Author's Note: Yeah, yeah, I know. Another one. This story wouldn't leave me alone, so here it is. As always when it comes to any of my stories, expect angst and drama and dark themes. Also expect flawed human beings. I write messy, flawed, neurotic, emotional, imperfect BOOK-Hermione who cried at least 71 times in canon, NOT crappy movie-Hermione who is all-powerful and can do no wrong. Don't even get me started on my hatred of the movies and how they ruined her character. If you haven't read the books and are basing your idea of how Hermione should behave solely on the movies, you probably won't like her in this story or any other story I write. And if you haven't read the books… READ THE BOOKS! Can't stress that enough.

This story will deal with Adult themes including violence, murder, complicated sexual situations, not-so-complicated sexual situations, general naughty behavior, and extra bad terrible homicidal behavior. It's Dark. Maybe not as Dark as some I've written, but still not all happiness and sunshine. There will be no further warnings.

Also, expect a slow, slow burn. Sorry. ;)

Chapter One

As much as he tried to avoid her, he always seemed to find her in quiet, empty parts of the castle. Usually he was able to slip away without her even noticing he was near, but sometimes his feet weren't quick enough or he was too lost in his own thoughts to realize she was there until it was too late. When that happened, she offered him a polite, if a bit tense, smile and asked him a question about one of the day's lessons they shared. Still unsure how to behave around her following all they had gone through, he would give her a short answer and make an excuse to leave immediately. Never once since they returned had she been the least bit rude to him even though she had every right to rip his heart out through his stomach with her bare hands or, at the very least, pin him to the ground under a Cruciatus use just as his aunt had done. He didn't know what to think of a person who didn't take their revenge when it was offered. Bloody noble Gryffindors.

Draco didn't want to return to Hogwarts for another year. If it had been entirely his decision, he would've hidden himself away from the rest of the wizarding world until the name Malfoy was well and truly forgotten. Not, of course, that that was likely to ever happen. His family would go down in history as the infamous supporters of a madman. Even their home was irrevocably tarnished by the memory of the horrible wizard who ruined his life and the lives of everyone he loved. Given the opportunity, he would've gladly burned the cursed structure to the ground. It would never be a refuge, a source of comfort for him again. Especially not after the horror he witnessed in the dining room or the echoes of the screams still haunting the drawing room. He couldn't bear to enter that room, not after the night she was tortured. Too many horrible memories permeated the very walls of the manor. Never again would he find peace in it.

But, sadly, hiding away as a recluse in some other long-neglected Malfoy property wasn't an option where his mother was concerned. She wanted to pretend that everything was back to normal and life could go on as it once did. Despite the house arrests all three members of the family were subjected to and the never-ending trials where they were required to give testimony, she thought it was possible to get their former lives back. Draco understood quite a bit about denial, but his mother carried hers to another level. His education was of the utmost importance and because he'd spent too much of the previous year instructed by dangerous imbeciles who had no business being around children, she wanted him to start his seventh year over from the very beginning.

He wasn't the only one who made the decision to return to redo that awful year. There were many familiar faces on Platform 9 3/4. Though it was difficult being around such a large number of people who loathed the very ground he walked on, Draco was proud of the fact that he was somehow able to make his way to the Hogwarts Express with his head held high. Hiding might've been easier, but as long as he was in public, he didn't want to seem defeated. After settling into an empty compartment in the very back of the train, he was left alone by all who knew him. Being seen with a traitorous, deceitful Malfoy wasn't good for anyone, no matter the side they fought on during the war. In the end, only two terrified first years with nowhere else to sit passed the journey with him. By the sound of their conversation he pretended to not hear, they were both Muggle-Borns with no clue that the likes of him were best avoided.

His reception in the dungeons had been chilly to put it mildly. Not only had Draco distanced himself from everyone in his House over the previous two years, he was personally responsible for many of his fellow Slytherins' parents being locked up in Azkaban. Or at least that's how it felt following so many days of testimony during so many trials. No one would ever forgive him for daring to save his own skin. Likely any future children or grandchildren he might have wouldn't be welcome in their homes. The Malfoys were finished in polite society. At least where Slytherins were concerned and who else truly mattered?

It bothered him to realize that he'd never truly made any friends in his life. At least none that stood the test of time. What was that trite saying that was supposed to give a person comfort in trying times? You learn who your true friends are when life gets tough. Something ridiculous like that. Unfortunately there was an uncomfortable amount of truth in it too. None of the cronies he'd collected in school wanted anything to do with him. They were either dead like Vince or not speaking to him. Even Theo Nott who once swore when they were eight that they'd be friends forever hadn't lifted a quill to send him an owl. It wasn't anything worse than he deserved. He was lucky that he wasn't wasting away in Azkaban or dead at the end of an Auror's wand.

