide them through the samples, had either already visited the table before Hermione had arrived or was averse to coming anywhere near it. Either way, no one else dared to look over. Some were blissfully ignorant, too wrapped up in delightful pastries to notice the quickly souring friendship in the corner.

"Ginny, can we talk about this later? This isn't exactly the greatest place to discuss this," Hermione urged, spotting a man in a powdered apron approaching them. "Besides, I already apologized a million times. I couldn't risk it, and I don't need you guilt tripping me now, so can you drop it?"

Ginny's eyes narrowed into slits but she knew the battle was on pause. The approaching baker made sure of that.

"Hope you weren't having a case of cold feet, Miss Granger," the man casually joked as he arrived at the table, his hands brushing off flour onto his apron. He was wide eyed and enthusiastic, probably hyped up on the sugar he worked with on a daily basis, and filtered the sight before him. He didn't see the awkwardness hanging between Ginny and Hermione, only the remnants of samples and the prospect of nabbing clientele.

"No, no, just ran a little behind. Sorry for the wait, Mr. Bryant," Hermione chimed, ringing flat. Ginny eyed her but she tried not to pay any mind to her friend.

His flour-free hand reached out for hers. After a brief moment's hesitation, she shook his hand. "Looks like you didn't wait at all," he mentioned with a grin as he nodded to the plates. "Are there any specific flavors you were interested in? I remember from the call tha-"

"She'll take the vanilla cake with butterscotch filling, the gold and red leaves design, and make it four tiers," Ginny cut in, whipping out a checklist she'd apparently seized from the counter and had filled out prior to Hermione arriving. She flashed it before the baker's eyes and tucked it into the pocket of his apron without letting him fully process the form or her abruptness.

"Ginny," Hermione groaned tiredly.

Mr. Bryant simply laughed. "The maid of honor, correct?"

The redhead pursed her lips. "Her maid of honor, best friend, sister, doesn't matter what my title is. I know what cake she wants. Will it be good to go by the 26th?"

He stammered, taken back by Ginny's steady babble and stare. "Um, it shouldn't be too much of a problem, though I usually-"

"Wonderful. Now, can I have a moment with the bride? I was in the middle of talking about tablecloths. Now that the cake is decided on, the colors should be easy peasy to pick," Ginny ushered him away. He nodded absently before moving off to another customer who didn't look like they were about to bludgeon him into a jam.

Hermione wanted to cram herself under the table, but she knew Ginny would just chase after her. It had been this way for a while now, starting when Hermione disappeared after the war four years ago with only a meagre letter sent to 12 Grimmauld Place every month or so to let her friends know she was alive and well. Though, "well" was a tentative term. Ginny, Harry, Ron and the rest of the Weasley motley crew had all tried their hand at finding Hermione with the letters being their only clues. They all had a false address on them, written in ink devoid of any kind of magical enhancements, and sent by a muggle postman. It had soon become evident what had happened to Hermione Granger and Ginny had been the first to put it together and finally find her friend boarded up in a polished apartment in London, a blinding diamond ring on her finger and a look of stunned fear on her face. It had been a bittersweet reunion that Hermione had not been prepared for but that Ginny had been gearing up for, for four years. It hadn't helped that Ginny's hormones were on a roller-coaster ride. She refused to let Hermione out of her sight, threatening to crash at her apartment to see the fiancé, to find out what had kept her away all those years, demanding explanations and apologies. And, most importantly, she demanded the return of the friendship Hermione had forsaken.

She bought a cell phone, so Hermione would have no excuse to lose contact with her again. She titled herself maid of honor and had drawn up a wedding plan and invitation list that Hermione had been avoiding for months. Hermione didn't dare sum it up as just a way for Ginny to stay in contact. She knew it was much deeper than that. Ginny had been deprived of the wedding she imagined would take place at the Burrow, of the inappropriate jokes made at Hermione's expense during the bachelorette party Ginny would've thrown, of watching Hermione fall in love again, of being with her friend through it all. And it was about Hermione not being there for Ginny all those years, not being there for Harry and Ginny's wedding, not being there to hear Teddy's first words, not being there with Ginny when she found out she was to have a child of her own. And it was about now. About how Hermione was late to her own cake tasting. How she was late and how Ginny quietly panicked, fears about Hermione making another run for it whirling about in her head and unsettling her and the baby whose aunt and godmother Ginny feared would not be there for either of them.

