Disclaimer: All recognisable HP characters and storylines belong to the wonderful J.K. Rowling, and the story of the Phantom of the Opera (to which there will be references and likenesses throughout this fic) belongs to Gaston Leroux, the writer of the original book, and Andrew Lloyd Webber, the amazing man who adapted the story into a musical.


Chapter 1: To My Pen Pal

‘...will write to them at least once a month, and they will be required to reply within a week. These letters to each other will not be read by anyone other than the eyes they were intended for, so there is no need to worry about your private thoughts getting into the wrong hands,’ finished Head of the Aurors, Gawain Robards, with a strained smile at the silent women and men sitting before him. ‘And now, slips of paper containing the number assigned to the person you will be partnered with should appear on your plates. Keep in mind that no one knows what number they have been assigned to, so to those curious ones wishing to ask around, there will be no point in doing so.’

A hand shot up the moment Robards finished his speech.

‘Yes, Benjamin?’ said Robards, his eyes closed as if praying to some higher power for patience.

‘What’s the point of this?’ asked Auror-in-training, John Benjamin, in tone of voice that clearly conveyed his reluctance to go along with the idea. He was leaning back in his chair and absently twirling his wand between his fingers, a puzzled frown on his round face.

Robards sighed, his impatience now showing clearer than ever. ‘As I’ve already told you several times, the Ministry feels that in the aftermath of the war, the broken bonds of trust and friendship between its workers need to be mended. Therefore, they’ve proposed this idea in an attempt to promote interdepartmental relationships.’

‘Relationships?’ repeated Ginny Weasley, her eyebrows raised in scepticism. ‘Isn’t there another way to establish Ministry unity, one that doesn’t use up as much time, energy, and parchment?’

A few snickers arose from the Aurors sitting around Ginny, but quickly died away upon being received with a death glare from Robards.

‘Kids,’ said Robards, his tone of voice suddenly pleading, ‘can you please go along with this? Just for once? I’m not asking too much from you, am I?’

‘Of course not, sir,’ said Ginny’s older brother, Ron Weasley, solemnly. His blue eyes displayed nothing but absolute sincerity, but the ghost of a smirk nevertheless curled the corners of his lips.

‘Ron!’ hissed Hermione Granger, who was sitting right next to Ron. She elbowed her boyfriend in the side and lifted a finger to her lips, signalling that he should shut up.

‘Do you have anything you’d like to add, Miss Granger?’ said Robards sharply, his acute sense of hearing immediately picking up Hermione’s barely-audible whisper.

‘No, sir,’ said Hermione quickly, her cheeks turning pink. ‘I think it’s brilliant idea.’

‘Well I’m glad someone thinks so,’ said Robards, his relief evident. ‘In any case, unless anyone has further objections, the slips of paper containing your partner’s number should now be appearing on your desks.’

Sure enough, a split second after the words left Robards’ mouth, forty-five pieces of parchment with bold, black numbers printed on them appeared on top of forty-five desks with forty-five tiny pops.

There was immediately a flurry of movement among the previously subdued gathering of Aurors as each of them tried to grab their slip and read out their number first.

‘187!’ exclaimed Ginny gleefully, waving her number about in the air victoriously. Her cry was immediately followed by several others.

‘165!’

‘420!’

‘76!’

Soon, the only person who had not yet called out her number was Hermione. Instead of joining in the excitement, she was bent over a sheet of parchment and hastily scribbling something on it.

‘Hermione! What number did you get?’ asked Ron excitedly, leaning over the wall that separated their respective cubicles and trying to get a glimpse of Hermione’s slip of paper.

‘217,’ Hermione replied without so much as a glance upwards.

‘You don’t sound very excited,’ piped up a voice from behind Hermione. Both Hermione and Ron turned around to see Ginny standing behind them, her hands on her hips and a grin on her face.

Hermione shrugged. ‘You heard what Robards said; there’s really no point in calling out your number.’

Ginny rolled her eyes. ‘It’s for the fun of it, Hermione. Come on, get in the spirit of the game!’

‘I already am in the spirit of the game,’ said Hermione in irritation. She had turned back to the memo she had been writing and was now furiously sucking on the end of her quill as she searched her mind for the word she was looking for.

‘Do something about her,’ said Ginny to Ron in a mock whisper before flouncing away to go visit her boyfriend, Harry Potter, in his private office.

‘Ginny’s right,’ said Ron seriously when his sister had disappeared behind the door labelled ‘Harry Potter’. ‘The holiday season is coming up; you should be lightening up, not stressing out even more.’

‘I’m not stressing out!’ exclaimed Hermione, slamming down her quill in a way that clearly read indicated her stress. ‘I just wish everyone would leave me alone so I could get some work done!’

Ron’s eyes widened, then narrowed. ‘Fine,’ he said shortly before sitting back down in his seat so that Hermione could no longer see him.

Hermione sighed in exasperation. She had not meant to blow up at Ron like that. He was right; she was particularly uptight nowadays. She didn’t know why, either. Every little sound and movement around her seemed to get on her nerves lately.

‘I’m sorry, Ron,’ she meekly said to the wall dividing their cubicles. Ron didn’t respond.

Grinding her teeth together in frustration, Hermione forced her attention to return to the unfinished memo sitting before her. Ron would come around…eventually.

---

Later that afternoon found Hermione bustling down the aisles between the cubicles in the Aurors’ office as quickly as possible. It was 1:15, and she had only 45 minutes to drop by the Hit Wizards office for some records she needed, grab some lunch for her and Ron, and Apparate back to the Burrow to copy down a few phone numbers before she had to return to the Auror Headquarters for a mandatory meeting Robards had scheduled. She had not given a second thought to the interdepartmental unity challenge since that morning.

So engrossed in mentally sorting through everything she needed to do that afternoon was Hermione that she didn’t even notice when she entered one of the Ministry’s lifts – that is, until she walked right into someone else.

‘Oh!’ gasped Hermione as she stumbled backwards, nearly losing hold of the stack of papers she had in her hands. Luckily, the packed lift meant that there was not enough empty space for her to fall into, and that the witches and wizards standing behind her would prevent her from tipping over.

A few people grumbled and stepped away from Hermione, but she didn’t notice. Instead, she was busying herself with picking up her fallen wand from the ground and saying to the stranger she had bumped into, ‘I’m sorry, are you alright?’

‘Never been better,’ came a frosty voice from above Hermione.

Hermione’s shoulders stiffened and her heart sunk in dismay. She could recognise that voice anywhere.

The person did not seem to notice her discomfort, and said calmly, ‘You might want to stand up; the people who come in these lifts have a habit of not caring where they’re walking.’

Bristling, Hermione stood up and turned to glare at Draco Malfoy. ‘I wasn’t paying attention; I didn’t mean to bump into you.’

‘Of course not,’ Draco replied smoothly. His cool grey eyes were fixed on a point straight ahead, and did not once betray a flicker of emotion as he spoke to Hermione out of the side of his mouth.

Feeling that it was hopeless to pursue a conversation with Draco, Hermione sighed and turned away, wondering, as she did so, why it was that even so many years working alongside each other hadn’t managed to narrow – much less repair – the rift between them. Then again, there was much about Draco that Hermione did not know.

He had definitely turned good; that much was certain, for Hermione had seen with her own eyes a seventeen-year old Draco leading Harry to safety and risking his own life in his process. But after that night on the Hogwarts grounds, things were fuzzy. Draco had disappeared from, it seemed, the face of the wizarding world. No one knew where he had gone, and no one had a clue what had happened to him, for the Dark Lord had already been vanquished.

Then, four years after his disappearance, Draco had reappeared at the door of the Ministry, gaunt, pale, and cut and bruised beyond recognition. Now, a year after that incident, Draco was still as gaunt and pale, though the two long scars that ran down each of his cheeks and distorted his aristocratic features were a significant improvement from the mangled, mutilated appearance he’d had when he appeared without warning the previous year.

When at last the lift arrived on the ground floor and the golden grilles slid open, Draco and Hermione both made for the door at the same time. The moment she saw this, Hermione stopped in her tracks, knowing that she would be better off letting Draco get his way.

However, after a few seconds, Hermione found to her surprise that Draco too had stopped and was waiting for her to step out first. Hermione’s mouth fell open slightly, but she nevertheless took advantage of Draco’s mysteriously courteous gesture and exited the lift.

Once outside, Hermione did not continue on. Instead, she waited at the door of the lift, determined to question Draco about the motive behind the display of kindness he had just put on.

It took longer than expected for Draco to step out of the lift. When he did, he did not seem surprised to find Hermione waiting for him.

‘What took you so long?’ asked Hermione, momentarily forgetting her main purpose in staying behind.

‘You dropped something,’ Draco replied simply. He held out a hand. In his palm lay a small, crumpled slip of paper.

For a moment, Hermione stared in confusion at Draco’s hand. It took her a while to remember the – for lack of a better term – pen pal challenge.