Hogwarts offered him plenty of quiet places to hide away from those who wished he wasn't there. Determined not to give Headmistress McGonagall a single reason to be cross with him, Draco made sure that he was in every lesson on time ready to listen politely to his professors and completed his required schoolwork without complaint. If he'd adopted the same attitude and determination all of the other years he'd attended school, he would have been a model student. Maybe he would've even been able to give her a fierce fight for top marks. When he wasn't in class or quietly writing his essays in an empty nook in the library, he roamed the familiar corridors.

Winter arrived early at Hogwarts. Cold winds swirled the first snow of the season around the grounds. Classes had only been in session a little over two months, but already there was a chill in the stone castle that made heavy jumpers necessary even inside. Draco preferred that weather over a bright, sunny, warm day. Being cold and dismal suited his present mood just fine. With all of his homework done for the weekend that morning, he had the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday to waste. Unable to keep his attention focused on a book, he chose to wander around the castle instead. Mostly quiet due to it being a Hogsmeade weekend, he was grateful for a chance to stretch his legs without fear of running into a crowd of students who hated him.

Only mid-November and he was already unsure how he was going to make it to June. Time passed too slowly. Every single day felt like a lifetime dragged on and on. The promise he made to his mother seemed impossible to keep. Perhaps he's been too compliant, too eager to put a smile back on her weary face when he agreed to redo his seventh year. Surely just sitting for and passing his NEWTs would've been enough to make her proud. He felt confident he could do fairly well on his exams if he was allowed to just go ahead and take them. Well enough for a wizard whose only life ambition was to hide away in the privacy of his own home anyway. Who needed multiple NEWTs for that sort of wasted existence?

The sound of soft sniffling coming from the end of the corridor tore him out of his thoughts. Without even realizing it, he'd managed to wander towards the ruined remains of the Room of Requirement. Months after Vince was responsible for burning it to ashes with his idiotic Fiendfyre spell, the castle still hadn't repaired itself. He didn't know why he so often wandered past the bit of wall where the door once stood. Likely it was yet another way he managed to self-consciously torture himself for the part he played in the war. Knowing that there was a hidden alcove behind a tapestry near the room he moved inexplicably towards it.

He should've just left the sound alone. Clearly it belonged to someone who wished to be by themselves or they would've sought out one of their friends or made a public spectacle of themselves in the Great Hall. Draco would never understand the overly emotional witches who wailed at every little bother as if anyone was supposed to care that they were upset. He had enough of his own problems to worry about. But instead of turning in the opposite direction and minding his own business, he reached for the tapestry and pulled it aside.

She was there. Seated on a stone bench holding a piece of parchment in her hands, Hermione Granger rubbed at her eyes in a vain attempt to hide the fact that she'd been crying. He rolled his eyes. It was hardly the first time he'd ever surprised her when she was trying to hide and cry in the castle. Six years at Hogwarts together gave him plenty of opportunities to find her in the same state.

"Bad news from Weaselbee?"

He regretted the words as soon as he said them. What happened to his plan to avoid the woman whenever possible for the rest of his life? And whatever possessed him to actually tease her? Wishing to be anywhere but there, he turned to make his escape.

"Wait…"

Against his wishes, his feet stayed put at her gentle request.

"Why would you ask me about Ron?"

"Wasn't he usually the reason you hid in the castle to cry?"

The next few moments were uncomfortable as she stared at him with an intensity that made him fearful she was about to hex him in his bits. He still didn't understand why he said anything to her at all or why he even sought out the source of the sniffling he heard. Just as he readied himself for pain, he was startled by a snort and a giggle instead.

"Well, I won't say that you're entirely wrong about him, but no, he's not the reason I was upset."

"What's wrong?"

Again he wished he could rip his own tongue out of his head. Why was he still standing there willingly engaging in conversation with the witch? She had every reason to hate him just as much as he hated himself. He'd made her life miserable for years and liked it. And after that horrible night in his home when she was tortured by his aunt, she should've cursed the ground he dared walk upon.

"I didn't think there would be anyone in here. Thought they would all be in Hogsmeade."

"So did I."

Her refusal to answer his question immediately wasn't a surprise. It wasn't any of his business and he'd been in the wrong to ask. Just as he decided to make his escape, she pushed the piece of parchment into his hands. Surprised, but rooted to the spot, he read through the few simple lines twice and still didn't understand what they meant.

Memory charm expert. St. Mungo's. Australia. Regret to inform. Nothing could be done.