"Ginny, if you're mad, don't take it out on the person making my cake. The last thing I need is an unwanted surprise at my wedding," Hermione huffed once they were clear of him. Ginny heaved a breath, her hand smoothing over her belly as if soothing her baby would, in turn, soothe her. "He'll end up putting something gross in there and I'll be stuck with the bill."

Her friend formed a barrier between them, crossing her arms atop her stomach. "Wouldn't be a problem if you'd just let one of the bakeries my mom knows make your wedding cake. The wedding would be put together in a matter of hours if you'd just-"

"Ginny," Hermione was getting tired of repeating herself. "I told you-"

The ginger's hand flickered up and waved her off. "You can't risk it. I know. But what can't you risk, Hermione? Afraid of your fiancé finding out there's such a thing as magic or are you afraid of finding out you miss home?" Ginny threw the question out there but Hermione stumbled to catch a response. She gritted her teeth, folding her arms in reply, and glowered out the window.

"It's barely been a few hours and I'm already having a very bad day, Ginny. So, can you please, please stop adding onto it?"

She heard Ginny exhale years' worth of frustration and worry. "Hermione, I love you and I know it's been… difficult." Hermione's brown eyes flashed red as they slashed across to stare at Ginny. She bit against the bile building in her throat, the queasy mix of cake and dread there. Her friend saw the tenseness of Hermione's shoulders, could imagine how her hands were tearing at the fabric of her weary shirt. "I won't act like I know what you're thinking or feeling. But I know you're running away from certain thoughts, certain feelings, certain memories. You can't keep running. You're getting married, Hermione, on a stack of lies and omissions that are going to catch up to you if you don't act on it first ."

"Why can't you just be happy for me? That I've found someone? That I'm moving on?" She vented.

Ginny's fingers brushed against the sleeve of Hermione's fleece sweatshirt. "Hermione, you're pretending you've never touched a wand in your life, that eighteen years of your life never happened, that a muggle life is all you've known. That's not moving on. That's not even starting over. And it's not going to work out well, not for you and not for William."

"It's worked so far," Hermione rejoined tersely. Ginny's eyebrows shot up and she leaned back into her seat.

"Oh? Really? Is that why you don't have a wedding cake ordered, a venue picked out, an invitation list made up of people both William and you knew?"

Hermione huffed. "Look, it was supposed to be a small wedding at the courthouse until you showed up. There was no need for a cake or a lengthy invite list."

"That's not what William said. I heard he's been pressing you to invite friends and family for months and you were dragging your heels. He knew you had to have had friends from 'boarding school,' yet you were all kinds of mysterious about those years away. Honestly, if you wanted to keep secrets, you shouldn't have gotten engaged to a childhood friend," Ginny countered smugly, her eyebrows still raised and challenging Hermione to argue with her.

"I didn't pick him so I could keep secrets, Ginny! I'm marrying him because I happened to fall in love with him." She could feel the energy being zapped out of her. This was Ginny's tactic to get to the truth. She would talk Hermione down to the pit, to the core of truth that she was trying to hide under layers of excuses and lies she'd built up to keep the past at a lengthy distance.

There was a silence as Ginny let Hermione's breathing steady. They were one wrong word away from creating a loud scene for the rest of the bakery to witness. Or at least, that's what Hermione thought. Little did she know that Ginny had casually and discreetly cast the Muffliato Charm in case the expected meltdown happened within the public space. Ginny was under strict orders not to use magic around Hermione, but she wasn't one for rules.

"So you weren't late today because you're having second thoughts?"

