Authors Note

This story is set a few years after the war when Hermione is about to turn twenty one.

I apologise for the length of this note however it will be the only I will post so maybe I can forgiven. This is a Lumione and it is fan fiction this although it follows cannon until the epilogue it is never going to end exactly like the books, people who cannot or will not accept this should perhaps for the good of themselves, me and the rest of the good people of fanfic land stop reading this story.

For me fan fiction is a nice way for us to explore different themes and adventures with our favourite characters. But it is also a way to explore themes and issues that are difficult to write about in real life either because they are too personal or we fear about what others would think or worry about offending people we do not mean to offend. I firmly believe this fic falls into the adventures with our favourite characters category.

You will probably find both Hermione and Lucius to be out of character in this work I have a reason why and I hope I have weaved it into the story enough for all of you to understand why. This is a story of life, love and at the end of the day moving on and growing up. It is also the story of an older blood supremacist coming to terms with what he has done and finding love with a younger woman who was not just part of the group he hated so much but on occasion his victim or one of his intended victims as well. Harry and Ron though still Hermione's friends are just drifting apart especially her and Ron due to a lack of things in common but also the way Hermione is trying to deal with her issues. Though I suppose it is more Hermione distancing herself and her friends are at a loss of what to do with her, everyone dealing with the trauma slightly differently.

DISCLAIMER! I do not own anything; Harry Potter will always belong to JK Rowling and the various groups she sold various rights to. I hope I can do our favourite pair some justice and that you all enjoy reading the story.

zxxyxxz

Chapter One Figures At One O'clock

Hermione pushed open the Iron Gate and walked slowly into the garden, it had only been just over two years since the battle and everyone else had long since stopped coming to the garden, but she went she went every day. At first it was to mourn and remember all the friends that had died, then she mourned for the people she knew at first it was just those acquaintances on the light side she mourned. Then she mourned for all those she had known on the side of Voldemort, perhaps it was wrong to think of her side as the light, after all she doesn't think of the death eaters as being dark. For once Hermione Granger did not know the answer to a question, she knew that in the past.

"Bah the past."

She said with a small laugh

That in the past her not knowing the answer would be a cause of celebration, a chance to learn something new and further her knowledge, but today it just left her cold. She sobered for a moment as she realised where she was and why she was there. Well she knew where she was that was easy she was in the garden of remembrance, a small garden with trees and bushes all arranged around the winding stone slab path built as a memory to the suffering and death the second war with Voldemort had caused. She supposed it was supposed to look beautiful, pretty even but to her it was just another reminder of what was lost, a reminder of all the people she knew who would never see a tree on earth again, all the people who would never speak to her or insult her again.

Why she was currently sitting in the garden brooding and contemplating she didn't really know, but all Hermione did know was that this garden always made her feel calm, what better place she always said to think about life, death and the implications of actions then a place that embodies all three aspects. After all the garden was there because people were dead, dead because of her actions and those of others. What was a bigger consequence of your actions then causing death at least that was why she justified visiting to her friends. Although she didn't want to admit it out loud Hermione knew deep down the real reason why she came, she came because she was lost, empty. Everything she had ever known both magical and Muggle was gone. No more was there the constant fear she lived with of Voldemort launching another attack and the worries of who didn't make it. Gone was the prejudice and hate she dealt with every day. Gone were her friends and acquaintances again more victims of actions and consequence. Even though she had them back she still felt mild disgust towards herself at what she had to do to her parents to keep them alive.

She sighed and shifted on the cold stone bench, it was summer not that it gave an indication of the weather or mood it was still England after all. She smiled at her own joke. Joke was that right? Was the statement on weather funny, Hermione didn't know and if she was honest she probably didn't care.

"You know what the funniest thing is I even miss Bellatrix."

She said out loud not that anybody was here of course, after all why be in mourning when life can return to normal, when you can be happy. She did miss Bellatrix though, there was something comforting about the certainty of Bellatrix's hate, but with even her greatest enemy dead Hermione Granger was empty and finally without purpose.

She didn't look up when she heard the gate open after all she knew who it was, it was same person who always came, every day at one o'clock. Judging from the height, build and robes she gathered the other visitor was a man. She kept telling herself that his identity or even his gender didn't matter but she knew deep down it did, after all here was another soul who found time every day to visit she wondered why he did perhaps he felt the same as her, she probably knew him or at least of him and. And why did it matter everyone thought she was crazy, that she was ill maybe he would think the same, after all he was probably mourning a wife or a child not musing over the nature of evil and consequences. In a vain effort to stem the dark never ending cycle of thoughts of all you have seen and done running through your head in a constant loop. How could you ever be happy having to face all you have done whether you wanted to or not during every second of every day? No he would stop coming eventually his grief moving on to a better more healthy place.

She slowly lifted herself of the bench and left the garden and headed back to the small Muggle house she called home she did not realising the man was watching her.