‘Oh, thanks,’ she said with an uncertain smile once the memory returned to her. She reached out to take the piece of parchment from Draco’s hand. As she did so, her palm grazed Draco’s. For a split second, Hermione saw Draco’s fingers twitch as if about to close; then, they were still.

‘You might want to be more careful of your possessions next time,’ said Draco quietly before letting his arm drop back to his side. Then, with a curt nod to Hermione, he brushed past her and began striding briskly towards the fireplaces where Ministry workers were Flooing in and out.

‘Wait!’ Hermione called out, reaching out a hand and grabbing Draco’s forearm. He stopped and turned around slowly, raising a pale eyebrow at the arm Hermione had in her grip.

Hermione promptly let go of Draco, blushing furiously. ‘I – er – thanks for picking up the slip for me,’ she stammered. She had forgotten entirely what she had intended to ask him.

Draco shrugged and said blankly, ‘Was that all you wanted to say to me?’

‘No,’ said Hermione, quickly searching her mind for a plausible excuse for stalling Draco. Then, a thought occurred to her. ‘You’re one of the Hit Wizards, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, do you know if your Head is in today? I need to retrieve the Bulstrode file; I left it there the other day so he could examine it.’

‘I have it.’

‘You do?’ said Hermione, surprised. ‘Can I have it?’

Draco surveyed Hermione stonily, as if trying to find a trace of dishonesty in her face. Then, he reached into one of the pockets of his robes and extracted a neatly folded paper crane. ‘Everything should be there.’

‘A crane?’ said Hermione, unable to keep the astonishment out of her voice. ‘I never would’ve expected that you’d –’

‘Is there anything you needed from me,’ interrupted Draco, his voice cold, ‘or is that all?’

Hermione bit her bottom lip. ‘No,’ she said weakly, ‘that’s all. Good day.’

‘Good day to you as well.’

And with that, Draco swept past Hermione for the second time and began to make his way towards the fireplaces, this time undisturbed by Hermione.

---

When Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Harry returned to the Burrow from the Ministry later that evening, they were greeted with two surprises: Fred and George had returned home, and, even more shocking, with their new wives on their arms: Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

‘Angelina, Alicia!’ squealed Ginny, snatching her hand out of Harry’s and running over to hug her older brothers’ spouses. ‘I had no idea!’

‘We still don’t,’ said both of the Quidditch players in unison, grinning at each other. ‘It’s great to see all of you again,’ added Angelina. ‘How’s Quidditch going for you, Harry?’

‘I haven’t much time to play,’ Harry explained as he stepped forward to shake hands with both of his old teammates. ‘Work takes up all my time.’

‘Don’t be silly, Harry!’ exclaimed Alicia, rolling her eyes. She punched Fred lightly on the arm and said, ‘He and George haven’t much time outside of work, but they still come practise with us every night.’

‘Well, they’d have to, wouldn’t they?’ Ron piped up, letting go of Hermione’s arm (sure enough, he had completely forgotten about their argument earlier that morning when Hermione returned with an armful of soup and sandwiches) and going over to join in the conversation. ‘I mean, marrying two famous Quidditch players…Blimey, my brothers must be up to their ears.’

‘We’re still here, Ronniekins,’ said George, mussing up his younger brother’s hair. Ron let out a squeak of indignation at this and ducked away from his brother’s reach. Fred and George grinned at each other at this.

The next hour or so was filled with playful discussion about the twin brothers’ business, Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

‘It’s been thriving ever since the end of the war,’ said Fred eagerly. ‘George and I’ve come up with loads of great new items with Alicia and Angelina’s help. Of course, Harry, you can take as many as you want. We’re only at the trial stages at the moment, though…’

‘What about me?’ Ron cut in indignantly.

‘Ah, we’ll see, little brother, we’ll see…’

While everyone else was distracted by the conversation, Hermione quietly excused herself, saying that she had work to finish, and escaped to the soothing silence of her small attic bedroom.

Once Hermione was in the cool darkness of her bedroom, she sighed in relief and collapsed on her small bed. She had never approved of Fred and George’s joke store, and the loud chatter about it downstairs was more than she could take at that moment. She wanted to be alone, and her room was the only place in the house she could think of at that moment to turn to.

With nothing else to do, Hermione turned on the single lamp dangling from the ceiling with a flick of her wand and pulled the Bulstrode file from her pocket. For a moment, she examined the crane shape Draco had charmed it into with great interest.

It was not uncommon for Ministry workers to charm records and letters into shapes. It was a simple spell, and it was used more often than not due to the fact that it helped distinguish files from one another and made them more convenient to carry around. Each wizard or witch had his or her own distinct shape. Hermione never would have dreamt that Draco’s would be a crane.

Hermione rubbed her eyes tiredly before unfolding the paper crane and spreading out the stack of parchment that had been magically compressed into the shape of the bird. She picked up the top sheet and tried to focus on the tiny print, but instead found her mind drifting to other things: the conversation downstairs, her argument with Ron, her encounter with Draco…

As her thoughts unwillingly wandered towards the last of these, Hermione remembered the slip of paper he had picked up for her. With a jolt, she realised that she could start on her letter to pass the time.

The idea appealed to Hermione, so she put down the record she was holding, made a mental note to get back to it at a later time, and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a quill from one of the drawers in her bedside table.

Hermione settled herself in the most comfortable position she could find before laying out the parchment before her. For several minutes, she stared blankly into space as she tried to figure out how to start out her first letter.

At last, Hermione decided that she would write about herself. If she and this person were going to be pen pals for the next few months, it was best that he know everything about her before her second letter. Pleased with this decision, Hermione took her quill in hand, dipped it in the ink bottle, and began to write.

To my pen pal (well, okay, we’re not quite pen pals but it’s the best I could come up with),

I’m not exactly sure how to address you, seeing as all I know about you is your number. Unfortunately, I can’t write it down, as tempting as it is. But in a way, not knowing who these words are being sent to is more thrilling and mysterious, don’t you think? To make it easier on the both of us, though, maybe we could make up nicknames for ourselves, and we could use those to address each other. If you like this idea, feel free to come up with a name for yourself and send it to me in your next letter.

It took me a long time to decide what to write. I mean, there are so many things I want to tell you. I’ve never really had anyone whom I could tell all my secrets to. I’ve had diaries and journals, but it’s different saying all of this to a real, live person. Different in a good way, that is. But after thinking for a long time, I decided that I would just tell you a little about myself, so you can get to know what kind of person I am.

I could write about my favourite things here, but that would be boring, so I’ll cut the introductory techniques and just get right to it. Have you ever felt like you were hiding a part of yourself from the world because you were scared that no one would accept you if you showed that side? That’s sort of how I feel. It’s funny; the people I’ve known for eleven years think they can read me like a book, but they haven’t even finished the cover page. Sometimes I wonder why it is that I’m so afraid of letting myself shine. There’s nothing for me to be afraid of. Call me cocky, but I haven’t a dark side, I haven’t any skeletons in my closet. There is nothing about me that would repulse people, so why do I immerse myself in my work instead of spending my time having drinks with friends like every other normal person?

Maybe it’s because I’ve always been more comfortable with paper, parchment, books, and quills, but right now, I’m not afraid to reveal a part of my hidden side. For instance, I’m a good person to confide in when you’re having problems dealing with life or relationships. I suppose it’s partly because of my ability to look at things in a logical way, but also because I have a way of understanding people when no one else does. I’m not like other people, always demanding answers. I observe until I’m sure I’ve seen everything there is to a situation or person.

Again, at the risk of sounding egotistical, I get along with everyone. Well, almost everyone. There is one person…I don’t know him very well, even though I’ve known him ever since I studied at Hogwarts. I remember the first time I saw him, I disliked him immediately because I saw him bullying around some other students because of their blood. I’m a Muggle-born, you see, so it really hit me hard and it scared me that there would be people out there who’d attack me for what I was. As I grew to know this boy a little more, though, I began to pity him. He always acted like a jerk towards me and my friends, but it’s not his fault; his parents, after all, raised him to be that way. I can almost understand why he’s so rude to everyone, even if I don’t like it. Nevertheless, he hates my kind, so I never attempted to befriend him ever since that first day I saw him.

As I look back on the last few paragraphs, I’m surprised I even wrote that. So far, this challenge is going easier than I initially expected it to. I thought it would be hard to tell a stranger secrets I can’t even tell those close to me, but the words seem to be flowing out of my quill of their own accord. Maybe the Ministry is right…maybe this will help mend broken friendships between people. I can only hope it will.

Oh dear, time has flown by since I sat down and started this letter. It’s already been over an hour. I think my boyfriend is calling me down to dinner, so I’ll tell you one last random fact about me before ending this letter. When it snows, I love to sit on my windowsill and look out the window. Watching the flakes of snow drift through the air is so beautiful that I can’t put it into words. It gives me a sense of serenity that is hard to find anywhere else in my busy life. Plus, there’s something about snow that’s just so romantic and dreamy, and I’m a very romantic person.

