-A FAIRYTALE ENDING-

Draco shifted forward, trying to get closer without creating a disturbance. He sensed Hermione's hesitation, but after a while she followed him. His fist tightened. Why is she making this so hard? He shot a look over his shoulder at her, but she stared back adamantly. Pursing his lips, he faced forward again, and edged forward slowly. He was stopped when a big, bulky man held his arm out in front of Draco. Draco looked up at the man, surprised, but he made no indication of allowing Draco to take another step.

"Why?" Winter repeated, sounding as if she couldn't believe McGonagall could ask such a stupid question. "Why? Because of filth like them!" She stood up suddenly, turning around, and pointed an elegant finger at Hermione. Her finger was shaking.

Again, Draco felt the urge to protect Hermione, but he swallowed it down. There were five other Aurors in this room. A mere seventeen-year-old wizard couldn't do anything more. Still, he shifted in his place, uncomfortable. Even as he thought this, he watched the Auror next to Winter roughly shove her back down, and jostled her into her chair. She stiffened, probably hating the fact that he had his hands on her.

"I see," McGonagall commented quietly.

Draco watched as Winter leaned forward, her hands gripping the arms of the chair. "No, you don't," she snarled. "You accept hundreds of Mudbloods into this pathetic excuse for a wizarding school!"

McGonagall's lips twitched. A dull murmuring fell from the mouths of the previous headmasters. Draco's hands itched to slap the woman sitting a few feet from him, but he fed on his self-restraint.

"So that's what this is about," McGonagall said. When Winter didn't reply, and continued to struggle out of the strong grip the Auror had on her, McGonagall said, "You still haven't told us why."

Winter sighed then, the wisps of hair that had gotten loose during her struggling blew out in front of her. She sat up straight in her chair, crossing one leg over the other – the image of an upper class woman. She bent her head, examining her nails. "It all started a few months ago, when news of the Malfoys' arrests hit the papers." Draco clenched his jaw, unknowingly balling his hands into fists. "Our numbers were quickly falling. Every time one of us – Death Eaters, that is – glanced at the paper, a new arrest had been made. We felt scared; we felt vulnerable."

A thick silence hung in the air, as each person hung onto Winter's regret-coloured words. Even Draco, who had his mind fixed on the possible direction her monologue was going in, kept his mouth shut. He became aware of Hermione's quick, almost shallow breathing, and tried to tune her out. Ignoring anything to do with Hermione had always been unsuccessful.

"I hadn't been in the Dark Lord's inner circle – I wasn't that important," Winter continued, now flipping her hand over to examine the lines on her palm. "I wasn't allowed to make the important, public appearances. The times when Potter was caught, the time when Hogwarts was surrounded by Death Eaters...those were the times when only his inner circle was there. But I didn't mind...Since the Dark Lord's rebirth, he had me positioned in various places: Nigeria, New Zealand, Russia, Brazil...Death Eaters like myself had the task of infiltrating international Ministries of Magic." Her voice hadn't lost its bitterness.

"And then," she said, her tone turning sombre, "we heard of the Dark Lord's fall...his death. We felt it. This mark on my arm," she said, pulling aside her robe to reveal the faded mark, "it began to sting. I watched with horror as the skin around it glowed red. The Mark...it started to crack – as if pulling apart to create puzzle pieces. The pain was unbearable, and none of us – the ones far away from England – could understand it."

Draco closed his eyes, not being able to stop the flash of images that erupted before him. He had once read somewhere that it was impossible to remember pain on the level it had occurred, but even now, he felt his skin (where the Dark Mark was) tingle. He didn't know if it was his imagination or not, but he thought he saw Hermione's hand reach for him.

"Within minutes, the skin meshed back together, but the Mark had faded. I didn't know what had happened, so I Apparated back to England. The Dark Lord...he had this place in Little Hangleton where he held emergency meetings. When I got there, I wasn't the only one. We stood there waiting for hours, until we received word that the Dark Lord had...died." Draco watched as her thin, long fingers bent to dig into her palms. Her fists were tiny, and they were shaking. "He had been murdered by the half-blood Potter," she spat. "More than half of our army had been killed by impure filth, by traitors.

