A/n: Hello readers! This is a one-shot I wrote between my other stories. I've had this idea for a while and have been adding to the story for ages now. Hope you enjoy it. This is a standalone, just remember that. Rated for violence, grotesque scenes and language. If it's not your thing, please do not read. Thanks to my beta Tessa Cresswell. One-shots aren't my specialty, but I figured I would give it a try at least.

We stop looking for monsters under the bed when we realize they're inside of us.

-Jordyn Berner

~The Joker (quoted)

Sometimes she still shook during the night, during the haunted hours when the moon rose high above the world, illuminating light but no warmth. It was the warmth that she needed, the heat that kept her from feeling like ice. Even the sun did not smolder out the icy numbness she now survived with on a day to day basis. She couldn't help it; she felt like there was no more life in her.

It had been seven months since the incident; seven months since the school was evacuated of survivors and the dead were covered with white silken sheets. Seven months since the doors to Hogwarts were shut indefinitely, a reopening date unscheduled while the grotesque scenes that survivors witnessed replayed in the media's eyes. The survivors were looked on at with hatred and envy, seldom loved for having made it out alive. With so many dead, it was no surprise that the living were shunned.

Pulling the sheets tighter to her body, she tried to shove out the memories. Going down to the lunchroom, she expected to have something to fight. But the doors were shut tight, delaying the outside occupants the ability to aid. Spells did little to move the heavy structures, no matter how much the students and staff attempted to blow it open.

And when the doors did open, she wished they would shut again. It was like the silly horror movies she watched with her parents as a child; horror turned into reality.

Shoving her head beneath the pillow, she willed the tears back again. How could she be so numb, so numb and lifeless, but still muster the willpower to cry? The answer was obvious, just one that she did not want to look into. Yet she always found herself looking into the past far too much.

She was lonely. Now that her friends were buried six feet under, Hermione came to the realization that she never had a lot of real friends at all.

Often, she visited the graveyard. The place had been built literally on the school grounds, up on a hillside where stone markers could overlook the school and lake, like the students once had. The space was always open like any other graveyard, the Hogwarts boundaries stopping just shy of the gates, allowing for parents, friends and others to visit the dead when they pleased, without having to ask for access to it.

She found it almost better to be within the company of the grave markers than the solitude of her home. Everyone killed at Hogwarts that fateful day was buried there, allowing for the students to rest in peace with each other; friends, and enemies alike. At least here, she had friends again.

The beautifully scripted names danced out at her; Harry Potter, Ronald Weasely, Ginny Weasely, Luna Lovegood… they were all there, but not with her. Because of that stupid Slytherin, she was now all alone.

Fate would have the killer be a Slytherin, wouldn't it? The headlines that followed just one day later would not have made nearly enough sense if a Hufflepuff were the killer. No, this just made everything more newsworthy. She hated that the crude writers could document and print anything they wanted, without worrying about the emotional distress the articles put parents- and spouses- through. Yes, everyone wanted to understand what had happened. But no one really did, not even after seven long months.

Footfalls alerted her that dreary day that some other poor soul was coming to visit the site. She thought that was peculiar, considering that she liked to visit at night, when no one else was likely to come. She couldn't stand to come during the day; she couldn't bear the expressions that crossed the broken faces of parents, siblings and friends, all who were now missing someone important in their lives. She couldn't tolerate the devastated looks on their faces, mirroring her own misery. Some days she wondered if anyone in Britain remembered how to smile.

Turning, she peered through the darkness to see if she could locate the visitor. It was unsettling to not know who was coming, and after the attack she was more on edge than she had ever been, even during the war. Pulling out her wand, she lit it quickly; a bit saddened that she could no longer enjoy the complete solitude of this place.

The face her light fell on remained expressionless as he walked. Blonde hair glistened in the light, as though he had just bathed. The long dress coat he wore looked far too formal to be parading around in a graveyard at night, but nonetheless he looked very much himself. As he walked he glanced in her direction, his expression never changing when he noticed who she was. He just barely inclined his chin in her direction, indicating that he meant to say hello. She did not nod in return, which was expected. She merely glared at him, envying the very ground he stepped on.

Out of everyone buried beneath the earth, he truly deserved to die. This was all his fault, yet he remained to see another day. How many letters, spells, curses, poisons were sent his way on a day to day basis? She could not comprehend what it felt like to have absolutely no one in an entire nation like you, want you to survive. Her life was lonely, but his was one of ultimate solitude.

Truth be told, she had never seen him there before. People would start talking if anyone else ever saw him, since so many blamed him for the incident. Was this his first visit since that horrid day, or did he come often, at night like her, when no one else was around?

Although his time was set aside from her, she couldn't help getting interested by his presence. She had not seen him since the school closed, since he stood on the outside of the door with her, panicking, fighting to get the structure open. Seven months looked more like seven years on him, and the tired expression he wore looked like the man had not slept since that day. She recalled that he got in before her, blocked the horrendous scene partially from her view. She didn't get to see the entire Great Hall, with all its bodies. His own form blocked part of it, and saved her the memories. It wasn't much and it wasn't planned, but it was something.

His hair was longer now, and surprisingly unkept. He looked as though he had not bothered to clean himself up before he arrived. Perhaps he had simply rolled from his satin sheets and come here. Her eyes followed him as he walked further into the graveyard, never once looking back in her direction. When he did stop, it was in front of a marker in the Slytherin section of the graveyard. Even in death, the houses were divided.

Curiously, she wondered who he was visiting. Many of the names she had long since memorized, just as with their locations. But she rarely looked to the Slytherin section, and there was more than one reason behind that. She did not know the order of the names, nor where exactly each person was buried unlike the graves of students from the other three houses. Slytherin's were not her friends; they were not close. She didn't quite feel remorse over their deaths, but she didn't exactly feel nothing either. She was just numb to their non-existence now, perhaps because she felt too burdened with everyone else's absence.

At length, her arm fell limply back to her side, the light from her wand extinguishing; forcing the space back into near darkness, save for the sliver of a moon above them. She knew where his silhouette stood, and allowed no worries to slip into her mind, causing her unease. After everything, she would not allow this git to make her life more miserable.

Besides, what was left to take away except for her life? She was hollow nowadays as it was.

For a long time, neither of them moved. Her face was sticky from tears at some point, though she kept her sobs quiet. Sometimes she cried when she visited this place, sometimes she let the murky darkness swallow her whole into another world, where tragedy did not occur. She would let herself sit there mindlessly for hours, feeling nothing. Those times were moments of bliss.

But tonight did not offer that salvage. She cried, and when her tears were spent she decided it was time to go. The Slytherin did not need her there, watching the outline of his form from the corners of her eyes. His presence might feel invasive to her, but he did have just as much of a right to visit as anyone else- though she didn't think so. He of all people should be barred from visiting.

