Chapter One

Dear Luna,

I hope things are well with you in Nantucket. Ron misses you so, as do the rest of us.

As you probably know from their letters, Neville and Ginny are planning a fantastic trip to your current location since you complemented its beauty. They are in need of a good vacation. They both work hard.

Draco and I are well. After I send this letter off with Opa I am joining him for dinner at the manor. He says he has cooked all of the food but I think he's lying. That's just as well, I'm not fond of the idea of Draco being in the kitchen. He has scarce knowledge of the tools. Even with magic, it's alarming to think of him using them.

Thank you for sending these pictures of your trip. One is already hanging in my hallway with the others. It is between the one of us in our 6th Year outside Hagrid's hut, and one at Dean's pub. It brightens up my hallway with the brightly colored flowers and the sunset. It is lovely, Luna, and I'm sorry that you didn't catch any Burrbeans.

My last day of work was today and tomorrow I'm apparating to the beach. A fortnight ago I bought a house on a hill overlooking the coast. I'll send pictures of it to you soon. I plan to spend plenty of time there.

Good luck!

With Love,

Hermione

Hermione rolled the parchment, tying it to her owl's leg, sending her off through the window before swiveling in her chair to face her bed. She looked thoughtfully at the outfit she laid there early that morning for her dinner with Draco. While the thought of lounging on a giant towel with waves crashing at her feet send her in euphoria, the thought of dinner with Draco sent her into a state of paranoia and disarray.

There was certainly nothing frightening about the ex-Death Eater anymore. Draco was a very different person. He owned a very successful business of seeling Quidditch supplies. He only took the highest priority problems and left the rest to a well-paid staff, which gave Draco too much time, but of course, he thought he had the best job, the best life, and that Hermione took on too much with her career as a lawyer, freeing slaves and giving equal opportunity to all creatures.

He Owl'ed her during her lunch. In his neat handwriting that was too aesthetic for a man, he said that he inspected his workhouse, had a meeting for a new broom, and it was their six-month anniversary and such a perfect day deserved celebration. She agreed wholeheartedly, but was beginning to have reservations.

Six months ago Draco and Hermione incidentally reunited at a magical fair in Bexley. He was there promoting a new invention and she was there for fun. And indeed, they had fun.

Draco in his usual black that contrasted so drastically with his pale features and hair, he abandoned his station to his assistant, Cook, when he spotted her. He gave her a great smile, one that she didn't know existed, but one that was Draco, for it was clear he had an agenda in mind. He said he had been there for an hour setting up a tent and insisted he tour her around and take her to every attraction. He was a right critic about every one of them, but in a way that made her smile. His criticism was funny, and while she had always been aware that he had a sense of humor (one that was crude and quite unfunny) she didn't realize it so personally, and it took her breath away. Draco was nice.

That was all it took. Draco was charming and clever, and clearly not the boy she fought in the war. So when he asked for one date she could not refuse.

That one date consisted of a day in a museum. It was the only magical museum in London. It included scraps of metal from the great Goblin War of 1812, and probable garments of past great Wizards and Witches, and there was a whole section about the bloody history of giants.

She assumed that Draco would be bored with it, although she knew that his marks were as good as hers in school, but he was just as interested as her, and they talked about each aspect over coffee and scones. They even talked of the architecture of the building, and when there was nothing to speak of, they spoke of how they had sat there, letting their coffee grow cold.

It was the perfect date and Hermione didn't believe in perfect things. The object of life was to live with flaws and improve oneself along the way, to learn. Yet, somehow Draco was teaching her more, that life could be a perfect balance, and that scared her. One of many things to scare her.

This new man scared her. Falling in love with Draco Malfoy worried Hermione a great deal. She was falling in love with him and the thought of being hurt... Again. It was almost too much.