Hermione closed her eyes, saw the flash of silver that shot ice through her veins, and opened them with a sharp intake of breath. She tried to let it go, to force the image to drift away from her vision as she exhaled.

"About what?"

"Hmm. Well, it could either be about William or about lying to him and to yourself. Take your pick."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I was just late."

"You're never 'just' late, Hermione. Don't even try to pull that on me, the person you've always badgered over punctuality. If you're late, it's because something was holding you back. And I'm not talking about traffic. So, please," Hermione straightened at the imploring undertone that crept just beneath Ginny's agitation, "please tell me what's wrong."

Hermione gave in, her body slumping back into the chair with a dismal groan. She was staring out the window again to avoid being swallowed up by Ginny's concern, and the scenery outside of people walking across the backdrop of businesses and tea shops was smothered by a sudden downpour of blood red and rust orange leaves. The leaves stormed through, though barely anyone outside took notice. They walked on as the sudden wind bulldozed into them, enveloping their bodies in leaves. The street became difficult to see, then unseen altogether. The leaves kept coming from trees unseen and they piled up against the window, slamming against it with a forcefulness that went against their light nature. They clung to the glass and soon she could see nothing but a wall of fall. The resulting shadow that fell on her sunk cold into her skin and she pressed the fabric of her sweatshirt closer to herself. The touch of reality from her hard fingers brought her back and abruptly the scene outside was back to business as usual. Not a leaf in sight.

"I've been having dreams… Nightmares, if I'm being honest with myself." She turned away from the glass and noticed the deep frown on Ginny's face, the grim knowledge that she was right set into the greens' of her eyes and darkening them.

"See, I told you, you need to talk with me about these things and stop keeping it in. It's not healthy being so far away and not having a suppor-" Hermione slammed a hand in the air.

"I'm talking now, aren't I?" She huffed and Ginny reluctantly quieted, pressing her lips into a thin line of patience. Hermione took it as the sign for her to explain herself. She breathed past constricted airways and weary ribs. "They've been getting more frequent ever since," she drifted off and tried to coax the necessary words off her tongue. They wouldn't budge. "Well, they've been getting more and more frequent and more and more vivid. Today I," another stuttering pause, "today I- well, when I woke up I wasn't really sure I actually had woken up. That's how strongly I felt it."

Felt him, she meant.

"What about? Hermione, are they about the war?"

Hermione blinked, taken aback. "I- no, not really. Well, a bit. It depends on the night. Some nights, I don't know, they're like flashbacks. Sometimes, I'm alone somewhere." Surrounded by trees made bare by the fall, leaves crunching beneath her bare feet. "But, last night was something different. It wasn't a memory. I was supposedly at my wedding reception," Hermione muttered, running a tugging hand through her hair.

"Was it lovely? I'm guessing not since it was a nightmare," Ginny attempted to lighten the mood, a half-baked smile on the edge of her lips. Hermione tried to smile back.

"It was beautiful. It was under the canopy of a forest and everyone was there, enjoying themselves."

"But it's not going to be at a forest, unless… Oh, oh Hermione." Ginny stopped herself by putting a hand to her lips, forcing herself to pause. Hermione grimaced as Ginny connected the dots.

"He was there, Ginny. I had a dream that I threw my wedding on top of his grave." She bit down on the inside of her cheek and shook her head at the obscenity of it all. The smile she had shaking on her lips was bitter and humorless.

"Maybe it was just a generic forest. We have a lot of trees on this earth. It could've been anywhere. I think I even showed you a brochure for a park we could've had the reception at," Ginny rambled, her hands flustered as they tried to catch other explanations out of thin air. "Could've been anywhere."

Hermione couldn't stop shaking her head, her arms slumped on the table between them. "No, I knew that place. You can't dream of anything you haven't already seen. And I've seen that place, in the flesh, many times. I could feel that electricity in the air. I could feel the ground try to pull me under. If I had thought to look away from him, I would've seen The Astronomy Tower just over the trees… but I couldn't look away from him, not after all this time." It would have been a crime to do so. She'd managed to block Draco Malfoy from her thoughts for such a long time so successfully that seeing him had felt like a reward, before she was reminded why she banned him from her thoughts.