"As I said, arrests were becoming more and more popular, great advertisements sprawled across double pages in the newspapers. A month ago, I began to take action. I had a feeling that it was only a matter of time before they traced down those in the Outer Circle. That Mudblood's photograph," she said, swivelling her head around to glare at Hermione, "was everywhere. Along with those other two. I formulated a plan, and told no one about it."

McGonagall was gazing pityingly at Winter. "What was this plan?" she asked, a tremor in her voice.

Draco observed Winter's face carefully. Her mouth curled up into a smirk. "A brilliant one."

"It can't have been so brilliant if you've been caught," Draco couldn't help but saying.

She snarled, whipping her head around to face him. The Auror clamped his hand around her shoulder, restraining her. Her face altered completely, and it was almost unrecognisable. She looked cruel.

McGonagall shot an impatient look at Draco, and Draco shrugged. "We're running out of time," she said quickly. "Tell us, briefly, what your plan was," she ordered Winter.

Winter resignedly turned back to face her. "I planned on marrying the Mudblood's father, to elevate my position."

Hermione gasped, but Draco heard her clap a hand over her mouth.

"You mean Mr Granger?" McGonagall asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Of course Mr Granger," Winter bit out, disgust oozing from her voice. "He is the father of the most well-known Mudblood. If I married him – which I did – the Ministry would think that I had gotten over my prejudices. I could have easily told them I had been under the Imperius to join the Dark Lord's army."

"Speaking of Imperiuses," McGonagall said, pouncing on the word, "how did you manage to control Mr and Mrs Granger?"

Winter's shoulders lifted up as she laughed. Her laugh was not melodious like Hermione's – nothing even close to Hermione's. It lacked warmth, sincerity and flow. It was more like a bark. "That was the easiest part of the whole thing. Muggles are unbelievably easy to walk over. Mrs Granger was effortless. I had been spying on the couple for the previous month – figuring out their routine, their lifestyle, and one afternoon, when Mr Granger was at work, I Imperiused the woman. Over and done with; and after that, I had her wrapped around my little finger." As if to demonstrate her point, she held up her hand, crooking her little finger.

"She 'died'. The poor old man couldn't contain his grief. One night, when this Mudblood and that traitor arrived at the house," she said, jabbing her finger behind her at Draco and Hermione, "I took action. I hadn't planned for their arrival – in fact, it was a bloody thorn in my side. But I had delayed for too long, and if I didn't execute the plan that night, it would be pointless trying to do so after. When I was sure that the Mudblood and Malfoy were asleep, I took out a packet of biscuits that had Amortentia in them, emptied them on a plate, and made it appear on Mr Granger's bedside table. He was sure to eat it.

"Of course, he fell in love with me instantly. So much so, that he wanted to marry me. He was none the wiser. The Ministry hadn't called on me yet, but I couldn't take risks," she continued. She cracked her neck from side to side.

"And what about the post of Muggle Studies professor?" McGonagall asked, her face a blank mask.

Winter grinned, her white teeth glinting in the candlelight. "In Little Hangleton the night of the Dark Lord's death, I had decided that I would execute the plan the Dark Lord really wanted: a world devoid of Mudbloods and Muggles. I, in the disguise of a Muggle I murdered – Winona Pinkle – took up a post at Hogwarts. The Muggle Studies teacher. I knew shit about the bloody subject, but I had done my research. However, when I couldn't teach here and watch the Grangers, I involved Mrs Granger. Of course," Winter laughed, "she had to oblige when I forced her to take the position. She got a bit hard to handle when I told her she had to murder her own daughter – but, really, the fool had no choice."

"Why? Why would you want to kill Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked, her eyes flickering towards Hermione.

"Simple," Winter replied smoothly. "To warn other Mudbloods. If they knew that the most influential Mudblood had been murdered, and by the people in Hogwarts, they would feel scared, unprotected. I wouldn't have stopped at Granger. I would have started murdering other Mudbloods in the school, as well. A fairytale..." she laughed again. "It seemed apt."

McGonagall glanced at the clock again, her lips tightening. Her eyes darted to her door. "The fairytale idea was your own?"

"Obviously," Winter snorted indelicately. "I had everything made at the Granger house. I had done frequent checks on Mrs Granger, so when I checked on her last week, I brought with me the ball used for selecting names and roles."

"And you used the Vanishing Cabinets?" McGonagall asked. Draco's gut twisted. If he hadn't fixed that...this school could have been saved from a lot of trouble. This year, and the years before that.