Now I have to end this, because I think someone is coming upstairs. I’m sorry about this first letter being so short. Please write back as soon as you have the time to. I look forward to reading your letter.

Sincerely, your pen pal (I’m still thinking of a name)

Disclaimer: All recognisable HP characters and storylines belong to the wonderful J.K. Rowling, and the story of the Phantom of the Opera (to which there will be references and likenesses throughout this fic) belongs to Gaston Leroux, the writer of the original book, and Andrew Lloyd Webber, the amazing man who adapted the story into a musical.



Chapter 2: His World of Unending Night

The first thing Draco noticed when he stepped out of his fireplace was that his house-elf had forgotten, once again, to clean up his sitting room.

‘Lydig!’ he roared as he brushed off the ashes from his thin black robes.

There was a scurry of footsteps and then a tiny, aged house-elf dressed in a torn black kitchen cloth appeared at the doorway of Draco’s sitting room.

‘Master is home!’ he squeaked nervously, trying to look delighted but failing as he edged into the room.

‘Yes, I’m home,’ muttered Draco, shrugging off his robes and tossing them at the miniature creature. ‘Now, what’s your excuse this time for not cleaning this room up?’

‘Lydig – Lydig had thought that perhaps Master did not want Lydig to touch his – his Ministry files again…’

‘I’ve already told you several times, you stupid beast, that I’ll tell you when I don’t want you to touch certain rooms of the house. I don’t recall mentioning that I wanted you to leave my sitting room alone when I left this morning.’

‘Lydig is sorry, he is a bad elf,’ the house-elf squealed, shakily lifting his wrinkled, long-figured hands to his face as if expecting a blow. ‘He will listen to Master next time.’

‘You had better,’ Draco growled. His sofa was littered with crumpled pieces of parchment, empty bottles of Firewhiskey, and broken quills, but he collapsed on it anyway and stretched out his legs. ‘Is my dinner ready?’ he mumbled.

‘Lydig has it ready in the oven, sir; it shall be only a few minutes.’

‘Well hurry up and get it then,’ Draco snapped without turning around to look at the house-elf.

There was the sound of tiny footsteps scampering away, and then silence. For a moment, Draco lay still in the darkness, listening to the faint sound of his own breathing.

It had been a tiring day, as usual. Suspicious glares, eyes that quickly shifted away whenever he passed, impossibly difficult assignments…and then an unexpected meeting with Hermione Granger.

Draco’s mind lingered on the last of those thoughts. He had, of course, seen her several times in the office he shared with the other Hit Wizards, as she frequently visited it to talk and exchange files with the Head. However, the few times she and Draco had spoken to each other could hardly be counted as conversations. They were always cold and distant with each other, both, perhaps, never having really forgotten the past.

Or so that was what Draco thought was Hermione’s view of it.

He himself, on the other hand, tried tirelessly put the past from his mind. He disliked remembering those days of darkness, the days he had spent under one person or another’s power – whether it was his father’s, Dumbledore’s, or the Dark Lord’s – because they reminded him of his weaknesses. Those were the days when he had thought the world was all about looking down upon those of unworthy blood, beating the famous Potter boy at school and Quidditch, and striving to become one of them – those fearless, powerful wizards the world deemed the Death Eaters.

The day Draco discovered there was more to life than what he knew it to be was the day his world was shattered.

That day, he’d helped Potter – his enemy, his rival – to safety. He’d done it because he’d had no where else to turn and no one else to keep at his side, but he’d done it anyway. And after those agonisingly long minutes during which Draco had let Harry lean on his shoulder and helped him limp across the field to the safety of the forest, Draco realised that there was no way he’d ever be able to turn back. He had unleashed the hopeful, compassionate side of him that had been compartmentalised all his life, and it had, in an instant, overcome his darker side to the point of no return.

Then, there were those four years…those four years he had spent in the forest, living off of the mere hope that someday he’d be able to venture back out into the world. For the most part, he had lived those four years alone. Sometimes, though, he’d come across other hiding Death Eaters – his old companions and associates, but never his friends – and they would beg him and implore him to gather them together, to organise them and start a new era of darkness. ‘Son of Lucius,’ they had begged him, ‘you can save us now. You’re the only one.’

Draco had turned away and walked back into the shadows, unable to bring himself to answer their pleas. They had not seen his act of redemption; they did not know that he no longer wanted their company. At that time, he lived his life only for himself and for no one else. He was not Lucius’ son. Lucius was dead, Dumbledore was dead, the Dark Lord was dead…for the first time in his life, Draco was in charge of his own future.

‘Lydig has Master’s dinner ready!’

Draco was rudely snapped out of his thoughts by his house-elf’s high-pitched voice. It had shuffled in without his noticing, and was carrying a large silver platter laden with food over its head.

‘Thank you,’ said Draco stiffly. ‘Put it on the table.’

‘As Master wishes.’ The platter of food was set down on the coffee table in front of Draco.

‘Leave,’ said Draco plainly as he shifted into a sitting position and looked down without interest at the food before him.

With a frightened nod, the house-elf darted out of the room, leaving Draco alone in the dark.

Lazily, Draco took his wand from the coffee table and flicked it in no particular direction. Several candles around the room magically lit themselves, and the fire in the hearth burst into life, giving the room a peaceful reddish-orange glow.

After a moment’s hesitation, Draco picked up his fork and speared a sprout with the end of it. He brought it to his lips and put it into his mouth, chewing it thoughtfully for a long time before finally swallowing. Then, he dropped his fork back onto the silver platter and lay down again with a slight grimace.

Food did not interest him. After all, the point of eating was to do it with someone else, and if there was no one there to share Draco’s dinner with him, what was the point of having it? To Draco, there was nothing worse than eating in solitude.

Thus, instead of settling down to his dinner, Draco closed his eyes and let his mind begin reminiscing again.

After those four lonely, terrible years in the forest, Draco had mustered up the strength and courage to step out of it, out of its darkness and shadows and into the light of the world. He was barely alive then; little amounts of food and sunlight coupled with the unbearable stress and fear that had wracked his mind everyday had weakened Draco greatly. However, he was determined, and his determination brought him to the steps of the Ministry.

Unfortunately for Draco, acceptance did not come as immediately as he had dreamt it would. The world knew him as a Death Eater, and he had been on the verge of being thrown into Azkaban when, wonder of wonders, Harry stepped in for him and ordered the Ministry to give him another chance.

It was only fair, Harry had said later that day when Draco questioned him about his motives for doing what he had done. Yet after that, Draco lost all his hostility towards Harry Potter, and vice versa. The two were still a step away from friends, but they had formed a level of respect between each other, and that was more than either would’ve imagined possible years ago.

At that point, Draco rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in the arm of his sofa. It had an unpleasant, musty scent that Draco couldn’t place. With a muffled groan, he flipped back over onto his back and stared blankly up at the ceiling.

Draco didn’t know how much time he passed just staring up at the ceiling, but when he finally checked his watch, it was 1am. His muddled mind urged him to sleep, but he had other matters he had to attend to before he would allow himself to seek the comfort of his bed: namely, his potions.

A wave of dizziness overcame Draco as he stood up, but he cleared it away by shaking his head, and began to walk to the stairway that led to his basement.

When Draco arrived in the basement, he stopped and inhaled the familiar clean, earthy perfume that emanated from the potion he always kept boiling at the foot of the staircase: Amortentia, the most powerful love potion in the world.

Stepping past the cauldron of Amortentia, Draco moved past various other boiling substances towards the back of the room where the largest cauldron of all sat.

Upon arriving at this cauldron, Draco peered cautiously at its contents. Dark red. Perfect.

Setting his wand on the table next to the cauldron, Draco grabbed a lab coat from a hook hanging on the wall a few feet away and shrugged it on. Then, he stirred the thick contents of the enormous cauldron twice before picking up a tattered book that lay on the table next to his wand and glancing at the page it was turned to.

The page was one of those few pages at the beginning and end of a book that publishers often leave blank for unknown reasons. However, someone had scribbled a large quantity of neat but cramped sentences onto this page, and titled it ‘Wolfsbane II Potion’.

The Wolfsbane II Potion was what Draco had been working on for the past year, ever since he’d secured a house of his own. It was a potion to completely cure a victim of lycanthropy, an improved version of the first Wolfsbane Potion, which only alleviated some of the pain of the transformation. Draco’s mentor, Severus Snape, had worked tirelessly on secretly trying to perfect this potion in his years at Hogwarts, but had been forced to give up his attempts when he graduated. Just before his death, however, Severus had forced Draco – who was the closest thing to a son Severus had ever had – to swear he would continue to work on finishing the Wolfsbane II Potion when Severus died.

This promise, combined with the hope of finding a real cure for lycanthropy and his natural passion for potion brewing, was Draco’s way of keeping himself busy when he was not at work in the Ministry. Though he occasionally brewed other hard-to-find potions to sell to wizarding families in need of them, no one knew about this particular potion of Draco’s, for he preferred to keep it his own secret.

