Hello! I have been out of the fanfic world for a while, but am now back! I have started a new story, as well as updating my novel-length, Mysterious Ways. Hope you enjoy. Oh, and none of this is mine, it is J K Rowling's.

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Plink.

Such a tiny little sound, one would barely even notice it. Hermione Granger did, though. It was the little sounds, normal, everyday sounds, sounds that she never even would have given a second thought to in the past – those were the ones that were now devastatingly loud to her, almost technicolour in their noise. The small noises – the chirping of a bird, creaking of a floorboard – the sounds she heard when she was alone in her flat – were the only sounds that seemed real to her in her otherwise silent world.

Of course, she was always alone now. She had Ginny, of course, but Ginny was part of the world that Hermione had left behind. And as for her parents… Hermione thought that returning to the Muggle world, she would become closer to her parents. However, they had only drifted further apart. Maybe because they didn't understand… couldn't understand what she'd been through.

Hermione jumped out of her skin at the plink, spilling the cup of tea she held in her lap. Hermione cursed as the tea splashed all over the floor, all over the chair, and all over the faded jeans she was wearing.

Good job that she had been sitting, staring into space for so long that the tea had gone cold.

That was all she seemed to do these days, Hermione mused as she fetched a cloth to mop up the tea and rolled her eyes as she realised the plink sound had been nothing more than the dripping of the tap. Why did it have to be so loud? Getting on her knees, Hermione began to methodically rub at the carpet, letting the tea soak into the cloth.

Yes, that was all she did – sat and stared into space, or sat and stared mindlessly at the TV. She barely even went out any more, except to work at the bookstore or to do her shopping. Ginny often begged her to come out, Hermione couldn't bear to be around anything or anyone who reminded her of him, not after that terrible day…

Scrubbing at the stains to no avail, Hermione sighed and gave up. She would have to bleach the carpet. A little voice in the back of her head said, those stains would be gone in a second if you just used magic…

Hermione shook away the niggling voice and looked around her poky little flat. Not somewhere she would have pictured herself living in the past, but it was all she could afford on her wages. The voice continued inside her head. It didn't have to be this way. You didn't have to be earning minimum wage working in that little bookshop. You could have been anything, you could have trained to be an Auror or a Healer, if you'd stayed in the wizarding world…

"No," Hermione said aloud, startling herself. It was magic that had caused this whole mess. The war between the wizarding world. Her wand, unused for so long, was locked away in a cabinet in her bedroom.

Three years. That's how long it had been since that fateful day, the day everyone knew would come eventually. Three years since Voldemort had been defeated and the wizarding world could finally live in peace. Three years since Hermione had turned her back on magic and chosen to live the rest of her life as a Muggle. Three years since her best friend and her one true love had died… no, been murdered.

Her head was spinning, and for a moment she thought she was going to faint, or vomit, or both. Clutching the side of the chair, Hermione swayed back and forth on her knees, trying to keep her breathing slow and even.

The phone suddenly began to ring, making her jump out of her skin again. The shrill, harsh sound was unwelcome in the silent flat. Wanting to make it stop, Hermione got unsteadily to her feet and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" Her voice was flat, emotionless. Hermione didn't even recognise it as her own voice.

"Hermione? It's me."

Ginny. Of course. She called practically every day, wanting to know how Hermione was doing, how she was feeling, what she had been up to. Hermione appreciated Ginny's concern, but more than anything she just wanted to be left alone. Ginny was what was tying her to the wizarding world, the world she just wanted to forget about.

"Hi, Ginny."

Ginny sounded concerned. "Are you OK? You sound… strange."

"I'm fine," Hermione replied automatically. Repeating those two little words had become routine for her – almost daily, the same question was asked: "Hermione, are you OK?" "I'm fine." Always the same response. Even though she wasn't fine. How could she be, when her heart had been ripped out of her body and never returned?

"OK…" Hermione could practically hear Ginny biting her lip.

"Did you want something?" Hermione asked flatly.

"Yeah, actually… Mum was just wondering if you wanted to come over for lunch on Sunday. You know, with us at the Burrow," Ginny said quickly. "She's – well, we've all been a bit worried about you, and we thought you might like to…" her voice trailed off. "I mean, maybe you could use the company."

"Thanks for the invite, Ginny, but I really don't think I'm up to it," Hermione sighed.

"Oh, Hermione, please come," Ginny said, her tone pleading. "It would be good for you – you barely ever leave that flat. You're just wallowing in depression, you need to get out, spend time with people who care about you…"

Hermione closed her eyes and counted to ten. "Ginny, I do appreciate it," she said slowly, when Ginny had finished speaking. "But I just… I can't be in that house, not after… I mean, it reminds me too much of…"

Hermione left the sentence hanging in the air, but both she and Ginny knew what she had been about to say. "Reminds me too much of Ron."

"Hermione," Ginny said gently. "I understand how much you miss him. We all miss him. Things aren't the same without him…" Here her voice broke, and Hermione heard her stifle a sob. She closed her eyes again as her own tears trickled down her cheeks.

"But it was three years ago," Ginny continued, composing herself. "You have to go on living… you have to move on."

Hermione felt fury mounting inside her. "You don't understand!" she shouted before she could stop herself.

Ginny's voice turned cold, and Hermione knew she was angry. "Don't understand?" she repeated in a quavering voice. "Dammit, Hermione, he was my brother! How the hell can you say I don't understand?"

"And how the hell can you said I should just move on?" Hermione retorted, more tears springing to her eyes. "I loved him, Ginny… and Harry…"

"So did I," Ginny said quietly. "But they wouldn't want us sitting around moping, Hermione… they would want us to carry on with our lives…"

Hermione couldn't bear to hear any more, couldn't bear to listen to Ginny's sympathetic voice. Slamming the phone down, she returned to the kitchen and splashed cold water on her face.

She waited. Ginny didn't call back.

No matter what she said, Ginny didn't understand. Ginny had always been full of life, able to bounce back from any situation. Ginny had people around her who understood – the rest of her family. Hermione had just retreated further and further inside herself, a mere shell of the girl she had once been.

"How can I just keep on living?" Hermione whispered to herself. "How can I?" The two people who mattered most to her in the world were dead.

"It should have been me," Hermione muttered. The realisation struck her like a ton of bricks. With shaking fingers, she got a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. Trying to calm her nerves, she sipped the water, wincing as the glass clinked against her teeth.

A knock on the door. Hermione spun around, shocked. She never received visitors. Maybe it was Ginny, come to plead with her some more.

Still holding the glass, Hermione hurried through the kitchen and the lounge to the front door. Trying to regain her composure, she threw her shoulders back and yanked open the door.

She couldn't believe who was on the other side.

The glass slid from her hand and dropped to the floor, shattering. Hermione barely noticed, even when tiny shards of glass pierced her bare feet, leaving tiny cuts. She took a step closer, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. Maybe she was going mad. He couldn't be here – couldn't have the nerve to come here!

She blinked furiously, trying to get rid of him. But he didn't vanish. He was real. Looking much the same as he had the last time she had seen him, three years ago when he was sent to Azkaban for the murder of Ron Weasley, the boy she had loved. Only there was something different… before, he had always looked at her with malice, glared at her as if she were lower than the dirt on his shoe.

But now, standing here today, he had a look of sheer desperation on his face.

Draco Malfoy was standing on her doorstep.

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Hope you liked! Next chapter will be up shortly. Feedback greatly appreciated, but if it's criticism, please make it constructive! If you enjoyed, check out my other fics.