The bright blue of the ocean below is blinding.

I need this, she thinks. I deserve this.

And, honestly, was such a reprieve too much to ask? One holiday away from the tragedies wrought by war and her lonely flat reminding her of three failed, short-lived romances— one so full of promise, the other two destined for doom. To make her sorry life even more pitiable, in the last year, she'd had to bid farewell to her beloved Crookshanks. Hermione thinks she might have cried more at his passing than over any one of her highly publicized breakups. And all the while, she continued to relive the heart wrenching pain of visiting her parents at St. Mungo's, where she'd put them after discovering their memories of her were still absent due to her own faulty Obliviations.

Sighing, she peers out of the little plane's window once more, searching for her chosen refuge.

They'd all protested her leaving, both friends and former beaus. Those blasted men who'd infuriatingly gone on to live their lives without so much as a hitch after her rather dramatic exits from each of their sides.

Once more, Hermione attempts to shrug off the depression of one wallowing in self-pity. One last look out the window and she sighs again, a small smile touching her lips.

Christmas Island.

Earlier this month, she hadn't a clue where she might be spending the winter holiday. But three weeks into November, a peculiar meeting with Hannah Abbott had unexpectedly placed the secluded island on the map for Hermione. The more she thought on it, Hermione believed serendipity must have played a role in her unplanned meeting with the former Hufflepuff. After all, despite everything that had occurred in the past five years, after all the wretched, humiliating, embarrassing things that she'd experienced, there remained only one lament. It was something Hermione never spoke of, avoided thinking of, except during some of her loneliest moments when she wasn't distracting herself with wizards who basked in the limelight, or those darkly brooding. Yes, she remembers the treasured moment as though it was just yesterday... just as she bemoans it as her sole regret.

No more! She promises herself. Even if he was long gone from that dot on the sea, she was determined to do as the plane steward bid over the plane's tinny overhead speaker. Hermione Jean Granger was going to have a pleasant stay on the island... even if it killed her!

Sweating, unaccustomed to such direct sunlight, and nearly wishing for the frigid chill of London in winter, Hermione wonders if humidity might actually be the ultimate death of her. After 20 minutes of impatiently waiting for her private charter, she wanders back into the open air building, dragging along her rolling luggage, wondering if she might be able to score a rental car to begin her holiday at last. If the guide whom she hired to take her deep into the island's rainforest didn't show up soon, she'd have to figure out another way to get to Tong Chee House and eventually to The Pink House, the island's renown Education and Research Station located in the middle of the plateau rainforest. Hannah had informed her that the station served as a base for scientific research and education programs, both Muggle and magical.

"Miss Granger?"

The voice behind her is deep, masculine, and made a girl fantasize about warm, sultry island nights. Hermione distrusts it immediately. Trying to wipe a scowl off her face, she turns.

"Yes? That's me."

"Apologies, Miss Granger," he bows, reminding her of a kowtowing house-elf. "We were misinformed of your arrival time. Won't you come this way?"

"And who are you?" Hermione can't stop staring. The man dressed in a loose white shirt and linen trousers reminds her suspiciously of a sun-kissed Theodore Nott, one of many Slytherin wizards counted as missing since the start of the war. "Do I know you?" she asks suspiciously, tilting her head to the side to take a closer look.

"No, I've never been off this island," he assures, avoiding her scrutiny as he takes her luggage. She looks at him closely. Though appearing somewhat glamoured, the resemblance is uncanny. Sure, he fills his frame now— more man than boy— but it's his eyes, swiftly hooded, that hint of a mutually shared past. Belatedly, she notices the glinting gold of a wedding ring on his hand as he nudges her hand off the handle.

She frowns.

"Are you my guide? Because I specifically asked for a woman," she says, perturbed that he still refuses to look directly into her face. She spies a telltale quirk of his lips as she continues to talk.

Slytherin.

She should know. After all, she'd cozied up to his snake of a housemate for nearly a year and a half, thinking she'd discovered a more suitable match to forward the Light's cause and general rebuilding.

"Theo," she casually orders, summoning her natural bossiness, "please be careful with that. There are potions in there that don't like to be jostled."

"Not to worry, Hermione. You trusted the steadiness of my hands enough in Potions class," he replies absently, shaking his head.