Now, Draco sighed as he studied the incomplete instructions Severus had written out as a student. He scribbled down a few lines of his own and crossed one of Severus’ out, then turned to gaze at the potion again.

‘A pinch more of aconite…’ he murmured, tapping his bottom lip thoughtfully, ‘a drop of Acromantula venom…would greatly reduce the effects on the nervous system, but could cause possible fatal side effects…’

Draco continued to mutter incoherent sentences to himself as he studied the swirling red substance in the cauldron intently. At last, he seized one of the hundreds of phials on the shelf above his head and emptied its contents into the cauldron.

For a split second, nothing happened; then, rings of black smoke began issuing from the potion with a series of loud cracks.

Draco whooped out loud and hurriedly scribbled down a few words underneath the lines he had earlier added. His face shone with excitement as his quill rapidly scratched a few messy instructions onto the page of the book.

Now spurred on by the progress he had just made, Draco grabbed a few more phials, poured the liquids in them into a larger flask, and swirled them around. Sparks issued from the new concoction before dying away to reveal a pale blue substance.

From under the table, Draco pulled out a cage of rats. He opened the latch, grabbed one, and closed the latch. Placing the rat he had just extracted on the surface of the table, Draco drew in a deep breath then poured a drop of the substance he had mixed up in the flask into the rat’s mouth.

The rat’s eyes bulged out and its entire body started to shake. It squeaked madly as it twisted and turned on the wooden surface of the table. Then, its nails began to lengthen and its fur began to shorten. After a while, the pain it was feeling seemed to subside, and Draco was left with a quivering, hairless rat with unnaturally long nails.

This was apparently not the result Draco had been aiming for, for he pounded his fist on the table in frustration and vehemently ran his other hand through his tangled blond hair. The rat squeaked in fright at this and tried to scramble away, an attempt that did not quite work out as its nails were preventing it from moving very far.

‘Master?’ came a trembling voice suddenly from the doorways.

Draco angrily turned around to face his house-elf. ‘What do you want, Lydig?’ he growled viciously.

‘Lydig is thinking that perhaps Master should go to bed,’ said the house-elf in a tone of speech that, despite the terror and apprehension in his enormous brown eyes filled, was marked with determination. ‘It is late and Master must be waking up in three hours’ time for work.’

Draco opened his mouth to order the house-elf out of his basement, but then he closed it when he realised how accurate its words were. He did need his rest, and it wasn’t like he was going to get anywhere that night. Thus, Draco resignedly nodded and stepped away from the cauldron.

The house-elf looked utterly thrilled at the fact that his master had not ordered him away, and scrambled forward to offer more help. ‘Would sir like Lydig to make clean up?’

‘No, Lydig, you can leave now. I’ll clean up. I’d rather no one touch my potions.’

‘Very well,’ squeaked the house-elf, bowing deeply and beginning to back out of the room. Then, he stopped, as if suddenly remembering something. ‘Lydig has forgotten… Master has an owl.’

‘An owl?’ Draco repeated, turning around in the middle of taking off his lab coat to frown at his house-elf. ‘From whom?’

‘Lydig does not know,’ Lydig replied, shaking his head rapidly so that his large ears flapped against the sides of his head loudly. ‘Lydig placed it on the kitchen table, sir, and fed it water, so he is suspecting it is still there.’

‘Very well,’ said Draco curtly. ‘Now you may leave.’

Draco watched the house-elf whisk out of the room before he hung his lab coat back on its hook and picked up his wand from the table. The rat had disappeared, but Draco did not devote any time to finding it. Instead, he stalked over to the other side of the potions room, ascended the stairs, and made his way over to the kitchen.

Sure enough, the owl was right where Lydig had said it would be. Draco did not recognise it; it was a small owl bearing a collar with the Ministry’s crest, so he assumed the message it brought with it was work-related.

However, upon removing the letter from the owl’s leg, Draco realised immediately that it wasn’t official post. There was no name or address written it, for one, and the parchment was not the type the Ministry used.

Curious as to whom the letter might be from, Draco unfolded it. His breath caught in his throat the moment he saw the words neatly printed at the top of it: ‘To my pen pal’.
The interdepartmental unity challenge. Draco had forgotten entirely about it. He groaned in frustration when he realised that he now had to write a response to this person. However, another glance at the letter increased his curiosity, and the urge to read it became stronger.

Thus, Draco retreated to his bedroom, all thoughts of sleep gone from his mind.

Disclaimer: All recognisable HP characters and storylines belong to the wonderful J.K. Rowling, and the story of the Phantom of the Opera (to which there will be references and likenesses throughout this fic) belongs to Gaston Leroux, the writer of the original book, and Andrew Lloyd Webber, the amazing man who adapted the story into a musical.

Chapter 3: Shadow and Starlight

‘Hermione!’

‘Yes, Mrs Weasley?’ Hermione called back from her bedroom.

‘Come downstairs, dear, you have post…’

Hermione’s brows shot up and she paused momentarily, a sock in each hand. Who in the world would send her post? Most Ministry letters usually came while she was at work, and not early in the morning via regular owl post.

Anxious to see who had written to her, Hermione swiftly tugged on her socks, slid her feet into slippers, and hurried downstairs to the dining room of the Burrow.

Harry, Ginny, Angelina, and Alicia were already all downstairs. Mrs Weasley was insisting that it was no problem as she heaped scrambled eggs onto Angelina’s plate as Hermione entered, and stopped to give her youngest son’s girlfriend a warm smile before returning to her fussing.

‘Where’s Ron?’ Hermione asked as she plodded over to where her friends were sitting.

‘Upstairs sleeping,’ Harry replied promptly. He had one arm slung casually over Ginny’s shoulder and was holding a piece of buttered toast in his other hand as he read the Daily Prophet, which was precariously propped up against his mug of hot chocolate

‘He’s been up all night examining the Lestrange case,’ Mrs Weasley explained fondly. ‘The poor dear; he hardly ever gets any sleep now.’

Hermione clicked her tongue disapprovingly. ‘I told him he didn’t need to work on that and that I had it covered,’ she sighed as she sat down next to Alicia and began pouring herself some milk.

‘Wasn’t that Lestrange woman the one who killed Sirius Black?’ Alicia asked interestedly, looking up from a book she was reading.

Hermione saw Harry stiffen out of the corner of her eye and said hurriedly, ‘Yes, but that was a long while, so there’s no point in mentioning it now.’

Alicia shot Hermione a curious look but did not question Hermione’s strange behaviour, and returned to her book.

‘Anyway,’ said Hermione loudly, for Angelina was also looking at Hermione questioningly, ‘you said I had post, didn’t you, Mrs Weasley?’

‘Oh yes, that’s right!’ exclaimed Mrs Weasley, who seemed to have forgotten in her desire to feed her sons’ new wives as much as possible. ‘It’s on the counter, dear.’

‘Thanks,’ said Hermione with a quick smile before pushing her chair back and walking over to the counter to retrieve her mail. She did not look at it until she had returned to her seat.

‘Who’s it from?’ said Ginny, her round brown eyes gleaming with curiosity as she absently played around with Harry’s hair.

Hermione shrugged and unfolded the letter. Her heart skipped a beat when she read the words ‘To my pen pal’ handwritten across the top of the page.

‘I – I’m going to go upstairs for a little bit to – er – read this,’ Hermione stuttered, standing up abruptly. ‘I’ll see you guys later.’

The five others in the room said good-bye to Hermione, and she walked back up the crooked stairs of the Burrow towards her room. As she made her way upwards, Hermione couldn’t help but let a smile spread across her face.

Her heart was thumped furiously against her ribcage at the very thought of finally finding out something about her assigned partner. She felt like she was a little girl again, sitting under the Sorting Hat and waiting breathlessly for her fate to be told to her.

When Hermione finally reached her room, she sat down on her bed and unfolded the letter again, nearly ripping it in her haste. Once she had it spread out in front of her, she began to read it.

To my pen pal,

I was surprised to receive a letter from you so early. I'm slightly pleased about it, though, because writing a reply gives me an excuse to get my mind off of other things. I like your nickname idea, and after a long time thinking about it, I decided to make mine ‘Shadow’. There's a rather long story behind it, but since there's not much I feel like I can tell you right now (perhaps there will be more to discuss in later letters), I figure I might as narrate it to you.

There really is no specific event the name is based off of. Basically, all my life I've lived as a shadow. It started the day I was born. My father passed on his worst qualities to me, as did my mother. Growing up, I hardly even felt like a full person – just a shadow of my parents. Because of it, it feels like all I can do is stay as far away from the sun as possible. Wherever light moves, I move in the opposite direction. It's a bit like I'm running away from the better side of the world, because the dark side is the only place I can relate to. I seek the comfort and mindlessness of what I’ve grown up in. Complicated, isn't it? In short, you could classify me as one of those people who grew up in a snobby, pure-blood family but decided it wasn’t the life for him.