She stood on the dewy grass, getting her wits about her again. The graveyard did not allow for apparition, and she would have to walk to the gates again to leave. As she wandered into the main isle, her footsteps ceased. Keeping her head forward, she let her eyes drift to the side. He still stood there, motionless as ever.

"Why did you come here Malfoy? Why did you come here of all days?" she thought helplessly. He didn't belong.

"It's considered rude to watch a person without announcing that you wish to join in their company you know," he drawled, though there was an obvious scratchy tone lingering in his voice. She almost jumped at the sound of his words breaking the silence, but convinced herself to stay still. He would not alarm her; she did not fear him.

"I would need to want you here to wish to do that," she retorted, her voice void of emotion. Their tones matched in a strange way; they both had a lifeless undertone to them, as though the speakers did not care if they lived or died.

Silence greeted her response, and she turned to go. She did not come there to be pleasant to anyone, only to mourn those she could never have again. She didn't have friends now to turn to, at least none that would speak to her. Everyone existed on strings now, thin strings of web connecting them to others. Everything was very detached, and she no longer felt like she belonged.

When he didn't speak again, she turned and left. They had no reason to continue speaking, and although her curiosity remained her desire for conversation did not. It had been ages since their paths crossed, and eternity would not be long enough before she was forced to see him again.

March was difficult, more so than she wanted to believe. The first day in fact was the most difficult, for obvious reasons. She found herself there again in the graveyard- wind blowing like mad while rain drizzled down- staring at the grave of someone she could've loved. It was his birthday.

He would've been eighteen today, had he survived. Her tears drizzled down her cheeks, but not a soul could tell. They meshed with the falling rain all too well, and aside from red eyes hidden by darkness, you couldn't tell that she was sobbing. Her body didn't shake today; she felt too paralyzed to reveal that sort of emotion.

Hours before his death they had been up in his bedroom kissing, a maneuver that she finally attempted with him when they came back to finish school. It was naughty- dangerous in fact- to dare to scale up to another gender's bedroom, but she didn't care then. They lay kissing, hot mouths attacking each other until he had to go to his next class. She had a free period, and was supposed to meet him downstairs for lunch later.

If she hadn't been late, over studying at the library as she usually did, this would never have happened. She would not know this pain. She would be with them, sleeping in the earth.

Numb from her head to her toes, it hurt to reach out and place an icy hand on the scripted text across his gravestone. The name jumped out at her, like a mockery that she was now alone. A sob ripped through her for the first time since sitting down that day, mud now coating the whole of her outer cloak.

"Ron, how I have failed you."

She bowed her head, slightly trembling. There was nothing to do but lash out with anger these days, and that was something she could not do. So many fueled their hatred with rancid words at the survivors who could not be blamed for the deaths, and they felt this helped appease the holes in their hearts. But didn't causing someone else horrible, unspeakable pain only pay a toll on their mindset? She couldn't do that- not to herself or anyone else- and slowly found herself sinking into the background; a hero slipping through the cracks of irony.

Everyone knew her name, but no one accepted her pain. She lost so much, but after her role in the war everyone assumed she would bounce back after a time, acting like nothing ever happened. If only it was so.

Sloshy footsteps caught her attention, and a little bird in the back of her mind recalled a similar set of circumstances just two weeks before. But if they had avoided gazes, words for seven months, then why were their paths crossing so frequently now?

She stilled as the steps grew closer, and then stopped. Ron's grave lay closest to the isle, and from her peripheral vision again she could see the outline of the thick trouser covered legs nearby. She didn't glance up.

"It's a bit wet to be sitting down," he said, his voice just as empty as the last time they spoke. She had assumed it was him, for reasons unknown to her. Still, it was a surprise to hear him speaking to her. That was twice in a row that he started the conversation.

"I don't mind," she said quietly, her voice strained. She didn't care that it hurt to talk from so many minutes of crying, just that she could speak. The numbness from cold following the numbness from being alone was eating at her, and for a moment there she had been curious if she had the will to reply at all anymore. "You should go see your friends."

Draco looked away, avoiding both her form and the gravestones. "You can't see what's not there."

His words hit her hard, and suddenly she felt out of breath. Her last hope, last possible salvage rested with this graveyard, because the markers with names made her feel slightly less alone. How could he continue to visit a place where the dead sleep, resting eternally beneath the ground, and say nothing is there? Their bodies would remain, even if their spirits and souls did not. How dare he come to her sanctuary and so tactlessly say that this method of healing does nothing; no one is really there listening, comforting. If anything, they might be in a place called Heaven. And she wasn't so sure she even believed in a Holy sanctuary or a muggle God anymore, not when so much violence and despair could fall over the earth. Pain and regret were slowly eating at her, dissolving any hopes that such things exist.

Yet here he stood, dashing away her hopes in the bleak, drizzly night. Her head finally swiveled up, her neck straining painfully to bend back and see his face.

"They are here!" She cried, and he raised an eyebrow in the darkness that she couldn't see. "They are here; beneath the dirt." Despite her resolve that there really was no one there, she couldn't help but let the worlds slip from chapped lips.

He shook his head at that, wishing he could see her better. There was a whimsical hope there in her voice that toyed with his mind, one which appealed to the hopes of a child. She wanted to believe that because bodies rotted beneath the earth without a beating heart, that she wasn't alone. That was her deranged mindset.

He wanted to see if her eyes held the same, ridiculous theories.

And for a moment there, he thought he almost heard the plea of emotion under the surface of her tone. But he wasn't sure.

"I don't see why the idea of rotting bodies makes you feel comfortable," he said, stepping away from her in the dark, "But it certainly doesn't appeal to me."

"Then why do you come?" she asked lamely, keeping him in the conversation. It was strange, but she didn't want the conversation to end.

He pulled out his wand at that, the wind nearly ripping it from his hands. He lit it, turning back to glance at her. "I have nothing else to do with my life."

His tone was bland, and in the dim light she could see his wet, windswept hair blowing in disarray around his head. It looked just as unkept as the last time they spoke. Oddly, she could see that his sleeve was not that of the usual, black cloaks but something much thicker, giving the appearance of what could be a costly jacket. Now why would he stray from his normal attire- or at least his presentation of himself in school?

At first, she didn't quite know what to say to his response. She had the same problem; finding something to do with herself. Work was a mediocrity, something that only used her time, but nothing she enjoyed. Silence stretched on between them, just as it always had.

"You'll freeze to death if you sit there you know," he continued, walking closer. "I tried coming in here earlier, but you were here. The second time, I was not waiting for you to leave, since you stubbornly sit here. You've been here too long."

She looked up at him again, dead eyes looking up into a paler mirror of themselves. "Is that a matter of concern to you Malfoy? I have a right to sit here and freeze forever if I so chose to. I- I want to be here today." Honey eyes flickered back to the gravestone, and he cocked his head.