She smirks outright, then.

Gotcha!

Chagrined, he turns to look at her grinning self. "You haven't changed a bit, Granger," he grumbles.

"But you have," she says appraisingly. He colors as she admires him once again. "Any other of those cowardly Slytherin serpents you call cohorts with you?"

He smiles wryly, sweeping his hand at the 4x4. "Get in, Granger. You've always been too bloody smart for your own good."

Laughing, she swings herself into the vehicle, inwardly impressed with his deft handling of the Muggle four- wheeler. She senses he doesn't want to talk and she is far too taken by the breathtaking vistas to bother with conversation, anyway. Too soon, they arrive at her accommodations which sits nestled in front of the rainforest while offering views of Flying Fish Cove.

"Swanky digs," Theo mutters as he throws his lanky legs out the door. "I suppose you'll be expecting Malfoy soon?"

Hermione, to her tribute, bites back a heated insult, and pastes on a placid smile while shaking her head no. "Potter, then? Or is it Weasley, this month?" he inquires lightly, a touch of rancor in his tone.

"The Prophet seems to be getting to you quite slowly here," she replies, exhaling tiredly. "No, there's no one, Theo. Just me and this house."

Carrying her light luggage up the front steps, he stares at her curiously, not sure what to say to a single Hermione. He'd never really been around when she was footloose and fancy-free.

"It would seem that you, however, are having no trouble with your love life," she adds, gesturing toward his hand. He smiles, running a thumb against the metal band around his finger. He nods.

"Zabini and Longbottom are here, too," he at last offers. "I think you probably already knew about Nev, but likely not Blaise."

If there was one threesome less likely to go into the rainforest together, it would be these three. Hermione shakes her head, realizing she'd just leapt out of the frying pan and straight into the fire when she'd stepped onto this picture postcard of an island.

"All acting as tour guides?" she quips with a dry laugh, hiding her trepidation at meeting Neville after such a long time. She doesn't know how to feel about Zabini being on the island. He was simply temptation on legs, one she had to resist, not that she'd found much success with that in the past.

"It's a living, Granger, and I've got mouths to feed," Theo replies, amused by her shocked expression at his use of the plural. "Blaise, is still the Italian Stallion around these parts, and Nev... Well, he's been pushing around plants at the research center since Hannah finally caught on and left."

"You have children?" Hermione breathes, ignoring his comments about Neville and Hannah.

"Just one. A two-year-old, Maxwell," he says with obvious pride. Theo looks to her and she recognizes the young man he'd been after Commencement, on the one night he dared to bare his heart to her, right after Ron had offered her a life she thought she could handle so soon after the war. Theo smiles ruefully, seeming to remember it, too. "You never did see what I could have offered you, Hermione, not when you were so thoroughly blinded by the glare of platinum blond or, in my case, fiery red." He smiles wryly. "I wasn't going to hold out on the hope that you ever would. Not when those other three were gunning for you. The war came, I cut my losses. Came here."

She extends a hand, but Theo steps back, out of her reach. Her heart pinches.

"She loves me, Granger. I have a life, a family, with her. What could've been between you and me is past," he says wistfully to the darkening sky. With face averted, the setting sun hits his dark hair, making it gleam and Hermione's breath catches at the sight. "But it seems you've still some unfinished business with someone else on this island," he adds softly. "Here's my number. Call me when you're ready to go to The Pink House."

At her nod, Theo returns to the jeep and with a quick wave he is gone.

"Cara!"

Blaise's booming voice hadn't changed one iota and it has Hermione grinning. She'd been paralyzed in the hammock staring at the paper Theo left her while mosquitos feasted on her exposed ivory skin.

"Hermione?"

The dark-skinned god of a wizard stops short when he spies Hermione reclining on the porch, dressed in a flowing white sundress. He waves his wand, shielding her from the buzzing pests, with a handy mosquito net and insect repellent charm.

She turns to smile, welcome in her eyes. She doesn't speak, but he knows she wonders.

"Nott said you were on the island, and of course— I am here!"

Her relationship with Blaise was a torrid one. Friends with benefits, Ginny had characterized it. Whenever Hermione found herself between men and mightily in need of a wizard's... ah... wand, Blaise was more than willing to go to great lengths to please her.