"Yes," Winter said, evidently proud of herself.

"I see," McGonagall said, rising from her chair. "Last question, how did Mrs Granger know the words to the Killing Curse?"

Winter grinned wickedly. "Because when she tried to defy my orders, I would show her how serious I was. I murdered their Muggle servants in front of her. She knew she would be next."

McGonagall waved her wand, and Draco saw Winter flinch. When nothing happened, she relaxed.

"So what happens now?" Winter asked, stretching her legs.

When there was a knock on the door, Winter was roughly hoisted to her feet by the Auror closest to her.

"Come in," McGonagall called.

The door opened, and there stood the Minister for Magic himself. "Thank you, Minerva," Kingsley intoned in his deep voice. "If that is all..."

McGonagall nodded. "Take her, Kingsley. Did the guards at Azkaban contact you yet?"

Kingsley nodded, his mouth pulling down on one side as he looked at Winter. "Yes, there is a vacant cell there. Goodnight," he said, nodding at McGonagall. He walked out of the office, his Aurors following him. Gladys Winter hadn't said a word throughout the entire exchange, but she could be heard muttering below her breath.

She was dragged forward by one of the Aurors. She turned to glare at Hermione. "You haven't seen the last of me," she said, her eyes flashing ominously. The Auror, clearly annoyed, jerked her forward, so that they left the office.

A soft murmuring ensued, and Draco realised that there were just the three of them left in the office: Hermione, McGonagall, and himself. The Headmasters all exchanged thoughts and opinions, but Draco couldn't hear any of it. He still was thinking of one thing.

"Professor," he said. "Could you excuse me for a minute?"

"You're free to go wherever you want, Mr Malfoy," she replied. "As long as it is within the school borders."

He nodded, and hurried out of the office.

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall called, when she saw that Hermione was about to follow him. "I need you to stay for just a few minutes."

Hermione hesitated, and then nodded. She walked forward, folding her hands into each other. She sat on the chair that winter hadn't been using.

"You've been quiet," the Headmistress observed.

"I'm just thinking, Professor," Hermione replied softly. It took a lot of self-control to squash down all her anger into a tiny ball. But how she wished to toss that ball at Winter! She couldn't believe the lengths Winter had gone to in order to achieve this outcome. Or, at least, the possible outcome of Hermione's death.

The professor offered a small smile. "I know that you have been through a lot this evening, Miss Granger, and you probably want to seek the comfort of your bed. But I need to tell you something," she said, the crispness of her voice falling away.

Honestly, though, Hermione couldn't sleep even if she tried. Her mind was too abuzz with thoughts. Yet, she straightened up, and looked at the woman in front of her. "Professor?"

"Your mother is in the Hospital Wing. She has taken a very strong Sleeping Draught, and will only wake up tomorrow – or rather today—" Hermione glanced at the clock. Two in the morning. "—Later on today. Your parents have both been exposed to the worst kinds of magic our world has to offer. Your father has faced unnecessary grief over the apparent loss of your mother, and your mother has had her mind violated," Professor McGonagall intoned, sincerity evident in her eyes. "We could get their memories modified, so that they don't remember what occurred."

Hermione thought about it. "There have been moments in my life – big moments – that I wish I could erase or forget," she said slowly. "I wish that I could forget the pain that was caused. But, that pain and those experiences...they made me stronger." She hadn't realised she had been looking down at her hands until she brought her head up to look at the professor. "I'm not saying that what happened will help my parents in any way. But I think that my courage comes from both of them. They wouldn't want to forget this, because it is something that affected my family as a whole. I hate the fact that they faced pain because of me...If I wasn't a witch, they wouldn't be exposed to this world...But at least..." Hermione didn't know how to voice the words she wanted to say.

"I know," Professor McGonagall said, smiling softly.

Hermione smiled back in gratitude. "I'll ask my parents, Professor, but I'm sure they wouldn't want to forget."

"Alright," Professor McGonagall said, nodding her head.

"My father, Professor?" Hermione asked, after a while.

"He's at home—"

"By himself?" Hermione yelped, standing up involuntarily,

"There are a few Aurors outside your house, Miss Granger. From now on, your parents will be under protection."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, sinking back into her chair. "Thank you," she said sincerely.

"Not a problem," the professor said.