"You're too concerned with visiting old relations," he said, not needing to gesture to the gravestone. Something in her eyes told him that she was on the verge of breaking down. He didn't know why she could, when his own tears were spent ages ago. There was simply too much to cry about. "I'm getting out of this place before I start turning blue like you."

Hermione reached up and softly touched her cheeks. They were certainly frigid, but it was hard to tell with numb fingers. Was she really turning blue? "I didn't notice."

"I assumed as much. I'm getting out of here; there's no reason to stay in this weather. It won't get better." He began walking away. "I'll just find myself a drink," he muttered, though it sounded like he was talking more to himself.

Without really meaning to, she spoke up. "Where are you going drinking?"

He froze, stunned at her question. Was this an invitation for company, or just to keep him talking? Granger was the last person he ever considered doing anything with, and he bit his tongue to keep from replying.

But then, company was hard to find these days when all you do is wallow in the past, alone in an enormous structure. He did not speak to people his age anymore. His childhood friends weren't around to associate with.

"It's this place just outside of Hogsmeade. It's not a bar, just a little place to eat. They serve drinks too if you ask." He looked back at her. "Why do you ask?"

She ducked her head, looking back down at the ground as the rain carried on. "Just thought I would ask," she said quietly.

He nodded, and turned again. If she didn't want a name or address, then that meant no company. He wasn't even sure if he had wanted her to come, but the reality that he would be alone again tonight was a bit disheartening.

Hermione didn't look up until she heard the sound of apparition, as she was again left all alone.

"You don't blend in here," he said, watching the girl stumble in. This wasn't the best place to come alone, but it was a place to eat and drink with few people. Her form appearing from the darkness was a surprise, though the mud she tracked in drew some attention.

She sank into the chair opposite him, her numb fingers working to correctly hold her wand. She had walked there from the graveyard, unable to properly use her digits. Now she just barely had control over her fingers, and placed a nice warming spell on herself.

"Neither do you."

"I meant the mud."

It was strange to converse with him, especially when it was all so easy. Having a basic conversation with the blonde- with anyone these days- always seemed so difficult. But he was just as tormented as she was in many ways, and he understood the difficulties. Maybe that was what made her trek into Hogsmeade, search for the place, and then walk here. Surprisingly, he was still there.

She ordered a light drink, and they sipped in silence now, avoiding each other's gaze. The spell was working to heat her up and dry her off, but it did nothing for the pain ebbing out of her heart. Glancing up at him only seemed to make things worse.

"What made you come on a rainy day?"

He looked at her, shrugging. "The patter of rain on my roof during a storm is unsettling. I would rather be soaked with water than go mad by taps."

She didn't quite understand his reasoning, but didn't push for more. They finished in silence, never looking at each other again.

It was nice though, having someone there. Even if they didn't speak, the lack of words was better than impending loneliness. As her drink dwindled to nothing, she was glad she came. This was better than sitting there crying in a graveyard missing Ron more than anything.

The pattern began. He frequented the graveyard more than she had ever seen, and on the days their paths crossed they apparated wordlessly to the same restaurant, drinking the same things and speaking little. Neither put a stop to it, because neither wanted the comfort of having another person to end. It had been too long since they each had someone to go places with.

They would meet up for two or three days a week, always in the same manner. He would arrive after her, visit few to none of the gravestones, and then they would be on their way.

One day, he stopped coming. She did not see his presence for a week, then two. It was late May, and roughly a year ago the battle with Voldemort had ended. And then the real horrors followed.

She had begun to miss his presence, despite what she told herself. They weren't exactly friends, but they certainly weren't enemies if they could sit civilly in the same place for weeks and talk about nothing of importance. She wasn't quite sure what it was.

When the third week began, she allowed herself to believe that he no longer needed her for company. An old school-mate, a survivor, someone else had caught his attention more so than she, and she was now cast aside. What did she expect? He did call her a Mudblood for the majority of the time she had known him.

Come to think of it, she hadn't heard the term from him since they met in that graveyard. That gave her something to ponder.

Hermione sat in her usual spot one day, the sun warming her back since it had not yet set. She came at a different time today, and there were a few families around, mourning their losses. Many of the graves had flowers placed upon them now.

A shadow came over her, but she paid it no mind. It was probably just another person, coming to pay their respects to the dead. But the silhouette cleared its throat from behind, and she finally glanced up. The sight of a blonde head startled her.

"Malfoy?" she asked, keeping her voice dull. If he wanted to ignore her, she did not need to kindly acknowledge him.

He looked away at the sound of his name, ignoring the odd looks they were receiving. "Hello Granger," he said, his voice sounding better than it had the last time they spoke. His appearance looked just as uncharacteristic as before, though she now accepted it as his look. The shabby look was his new thing. "I haven't been around lately."

She snorted lightly, dragging herself to her feet. "So I have noticed. And where did you go?" She cut him off as he opened her mouth. "Never mind, you don't owe me an explanation. You are within your rights to find other people to speak to, after all." She moved to step by him, but he surprised her by grabbing her arm gently.

The brunette's eyes widened as she slowly turned back. He had never touched her before; she assumed that the idea still bothered him, and she had just ignored that. "You didn't let me answer."

"Like I said, you're not required to. But I will not waste my time waiting on the likes of you either. I have things to do."

He said nothing to that, though he knew it was a lie. They both knew by now that neither of them did much with their lives. "Come drink with me," he said, still holding onto her. "Come drink with me like we used to do."

She raised an eyebrow. "It's an odd habit for us to continue you know."

"Yes," he said. "But that doesn't faze me anymore. Just say it, please. Please come with me."

She met his eyes then upon hearing the desperation in his voice. Never, never had she heard him plea for anything, nor had she heard any sort of emotion in his voice since that first day. It was startling. The look in his eyes was unreadable, but the almost non-existent shake of his arm let her know that something really was bothering him. She looked into his eyes, trying to figure out what had him acting so uncharacteristically.

Something bothered him now, and she knew it had to be about that fateful day. It bothered many, but she had never seen him so worked up about it. He acted the same way she did the first night they went for a drink, only he lacked the stomach crunching sobs.

Mutely, she nodded her agreement, and he released her arm. They wandered out silently together, ignoring the glances they received. It didn't really matter what people thought anyway; not anymore. A lot of things that were once important didn't matter anymore.

They arrived at the same restaurant, wandering to their normal table. The place was open all hours of the day, but the usuals had not yet arrived. This was an earlier time to them than usual, and more people occupied the space. Some looked up at them in confusion, wondering just what would bring the pair together, but no one spoke outright against it. No one would bother.

The pair ordered their common drinks; hers fruity and his heavy. They drank in silence for many minutes, the gears in her mind working harder than they had in a long time. Only when the glass became bone dry did he looked up at her, clearing his throat.

"I didn't mean to disrupt your visitation," he said at length, his face as hard as ever. "I know how… sentimental those visits are to you."

"More so than you," she agreed, sipping her drink with a lazy shrug. "I assumed you had decided to stop coming all together once you stopped our routine each week. I figured you found someone else to sulk with."