Now, he sits at her feet, causing the hammock to sway beneath them, stirring up a tiny breeze that carries with it the scent of his familiar, spicy cologne.

"Cara, why are you alone? Do you need some company?" Her lips quirk at the obvious suggestion in his half- feigned concern for her well-being.

"No, Blaise," she sighs, "Though tempting, I don't think making a habit of falling into bed with you is a good idea."

"Who said anything about a bed?"

She laughs, kicking him lightly with her toe. "Stop, Zabini!"

He pouts and she sits up to throw her arms around him. She gives him a resounding, though, friendly kiss on the cheek. His impetuous hands try to draw her into a more amorous embrace, but when he has her straddling his hips, she grabs hold of both his ears and commands him to stop.

"You're more receptive to my advances when you're angry at Draco," Blaise grumbles, setting the hammock swinging again. "What do you say to getting him here so he can make you mad again?"

She shakes her head, no, most definitely not. "Why are you sad, cara?" he soothes, rubbing a broad palm against her back. "What did he do this time?"

"I'm the one who left. Me. Again." she says, pitifully. "Seems I don't leave much of a mark in the lives of men I walk away from, Blaise. Least of all Draco's. He's seeing someone new already."

She watches Zabini's face twist, carrying a bit of contempt in his features.

"Harry and you... ugh... two goody goodies. Too good to be true, that. You and the ginger git, a recipe for disaster. Malfoy?" he chuckles softly. "You two were always more flash than steady flame. I knew that one would end badly."

"Then why did you keep supporting me in my efforts to save my relationship with Draco?"

He sends her a sly look. Zabini was nothing if not an opportunist. "I was the beneficiary of the spoils of those battles, wasn't I?"

She smacks his shoulder, but it does nothing to wipe the look of smug self-satisfaction off his far too handsome face. Well, Hermione acquiesces, truth be told, she'd had her fair share of Zabini's riches, too.

"So, if you're not here to track me down to shag me senseless, lion, why are you here?" Her gaze turns back to the scrap of paper in her hand. Zabini peers over her shoulder into her palm. "So, you're finally going to do what should have been done long before Viktor, hm?"

"You know?"

"Cara, everyone knows."

Morning dawns bright on Christmas Island and much to Hermione's dismay Theo isn't one to allow her to dawdle.

"You found your way here for a reason, Hermione," he nearly sing-songs as he twists open the blinds.

Blast this island for not supplying locks on the doors! Hermione thinks grouchily as she gropes at the light coverlet to pull it over her head. "Don't you have your own family to tend to?" she grumbles. He laughs, saying something about how she was the one providing him with a paycheck these next few weeks and he was simply doing his duty as her employee.

She shoves her head under a pillow, cursing Blaise for having had stayed long into the night, surprisingly keeping his hands to himself, though his unsolicited advice did not stay locked behind his constantly flapping mouth.

"... and as flattering as it might be for me to fantasize that it was your long denied desire for me that drew you here, I do know better," Theo continues in a far too chipper voice. "We're not getting any younger, witch. Up and at 'em!"

"Go away! Theo!" she grumbles.

"That worked once, Hermione," he laughs at his poor attempt at a joke. "Not today. You're wasting time. Granger! Get up!"

The covers are unceremoniously ripped from her supine form. A pair of shorts and tank top are careless tossed her way, knocking her in the face.

"Oi! Nott! Knock it off!"

Judging from the sound of his merciless chuckle, Theo seems to be gathering great pleasure in ordering her around. Hermione hears him rummaging in the kitchen and realizes that he's gained quite a bit of Muggle skills while in hiding. Soon the lovely smell of coffee wafts over her, urging her awake in a way none of Nott's manhandling can.

Dressed and pulling a brush through her unruly mop of hair, Hermione pads her way to the kitchen where she hears a pair of masculine voices. At her entrance, the conversation halts.

"I adore Muggle clothes," whistles one at the sight of her in a pair of short shorts and a rather flimsy tank top.

"And warm island breezes," intones the other. "A waste that body would be under cloaks in London right now."

She casts them both a withering look, though inside she basks in their compliments. She turns to pour herself a cuppa and scolds Theo.