Confusion must have been evident on his face. She pulled the parchment back, dropping her reddened eyes as she did so. There was no denying that she was embarrassed. Draco debated whether or not he should run. They weren't friends. It was incredible that she bothered to speak to him at all. No one else did. He was afraid he was making her more uncomfortable. For a reason he didn't fully understand, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

"My parents are in Australia with no memory of my existence and that's unlikely ever to change."

He had no idea what he was supposed to say in the seconds after her confession. Was he supposed to say something? Not only was he shocked that she was opening up to him about anything personal in her life, he didn't understand a word she said. How was it possible that her parents would abandon her for a foreign country thousands of kilometers away and completely forget she was alive? Draco would be the first one to admit that he knew very little about Muggles and their parenting methods, but surely that was odd?

The tears that she'd managed to stop moments before he intruded renewed at a furious rate. It took every effort on his part to keep from rolling his eyes at the display. Granger cried more than any two, possibly three, Slytherin witches combined. She might've thought she was clever seeking out dark corners and hidden spaces in the castle to shed her tears, but she wasn't. Her seemingly incessant tears weren't a secret from anyone, except for perhaps unobservant Potter. He never really seemed to know what was going on with his best friend. Perhaps he was too focused on his own worries to give much of a care or notice to those who supported him without question.

Draco learned the valuable lesson at an early age that emotions were weaknesses. And weaknesses could be easily exploited. He especially understood that after that blasted year he spent trying to figure out how he was going to murder the Headmaster, the only wizard his former master ever feared. Crying in the lavatory almost cost him his life when Potter walked in on him in a particularly weak moment. Of course, at the time, Draco would've welcomed the sweet release of death. He'd lived in constant fear and worry for so long that he didn't even concern himself with the unknown of the afterlife. Anything had to have been better than what he was already enduring. He was glad that he'd recovered from that dismal year. Never again would anyone find him in a vulnerable moment such as that. No matter what, he would never allow himself to shed another tear.

Granger would have done well to try the same. He never understood why there were so many who believed that she was some sort of infallible being who never lost her composure and always had the answer. For six years he'd seen her try to hide her frequent bouts of crying in her sleeves or behind the massive books she never went anywhere without. One year because he was curious about her for some reason he could never quite figure out, he attempted to keep a running count of the number of times the stress of being an overachiever or a student in too many classes or a friend to the two least sympathetic buffoons caused her to break down in a fit of emotion. He made it past seventy and decided that he needed to find a new way to pass his time. Eventually he would reach a number too high to count. Perhaps those idiots only knew her from an inaccurate portrayal in the newspapers. Everyone was so quick to ignore the flaws of a heroine even when they were very much on display.

"I'm terribly sorry. You don't need to know about my troubles. Surely you have enough of your own."

She was right, of course, but he didn't want to consider the details. Thinking about someone else actually made his own worries fade into the background. While he was certain that the effects were only temporary and walking away from her would bring them back to the forefront of his mind, Draco found he was in no hurry to leave the crying witch. She fascinated him in a way she had no right.

"The worst of my troubles are over, but it seems as if yours are just beginning."

He didn't know where his observation came from or why he was still there at all. Granger's brown eyes filled up with thick tears again. Without thinking, Draco reached into his pocket to offer her a clean handkerchief. His grandfather once told him when he was a small boy that a proper gentleman always carried two handkerchiefs in his pocket. One was for his own use, and the other should always be kept clean in case a lady present should require use of it. Abraxas Malfoy was full to bursting with antiquated notions and customs that had no place in a modern society. That one, however, stuck with his only grandson and he was pleased to remember that he'd had cause to use the second handkerchief to his advantage a few times in his past. The corner of his lip threatened to twist into a full smirk at the thought of one particular emotional Hufflepuff he'd had the opportunity to console more than once.

"Thank you. I really don't know why I'm crying. It's not as if I didn't expect this might be a possibility when I…"

Whatever she was about to say next was abruptly cut off by the closing of her mouth. Perhaps she finally realized just what horrid beast she was actually speaking to. A moment of clarity must have finally struck the witch. Soon she would push past him, run away to hide somewhere he couldn't follow, and then never look at him again. Draco wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or disappointed. Damn the witch made him confused.

But she didn't run. Instead, she merely moved to the edge of the bench. With a wave of her hand she offered him the opportunity to take a seat beside her. Too far gone into the experience to not sate his own curiosity, Draco obliged. When he was seated, she began offering him snippets of what he was sure was a fascinating tale. Maybe one day she would tell him everything. Or she would obliviate him for already knowing too much.

"My parents didn't understand the danger I was in or how frightening and unwelcoming this world can be for a Muggle-Born."