Oh he noticed her alright every day at one o'clock there she was sat on the bench, he to wondered who she was, he knew he knew her he just couldn't place her, maybe she was feeling lost and empty too. Perhaps her mind was filled with stains that could never be erased, deeds that could never and should never be forgotten. A life where happiness was to be forever denied.

~8~

The next day saw Hermione at the garden sitting on the stone bench, she sighed taking in the smells of the garden and trying to ease the burden she felt on her shoulders. She looked down at the gold plaque in the middle of the garden and she read the simple inscription for yet another time. It's not like she read it every day, that would be compulsive perhaps even a sign of mental instability. Yet going to the garden every day at noon is not a sign of compulsiveness and mental instability reminded her inner analyst. The inscription never failed to bring her simultaneously to tears and to anger.

"Gone but not forgotten. The fallen we will always remember."

She laughed bitterly, the fallen have already been forgotten the garden just an empty gesture to make it seem that the Ministry to the apathetic and quick to forget public are doing something. Be seen to make changes and the people will be placated, put cronies of the light, sorry anti Voldemort forces in power and people believe in the change that the corruption is over. No one remembers it's been two years and no one comes to the garden anymore people have already forgotten the principles that the fallen fell for.

Hermione always thought she felt strongly for remembrance and change because she grew up a Muggle and thus grew up exposed to war and death, wars far more terrible and life threatening than Voldemort. That it somehow inbred an amount of respect for soldiers, after all that's what Hermione was a solider, a veteran in the same league as the old men she would see in the royal legion parades on remembrance Sunday. She imagined herself walking with the Muggle veterans, placing a poppy wreath and standing as a vicar says words for all the boys who never came home and for those who did.

She would have laughed at the image if it didn't sober her with the thought that no one would place a wreath in the garden for the Wizarding war dead. No poppies or prayers for Remus and Tonks or Snape and Voldemort.

Hermione was brought out of her thoughts by the squeaking of the Iron Gate she didn't realise an hour had passed her by, she glanced at her wrist watch and sure enough it was one o'clock precisely. She took a few more minutes to compose herself, trying to ground the anger as not to lash out on her not so innocent but innocent enough friends.

She didn't notice the man at one walk over and sit on the bench beside her, he just sat lost in thought when Hermione realised his presence she said nothing just continued to sit. After all he came over he was probably waiting for her to leave like she normally does, if he wants to talk he can make the first move. But at the end of the day, at the setting of sun it doesn't matter whether he speaks and tells her all his secrets or whether he says nothing at all and remains as simply the man at one.

She glanced at her wrist watch, Hermione doesn't know why she does, a force of habit she supposes after all she has nowhere to be, no one will worry about her or if they do they know where she will be. As she looks at the watch she studies her companion the first thing she notices is his smell, a rich spicy cologne, expensive is all she can guess about the brand, the second is the familiar long hair it is white blond in colour, the third is his robes they are expensive and well-tailored but worn no that was not the right word lived in would perhaps better describe the state of his robes. Deep down Hermione knows that this man means something to her, that she should remember his name, that deep down she has a feeling that the others would expect her to harm him, to… Kill him.

But all she can do is sit, she enjoys the company he provides the calm silence and the relief of acceptance. She knows she doesn't have to justify her being here in the garden and that he wouldn't expect her to. All Hermione knows is that it has been too long since she felt so at peace with another human even if he is a stranger. Scratch that he is no stranger she knows him and knows if he looks at her he will know her as well, they have never been friends always enemies but does that really matter now?

No it doesn't. The war is gone and so have the boundaries there is no reason for division, no life or death consequences at the failure to segregate based on political belief. Petty squabbles have petty and insignificant resolutions. She still sits, the time still not a worry to her. The man breaks the silence, his voice almost a drawl yet his diction perfect.

"It's such a waste, all that life, all that potential that was never met, all that went unfulfilled and underused. We are stunted I fear that some of our better minds were lost to us for a cause that if we all thought about it was never truly there to begin with."

"It truly is all for the causes of two mad old men who hadn't the courage to fight each other. Instead so afraid of loss they dragged into their quarrel the lives of others who bore the losses for them, any victory quickly fleeting due to the losses that were needed to ensure it. Losses that should never have occurred."

She replied slowly almost without emotion, there was silence between the two they knew the truth even if no one else could admit it, she knew it felt good to hear someone tell her what she already knew. Even though deep down that was the least of her troubles.

"You are a curious lady, your words are wise yet your hands they tell me you are young. I fear that they may be the only thing that you have as a reminder of your youth. You tell me nothing about your leanings in the war; it is a refreshing change from those who still try to tell you their loyalties even now. I need no reminders of my part in the war, I ruined many lives by my actions and it is something that I will have to live with."

Again his manner though emotionless was not bland. Even if she did not now know the identity of the speaker she knew him to be well raised for certain.

"I thank you for your compliment, with the war even I forget my age sometimes. I did my part in the war and I know you did yours. Yet at the end of the day there is no victory no good or evil, as the victors will write the histories of the now there was Pro Voldemort and Anti Voldemort forces, but even that is an oversimplification. No all the war has done is provide us with corpses to buried."