Unlike you, I’m having a hard time with this challenge. I’m not the kind of person who wears his heart on his sleeve. I guess that's part of the reason why I have never once in my life confided my thoughts to anyone, not even a journal. I've always assumed that I could just handle all of it on my own, and to be honest, I have. Knowing that I’m the only one out there who is fully aware of who I am gives me a sense of security. But now that I’ve started this letter, it feels almost nice to get it all on paper and know that someone who won't judge me for what they see will be reading it.

The man you referred to sounds like someone I'm very close with. We're not friends, but I know him very well. You're right in your speculation – it probably is because of his parents that he’s turned out the way he is or was. Please, if we happen to be thinking about the same person, don’t pity him. I’m sure he would take your sympathy as an insult, as kindly meant as it is. At the same time, though, don't believe he's the person you think he is. After knowing him for many years, I can assure you that there are, like for you, sides of him that he rarely shows.

Well, since you told me two bits of information about yourself, it would only be fair for me to do the same. Of course, you already know one – the story of my nickname. The second? Well, your mention of watching the snow reminded me of something I love to do which is very similar to that: I love to watch the rain. To stand next to a window and watch the rain fall heavily, drenching everything on the ground beneath it...Believe it or not, that's one of my favourite pastimes. There's something so powerful in the fact that although one raindrop is miniscule and will barely even move a flower, a thousand raindrops can drown it. I suppose it's rather romantic if you think about it long enough.

Merlin's beard, it's already 4AM. Seeing as you also work in the Ministry, I hope you’ll understand why I have to cut this letter short. I haven’t slept in a few days due to projects that have kept me up all night, so I should probably get some rest tonight. I’ll send this by owl post right now, so hopefully you should receive it in the morning.

Sincerely, Shadow

A thrill of excitement coursed down Hermione’s spine and raised the little hairs on the back of her neck as she reread the letter. She had never read a more tragic or mysterious story, and she felt genuine sympathy for this man who had experienced such a sad childhood.

Then, another thought occurred to her: He was a pure-blood. And yet…he had not showed any sign of disgust at the fact that his pen pal was a Muggle-born. In fact, he had mentioned that he had turned away from this sort of life.

Now eager to reply, Hermione slid open her nightstand drawer. However, before she could extract a sheet of parchment, she heard Ron calling her name.

‘Hermione, get down here, we have to get to work!’

Hermione gasped out loud. She had forgotten she had work that day. Hastily, she stuffed the letter into one of her robes pockets and stood up. Thoughts of replying to the letter flew out of her mind as she scrambled into more formal shoes and hurried downstairs.

---

‘Don’t forget to –’

‘Label all of them, yes I know …’

‘Right, and remember that you only have –’

‘Four hours…I haven’t forgotten, Harry, so you can calm down…’

Harry grinned sheepishly. ‘Sorry, I just really want to –’

‘Spend a peaceful night with Ginny?’ Hermione suggested, smiling knowingly.

‘You really know me too well,’ marvelled Harry, shaking his head slightly. ‘But anyway, everything should be on my desk. Work in my office; it’s much quieter in there than it is in the main office.’

Hermione nodded. ‘Have fun with Ginny tonight, Harry.’

‘I will,’ said Harry as he grabbed his cloak and slipped it on. As he turned to leave, he added over his shoulder, ‘By the way…thanks, Hermione. I really owe you one.’

‘Don’t be silly, I’m glad to do this for you,’ said Hermione soothingly as she ushered Harry out the door. ‘Just enjoy yourself.’

When the door had closed behind Harry, Hermione sighed with relief and made her way to Harry’s office. Might as well get started on filing those records, she thought to herself as she seated herself in Harry’s chair and scanned the papers scattered on his desk.

The first thought that entered her mind was that Harry’s desk was extremely messy in an organised sort of way. Memos, letters, and official documents were all sorted into their respective piles, but placed in a way that only Harry could decipher easily. There were pictures of Ginny, Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, and various Quidditch teams all arranged around two especially large photos: the original Order of the Phoenix, and its successor.

Unable to stand the thought of working at such a cluttered desk, Hermione began to clean things up and arrange them in a more orderly fashion. So absorbed was she in this task that she didn’t notice when the door behind her opened and closed.

Several minutes after the visitor had entered, Hermione finally turned around and found, to her shock, Draco Malfoy standing behind her, observing her silently. A hand immediately flew up to her throat and she gasped quite audibly.

‘You scared me!’ she accused, still breathing hard from the fright she had received when she saw Draco.

‘I apologise,’ he said stiffly. ‘I was hoping to find Potter here, but apparently he’s not present. Do you mind telling him I dropped by?’

‘N-no,’ Hermione stammered, caught off guard by Draco’s brisk attitude. She glanced at him warily. He looked dreadful; there were dark circles underneath his eyes and his complexion more pallid than ever, making his scars all the more prominent. ‘He’ll be in later tonight.’

‘Very well, I’ll come back in a few hours then.’

‘What was it that you needed?’ asked Hermione quickly as Draco turned to leave.

Draco turned around slowly and drawled, ‘I wanted my ink bottle back.’

‘Your ink bottle?’

‘Yes, that’s what I said,’ said Draco, rolling his eyes. ‘It’s carved out of crystal and has a—’

‘I have it here,’ interrupted Hermione, holding up her hand. Incidentally, she had just been moving the small, round ink bottle with a four-pointed star engraved on its surface to a new location.

‘Thank you,’ said Draco flatly. He took the ink bottle out of Hermione’s hand and tucked it into his robes pocket. For a moment, his grey eyes lingered on Hermione’s; then, he swiftly turned around and left the office.

Hermione frowned as she watched Draco’s back disappear. That was odd.

However, Hermione did not dwell on what had just happened, for the image of the star on the ink bottle had given her a wonderful idea for the nickname she could use with her pen pal: Starlight.

Chapter 4: Scars of the Past

Draco stalked past rows of cubicles, unable to keep the glower off his face. He barely noticed the curious looks shot his way as he swept across the Aurors’ office, which was for the better since they wouldn’t have improved his mood very much anyway.

Once Draco had slammed the door behind him, he slowed down his pace. His scowl faltered as he turned the handle of the door that led into the cramped headquarters of the Hit Wizard Squad, for he had just realised that he wasn’t quite sure why he was in such a bad mood.

It’s Hermione Granger, he told himself with a nod of assurance once he was inside his own private office situated at the back of the larger office. Just seeing her irritates the hell out of me.

And it was true. She was always looking at him in a puzzled sort of way, as if she were trying to figure him out. Nothing annoyed Draco more than people who tried to read him as if he were some sort of novel.

‘It’s impossible to figure me out,’ he muttered angrily to himself as he slumped down at his desk and began flipping through the days post. He didn’t expect to find anything of interest, for he had no personal correspondents that might take the time to write to him, and he was right. All of the envelopes contained either business-related information from the Ministry or notes of thanks from wizarding families he had provided hard-to-brew potions for. There was nothing from his mysterious pen pal.

Draco inwardly scolded himself for feeling disappointed that he had not received a reply. There was no reason for him to be upset over something as trivial as a letter.

Besides, he reasoned, she probably hasn’t even received my reply yet. And…and she’s a Muggle-born…

Draco pulled a face, realising that the last thought had snuck into his mind without his noticing. He’d sworn he’d stop thinking that way; what was wrong with him?

Not knowing what else to do, Draco reached a hand into his pocket and removed the letter he had read the night before. He ran a finger across the seal. He had already broken it, of course, but the shape of a sleeping otter stamped into the white wax was still discernible.

For a few minutes, Draco amused himself with trying to figure out who in the Ministry might use an otter-shaped stamp. Then, he shrugged, stuffed the letter back into his pocket, and checked his watch. It was exactly noon, which meant he had plenty of time to go out and grab lunch before returning to the office.

Draco stood up and was just turning around when the door to his office burst open and two training Hit Wizards rushed in, both panting hard.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Draco, his eyebrows knitted together.

‘Kingsley – you – Carrows sighted –’

As unintelligible as the sentence was, Draco understood immediately. His features hardened as he nodded and pushed past the two young wizards, his eyes determined and his brisk stride every bit as professional as his position required him to be.

Outside, Draco was immediately greeted by a frantic crowd comprised of members of the Hit Wizard Squad and a few Aurors, all scrambling to grab their wands, their invisibility cloaks, and do last minute checks on their maps to make sure they knew where they were headed.

‘Malfoy!’

‘Where?’ said Draco sharply, turning around to face the Head of the office, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

‘Near the end of the Black Creek, hiding near the edge of the Whispering Woods,’ Kingsley narrated rapidly. ‘Listen, I need you to take my place on this one, Malfoy; I’ve nearly got Sawbridge and I don’t want to lose him. You know what to do, right?’

Draco quirked an eyebrow. ‘I can organise them, if that’s what you mean,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s been a while since I actually went, though…’

‘Just go,’ Kingsley urged before turning around and yelling to the distraught Hit Wizards, ‘Listen to Malfoy; he’s in charge!’