She had loved Ron because he could make her smile and laugh, but while she danced around him, he fell in love with Luna. Somewhere between her commentary at the Quidditch matches in Hogwarts and at the Shell Cottage they took refuge in on the hunt for Horcruxes, they found happiness in each other. She wished Ron and Luna well, they were her best friends, and she was over Ron, but she did not want a repeat in history - no matter how well it ended, and she did not want to love Draco, but that mattered not. Somehow, he felt right. She could fight it all she want, but she knew it was best to give in. Her heart was already gone.

That scared Hermione all the more.

Weaslette,

Thank you for the Howler, but rest assured it was utterly wasted. I have no intentions to hurt Hermione and every intention to keep my "ruddy limbs" as you so quaintly called them.

I was mistaken in my belief that we had grown since our schooling. Please, no need to apologize, I will happily accept silence from you.

Regards to your threatened bat-boogy hex,

Draco Malfoy

Draco waved off his owl and rubbed his face anxiously, snapping his fingers over his ears. The damn she-Weasel had better not damaged his hearing - and so shortly before his date with Hermione at that.

They were an unlikely pair - him and Hermione. Sure, considering his raising she was below his blood status, but they were brilliant together. He recalled seeing her through the crowd, her uncontrollable brown hair pulled back into a bun, her rolled dress sleeves proof that she had come straight from the Ministry, but her lawyer stance was gone, her cheeks flushed and eyes excited. It was something Draco had never seen on her snobby face before (the fact that her snobbishness was worse than his was irrespective at best).

It wasn't a secret he had hated her. He was raised to believe he was better than everyone, and her besting him in every single subject didn't help his attitude toward her at all. In fact, he hated her almost as much as her best friends, Weasley and Potter. It was difficult to hate anyone as much as the Freckles-Without-Two-Knuts, and the Boy-Who-Would-Not-Die.

It was more than a defeat when Voldemort died. There was a defeat in himself. He had to change, and not just because of the loss; not because his parents had to change too, but because he was wrong. He had been wrong all along. Voldemort meant for him to die for his father's failures. Potter and Weasley saved his life. He could hate it all but Draco did lose and he was not going to wallow. Malfoy's didn't wallow in sadness.

Draco would never tell Hermione that there were whispers he was going to hurt her. She had to have been warned. It meant everything, her trust did. It shone in him, that he wasn't the villain any longer.

Nonetheless, he was determined to make up for seven years of torture. He loved Hermione from the moment he set eyes on her at that wretched boring fair, and he would do anything to keep her.

He stood from his desk, straightening his robes. He glanced at the time, the hands of the clock moving too fast for his liking. She would be arriving in less than ten minutes. He knew that because he told her 6:30 and it was 6:20, and she was never late.

Draco checked the dining room. A much smaller table had replaced the large one used for Death Eater meetings in what was supposed to be his 7th year. There were gold taper candles burning, steaming steak and potatoes on heated plates, and a chilled bottle of wine. His best wine.

While there were loads to celebrate (a great day and six extraordinary months together) there was something else Draco had up the sleeves of his robes. A proposal of sorts, a ornate key to all doors within the Manor, the one the woman of the Manor would have. He wanted Hermione to move in with him.

His parents had moved away to France, hating the stares they received and the family and friends they lost. The world where they ruled was gone, and they were suddenly the outcasts. His mother naturally cried when he stayed behind, but it was about time he went his own way, and the Manor was his home, even if it was lonesome and much too large for him and Bandy, who was hurrying in from the kitchen then.

"The food looks delectable," he told the extra small house-elf. "You remember what we discussed, right?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Mr. Malfoy cooked dinner all by himself, sir. Bandy wasn't here, sir. Bandy is vacationing."

He grinned and fished out three galleons for her, pressing them into her spider hand. The one that was not missing two fingers.

"Now you are. Enjoy your time."

She squeaked happily. "Thank you, sir! Bandy is happy."