If she listened closely to the storm brewing in her mind, she could hear him laughing at her attempts to forget him, to isolate herself from the world that reminded her of him and the nightmare they'd shared.

Now it was Ginny's turn to shake her head. She leaned forward, her arms slinging over the table, her fingers bristling against Hermione's blanched knuckles. They both stared at Ginny's hands as the rough callouses of her fingers ran over the bumps of Hermione's fist.

"Even from beyond the grave, the stubborn prick won't let you go," Ginny muttered, her words clipping at Hermione's nerves. She tried to move her hand out from under Ginny's but her friend seized it, preventing it from escaping. She realized what she'd just done and eased her hold on Hermione's hand, frowning up at her friend. "I don't mean to speak ill of the dead, Hermione, and I know how you felt about him… but Malfoy always had an unhealthy grip on you. And I think you should take this dream as a sign."

Hermione drew back from Ginny, crossing her arms and barring herself against any advice. She was eying her purse, wondering if she could make the excuse that she had to go to work. But she remembered it was Sunday, and she would be leaving to go to an empty and locked office. And as much as she wanted to get away, she didn't want to be alone with her thoughts.

"A sign that what?" She snapped. "That I shouldn't go through with the wedding?"

"No, Hermione, Merlin no," her friend replied hastily, her hands reaching once more for Hermione and grabbing onto Hermione's locked arms. Her thumbs stroked the fabric. "Go through with the wedding. Have your happily ever after with William. Merlin knows you more than deserve it. Just…" Her mouth hung open for a moment and then clamped shut as she inhaled deeply through her nose. Her face was morphing into that motherly expression Hermione had caught her practicing in the apartment mirror once, having claimed it was in preparation for the baby. But now Hermione wondered if it had been in preparation for this very moment. "Just, make sure you've gotten your closure before you walk down that aisle."

"By probing at the past? No, Ginny, there is no closure. I'm just going to end up picking at old wounds and, if you don't mind, I'd rather not do that," Hermione pushed through clenched teeth. She felt under siege, the laughing in her head growing more distinct, louder, pounding at her as Ginny pressed from the outside. The pressure made for a nasty ringing in Hermione's ears that put her even more on edge than she already was.

"They're not old if they're still open."

She's got that right, a sarcastic little voice inside her pressed.

The prodding finally pushed Hermione over. Her jaw snapped shut with a finality that left Ginny out in the cold as Hermione shot up from the seat and snatched up her purse. Her friend followed, her chair scrapping against the ground as she tried to keep up with Hermione.

"Hermione, where are you going?" She beseeched, her hand barely grasping the sleeve of Hermione's sweatshirt. Brown eyes turned to glare at her.

"I told you. I'm not having this conversation. And most certainly not with you."

Hermione moved for the door and she could hear Ginny's feet pounding after her. She forced herself not to call back in concern, biting against the comment that Ginny shouldn't be exerting herself just to keep up with someone who was trying so hard to avoid her. She held fast as she left the bakery, the scene she'd been hoping not to make occurring as people tried to clear her path.

"Hermione! Damn it, you're gonna put me into early labor. Come here!"

She dug her heels into the concrete, her eyes skyward, and her short temper flaring as she let Ginny catch up with her. She heard a heave from behind her and turned to see Ginny's flushed but resolutely fierce face. She barely gave Ginny time to collect her thoughts and oxygen before she lay into her.

"It's open because of you. You couldn't respect my wishes and leave me alone and now it's open and shit is just coming at me from every direction," Hermione blurted, enraged. She didn't care who heard on the streets, strangers passing by on the sidewalk and averting their ears and eyes from the two women.