His jaw tensed, but that was the only outright sign of emotion he displayed. "It was nothing like that Granger; not that you would understand."

She glared at him. "Of course I don't understand; you speak in riddles all the time. Do you even care to elaborate on what you mean by that statement, or shall I simply pretend I understand, as always?"

Draco groaned, leaning forward to place his elbows on the table to cradle his head there. "It's a personal matter."

Her expression softened at that, she looked down to stir the contents of her drink. "It's always personal you know. It affected everyone."

He looked at her between his fingers, suppressing the urge to snort. Pulling his hands away, he shook his head. "I hate that word."

"What word?"

"It; the whole of this community- of Britain really, aside from those damned reporters- dances around the topic as though it never happened. But that's bullshit. It did happen, and everyone knows it. We're fools to use a single, subjective word in place of an action, a point in time of great brutality. People believe that the notion softens the blow when it is vaguely discussed, but all we are doing is ignoring the event really." He threw his hands up. "That's all anyone ever does these days."

She bit her lip at his statement. She preferred the usage of it, because it allowed her to have something less vicious to focus on. By naming the event, by giving it a title, she had to think back to those first few hours- days- when her world was altered completely, and came crashing down on top of her. Using a title was too much, though it did seem silly. But he had been there; he had to understand the difficulty of it all.

"You do the same thing," she pointed out clearly. "Every time we have discussed anything regarding the event up to this point, you have always used the same term as I; it. Why make such a big fuss about it now?"

He glanced away from her. "I've had a lot on my mind, alright? I'm just thinking too much."

Hermione tugged on her tresses of hair, an action she found distracting enough to pull his attention. They were going in too deep; scratching the surface of something looked over; something painful. She did not start having these unprecedented meetings with Malfoy to unlock the burdens of her soul; she came with him today so she could have some company again.

And now he was rocking the tables.

"What made you start thinking like that?" she asked at length, unable to keep herself from voicing the question. She had thought about those things too. They came up the first day the duo came to the establishment, and rocked in the back of her mind since, eating at her subconscious. They were the thoughts that needed to be spoken, but could not find an outlet. She had sealed herself off quite well from letting too much leak out about her feelings regarding that.

He met her eyes. "The same sort of thing that made you cry and freeze during a storm back in March Granger; empathy, and perhaps the delusion of love."

She didn't show any emotion to that statement. Rather, she dropped her hands beneath the table and gripped her knees to keep herself from shaking. Yes, she certainly felt deep remorse that day, but it was something she couldn't help. And he had no right to be a jerk and poke at her with jabs circulating around her own actions.

Draco leaned forward on the table. "Now I will ask you a question. What made you go to such extreme measures that day? I thought we both had developed a strong detachment from life itself."

The girl stood quickly, nearly toppling over her chair in her haste. Now he was prying at her, trying to open old wounds. She pointed a finger at him taking a step back when she had composed herself.

"Don't ask me that Malfoy. It's too much."

"Why?" he emphasized, though he had a good idea what was eating at her sanity just then. It was the same thing eating at him too.

"Tell him now, before you lose the courage to speak again." Her own thoughts contradicted themselves as she stared at him, images echoing in her head.

Blood, so much blood and lifeless eyes, staring back at her through destroyed faces that did not see her anymore. And a blonde man that stood beside her just over a year ago, seeing the same horrors with his eyes as well. A Great Hall in a majestic school, its beauty darkened by the heinous choice of one person.

Hermione didn't like remembering much.

She reached into her pocket, gripping something small in her hand, something that she always carried with her no matter what; something that kept her bound to pain, because she wouldn't let anything go. Her hand trembled as it locked around the frail item, feeling it bend against her grip. She could see his eyebrows rising as her composure slipped away.

Swallowing her courage, she pulled the trinket out and placed it on the table in front of him, the image before him causing his eyes to widen a bit. She leaned down next to him, her voice wavering the same way her hand did.

"It was his birthday; March first." And then she turned and hurried from the place, ignoring the concerned looks of the people around them.

He picked up the photograph and stared at it for a long time. It was dated at the bottom, nearly a month before his death. The ghost of the dead ginger stared back at him, the man pausing between kisses to pose for a camera.

Weasley's eyes looked back into his own; the couple the perfect image of two people very much in love. But fate had a different plan for them, and Granger would never hold and kiss Weasley again like she could in this photograph; a moment of bliss captured in time. A moment that could never be repeated.

His lips trembled. He remembered a time like that as well, when life was good.

He felt like a jerk, which was something he hadn't felt in a long time. Since he had no association with almost anyone in Britain, it was hard to be snarky. He had a business, but even when he donated money people just looked on at him with unfocused eyes. No one really seemed to care that Draco Malfoy had been affected by all of this as well.

Still, he couldn't help feeling bad about being so rude to her. She was a victim, just like him.

That's how he ended up at her door the following day, research having paid off. He didn't like the neighborhood or the fact that people looked at him oddly for his robes, but that really didn't matter. Muggles would forever be a foreign force to him. He rapped twice on her door, thankful that this dingy apartment she lived in had nice, enclosed hallways to pass through.

She opened the door to him, and almost did a double take. They had spoken enough to know a bit about each other, but neither had ever bothered to investigate where the other lived, and how they lived. He had never been here before, and she had not returned to the Manor, not since the war. Seeing him there in her apartment building felt surreal, and it put her on edge almost immediately. What business could he possibly have here? Even if he came to simply talk, the situation seemed a bit strange. Why ever would he dare to frequent a muggle neighborhood?

"Malfoy?" she asked, sounding very surprised. He nodded to her tightly, the picture she had dropped on him feeling like a great weight in his pocket. He barely said hello, before he asked if he could come in. Uncertain but unwilling to shoo away the possibility of company- even his- she stepped aside and let him in.

"What are you doing here?" she asked when the door had closed. He looked around her small flat once, not really taking it in. He wasn't there to critique décor.

Sitting in the nearest chair, he beckoned for her to do the same. She sat hesitantly, dark locks falling around her face. He finally pulled the photograph from his pocket, the single object that had been haunting him since she threw it down in front of him. Her eyes widened and she looked down at her lap; either uncomfortable or sad, he couldn't be sure.

"Why did you give that to me?"

She fiddled with her fingers for some time, and oddly enough he did not snap at her to hurry up as she contemplated what to say. He didn't push her, he couldn't; it was too delicate of a topic.

"I thought it would make you understand," she said at length, looking up but away from him. "I'm not the only one that's lonely after all, so I thought maybe it would help you understand why I spend horrible days out there Malfoy. I'm lonely, and there are few choices for company anymore."

"Of course I understand," he replied, his tone harsher than he wanted to admit. "How could I not?" he continued with a softer tone.