He patted her head between her bat-like-ears and watched her bound off. He had become quite fond of that elf. After the war ended they were all set free (thanks to Hermione) and many had difficulty finding paid work. Bandy had been abused badly and Draco was lonely and in need of help. There was little chance that he would clean a whole mansion. So he hired Bandy, bought proper clothes (dresses like the one she had on, her favorite), set her up with fair pay and insurance.

When Hermione saw Bandy, she had kissed Draco. Granted, it was not the first time, but it was in his top favorites. That kiss was dizzying and every kiss thereafter was more heavenly. She was the one for him. If he had known it in his 1st Year on the train to Hogwarts when he saw her with Longbottom looking for a blasted toad, he would have considered himself bonkers.

The door chime echoed throughout the mansion and he glimpsed into a ornate mirror, his reflection near perfection. He opened the door and there stood...

"Hyacinth?"

His assistant to his assistant gleamed her pearly whites, and flung her deep rose cloak on the hook. "Going to welcome me in, Mr. Malfoy," she asked warmly, her breath hotter than her short dress and evident liquor on her breath. She sidestepped him to gaze more properly into the grand entrance of his home. Or, what would be a home once Hermione said yes.

"Not what I heard of the Malfoy family. It's fairly bright in here, no?"

He wasn't going to indulge. Hyacinth Baxter was a batty woman who took every opportunity to gawk at him, slacking on her work, driving everyone insane with her stretched tales of prestige visits to places that no one on her salary could afford. Draco once thrived on the attention of women like herself, but he was no longer a boy nor a single man.

"I'm expecting company, Ms. Baxter. May you make this quick?"

She continued to loiter, running her hand along the leather couch.

"Please, see yourself out," he pressed.

Hyacinth turned, her eyes like a cat's, predatory and starving of something other than hunger. "I took that dead-end job for you, Mr. Malfoy. The least you could do is pay me in full for my troubles."

He held open the door, but with no intention of bowing her out. "That explains your lack of dedication and messy work ethic. I've retained my position to fire, despite having Cook decide your fate for himself. You're fired Hyacinth. Don't return here or at work. Cook will send your things by your residence."

She approached him slowly, licking her lips. Her hand came down on his on the door. Her voice was throaty and she leaned up, her plump red lips and inch from his. "Don't be a spoil sport, Draco." She slammed the door closed.

Smoothing her red dress, Hermione could hear the chime from her place on the stoop. She waited, and tried again. Not even Bandy was answering. That was odd.

Many times Draco had told her to use her key to welcome herself into the entrance, but she cringed at the thought. She took it out and held it in the palm of her hand. It was too heavy, too detailed of snakes in its designs. It led her to one of her many old nightmares.

The nightmares were rare, fading with time but not from memory. The tidy drawing room, Bellatrix performing a most horrible curse upon her, the pain as real to her as if it were happening then. Harry and Ron trapped in the cellar, Draco a spectator to it all.

Before she lost her nerve, she pushed the key in, and it clicked open. With her hands on the curved handle and her feet planted still, she angled herself just inside the door. As if by magnetic pull her eyes were drawn to the couch. A slender, beautiful woman with sleek black hair was on top of Draco, kissing maddeningly. And like that, time froze for a millisecond, enough time for the image to seep in and burn itself behind the lids of her eyes.

Hermione choked, her throat tight and eyes burning. She let out an involuntary whimper, and the woman looked up, a Cheshire smile on her pretty face. Draco, however, looked horrified.

"Hermione!" He shoved the woman off of him, her short scream at falling in a heap at his feet. He stood, gray eyes wide, frightened, begging for understanding, for her to listen. It was such an opposing look to the glares he used to throw around like spare sickles out of his pocket.

She shook her head, the tears overflowing, her make-up smeared and rivers of black trailing on her cheeks. She was a foolish mess. A foolish, foolish girl.

"Hermione -" He struggled to push his company off his feet.

She turned and ran, her heels clicking on the concrete. A frantic, heartbroken tempo.