Ginny's face scrunched up in confusion. "What's open? Wha- Hermione, are you saying I'm the reason you're having those dreams? Honestly?" She gapped, her face spanning out in disbelief.

Hermione stood her ground, forcing confidence onto herself. "I was fine until you showed up at my doorstep."

"Oh really?" Ginny's eyes narrowed. "So the nightmares that you wake up from screaming only started after I had the audacity to try and find my best friend? You weren't having any problems before then?" She threw, her lips drawn tight. "No sleepwalking? Difficulty concentrating at work, dropping things, that kind of, you know, stuff?"

Hermione leveled with her friend, eying her suspiciously. She knew Ginny had meant to be calmer about this conversation, hadn't wanted to make this into a confrontation. It was hard to get Hermione to face the facts recently without it being this way. Ginny remembered it being the same way before Hermione left, days after the war, without another word in order to avoid confronting the life that awaited her there. And Hermione knew the look forming on Ginny's face now after she'd let the words leave her mouth, the glint of anxiety behind the pent-up anger at her friend's lies and stubbornness. She knew Ginny was afraid Hermione would vanish again and yet she couldn't help the flight reflex that seized her under the scrutiny of her friend's watch. It was all out of concern, Hermione knew that, she really did, but it made her feel trapped under the microscope she'd been trying so desperately to avoid.

"I'm guessing you asked Will for that information," Hermione mumbled feebly. Ginny's puffed up chest deflated and her eyelids shut tight against the sight of her friend: the dark circles that no bride should have hovering under their eyes this close to their wedding, that spoke of the shadows Hermione was trying to chase away without asking for help or even thinking about the possibility that shedding light on them would solve the problem entirely; that shedding light would shed the weight off of her shoulders.

"Yeah, I did, because the one person I consider to be my sister has completely cut me off as if I never existed," Ginny fumed, though her fire was running low. She was exhausted, her shoulders bowing and her hands cradling her belly as a reminder not to topple over. Her eyes were almost as red as her hair, the pupils taking in the view of the street rather than facing Hermione. "You know, not all of your friends are dead, Hermione, so please stop treating us like we are."

"And you know what else? You're not dead either," Ginny barely kept herself from screaming that fact into the universe in hopes of making it stick. Hermione opened her mouth to defend herself but found that Ginny was nowhere near done. "You act like the person you were died in the war, but she's still here. She's still here and she's kicking around in whatever coffin you shoved her in. She's the real reason you can't get a good night's sleep, Hermione. Listen to her, if you won't listen to me."

Hermione's slack jaw forced itself to move but silence drew forth between them, though her mind was anything but quiet. She could hear that knock she'd been drowning out for years, back in the darkest recess where her memories were stored, asking her to open the door she'd locked and air-sealed shut – or so she'd thought. Both she and Hermione knew her past was leaking out, escaping from under the eave and demanding to be faced. And the dreams would only be the beginning of the nightmare. She'd thought she'd gotten better over the past years. She'd stopped flinching at sudden bright lights, could usually walk into a room without immediately identifying the exits, was able to look unaffected by blood and the sight of hospitals, and she'd stopped believing she'd wake up in her old childhood bedroom. But it was all starting to trickle back, ever since the engagement, and she couldn't help but wonder if her past was raging against her future.

"I put her away for a reason, Ginny," she murmured.

"I know, you didn't think you'd be able to handle everything that comes with her. I get it, I do," Ginny asserted, the darkness at the edges of her eyes reminding Hermione that she wasn't alone in her struggle with the past. "And I know that you thought you didn't have anyone there to help you through it but you do. You have me. You have Harry. Ron. And now you have William. And, look, I'm not saying you have to tell Will everything-"

Hermione huffed. "We both know I'm prohibited from doing that, by statute."

"And we both know the ministry would do you a solid and look the other way because of all you've done," Ginny puffed up, but quickly deflated. "If you really don't feel comfortable doing that then don't. But, if you really want to lay to rest the past, you have to stop running away from it. You need to acknowledge it existed and come to terms with yourself. Say goodbye to it, to him, because you deserve peace. It's time."