A wave of panic rose within Draco as he helplessly watched Kingsley hurry away towards the door that joined the Auror Headquarters and the Hit Wizards’ office. His gaze warily swept the twenty or so witches and wizards awaiting his command before him and he gulped.

‘Braveheart, Jamison, Styron, over here with me! Wang, Ledger, I don’t want you two going – no, you’re staying behind, don’t argue – come on, the rest of you, let’s go –’

Draco steered the crowd of Hit Wizards into the small, closet-like room they used for Apparating in and out. Once the door was closed behind them, Draco watched to make sure each of them had entirely disappeared before he closed his eyes, focused all his thoughts on a small clearing at the edge of the Whispering Woods, and disappeared from the room with a small pop.

---

‘Braveheart, take these for down the right path; Styron take those five and go left…the rest of you spread out…the two of them will have split up once they heard us coming…Jamison, come with me!’

No one dared disobey their new leader’s orders, and immediately scurried off in their assigned directions. Draco grabbed one of the younger Hit Witches, Kay Jamison, and dragged her with him into the shadows of the forest.

‘Listen, Jamison,’ whispered Draco once they were safely hidden, ‘I want you to trail after me…I’m pretty sure the brother, Amycus, came this way.’

Kay nodded fearfully and stared up at Draco with round eyes. ‘Why did you choose me? This is my first time on a mission, sir…’

‘Because I know you have more brains than the rest of them combined,’ replied Draco grimly, turning around and gesturing at Kay to follow him. ‘If we come across him, don’t make a sound. If you see that I’m in trouble, send up sparks – they’ll distract him – then stun him. Got it?’

Though she appeared to be terrified, the Hit Witch nodded and began to silently crawl after Draco.

‘Lumos,’ Draco whispered as the woods around them grew darker and darker. A thin beam of light burst from the tip of his wand. This Draco pointed at the floor of the forest and used to guide his way around ditches and dry branches as he silently continued on, his eyes alert for any sign of movement.

After many minutes of searching, Draco couldn’t help but start thinking that perhaps they were on the wrong trail. Perhaps the shadow he had seen earlier had not been Amycus, but his own imagination…

Indeed, Kay seemed to share his sentiments. After a while, she gathered the courage to tentatively murmur, ‘Do you think maybe you didn’t really see Amycus?’

‘Be quiet, Jamison, he could be –’

Draco’s harsh whisper was cut off by a shriek from Kay. In the split second following it, Draco had barely enough time to duck before a dark shape came hurtling out from behind a tree just in front of him.

Thinking quickly, Draco shoved Kay roughly into the shadows behind him as he sharply raised his wand to cast its light on the attacker: a short, squat wizard of uneven proportions with stringy, unkept hair and wild-looking eyes.

‘Amycus,’ said Draco, successfully keeping the fear that was causing his heart to thump fiercely against his ribcage out of his voice but unable to contain his disdain at his old associate’s appearance.

Amycus’ distorted features registered nothing but shock. ‘Draco?’ he croaked, his voice cracked and wheezy.

‘Long time no see,’ Draco sneered. His right hand held his wand steadily at the level of Amycus’ eyes while his left groped around in the darkness behind in, trying to make sure that Kay wasn’t in range of any curses the former Death Eater before him might throw.

‘What’re you doing here, kid? Blimey, you gave me a right scare; I thought you were one of them Ministry blokes coming to get me!’

Draco narrowed his eyes but did not reply. Instead, he continued to point his wand at a point directly between Amycus’ beady eyes while inwardly frantically trying to decide what to do. Should he call the other Hit Wizards for help? No, surely that would give Amycus time to run away.

‘Can you put the bloody light out? And who’re you here with, did you bring Narcissa?’

By the light of his wand, Draco could see Amycus looking around him eagerly as if trying to figure out where Draco’s deceased mother could be hiding. Draco grit his teeth. ‘There is no one here with me. I’m alone.’

‘Aw, come on Draco, don’t take the mickey with me. I heard someone scream earlier, I know I did…’

‘Don’t be thick, Amycus,’ Draco hissed, but he was suddenly overcome with panic. What if Amycus found Kay? No…no, he had to keep talking. ‘I would suspect all of your years hiding out in these woods would have an effect on your hearing.’

Amycus suddenly looked angry. ‘Aye, that’s right, all these years hiding out in the forest,’ he spat out. ‘Why weren’t you hiding out with me and Alecto, eh, why not? Where’d you run off to, kid?’

‘Where I’ve run off to is none of your business,’ said Draco through clenched teeth, trying to keep his voice calm and unaffected. Unfortunately, the fact that his wand hand was beginning to shake slightly betrayed his anger, and did not go by unnoticed by Amycus.

‘Did you join up with them good ones?’ Amycus jeered, bringing his face closer to Draco’s. ‘Last I heard, you refused to help Fenrir gather up the rest of us and start anew. Did you really refuse, Draco? Your old mentors?’

‘Greyback was never my mentor,’ said Draco, his disgust evident in his voice, ‘nor were you and Alecto. Where is she, anyway?’

‘Dunno,’ said Amycus with a toothless grin. Then, his grin fell, and his next words chilled Draco to the bone. ‘Dunno for the life of me where your little Ministry friends are either, but it looks like your pretty friend over there is hurt.’

Without thinking, Draco whipped around, thinking his worst fears had been confirmed and Kay had been injured. Only when he saw nothing behind him did he realise that there was no way Amycus could have known, and that he had been tricked. By then, it was too late – his wand had been snatched out of his hand and was now being pressed into Draco’s neck.

‘Smarter than you thought, eh?’ Amycus sneered, pressing the tip of Draco’s own wand deeper against Draco’s throat. ‘Never suspected ol’ Amycus would’ve tricked you like that, did you?’

‘Get your…grimy hands off…of my wand…’ Draco hissed as he felt himself being pushed up against the tree Amycus had jumped out from behind of. ‘Let go of me, Amycus!’

‘You’re with them now, aren’t you!’ exclaimed Amycus triumphantly, as if he couldn’t have hoped for something more marvelous in his wildest dreams. ‘You’re working to capture us, you’re trying to throw your old mates in jail! Ah, but Draco, you still haven’t changed…you’re still working under them Ministry officials’ power…Don’t you be thinking you’re on your own yet…’

Draco felt beads of sweat beginning to form along his hairline. He was cornered, wandless, and alone. Alone…save for Kay.

A tiny flame of hope burst into life in his chest as he remembered what he had told her earlier. Was she still watching him? Would she recall his words?

‘…and then we’ll cook you over a fire and split your body parts amongst the four of us…We haven’t had nice meat for a long time, did you know, Draco, did you know? Oh yes, and what better meat is there than that of them government…’

Goddamnit, Jamison, pay attention, pay attention! Draco thought furiously as Amycus’ wheezy giggles filled his ears.

Miraculously, at that moment, Draco’s prayers were answered. A shower of golden sparks burst up from behind him, illuminating the dark clearing briefly.

Amycus dropped the wand in shock, and Draco nimbly caught it before it hit the ground. Without a second’s thought, he shouted, ‘Stupefy!‘

At the same time Amycus’ body hit the ground with a muffled thump, the rest of the Hit Wizards came rushing into the clearing from the surrounding woods. One of them was using his wand to keep a stunned and unconscious Alector floating above the ground, and another two were supporting Kay (who looked as though she were about to faint) between them.

‘Good job,’ said Draco simply with a short nod to the squad. ‘Come on, let’s go back now. And Jamison – I’ll need to see you in my office when we return to the office.’

---

‘Make sure you pay attention next time, okay?’

Kay cringed noticeably and nodded timidly. Draco was instantly reminded of a young child being reprimanded by her father, and he couldn’t help but add in a softer tone of voice, ‘You did well, though. We can expect some great things from you soon enough.’

Kay mouth fell open and she stuttered, ‘W-what?’

Draco nodded. ‘You heard me.’ He hesitated,and then decided against smiling at her. ‘You can leave now.’

With what appeared to be an immensely relieved nod, Kay turned around and all but ran out of Draco’s office.

Alone at last, Draco sighed tiredly and sat down heavily on his chair. His head was reeling with all that had just happened.

As Draco sat quietly in his office, Amycus’ taunting voice floated unwillingly into his mind. ‘Ah, but Draco, you still haven’t changed…you’re still working under them Ministry officials’ power…Don’t you be thinking you’re on your own yet…’

With a stifled grunt of frustration, Draco rested his chin on his hands and forced the thoughts out of his mind. It had simply been a cruel attempt to goad him.

Simply an attempt to goad him…

At that moment, Draco’s wandering gaze fell on the pile of mail he had flipped through earlier that day. Though it felt like it had been months ago that he was sitting in this office checking his day’s post, it had, in reality, only been a few hours, so Draco was surprised to find that he had a new letter.