Hermione got up to go, taking it as a dismissal, but was stopped when the professor called her back. "Miss Granger?"

Hermione turned around. "Yes?"

"Forgive me for asking, but what is happening between Mr Malfoy and you?"

Hermione's heart leapt. She swallowed. "Nothing, Professor," she murmured. "Nothing at all."

Draco raced to catch up with the departing group. "Wait," he called, still running. They were outside McGonagall's office now, just before the gargoyle. The whole part stopped. "Wait," he said again. When he had gotten closer, he noticed that the Aurors were looking at him with narrowed eyes. "I just need to ask Winter something," Draco said.

"Very well," Kingsley Shacklebolt said. The group divided, and out stepped Winter from the middle, an Auror's hand on her shoulder.

"Ask," she said, her voice light. Draco felt surprised that she didn't seem to care that she was going to Azkaban. She had murdered, intruded, attempted to murder, connive...there were a lot of things against her, yet she still looked calm.

"The fairytale – the ball –" Draco said quickly, his words toppling over each other.

"I knew you would ask," she said, the trace of a smirk on her face.

He narrowed his eyes. "Is it possible to reverse the spell?" he asked, stepping forward.

She raised her eyebrows. "What spell?" she asked, genuine surprise in her voice.

"The one that is still on Hermione and myself," Draco said impatiently.

"Which one?" she asked, tilting her head.

Draco looked around them, uncomfortably aware of all the attention. "The one that makes us feel infatuated with each other," he muttered, now trying to speak more softly – as if the Aurors and the Minister couldn't hear him.

"And you've already been through the mirror that I stupidly devised?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered.

She laughed. "Draco, Draco, Draco," she said, in the same mocking tone Greengrass liked to employ. "You're in love with her."

Draco's pulse quickened. "Love?" he said, trying to scoff. "That doesn't exist."

"Prince Charming fell in love with Snow White, didn't he?" she challenged.

"And so?"

"My ball, Malfoy, picks the ones that are meant to be chosen. It didn't pick you to be Granger's beloved because of your acting skills, or because you can sing. It picked you because you are a perfect match for her." She leaned forward. "And even if you don't believe in love, one day you will realise it."

Draco felt Stupified. "So," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. "So, Hermione...?"

"She's in love with you, too. She might not know it, but she is. It's not because of the fairytale anymore, Malfoy. The fairytale merely quickened the process, your realisation, whatever," she said, rolling her eyes. "So you can thank me, if you want. You could have fallen in love with her without even realising it and your life could have just passed before your eyes."

"I'm not in love with her," he bit out, clenching his teeth. Love didn't exist.

She smiled. She turned to the Aurors around her. "Let's go, boys," she said.

They had just turned around the corner, when he heard the gargoyle slide against the wall as it opened. Hermione stepped out. "Oh, it's you," she said.

He turned to face her. He searched her face for any signs of love, or something close to it. He started at her eyes, but she had only worry there. He followed the line of her nose to her mouth. Her lips didn't part as if she wanted him. They didn't even move. He saw a muscle jump in her jaw. He raised his eyes to hers once more. They were shining. The richness of her eyes drew him in, but he looked away.

He started walking. She followed.

"I didn't mean for you to ignore me, Malfoy," she said, sounding exasperated.

He didn't say anything. He lengthened his strides, hoping to get away from her. She couldn't be in love with him – she couldn't even be infatuated with him. He wouldn't allow it. He wasn't good for her. He hurried up the stairs, not caring that she was calling him. Guilt invaded his mind, but he pushed it away.

"Malfoy!" she yelled from behind him.

He whirled around. "Shut up," he hissed, glancing around them. "You're going to wake the whole bloody castle up."

She took advantage of the fact that he had stopped and caught up with him. He began his brisk pace again. Annoyance flashed through her as she tried to catch up with him. They were on their corridor now. She called upon all the dormant energy in her body and forced it into her steps. She was next to him now, and he was ignoring her.

Hurt bubbled in her, and she felt the heat flood into her cheeks. He muttered the password and stepped inside, almost closing the portrait door in her face. She narrowed her eyes, and pushed it open. "Stop!" she shouted, once she shut the door behind her.

He did stop. But he didn't turn around.