Someone brushed past Hermione, the sting of contact making her eyes fly up to catch the person who was responsible. Ghastly blonde hair and the ghost of a smirk blanched her vision. You've made me wait long enough, a voice slammed into her ears, throwing her off kilter. She blinked and a man wearing a white hat was muttering an apology to her before turning away. Hermione resumed breathing, though her lungs shriveled at the idea of saying goodbye to someone she pretended never existed. She feared unburying more than one body by digging up her past.

"I don't think a walk down memory lane right before I walk down the aisle is such a great idea."

"Don't you get it? They're one in the same."

And they were. Hermione was forced to accept that the closer her marriage to William came, the further into her memories she was dragged. The chapters of her life she had simply discontinued were raging against her, demanding she write an ending before starting a new story of wedded bliss. She'd known this for some time, and that's what the building dread in the pit of her stomach had been born of. She simply refused to acknowledge it until now, when everything around her was turning, once more, into scattered patches of memories. Ginny left her to face these facts, with the promise to return tomorrow to discuss more wedding gibberish -an excuse to make sure Hermione was still in-tact and not scheming to run away again. Every street sign Hermione passed morphed into a cacophony of do not enters and arrows pointing out the way that buried part of her wanted to go. And that's how she found herself wandering down streets, turning on instinct at certain crossings until she had weaved her way through muggle pedestrian traffic and into the Leaky Cauldron, her hand clenching tight to the floo powder Ginny had firmly placed into Hermione's hands. She avoided the pairs of curious eyes that landed on her as she entered, few muttering to others about the familiarity of her features and the curiosity of her arrival. Her feet itched to fling her outside the door and she cursed Ginny for insisting she had work to do at the Ministry and could not come with her. They both knew Ginny was forcing her to face this alone. She hated her for it.

Not wanting to be there a second longer, Hermione tried not to embarrass herself by running to the fireplace, where she then tossed the powder and fled the facility. When she opened her eyes, coughing away the remnants of ash and dirt that sparked a frenzy of panic in her gut, she was bombarded by the scents and sounds of the central inn and pub of Hogsmeade, The Three Broomsticks Inn. As it was a weekend, there were Hogwarts students, professors, and neighboring witches and wizards lounging about at tables covered in Butterbeer mugs and snacks that filled Hermione's senses with the hunger she had otherwise been missing as of late.

It was as her memory had stored it, dark and cozy with the warmth of food drawing people in from the cold, though the faces that surrounded her were much different. The corner booth she had sat in with Harry and Ron was filled with sixth years whose faces were less severe than theirs had been at that age, though a hint of the war was etched in the creases of their eyes. The building itself looked as if it had never been touched by war, and it helped lower her guards as she stepped out of the fireplace. And everyone here was too enthralled by student and teenage dilemmas to pay the sudden arrival any mind. That was, everyone other than a willowy bespectacled woman who was making her way past the crowds to reach Hermione. She had only to spot the sharp point of the woman's hat to know who she was.

"I received an owl from the Weasley residence stating I might be seeing an old student today," Minerva stated as a hello when she stopped in front of Hermione, her voice enveloping Hermione in a calm ease she hadn't felt in a long time. Minerva's hands were held together tentatively and they both stood apart in quiet admiration before Hermione was whisked into a steel embrace. She hadn't expected the contact and relished in the brevity of her connection with a cherished piece of her past. She reminded her hands to return the favor and hugged her old professor with a strength she'd been building up for this moment. When Minerva pulled away, Hermione felt ashamed to see the spectrum of emotions her return had brought up in the composed witch.

"I'm sorry for barging in like this, when you probably have so much you're doing right now. It's just that I-" She was cut off by a sad smile and the touch of a hand on her shoulder.