She shrugged, brushing back her hair. "You're detached. You seem to only ever go there with the basic idea of wandering. I rarely ever see you sit anywhere and mourn a soul, expect perhaps the first day we crossed paths. Even now, you usually came to the graveyard to get me and then we go back to the restaurant to drink. That's our pattern, and a pitiful one at that."

His expression hardened, and he moved across the space so he sat beside her on the couch, gripping her chin roughly to force her to look up at him. "I've never been detached you know."

"Then you are a master at hiding your feelings."

He scoffed. "You think I'm detached because I don't display obscure amounts of emotion all the time? Who do you think I go and visit in that graveyard exactly? Do you honestly believe I visit him?"

They both paused, the mere mention of the killer drawing them into silence. She looked at him a moment longer before she shoved his hand away, brushing her hair back in front of her ears again. They never really spoke about this.

"I had hoped not."

He looked away, running hands through his blonde hair. "In the beginning… in the beginning, those first few weeks, I did. I used to go see him all the time." He stood and began to pace, but her eyes did not look up to follow the movements. They remained on the table, uncertain how this discussion would go, and what her reactions would be.

He ran a hand along his jaw, distress seeping through him. "At first, I always visited him; I couldn't bear to visit anyone else. It was all his fault that they died – that we should've died- and I couldn't stand it. I was so angry at him, for everything. He ruined so many lives, and I never even noticed how far he was slipping. I was so self-centered, so fixated on wallowing in my own self-pity that I would never have my parents around me again, that I missed things that are so obvious now. Maybe if I had been a smarter student- a better fucking person- this could've been prevented."

She watched him through the tops of her eyes now, unwilling to look completely up at him, afraid to meet his eyes. "It's my fault too, in a way. If I had listened to my friends, people wouldn't be dead. I would still have her."

"Who?" she asked hesitantly, her curiosity peaking at the mention of someone else in this equation. Lifting her head, she looked up and met his eyes- the very thing she had been avoiding a half moment before. His appeared haunted, and his complexion looked paler than usual. He wasn't taking this any better than she was. Nearly a year of suppressing difficult memories could do that to a person.

He turned to her, walking back to the couch. Instead of sitting beside her now, he took up a spot in front of her, directly on the table. The photograph was in his hand when he sat down, lifted from the table.

"We all have our secrets," he said, replacing the photo into her outstretched hand. "Our burdens. Our losses." He reached into his pocket, but his hand remained in there instead of immediately coming back out.

"Why do you carry that photograph with you?" he asked after a moment, and again her eyes fell. He grabbed her chin however, forcing her to look up again.

"It's the last thing he gave me. I love him Draco, even if you believe it's foolish to love a dead man. It can't be anymore foolish than using your first name though, or hanging around dead people all the time because I don't know what to do with myself. But you do the same thing; you wallow with the dead."

He nodded his agreement, unable to deny her points. It hurt to delve into the reasons they did the things they did, but what could he do? They couldn't rightly ignore everything for the rest of their lives. "We haven't let go of anything yet… Hermione." It was easier to use her given name than he thought. His childhood misconceptions that her name would sound like dirt were wrong; it was just a name, a calling card to a specific person. "We have nothing to do but wallow until then."

She shrugged, ignoring how odd it was to use their first names. There were worse things in the world though, and tiny facts like that could be easily overlooked after everything. But it had been a long time since anyone used her name with such emotion- an emotion that did not have an undertone of hate in it- that she didn't want to bring up the point. She almost preferred he use her real name.

He pulled something out of his pocket then, dropping it into her lap. She paused as the item connected with her legs, and immediately had an idea what it was. She looked his gaze, not wanting to look down now. She wasn't so sure about this anymore.

Her hand found the item first, locking around it. She glanced down to finally see it, in taking a breath at what she saw. It was a diamond ring, emeralds detailing the sides and a silver band around the entire thing. An engagement ring, one she was fairly certain had not been bought for her.

"I never really talked to him, because my friends were complicated," the blonde began. "But her… Pansy, she was easy. I've known her forever. I had no one in my life, see. When school ended it would be even harder to get in contact with my friends. I didn't want to lose everyone, so I came up with the ridiculous idea to ask her to marry me." He shook his head, and she glanced up briefly. "I had a reservation that night, just for the two of us. I was going to propose and everything. But, that's never going to happen now."

Reality came down on her in a moment, and she closed her eyes. She didn't quite ever know that about him. Swallowing hard, it took her a moment to find anything to say.

"Blaise was a horrible person."

"No, he wasn't," the blonde argued, and her eyes flew open again in surprise. His tone hinted that he might be defending the man who led to all this trauma, and the expression on his face confirmed her suspicions. He actually looked offended by what she had said.

"He wasn't."

Hermione nodded slowly, very uncertain now. Hadn't he just been declaring that the man was bad? "But, what he did-"

"What he did is the result of how everyone at that school treated anyone in my house after the war!" He stood, practically kicking the heavy table in an effort to get away from her. He paused at a wall, leaning his forehead against it. "You don't know what it's like to return to a place where the majority of the people there wished you were dead. You were a hero then; Harry fucking Potter's best friend and a hero to all muggleborns. I was a killer, stripped of any respect I've ever had and shunned to my own table, my own place of salvage. The rest of the school rejoiced in everything we had, except Slytherin. We may as well have been the only traitors, when so many people had traded sides. It was unjust, but it happened."

She pursed her lips, pulling her knees up to her chest. She didn't want to say anything to that; she knew that a lot of the students had been harsh on the Slytherins, and it was obvious that no one liked it very much.

"There were fights," he murmured into the wall, drawing up old memories for them both. "Between Slytherin, Gryffindor, everyone. There were duels, fights. There was tension throughout the entire school."

"So I remember," she said quietly, recalling a fight Ron and Blaise had gotten into nearly a month before the tragic event. Ron's nose was broken, but Blaise had three cracked ribs. And it was all over silly little disputes; things that should've been easy to fix, that turned into large brawls.

"Some of us had more problems than others Granger. Sure, Slytherin was all alone but the majority of us had our housemates to count on as backup; Slytherin was like that. We were all close- for the most part. Blaise, well Blaise slipped into the shadows. He was moody the first few weeks back, and nothing anyone said could get him to talk. I never thought about it; mostly because I was too busy talking with Pansy and Theo. They were open, and they would talk. Blaise however ended up forgotten."

She looked up, staring into the back of his head. Pieces of the puzzle were slowly falling together in her mind. "But sometimes, sometimes the two of you spoke."

He hit the wall at this- hard- but it didn't startle the woman. Things were clicking into place now in her mind, and above everything else she wanted confirmation of her suspicious now. "Yes, yes I did. He started talking to me when I became the apprentice for the new potions teacher. I got special treatment in there as you know, and I got to know more and more spells. He wanted help in potions one day, even though his grades were good. I… I lent him one of my books one day, and that was the last I ever saw of it."

Her fingers tightened against her skin.