"I only said that we shouldn't be friends because I can't switch on and off like you do. Malfoy, you know how I feel. Don't you think that I want us to be friends? It's you that's the problem—" she said, but was cut off by his abrupt rigidity in his body. He spun around and stalked towards her. He grabbed her by the shoulders, but not roughly. Very gently.

He stared intently into her eyes, and she felt herself shake under his silver-eyes gaze. "I'm the problem?" he repeated quietly, agitation rough in his voice. "Hermione, we're the problem! I switch on and off because I can't admit to myself or to you what I feel!"

"What?" she asked softly, biting her lower lip.

His hands slipped from her shoulders, trailing down her arms. She felt a flip-flop sensation in her stomach. "I asked Winter about the fairytale, Hermione. What you feel for me is real. What I feel for you is real." He looked away from her, shutting his eyes tightly. It looked as if he was in immense pain. She reached out to touch his chest, but he grabbed her hand in his, holding it gently. "I lied," he admitted, looking back at her. "I lied because we can't work. We can't work," he stressed.

"Why not?" she asked. She felt elated that he seemed to return her feelings, but the elation was negated by her sadness. Why did he want to pull away?

"I'm not good for you, Hermione," he murmured, his voice shaking.

Hermione reached up hesitantly to touch his cheek. He flinched, but she didn't withdraw her hand. She felt his teeth clench. He reached up to pull her hand away, but ended up resting his hand on hers. "You can't keep saving me," he said softly, looking down.

She stared wide-eyed at him. "Malfoy...I haven't saved you."

"You have. Over and over and over..." he trailed off, squeezing her hand gently.

She shook her head, and stepped closer. "I haven't. I offered advice, Malfoy. Whatever changes you went through...that was all you. No one can change you, Malfoy. Finding yourself, finding out who you really are – that's a self-thing. And now...now, you are fine. You don't have to be afraid. You don't have to doubt yourself." She tried to make him believe her, but Hermione could feel his resistance. "Look at me," she ordered. When he wouldn't budge, she said, 'Draco.' His eyes snapped to hers, the corner of his lips twitching. She smiled. "Do not doubt yourself," she said, determination flowing freely through her words.

He opened his mouth to object, but Hermione glared at him. She brought her other hand up to rest on his other cheek. She stared into his eyes. "You are an amazing person, Mal-Draco. You dig to the core of your heart, to bring up a sincerity and passion so raw that it can be overwhelming. You are not a bad person, okay? I know bad people...you know bad people, and Draco, you would be insulting yourself if you compare yourself to them."

"It is hard," he said quietly.

"What is? Everyone has obstacles to overcome. It just so happens that some people have more obstacles to overcome than others – and you're one of those people."

He took a moment to gather his thoughts. "I can't just stop thinking about it, Hermione. It's a constant worry."

"I'm not telling you to ignore it. Draco," she said, her hands feeling warm on his face, "I'm telling you to accept it and move on."

He expelled a deep sigh that blew across Hermione's face. She closed her eyes. Before she realised it, he pulled her to him, his arms resting around her. His fingers trailed slowly through her hair. She opened her eyes, about to say something, but couldn't get the words passed the lump in her throat. They stayed like that for a while, each revelling in the intimate embrace they shared. "You always know what to say," he whispered.

She smiled into his shirt, enjoying the way her head rested on his chest. She relaxed, and put her arms around him. "And you don't always know how to react," she said back. Her heart had picked up its beat quite dramatically, and her body began to feel really warm.

His hand stilled in her hair. "Meaning?" he asked, trepidation entering his voice.

She tightened her embrace. "You really should be kissing me now instead of hugging me," she teased.

He laughed softly into her hair. "I really like you, Hermione Granger," he said huskily. He sounded content.

She pulled away from him, to look up at him. "I really like you, too," she said, smiling.

His eyes had turned a sparkly silver that unnerved Hermione – in a good way. He brought his head down, and she raised herself on her tiptoes, leaning against him for support. Her breathing quickened.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he warned, a gentle smile pulling at his lips.

"Don't run away," were her last words, before his lips covered hers.

-the end-

A/N: So that's it, folks! It's been a really long journey, and I've enjoyed every second of it. Thank you for sharing it with me, and making it seem all the more fun : ) I especially appreciate all of your comments – your dedication to the story, your appreciation of my writing, your criticism. Basically, every single aspect of your comments. I don't know if you'll believe this, but: I love you guys : )