Act. I: She who remembers

Draco and Hermione; their love was a relentless storm and yet—the whispers of euphoria could never surmount the pain of her heart that was made fit to bleed it alone. Postwar rebuilding didn't include hearts teared in two and so Hermione did as what McGonagall advised her: live, be free. She had every plans of finishing Hogwarts education but not this year when the wounds and trauma are still open from the war, not when nightmares plague her every night from the tortures and hardships that almost led to her death. After the trials, publicity and helping Wizarding Britain back in its feet as much as they could, the war heroes sought peace to be themselves again. And so, the brains of the Golden Trio decided to do something that isn't quite brainy.

Hermione escaped to France, where her name and actions didn't matter as much as they did from home. She fled the haunting images of a man who doesn't remember her. Each passing moment spent in familiar places tug heartaches into her tired and broken soul. It seems that wherever she turns and in each waking moment, it reminds her of him. Of Draco Malfoy. Of the nights they spent entangled in intimacy, the fear of the war only they shared, the joy and pain in between playing with death and most importantly, her. To Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger was the same know-it-all from Hogwarts, the muggleborn who fought for the opposing side. Never would he remember her as his anchor throughout the darkest months.

And yet, she chose to love him selflessly within the shadows.

However, Hermione's plan of being in the shadows as she wallowed in stupid despair as a certain Ginevra Weasley-Potter have put it thwarted into oblivion when a letter from Narcissa Malfoy knocked on her window. In her impeccable and neat handwriting came an address and time with last line haunting her wits until the day came to meet the Malfoy matriarch.

I know about you and my son. So, humor me for tea, Miss Granger.

When Hermione Granger arrived into the quiet café near the French seas, she was not at all as Narcissa remembered. The Gryffindor strode in alluring confidence with her magic rolling in calm waves of prowess replaced the once insecure muggleborn who strived to prove her place in their world. And prove she certainly did. Narcissa thought, eyes watching the girl in his son's letters slip into the opposite chair with outmost grace that could pass for pureblood etiquette, "I hope you didn't wait too long, Mrs. Malfoy." Hermione smiled, lifting the warm cup of tea to her lips. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"Should we play this game of feigning ignorance, Miss Granger?" The older witch replied sharply, "I certainly haven't pegged you as such…" Narcissa paused for a moment, noting the hardening in Hermione's posture and drove straight to the point, "Draco had an…" It took her a breath to say the right words in the precarious that her son and Hermione were in, "understanding with you during the war, dearest."

"You got the tense right, Mrs. Malfoy. had." Hermione slipped into her guarded facade, mental shields going up as a precaution. She doesn't fancy the chance of having her mind sifted through like dirt. "As I remember your son is now happily courting Astoria Greengrass. So, if you would just—"

"Draco isn't Draco, Miss Granger." Narcissa's voice lilting in a small whisper. "You and I both know he isn't him after the war."

Don't do it, don't take that stupid chance and make yourself hope. You suffered enough, Hermione. Alas, her emotions overpowered any concrete thoughts of self-preservation because it's her Draco. His existence alone is enough for Hermione to take infinite amount of chances. "What do you want from me?" She asked and for the first time since she sat, agony flashed within her caramel orbs.

"Help me bring my son back."

Hello! I've never been more excited to share my first story with this community. I hope you enjoy! Your reviews are like sweets, they make my day brighter.