"It wasn't deadly magic; I wouldn't give a complicated spells book to anyone that I didn't think could handle it, and at the time I was unaware that he was passing with almost as good of a grade as I. He used the elementary spells to help him figure out what combinations worked together, and what was most lethal."

He turned back, pacing again. She could see the agitation in his face as he spoke. "He was up there you know; he was a prefect. Therefore he had lots of access to everything. He must've been planning for months. The longer he was ignored and picked on by the rest of the school, the greater the fire grew. Nobody realized how much it all affected him; not really. No one other than a Slytherin would know that he never spoke and spent most of his time cooped up in his private room. And he never spoke to anyone oddly enough; when the school changed dynamics and the good guys turned to bullies to teach people like me- people who were on Voldemort's team- a lesson, things changed. He never had an outlet. I should've noticed that it was odd that he never retaliated in any way against all the bullies that formed, but it slipped my mind the longer my thoughts drifted to Pansy. He never needed an outlet, because after losing his mother he didn't have anything left to lose. He knew exactly what he wanted to do; how to get even. People like us, people who were outside the Great Hall that day, were ignored. He wanted to make a statement."

She stood and walked up to the blonde, who remained pacing anxiously in the middle of her small living room. He paused when he found her in front of him, but said nothing to her.

Hermione gulped. "Everyone… everyone had their own ghosts to deal with when we returned to school. No one, no one came back without a burden of some sort. By the time any of you would've been out of your own traumas to handle Blaise's… it would've been too late. He let the aftermath of a war and the luggage of angered colleagues blind him. He saw red, Draco. He wanted to make a statement; he wanted people to understand what he was going through. And he was so lost in his own pit of sorrow he never took the time to notice that everyone felt the same way."

"I did give him the potion book though. If he hadn't been able to practice with that book on top of whatever was in the library, he wouldn't have gotten so far. I gave him access to the potions room on occasion, and he must've practiced it there. Hermione, it killed the majority of faculty and students at Hogwarts; it takes a lot of time and practice to make something that deadly. He was preparing with the resources I offered. And if I were in the Great Hall that day he would not have felt an ounce of remorse upon my death."

Her eyes flickered, and she glanced down. "He wouldn't have had the time to feel anything. He killed himself that morning. That's why… that's why he wasn't in class."

Draco spun, gripping his hair. "Fuck you," he said, walking towards her kitchen. She could see the immediate change in his face the moment she brought up the topic. She could see that she was dancing on dangerous lines, but she couldn't just pull back now. They were getting in way too deep to stop talking now. "Fuck this! I'm sick of feeling helpless and guilty over this! He did this to everyone and now we are all trying to cope. He's fucking sick if he thought this is how someone should die- how anyone should die!"

She followed him into the kitchen, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "In the muggle world, this phenomenon of school killings isn't that surreal. Psychopaths do it all the time, or people that were bullied, like Blaise. This… this is different though. Muggles don't really have the resources to kill in such mass numbers in schools, not really. Usually, it's all done through guns- a muggle killing device- and they can do some damage, but more people usually survive than perish." She gulped, rubbing her own arms. She felt numb talking about this, cold. Perhaps this topic of horror had been on her mind so much in the past months that she could no longer cry about it in front of this man. "He… he did something different. I know that sometimes students even in the magical world snap and kill, for we are all humans with breaking points. But what Blaise did was unethical. People in that Paris school were killed, but the student only killed a classroom, and that happened before we were ever born." She shook her head. "No one deserves to die this way, but… but we can't turn back the hands of time now."

"Time turners," he muttered darkly.

"Even going back to stop Blaise may not make much of a difference. There are reasons things happen… happen the way they do. Maybe we are simply not meant to understand."

His eyes narrowed. "Are you lecturing me now Granger?" She frowned as he used her last name, when they had only moments ago reverted to using their first names. "Are you going to start preaching to me that something good can come out of this? Well, it can't. Our school had many students; each house its own personality. Now no one will experience the livelihood of Hogwarts for decades because the school has locked itself up, damning anyone who tries to enter. No one really wants to go back to a sea of death, and no one will. We were the last class Hogwarts may ever see, and the Great Hall will always be remembered as a sea of blood." He shoved her lightly, causing her to step back. "When you find a way to preach to me about murder in a way that might just change my mindset, you let me know." He brushed past her walking to the door. She watched him leave, her hands hanging loosely at her side. She didn't offer the floo as he walked out the door; she simply watched his lean form leave.

In the aftermath of their discussion, she trembled. Perhaps there was no way to preach the topic.

Unsurprisingly, there was again a time lapse in their communications with one another. For the first time since the killing at Hogwarts, since she alienated herself from the Weasley clan when it hurt for Molly to even gaze upon her, Hermione did not go to the graveyard. She cried, cried more than she had in a long time, but she did not let herself go and sit in the comfort of dirt and tombstones. Instead, she sat in the bedroom, staring at different things on the walls there.

And she saw red. Little rivers of red that covered her carpet, the walls, the ceiling, as though the room itself was bleeding. The engagement ring meant for a dead Slytherin girl sat on her bedside table, adoring the piece. She even pictured it being red.

For the first time since her world turned to shambles, she started thinking about the past.

Her mind traveled back to that day, the day the world seemed to turn black. She remembered sounds of terrified screams, and the slamming of something heavy. The sounds echoed through the magnificent halls of a once proud school, alerting anyone not present for lunch. She remembered rushing down to the Great Hall, certain it had to be the massive door that slammed shut. She met few along the way, for so many were still rejoicing in the victory of winning a war, eating heartedly with friends.

She recalled pausing to pound hard on the door, screaming along with a handful of others to open the door. Inside there were screams as the collective group of first to seventh years tried to open the barrier, the soul professor outside sending a first year to call for Aurors and Healers immediately using a floo system in the Headmistresses office, an office where the overlooking teacher would never sit again. And in the back of her mind, she recalled standing side by side with a blonde enemy, one who looked just as frantic as she felt.

And when the silence set in, she remembered that it felt deadening. The cries in the hall grew louder, frantically hoping for a response. The school itself was now working against them, the magic within sealing off the dangerous zone until someone with some fucking authority arrived. In that moment it seemed ridiculous, but none of them knew yet that it was far too late.

When the first nameless Healers rounded the corner, the doors finally gave way- no locking spell needed. They opened, revealing to a handful of survivors the massacre they had missed. She recalled stepping in just behind the blonde, her breath catching in her throat as she wordlessly tried to process a scene she couldn't stomach.

So many bodies- so many unseeing eyes, and so, so much blood. Her view obscured by the broad shoulder of the blonde, she missed the left side. But it didn't matter, not when everything was the same. The bodies piled on top of each other, the people piled at the doors who tried to get out. It was a slaughterhouse, the warped project of a killer who lost all common sense. And even then, she remembered trying to pick out her friends- especially Ron- from the ruins.