"You're a married man, you git." He shrugs. "And you, Blaise, are simply a git." The latter grins.

"Finish that quickly, Hermione," Blaise urges. "Lest we have to trek through the rainforest and brave creatures of all sorts to find Longbottom. I'd rather we just drop you off at The Pink House and run."

"Run where?" she asks, muttering an oath since she'd managed to burn her tongue.

"Away!" They respond in unison, reminding her of a young George and Fred. She raises a brow, but neither offers an explanation for their desire to cut and run. No sooner had she satisfied her caffeine fix than she was hustled into the 4x4 and carted off to the Research Center.

"It's wizards only today!" Blaise explains on a shout. "So, Neville's alone in there." Hermione notices Theo saying something, but the motor and the wind keep the words from her ears.

"Did you bring your wand?" Theo shouts over Blaise's explanation of the building's layout.

"Whatever for?" she asks guardedly. She hadn't cast a spell since stepping foot on the island. In fact, the last spell she'd cast was the stinging hex aimed at Draco's bum just as she'd strode out the Manor's doors. She'd chosen to do without her wand today. The feeling of safety and security had been the one thing that had kept her calm since arriving at her little vacation destination.

She notices the men glance meaningfully at one another. "Never mind," Blaise says. "You'll be safe enough, I think." On that ominous note, Theo kills the motor and she sits facing the education center. It is indeed, pink.

"So, it looks like he's still in there," Theo says, pointing at the Hellraiser 2010, the latest in speed brooms, according Malfoy, who considers himself an aficionado about such things. Hermione only recognizes it because she'd considered the purchase of one for Draco's birthday last year. She wonders why Neville, who she remembered as having despised flying almost as much as herself when they were younger, owned such a reckless model.

"Well, then, there you are, cara," Blaise said with some finality, offering her a hand down. As soon as her feet touches soil, Zabini swings himself back onto the 4x4.

"Wait!" she cries before Theo can gun the motor. "How will I get back to the house?"

The two stare silently at each other again and Hermione decides she wants to hurl something sharp and heavy at the both of them for the secretive glances that leaves her odd man out.

"Just call me," Theo says. "There's a phone inside. Though something tells me..."

"... you won't be going home tonight, cara. At least not alone," Zabini finishes meaningfully. They share sly Slytherin smiles. But before she can bend to grab the nearest large rock, the 4x4's motor roars to life and, within minutes, Hermione is left by herself at the front steps.

By the looks of things, The Pink House seems almost abandoned. At so early in the morning, no one is around and she feels like she's trespassing. Zabini had instructed her to go to the west side of the house, near the greenhouses, to find Neville. Since it was still quite early, the sun hadn't yet hit that side of the building and Hermione shivered a little in her skimpy outfit.

"Hello?" she calls out weakly, not sure if she wants to give Neville that much forewarning that she is on the premises. She comes to a closed door. She opens the door a crack and peeks into pitch black. She reaches in, sliding her fingers against the wall in search of a switch. At last, she finds purchase and the overhead light flickers on.

"Buggering hell! Zabini!" a deep voice shouts. "How many times have I told you not to turn on the light when I'm in here?"

The wizard wearing a lab coat has his back to her, his dark hair in wild disarray. Had she not already known this was Neville, she never would have believed it was him. He was as tall as Ron, broader across than Harry, not lithe like Malfoy. Even through the layers of fabric, Hermione could see his muscles bunch. His profile offered a stubble roughened, chiseled jaw.

"Neville?" She breathes, still unsure of whether it is him. He whips around at the sound of her voice.

"So, you've decided to grace me with your presence, at last," he bites this out bitterly, the look on his face, surprisingly angry. "Had to see Theo and Blaise first though, didn't you? Blaise spend the night, then?" The venom in his voice is unmistakable. The sparking fury in his eyes has her taking a step back. "As it always is, isn't it? Good old, reliable, Neville, always the last in line for you?"

She gasps at the whipping lash of his words. She expects this from the others, but not from him. Never him. Clearly, this was not the Neville Longbottom of yesteryear. This was a very different wizard than the one who lived in the sparkling froth of her most treasured, albeit most painful, memories.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.