Reluctantly, he grabbed the letter and pulled it towards him. It was sealed with a familiar-looking stamp: one of a sleeping otter. A sleeping otter…

Then it came to him, so suddenly that he nearly hit himself on the head for not remembering earlier. It was the seal his pen pal used.

For the first time that day, Draco smiled. The memories that had just been distressing him dissolved away as he broke the white wax seal, unfolded the letter, and began to read it.

Dear Shadow,

Thank you for replying so quickly. I was ecstatic when I found that you’d sent your letter to me already; I didn’t think anyone else would devote much time or energy into this, but it’s a pleasant surprise to find that you are one of the few.

First of all, I finally decided on a name: Starlight. I got the idea from something I found today. Coincidentally, ‘Starlight’ sort of fits your name. I suppose if I think on it long enough, it fits me too. I’m really optimistic, and I like to focus on whatever bright spot I see on the horizon when it gets dark. So, add it all together, and you get the perfect name for me.

Secondly, I...well, secondly, I don’t know why I’m writing this in list form. I’m really sorry; I tend to put everything in order, whether it’s school supplies or letters to pen pals. That’s another personality quirk of mine you might want to keep in mind. Anyway, I’m not entirely sure what to write to you. I feel like I’ve told you almost everything about me, even though I’ve only sent you one letter. But then again, there’s always something new to learn about everyone, no matter the circumstances.

I’m not exactly thinking straight at the moment, though. I just...well, I don’t know if you’d really care, but I feel like I’m drifting apart from the one person I love the most. You see, it seemed at first that our entirely different interests and beliefs could be put aside, but now I don’t know. I adore him, but he’s always hovering over me and watching what I do – either that, or being entirely insensible about my devotion to my work. I feel like I can’t even make my own choices without him fussing over them and complaining about them! I appreciate his efforts, I really do, but it’s got to the point where I feel like he thinks I’m incapable of living my own life without his guidance.

Oh dear, I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to go off on a rant like that. That entire last paragraph seemed to write itself out. See how easy this is? It’s almost as if my putting the quill to the page brings it to life. All I have to do is let my thoughts flow, and the words magically appear. I’m sure that once you get the hang of it, it’ll become easier for you to write to me. I suppose the best advice I could give to you is to forget that this is a requirement and instead, pretend that you’re writing to yourself.

I’m truly sorry about both you and the boy you know. From what I read in your letter, neither of you seem too happy with your lives. I’ll take your advice, though. From now on, I’ll go out of my way to not be too hard on him. Nevertheless…I wish I could say that I understand what he goes through. I can’t, though, because I’ve never experienced having parents who were less than kind to me. I’ve always had everything and everyone there for me, so I can’t even imagine what it would be like to live my life in solitude. From my point of view, it doesn’t even seem possible that a parent could treat his or her child like that. I’m just so incredibly sorry about what you have to endure every day.

The more I write, I can’t help but notice how distinct the differences between us are. From the little that I know about you, I get the distinct feeling that we’re polar opposites. Even our names – Shadow and Starlight – oppose each other. But then again, there’s always the saying, ‘Opposites attract.’ If you’ve never heard it, don’t worry; it’s a Muggle saying.

Anyway, my Head is calling me over for a ‘mandatory meeting’ (we’ve had four of those in the last three days), so I’m going to have to end right here. I just thought of something for you to remember if you ever need comfort, though: Even when your shadow grows dark, I’ll always be here to shine light on it. In other words (if you’re not the poetic type of person), whenever you need me, just write me a letter.

Yours truly,
Starlight

Even when Draco finished the letter, he found himself unwilling to put it down. He read it a second time, and then a third. Each his eyes scanned over the increasingly familiar words, the warm glow that had erupted within him after his first reading spread even further.

‘“Opposite attract,�‘ Draco read out loud. To his embarrassment, he felt his cheeks turn warm as he murmured the words.

Attract? I hope she doesn’t mean…

Draco shook his head furiously. Of course she didn’t mean attract in that way.

Sighing, Draco traced the smooth, ridged surface of one of the long scars that ran down the sides of his face. The recollection of how he had received that scar and its brother threatened to surface, but Draco resolutely suppressed it by sullenly muttering to himself, ‘No one right in their mind would be attracted to this…’

Then, he picked up his wand, tapped the letter, and murmured, ‘Mutatio.’

With a soft swish, the parchment folded itself into a miniature crane. It flapped its paper wings twice before settling down on Draco’s desk.

Stuffing the crane into the same robes pocket the other letter resided in, Draco stood up, ran a hand through his hair, then left his office, the decision to finally go get lunch fixed firmly in his mind.

Chapter 5: The Dark Arts and Potions

The next few days passed uneventfully for Hermione. Shadow seemed to have forgotten about her, for after a week, she had still not received a reply to her last letter.

This bothered Hermione. From the moment she had sent the letter, she had been wondering whether she had been too forward. Maybe mentioning the ‘Opposites attract’ saying had been a bit too much. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him she’d always be there for him…after all, they hardly even knew each other…

‘Hermione, are you alright?’

Hermione coughed and sat up straight. ‘Yeah, Ron, I’m fine,’ she said nervously, smiling across the dinner table at her boyfriend.

Ron shot Hermione a doubtful look. ‘Are you sure? You seem distracted lately.’

‘I –’

‘He’s right,’ interrupted Ginny. She put down the bowl of peas she had just been holding and smiled apologetically at Hermione. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. What’s been on your mind?’

‘It’s…it’s nothing…’

‘Don’t give me that rubbish, Hermione, I know you better than anyone here,’ said Ginny reproachfully. ‘Does this have anything to do with another guy?’

‘No!’ Hermione exclaimed at the very moment Ron turned red and shouted ‘What?!’

Ginny shrugged. ‘Seems like it to me,’ she mumbled as she scooped a mouthful of mashed potatoes into her mouth.

‘You’re thinking about another guy?’ Ron demanded. He was staring at Hermione as if trying to figure out whether she was the same Hermione he’d known all his life.

‘Of course not!’ Hermione sputtered. She took a deep, calming breath, and said in a less indignant voice, ‘It’s just the whole pen pal challenge.’

‘Oh…’ Ginny’s voice trailed off as she took another bite of mashed potatoes. Then, her eyes light up and she said (after swallowing with some difficulty), ‘Your pen pal is a guy, isn’t he?’

‘Why, yes, but –’

‘SO THERE IS ANOTHER GUY!’ Ron roared, causing Hermione to jump in her seat in fright. He looked absolutely furious, and even Harry looked slightly nonplussed by his reaction.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Ron!’ exclaimed Hermione, setting her water glass down to fold her arms and glare at Ron. ‘We’re not having an intimate relationship! If you’d just let me finish my sentence…’

‘Yeah, let her finish her sentence!’ said Ginny. She leaned forward eagerly. ‘So Hermione, do tell. What is it about this pen pal that’s so special?’

‘Nothing,’ said Hermione firmly, ‘nothing at all. It’s just that I haven’t received a reply from him for a week, and I can’t help but wonder what happened to him.’

Ron’s suspicions apparently were not satisfied with this explanation, for he narrowed his eyes and said sharply, ‘You two’ve been corresponding then, have you?’

‘Of course, Ron,’ said Hermione with an air of patience that did not reflect her seething insides, ‘that’s the point of having a pen pal. You write to each other.’

‘Last time you had one, it was Vikky,’ Ron muttered darkly. He glanced over at Harry as if seeking help, but Harry was pointedly looking at a spot somewhere above Ginny’s head.

‘I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this until you finally get it through your thick skull,’ said Hermione through tightly clenched teeth, ‘but there was nothing beyond friendship going on between Viktor and I.’

‘Yeah, right…’

‘Fine!’ Hermione stood up angrily, her fists clenched. Her abrupt movement caused her glass to topple over, drenching the table cloth in water, but she made no attempt to clean it up. ‘If you find it so hard to trust my word, then there’s no point in trying to make conversation with you tonight! If you decide to come around, I’ll be in my room.’

Harry and Ginny both gaped as Hermione pushed her chair away and stormed out of the dining room. At the foot of the stairs, she paused and added icily, ‘By the way, when the others come back, Harry, tell Mrs Weasley that I’ve washed and folded the laundry for her.’

And with that, Hermione wheeled around and charged up the stairs, pausing only to pull her foot out of the hole caused by a missing step she had forgotten about in her rage.

---

Dear Shadow,

I hope I’m not being too forward in writing you another letter without waiting for your reply. I must admit, I was worried when I didn’t receive one immediately. I had been hoping that I would and...well, nevermind.

Hermione paused, the point of her quill still pressed against the parchment, and grimaced. The first three lines already sounded desperate and awkward. Despite her hesitance, however, Hermione found that the faint voice in the back of her mind urging her to continue writing would not relent. So, she continued.

I do have some pressing matters on my mind, though. Just minutes ago, I got into a rather heated row with my boyfriend, and I don’t know what to do now. He accused me of – and this is embarrassing to say – engaging in an affair with…well, with you.