For a chilling moment in time, no one outside the wreckage did a thing. Then there were Healers shoving past bystanders, almost knocking the poor first years into the lifeless forms outside the door. She vaguely recalled stumbling, and the shaky form of a stronger man kept her from falling into someone she didn't know. And then the unspoken moment happened, the part in time that neither of them tried to speak of. He pulled her out, the pair of them stumbling back into the hall together. There, they slumped against the wall, breathing heavily and shakingly as they tried to get their wits about them. The scene, the crushing reality, was too much to take. And they sat there in stilled silence for many minutes, barred from being able to enter as people braced themselves against doorways, trying to keep the students eyes away from the bloodbath inside. Only it was too late, for they all had seen- and they all knew what lay beyond the Great Hall doors.

Death- it was as simple as that. She sat mutely beside her blonde enemy as voices rang around her, more and more people arriving by the minute as the news spread that Hogwarts needed help. She just didn't believe that anything could be done, not when the House of Corpses in there didn't seem to hold a sliver of life. She tried not to think about that as she sat there in shock, hoping that despite everything, her friends- the war heroes- had survived.

The bodies weren't brought out, not when there were still occupants lingering the halls. Against their will, the remaining students were ushered to St. Mungo's and told to wait there until later. They were checked for mental stability, though at that time even the innocent who had been too young to fight in the war were sane. Everyone appeared too shocked to start losing their minds- at least until the deaths were declared. Each of them sat waiting, wondering, hoping beyond hope that the outcome would be something positive in their favor.

Reality however, would be far different. There was nothing good to come out of this.

Hermione shook her head, shoving those thoughts from her mind. Glancing at the ring again, she slowly forced herself to get up. She didn't want to sit in tonight- alone in a place that would only cause her despair, for she had no one to invite over. No, she had to get out. But it was heavily raining outside, and despite everything she could not force herself to trek through mud to go see her friends' tomb markers. She would catch a cold, and the brunette wasn't so sure she would fight it off if she did get sick. Pocketing the little ring Malfoy left behind, she dressed quickly and headed for the floo. She had an idea where she could go, and she could floo halfway there.

In the back of her mind, she knew she was hoping that he would be there, so she would not be alone.

He arrived not long after she arrived, his cloak a bit wet as he had chosen to apparate two blocks away and walk in the rain to the establishment. He never had anyone to speak with those days, so why hurry anywhere? He would just travel from one place to another to be alone, and that was simply unacceptable. Might as well enjoy the time it took to travel between places if nothing else, right?

What Draco didn't expect to see was Granger, sitting with her body slumped against the table they usually shared, a glass of some sort of toxin in her hand. She faced away from the door, and he huffed as he forced himself to walk over. After all, he walked away from her the last time.

When she didn't take any notice of his footsteps, he nudged her with his boot. Her body seemed to moan in protest as she adjusted her position to turn and see who was bothering her, and through dreary eyes she peered up at him. The woman sat up straighter as it became apparent that he wasn't a figment of her imagination.

"I was beginning to think you would never come back here," he began, removing the glass from her hand as he took a seat. Raising the cup to his nose, he inhaled what the object contained before taking a sip himself. He expected hard liquor from the way she was laying there across the table, but his taste buds told him otherwise. This was a white wine, and from the looks of things the brunette hadn't downed too much of the substance. She still appeared to have all of her wits about her.

"For a while I didn't suppose you would want me back," she began, shrugging indifferently as her hands moved to hide in the pockets of her own cloak. "But it's been a while since I left my apartment. I decided it was time to exist in the world again, and a part of me wondered if you would still frequent this establishment."

"It's not as though I have a better place to spend my time," he reminded, finishing her drink for her. He slammed the empty glass down on their table, and she frowned.

"That was mine you know," she retorted dryly, picking the glass up. "Although, I was beginning to think it was you who didn't come here anymore. After our last discussion I was beginning to think that you did not wish to speak again."

"That's far from the truth," he said, his eyebrows knitting together. "I was simply explaining that I didn't want you preaching to me a topic that you don't understand any better than I do. Try as you may Granger, you don't have any better of a perception of the situation than I do. We were both personally involved- personally attached- and that makes us susceptible to opinions and tangled emotions. Neither of us can disconnect ourselves enough to look at the situation through an unaffected eye, causing us to be able to diagnose Blaise's mindset or anything else properly." He shrugged. "We will never be the right people to analyze the situation. We might exist as the right people to study and question, but not really to examine."

Her eyebrows shot up as he spoke, practically disappearing into her hairline. "I didn't expect you to speak so… civilly about the topic," she admitted after a moment of silence. "If last time was any indication as to how you felt about the topic, I was under the assumption that we should never again discuss Hogwarts."

"I've had a lot of time to myself recently," he said, his tone holding an emotion she had never heard from him before. In all honesty, the man almost sounded sad. "I've had time to collect myself. Coming to this pub once a day and visiting the graveyard on occasion are basically the highlights of my day."

"It's the same for me," she admitted sheepishly, "Although, I haven't partaken in either recently. I've spent some time at home."

"So I've noticed," he said evenly. "I've come here every night Granger; I would know if you had visited."

"Oh," she said, pausing in the conversation. He arrived at the same place every night; was that a sign that he had been waiting up for her? She cocked her head, studying the look on his face. It betrayed on emotion as usual, but those aged-grey eyes held something she hadn't seen in a very long time in anyones face; hope.

"Did you ever wish I was here?" she asked, brushing her hair away from her face. She tried to look as though she didn't really care either way what he had to say, but it was oh so hard. She desired that he did want her there; she wanted to feel missed by someone again. It seemed that no one cared anymore about her. Her friends were dead, and her parents didn't even know who she was. She thirsted for someone to want her around.

The blonde took his time answering, reaching for a toothpick provided in a jar at the table to chew on as he bided his time. "Yes," he said at length, locking eyes with her. "It wasn't quite the same to spend my nights alone again after having someone to connect with after so long. It's a feeling I suppose I have missed."

"As have I," she agreed quickly, refusing to break contact with him. "Actually I was hoping you would be around tonight."

"As was I," he said, basically copying the sentence she just said. He glanced out the window, peering at the falling rain. "Would you perhaps care for a walk?"

"In this weather? Are you mad?"

Draco shrugged standing and offering his hand. "What do you have to lose?"

She hesitated only a moment before grabbing his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. She didn't want him to disappear quite yet; she missed his companionship. He threw some money down on the table as they left, not even bothering to look at the amount. They left the building together without a word, no longer noticing the strange looks they received when together. It was just a natural thing now.

He led her down the street, walking slowly as though he was enjoying this wet trip. She fell into step beside him quickly, her hands shoved into her pockets as they journeyed through the rain. After all her time in the graveyard on frigid nights, she wouldn't let this sort of depressing weather affect her now. She had seen so much worse.

They sloshed through a puddle, and the water he sprayed from his step flew back at her, soaking the better half of her leg. She groaned from behind him and he glanced back, noticing that she had paused to sit on a wall.