"I know why you've come back, and it is no bother at all. I'll take you to him," Minerva said gently. She guided Hermione out of Hogsmeade, away from the bustle of students running about in the freedom of the cool weekend, and towards the edge of the grounds of Hogwarts, where the trees mirrored those Hermione had seen so frequently behind closed eyelids. Her mentor was quiet as she led the two of them through the foliage, clearing the way if need be by a swift move of her wand, until they reached the clearing that Hermione had only twice before visited.

"You haven't been here at all since the funeral?" Minerva asked quietly, unsure how to broach the subject.

Hermione grimaced. "Not in the flesh, no."

Forever avoiding the inevitable. The voice in her head was deafening and the itch to leave the place that was enhancing all her suppressed traumas was intensifying along with the voice. The voice that was sounding more and more like it was coming from below her rather than within her.

"I assumed so. It's why we decided not to move him." There was unease in her professor's voice that rattled Hermione further. She turned her eyes away from her surroundings and focused in on Minerva.

"Move him?" It came out sharper than she intended. The look of surprise on Minerva's face slapped her with shame. "I'm sorry. Why would he be moved?"

"There have been discussions about wartime burials, and the possibility of moving him to the Malfoy family plot on the estate." She'd tried to deliver the news as softly as possible, but it still came as a blow to Hermione. There was an unreasonable possessiveness that overwhelmed her at the thought of him being moved without her permission, without her knowledge, to a place she knew she would never be able to reach him. She shook her head, reminding herself that she no longer had the right to say where Draco Malfoy lay. She no longer owned the rights to his life or death.

"Right. Well, I'm sure that's what he would have wanted."

Liar.

"Of course," Hermione had to look away from the pity spread over Minerva's face. "Take all the time you need. I won't be too far away," she assured. With a small nod of encouragement, Minerva McGonagall was gone and left Hermione alone with her buried past.

Took her long enough. Old lady sure takes her time with everything: leaving, dying.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut against the rambling in her head, the voice that sounded so familiar that she wanted to scream just to shut it out. It was happening all over again, the maddening jumble of sounds and visions that had pushed her out of the wizarding world for good. When she opened her eyes and tried to calmly and systematically take in the same trees that had beckoned to her subconsciously, she couldn't fight the feeling that someone was watching her and that the ground would, at once, swallow her up and finalize the disappearance she'd attempted four years ago. It was nothing like the dream. There were no comforting faces to act like morphine to the pain that was scorching her veins as she stood there staring down at Draco's burial. The entire place was a trigger, a trap, and with one step, she would press down, and an explosion would break down all the barriers she had put in place. She could already feel it building up inside her. She was having a hard time breathing, her vision blurring, a pounding in her head so fierce that it threatened to compress her brain into oblivion. A ringing followed that shredded her eardrums and she instinctively pressed her hands to her face, trying to squeeze out whatever was in there tearing her apart so she could toss it to the ground and dump it there beside Draco.

She made to cry out for Minerva.

"Well, don't you look more like a mourning widow than blushing bride," the voice called from beyond the wreckage in her brain. As if he'd flipped a switch, the chaos that had her writhing was gone and she was stumbling to stand upright again. When she did, her worst fear had come to fruition.

With the polished attire reminiscent of his father and a pale pallor intensified by the permanence of death, stood Draco Malfoy atop his own grave. The smirk on his face was victorious of his forceful escape from the mental coffin she shoved him into four years prior. He looked utterly composed and healthy for someone that was dead, while she looked ready to fill the grave he apparently vacated for the sole purpose of tormenting her. Had she completely lost it? She knew she had been slipping before, when he first died. She had known that if she stayed, something like this might've happened, but she thought she had gotten better. He was dead, he was supposed to be dead to her. But there he was.

"You're dead. I watched you die," she stumbled to say, hoping that maybe the words would force him to return to his imprisonment in her mind, in his grave. He simply smiled at her, the corners of his lips lacking the spirit of happiness necessary for a healthy, living smile.

"Interesting observations, as always Hermione, but the one I'm just dying to talk about is why the ring on your finger isn't the one I gave you on our wedding day."