He made no move to contradict her statement even as she silently dared him with a bold look in her eyes to try. There was no need. Everything she said was correct. The wizarding world was not a kind place for those deemed to be unworthy to exist inside it. Though every witch and wizard had a different opinion and standard of measurement to determine what they believed a real witch or wizard was, they could all be quite hostile in their own way to outsiders. He'd witnessed firsthand how cruel they could be. The image of the poor Muggle Studies teacher crashing to his dining room table flashed into his mind. Though it would haunt him for the rest of his days, he hadn't been able to look away when the damned snake fed on the woman whose only crime was the audacity to proclaim that Muggles weren't scum.

"When I knew I couldn't come back to the castle because I would be in danger, I was afraid of what might happen to my parents. They were ignorant and oblivious. I feared that some horrible Death Eaters would end up on their doorstep and before they even knew what was happening, they would be dead."

A sinking in Draco's gut followed her mention of the Death Eaters. Would he spend the rest of his life cringing every time he thought about the group he'd been forced to join against his will? He was embarrassed and ashamed of the acts he'd committed in their name and if he was honest, he really hadn't done that much. It was enough though.

"I did the only thing I could think of that might keep them safe. I read about a memory modification charm in a book. I was so stupid to try it myself. When will I learn that you can't learn everything just by reading it from a book?"

She dabbed at her eyes with Draco's handkerchief. The churning guilt in the pit of his stomach only increased with each sentence she uttered. How frightened must she have really been to do something so drastic and possibly permanent? He'd been afraid half out of his mind, but not enough to go through with what she did.

"It's a long, terrible story, but basically I removed my parents' memories of ever having a child, modified their remaining memories to think that they were different people who always had a dream of moving to Australia, and left them. They moved to Australia before any danger. I'd hoped that when the war was over I could find them and restore their memories, but I wasn't able to. Kingsley… Minister Shacklebolt offered to help. He sent the best Healers from St. Mungo's with extensive experience in charm damage and memory spells to see if they could reverse what I did. They weren't able to. My parents will never remember I exist."

The last sentence was spoken with such a harsh finality that even Draco felt the heavy emotions of disappointment and regret. Muggles never meant much to him, but clearly they meant something to Granger. She'd been determined in her quest to keep her parents safe. Would she spend the rest of her life regretting her decision? Fearing that it had been all for naught? Still unsure why he was even bothering to continue to listen to her, Draco had the overwhelming urge to put her mind at ease.

"The Dark Lord ordered your parents tortured until they revealed where you were."

Her soft gasp filled the hidden niche. Draco could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears as he waited for her to say something, anything in response to his announcement. It was a believable lie. Certainly it was the exact sort of dreadful act that the Dark Lord would've ordered. Maybe he even truly did, but Draco wasn't there to witness it. He didn't know why he was lying to the poor girl, but when she didn't respond, he couldn't stop.

"I heard it when he was at the manor. He'd gathered us all around the dining room table for one of his meetings. It was just after the Weasley wedding and after you and the others got away from Rowle and Dolohov. Incompetent idiots. I hate them."

He would never forgive Thorfinn Rowle for failing so thoroughly in his attempt to capture the Chosen One that he was forced to curse him with the Cruciatus until the charm blocking his memories of the event was broken. Up until that moment, Draco hadn't had to cast his second Unforgivable. After his repeated use of the Imperius Curse during sixth year, he'd hoped very much to be able to go through the rest of his life without casting another. But thanks to Rowle's bumbling ineptitude and Dolohov's failure to think calmly when his rage was up, he'd cursed them both at the demand of their master. Just as he would never get the sound of her screaming out of his head, he would go to his grave still hearing theirs.

"The Dark Lord ordered that the worst of the worst go to your parents' house and make sure they told them everything about where you were or where you were going. When they had what they needed, they were ordered to 'make it hurt'."

Silent tears streamed down her cheeks that even his handkerchief wasn't enough to capture them all. What he told her would hurt in the beginning, but maybe if she was lucky, she could learn to be grateful for what she did to her parents.

"You saved their lives, Granger. You saved them from a terrible fate. That should bring you at least some comfort."

He couldn't bear to sit there another moment longer lying to the poor girl. Even a disgraced Slytherin and former Death Eater had his own sense of honor. Battered though it may be, he knew he couldn't keep up the charade. Standing to his feet, he was only able to make it one step before he felt her grasp his hand in hers.

"Do you ever dream about going back in time to fix all of the wrongs, Draco?"

Sighing, he turned to stare in her eyes. Of course he'd laid in bed at night wishing and hoping that he could find a way to change it all. It was madness. All that thinking would do was lead him down a path to insanity and regret.

"No, I haven't. It's impossible."

"But what if it wasn't?"

Draco refused to hear another word. Dropping her hand without even bothering to be gentle, he escaped. His feet didn't stop moving until he was back inside the safety of his dorm down in the dungeons.