"You've gotten me all wet," she said, though her voice sounded lighter than he had heard it in a long time. He raised an eyebrow, walking back to her as she dried herself.

"You don't have to sound quite so happy about it," he said, lighting his wand to illuminate the area the streetlight didn't touch. In the small gleam, he could see her grinning at him.

"But I am."

"And why is that?"

She shrugged, her hand falling back to her pocket to finger something she had brought along. "Because it's silly."

"Because it's silly?"

"Yes," she replied, grabbing his hand to pull him down to sit beside her. "It's been a very long time since I have allowed anyone to drag me out into ridiculous weather just for the hell of it. Harry and Ron used to do that Draco; I followed them everywhere because they were my friends."

She stopped talking, pausing as she realized what she was doing. Not only was she letting her tongue slip up and call the formally cocky blonde by his given name, but she was also saying she considered him a friend. She bit her lip, wondering if that was really true.

His hand came up as the gears in her mind turned, moving to brush her wet, sticky hair back from her face. Her eyes snapped up, looking to meet his as he spoke. "The only time I ever bothered to drag myself outside in horrible weather was when I wanted to get the lot of you in trouble."

Hermione giggled, and she couldn't quite recall the last time she had done that. "Yes, I recall you trying to do that on more than one occasion."

"Indeed," he agreed quietly. His hand moved to cup her cheek, and she wondered why he wasn't saying something about her slip up. Maybe he was so dazed he had ignored it.

Her hand locked around the item in her pocket, and she almost moved to pull it out and ask him more about it. But her train of thought was cut off as he bent forward, his lips descending down on her own. Her breath hitched at the movement, her mind having been unprepared for this.

Her grip on the item slackened, and she found her other hand moving to lay over his. His lips were warm, and she could only assume he was using a spell to keep himself toasty, something she had forgotten to do. The feeling was a start contrast against her nearly frigid lips, the cold atmosphere having chilled her entire face.

He didn't linger there for eternity, though it felt like it. She knew she should be grasping at his collar, his hair, dragging him closer and closer to her. How long has she been yearning for human contact, and now it was being willingly given to her by the racist blonde who hated her only two years before? But hell, she wouldn't argue. It was the kind of kiss that warmed her heart, not her sex drive. She didn't want to cling to him, for he wasn't clinging to her. There was no desperation in his kiss.

It was only raw emotion.

He bit his lips when he did move away, obviously uncertain about what he had just done. He attempted to let his hand fall away, but she only gripped it more vigorously. He looked perplexed by her response, and in reality she was as well.

"What are you doing?" she breathed, sounding in awe. He only shook his head at her.

"I'm not quite sure. Letting my emotions run me I suppose."

"Indeed," she responded, finally releasing his hand. It slid down to the base of her neck before moving back to his side. "That was unexpected."

"Yes, it was."

She blinked. "You mean you had no intention of doing that?"

"I mean that I didn't know I planned to do that," he retorted, glancing up. "Merlin help me, I'm just as confused as I was back in school about women."

Hermione smiled softly. "You don't see that confused."

"Yes well," he said, rubbing his head, "That's just good acting on my part Hermione. It's been ages since I felt compelled to kiss a girl because I actually felt something."

"You feel something?" she asked, uncertain with how things were going. She wasn't quite certain where he was going anymore.

He glanced at her. "Do you think I would've kept going back to the same damn, fucking depressing graveyard day after day looking for you if I didn't? Why would I keep returning to a place that haunts my mind?"

"The first day you came you didn't know I was there," she argued, growing confused.

He chuckled lightly, though it sounded a bit forced. "It had been months since the event by that time Hermione, I needed to go back and vent. He ruined everything for me- for everyone. I wanted to scream my frustrations, and in the dead of night I supposed I would be there alone. You messed that up for me."

"Sorry," she said, though she sounded a bit sarcastic about it.

He shrugged. "I went back the following day and did it anyway. But that's not the reason I kept returning."

"You came back to see me?" she said, sounding floored. "I thought you hated my presence there."

"No," he said, fidgeting uncomfortably. "I didn't know what to think of it. Really, you were- and still are- the first soul I've seen from Hogwarts since that day. I wanted to see you again, to remind myself that others out there still exist." He shrugged. "We all must've hit a low point in our lives after that. I needed to keep reminding myself that I wasn't the only one left from my school. You provided that reassurance for me."

She nodded, slowly taking things in. "That doesn't explain why you just kissed me."

He smiled softly, hopping off the stone wall. Tugging at his cloak, he winked at her, and for a moment she thought she saw a real smile ghost across his lips. "That's just something I've wanted to do for a while."

"Why?"

"Well because," he said, pocketing his wand, "I wanted to see if I could still feel real, raw emotions besides pain and anger." Despite the darker atmosphere, she could practically feel him wink again. "Seems that I can."

"Same here," she said, sounding just as relieved as he did. He nodded once in the shadows, before he turned to go.

"If you want to see what else you can feel Hermione, you should contact me," he continued, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You know, it's kind of nice to feel real emotions again."

"Yes," she agreed, her fingers playing together. She couldn't argue that point; she wasn't sure she could say she felt love from that kiss, but she definitely tingled after it. It was something. "I might just take you up on that offer… Draco."

"I would hope so," he agreed, beginning to disappear into the darkness. As she watched him begin to leave, she finally understood what she had been doing wrong this entire time. She couldn't expect to heal herself all alone after such a traumatic experience, and doctors seemed to do little to help. But here was a person who understood what she was feeling, and she the same for him.

She needed someone in her life to help her along the journey to recovery, acceptance and the point to where she could move on in her life. And maybe she could help that person achieve the same thing. She put her hands in her pockets as he walked away, the cold eating at her.

Her hand folded around something, and she jumped off the wall.

"Draco!" she called, catching his attention as she saw him pause. She assumed he was about to apparate away, and she was glad she had called to him now. She wanted time to think about what just happened between them, but she also had a purpose for why she carried that with her. He waited for her to run up to her, and let her brace herself against him when she paused to breathe.

Thankfully, neither of them seemed to weirder out by the name change. Maybe it came so natural to them because in actuality it was only a small change in the scheme of things. After everything, they should've been able to do that a long time ago.

She pulled the ring out of her pocket. "You left this in my apartment," she said, watching his eyes flash for a single moment. He took it from her hand, studying it slowly.

His next movement however could not have been predicted. He chuckled the expensive item, watching expressionlessly as it fell down a drain and disappeared. She was surprised by his reaction.

But when he looked back at her, he gave her a smile. "To new beginnings Hermione. I can't let things like that hold me back anymore. I just, I just have to learn how to move on."

She returned the smile, reaching up to hug him. Surprisingly, he hugged back.

"To new beginnings," she breathed. "Together. We'll do it together."

"Yes, indeed."

~FIN~