Hermione replied with a sigh, they knew the harsh honesty that each other spoke with.

"Spoken like a true veteran. Though many will disagree."

There was a hint of something in his voice, almost warmth. No that wasn't it but a sense of empathy was it? It didn't matter to her all that mattered was that there was one other person in her bleak excuse for a world who felt the way she did.

"All I can say is at least the killing curse is quick and families before the battle and before any forces came in the smaller raids got to say goodbye. Where I am from war is a common occurrence not always as large or as destructive as the one we have just survived but it is there nonetheless. So many broken promises, so many sons and daughters who won't be coming home."

A silent tear dropped down her cheek as she spoke, neither one of them noticed or if they did neither acted on it. There was silence for a while as if her companion was letting her final words sink in, that or he was no longer interested in maintaining a conversation. Hermione was not surprised most were bored to tears or had found an excuse to leave her by now, just content to leave her to the consuming thoughts of nothing and everything.

"You are Muggle born; you speak of the wars in 1914 and 1939 do you not. It does not matter that you are Muggle born after all to be sitting here with me you must be as powerful maybe even more powerful than I am. But then maybe I am not a pureblood, maybe I am. Maybe we were allies, maybe even mere months ago we would rather kill each other than talk. Though I feel if we had the option we would have preferred to talk."

There was a hint of playfulness in his voice a sense of teasing based on the knowledge that although their identities were known to each other, that for now they would keep up the pretence of being perfect strangers bound by grief. Though it was quite likely that they were practically strangers to each other, knowing nothing but their shared experience of war where the identity of those you fought against or sometimes with was not important. As much as it kills you to admit it in that situation there is only you and your family if you are lucky enough to still have one.

"It always amuses me that people say actions speak louder than words. It may be true that actions have more obvious and often greater consequences and implications, but words can always be taken back and forgiven."

Hermione said with an air of sadness in her voice. The entire exchange between the two may be considered morose or taboo by some but for Hermione this was the happiest she felt in months, she felt her lips twitch as she formed a half smile.

"That is very true. War isn't honour, there is no honour in dying before your time war is a mockery to live itself and still they spout on about how brave the dead were. More like irresponsible, what parents bring a child into the world in a time of war and then fight leaving the child an orphan and with no provision for the future, no thought as to the fact that breaking the cycle of violent conflict and striving towards peaceful resolution is what's best for the child. Not having dead heroes for parents. What good is a medal when you are dead and can't wear it?"

His voiced raised and anger filled his voice, she knew who he spoke of, the great order of the phoenix heroes Remus and Tonks Lupin who would rather die than allow their son to be brought up in a world full of hate.

"I agree, what is just as bad is when people tell you to wear your scars with pride, it shows you had conviction a resolve to your ideals and never sold out who you really were. Yet in war you don't show who you really are you get caught up in the side whose ideals either fit you best or the side that enlists you first. When you show the scars on the inside, the ones you can't see, can't touch the ones that cause you to scream in cold terror at night. The ones that leave you searching and the only place you feel at home is in a garden of remembrance with other like-minded souls and you are unstable. The war caused you to lose your mental faculties, you are danger to yourself, and you might hurt others. Hurt. More like show what the generals were afraid of, the real way to end the war if you speak out you get committed, all because your scars aren't visible."

Hermione voice became quieter and filled with more venom as she spoke, painfully aware of every nightmare, every time the others tried to talk 'sense' in to her as she spoke both rubbed their forearms their fingers lazily and with precision tracing every line of the scars they knew to be present. Their own reminders that the war never goes away. Forever to be judge by pieces of deformed skin and flesh.

"You feel the emptiness too. I can hear it in your voice, the conviction not in whether your beliefs or actions are right or wrong but in the fact that any belief any action that lead to such destruction and scarring must be wrong. The fact that if there was no war the deaths would be murder, the scaring bodily harm all crimes with harsh sentences and fines that would normally be detrimental to one's life. Yet one side gets away with it, the other still suffer for it. The fact that even when the dust has settled, the fallen mourned and wounds healed and scarred over, that nothing has changed."

Again more passion and emotion filled his voice she knew his words before he spoke them, how many times in this very place had she uttered the same?

"The frustration at the status quo maintained yet relabelled and sold to us as change. A new hospital wing, a single plaque in the middle of London. Nothing's changed."

Hermione replied simply and was content to merely sit and ponder the afternoon's discussion. She glanced at her wrist watch it was nearing two o'clock, as much as it pained her to leave she knew it was time to go. No point in risking and ruining an afternoon of comforting debate over unwanted and awkward conversation.

"Thank you for the company Mr Malfoy, I will see you tomorrow."

Hermione's goodbye was simple yet friendly, but just like before she meant every word.

"Until tomorrow Miss Granger."

He rose from the bench and graced her with a bow before opening the Iron Gate and ushering them both back out into post war reality.