I know, it sounds ridiculous, but it’s just further proof of how protective of me he is. It’s got to the point where he doesn’t trust me! If he’s going to get angry at me because I’m taking part in a challenge the Ministry required us to take part in, I can’t help but feel that it’s hopeless. We’ve always worked through all the trials that have been thrown at us during our relationship, but I’m not sure this time will be the same as all the others. I’m used to us fighting over certain issues, but now, it seems that most of our disagreements are over nothing in particular. It’s probably asking you too much, but perhaps you have advice you could give me.

Anyway, I’m sorry to bother you like this. It’s just that my thoughts were troubling me, and what better person to spill them to is there than you, my pen pal? After all, that is the purpose of this challenge – getting to better know someone we usually wouldn’t speak to.

I’ve just realised that I still need to go check over some records. I hope to hear from you soon.

Yours sincerely,
Starlight

Hermione put down her quill and skimmed over her letter. Short and not too pleading.

Good, she thought to herself glumly as she folded the parchment, dabbed some hot wax on it, and stamped it. I wouldn’t want to scare him off too.

Once Hermione had tucked the letter into her pocket and made a mental note to herself to send it with one of the Ministry owls the next day, she pulled out a stack of sheets detailing the physical attributes, crimes, and recent sightings of the latest Dark wizard she had been assigned to track and began to read them.

---

‘You could have at least not said anything!’

Ginny threw her hands up in defence. ‘I’m sorry, Hermione, but I was curious! I didn’t expect the prat to act up like that!’

Sighing, Hermione paused in her stride to study a poster tacked onto the door of a dingy apparel store. She read the advertisement printed on it (‘Dress robes to suit every size and shape!’) and wrinkled her nose in distaste before turning back to Ginny.

‘What is wrong with him, anyway?’ Hermione complained as the two of them resumed their slow, ambling pace. ‘How dim can someone be to think their girlfriend would be in love with a person she’s only received one letter from?’

‘Well it is Ron,’ said Ginny carefully. She glanced into the store window next to her before adding, ‘What do you suppose is in there?’

‘It’s an empty lot,’ replied Hermione without looking. ‘Harry told me Seamus has been thinking of buying it and turning it into a Diagon Alley branch of Quidditch Quickly. But that’s not the point, so stop changing the subject.’

‘I can’t believe Harry never told me that,’ Ginny muttered resentfully. ‘And I’m not changing the subject,’ she added quickly upon receiving a dirty look from Hermione. ‘I was just curious.’

A cold gust of wind blew past at that moment, cutting off Hermione’s response. The two friends both shivered and hugged themselves tightly.

‘Why don’t we stop in Flourish and Blotts until it stops snowing?’ Hermione suggested, looking longingly at the cheerful, bustling interior of the bookshop, all thoughts of Ron having been replaced by the desire to be out of the cold.

‘Great idea,’ Ginny agreed through chattering teeth.

Upon entering the brightly lit store, a wave of warmth immediately swept over Hermione. She exhaled a breath of relief, lowered the hood of her thick winter cloak, and shook the stray snowflakes out of her hair. Then, she proceeded to remove her gloves as she gazed fondly at the familiar shelves around her.

‘Hey, look who it is,’ Ginny suddenly hissed from Hermione’s side.

Hermione looked around, but didn’t see anyone. ‘Who?’ she asked loudly.

‘Shh! Over there!’ Ginny nudged Hermione and tilted her head slightly to the left.

Hermione followed Ginny’s gesture and, with an unpleasant lurch somewhere in her stomach region, saw Draco Malfoy standing by a bookshelf, his back to her and Ginny.

‘What’s he doing here?’ Hermione whispered angrily as if Draco was breaking a law by being in the same shop as her.

‘Looking for a book, I would suspect,’ answered Ginny, sounding amused. ‘Why don’t you go over and say hello to him?’

Hermione shot Ginny a look of utter incredulity as if she had just suggested Hermione take a ride on the back of a dragon. ‘There is no way I’d go up to him willingly!’

Ginny shrugged. ‘Suit yourself,’ she said nonchalantly.

Hermione, however, was too deft to be fooled by her friend’s air of indifference. Her keen eyes hadn’t missed the mischievous twinkle in Ginny’s eyes, nor did they fail to notice the smile tugging at the corner of Ginny’s lips.

‘What are you thinking?’ Hermione asked warily, her eyes darting over to Draco’s figure before returning to Ginny’s face.

‘Nothing,’ said Ginny innocently. She looked over her shoulder. ‘Harry asked me if I could get him An Autobiography of Oliver Wood while he was here; I think I see it over there. I’ll see you in a few, Hermione!’

Then, she hurried off, leaving Hermione alone and confused.

After a while, when it seemed that Ginny would not be returning (she had engaged herself in a conversation with a tall, rather – and Hermione couldn’t help but take note of this – handsome man), Hermione sighed and ran a hand through her tangled hair.

I might as well go grab that potions book I was trying to find the other day, she thought to herself, looking around for a salesman who might be able to help her locate it. There were none, so Hermione began to stroll around the store, scanning the bookshelves for the one labelled ‘Potions’.

After several minutes, it became clear to Hermione that the one area she was avoiding – that which Draco was standing in – was the one that held her book of interest. Scowling, she stopped behind a stand of recipe books to peer cautiously at Draco.

Sure enough, the bold letters above the bookshelf in front of Draco read ‘Potions’. Grinding her teeth together, Hermione crossed her arms and debated what she should do.

She did not want another awkward encounter with him; that was for sure. Besides, if she just walked right up to him, he might think she was stalking him. After all, the two of them had seen far more of each other in the past week than they had seen of each other for the past five years.

Yet…yet Draco did seem to be immensely absorbed in the book that lay open in his hands. Perhaps if Hermione could subtly sidle up next to him, snatch her book, and depart quickly, her presence wouldn’t be noticed.

Deciding to take the latter option, Hermione silently crossed the short distance between herself and Draco. When she was standing almost directly behind him, she rapidly scanned the bookshelf for the title of the book she needed. A…C…D…There it was: The Dark Arts and Potions.

Slowly, carefully, Hermione reached an arm out…a few more inches…

‘You could just ask me to grab it for you,’ came Draco’s calm, cool voice.

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin in fright. Her heart pounding fiercely, she retracted her arm quickly and silently cursed the eyes Draco had on the back of his head.

‘The Dark Arts and Potions, right?’

‘Y-yes,’ Hermione stammered. She watched Draco ease the book out from between two others and hand it over his shoulder to her without ever turning around to look at her.

‘So why were you sneaking up on me?’ he asked, his eyes still trained on his book.

Having collected her wits, Hermione managed to reply, ‘I didn’t want to bother you.’

Draco finally looked over at Hermione. His eyebrows were raised slightly, but other than that, his scarred face held no other traces of emotion. For a moment, he didn’t say anything; then, he murmured a quiet ‘I see’ and returned to his reading.

‘Anyway, I’ll leave you alone now,’ said Hermione loudly. She cleared her throat, then reluctantly added, ‘Thanks for getting my book for me.’

‘Hold on.’ Slowly, Draco closed his book and placed it back on the bookshelf. Then, he turned fully around to face Hermione. ‘Our departments are meeting this Tuesday.’

Hermione blinked. ‘Very well.’ She paused, but it seemed that Draco had nothing else to add, for he had found his book and returned to reading it.

‘Good day,’ said Draco pointedly as if he could sense that Hermione was waiting for him.

Hermione rolled her eyes. ‘See you on Tuesday, then.’

And with that, she spun around and began searching for Ginny.

Chapter 6: Darkness Deep as Hell


Draco couldn’t help but sneer at Hermione’s back once she had turned around. He didn’t know why she had chosen to come up to him, but it was clear that he had got on her nerves, and knowing this made him feel slightly better – though not by much.

He’d received another letter from his pen pal asking him, in short, why he had not replied to her earlier one. The problem was, Draco wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t replied yet. He’d had an unusually large amount of free time the past week, and yet he was avoiding sitting down and writing a reply.

Perhaps it was because she had implored him to give her advice. Quite frankly, Draco didn’t know how to. He wasn't one to dwell on troubled relationships, for he saw no use in it, and thus was unable to think of anything helpful. So, instead of admitting it, he was simply trying to put the challenge out of his mind.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco watched Hermione look around uncertainly, obviously searching for a friend. He smiled to himself when he saw her hesitate and turn around to glance at him. He made no sign that he had noticed this, and continued to keep up the pretence of being entirely engrossed in the book he had in his hands. In truth, he had not read a word since Hermione had approached him.

After a while, when it seemed that Hermione was not going to move, Draco snapped the book shut and turned around again.

‘I don’t know where your companion is, if that’s why you’re waiting for me,’ he said, smugly noting how Hermione’s cheeks turned pink at his words.

‘I wasn’t waiting for you,’ she said hotly. ‘I was just…waiting.’

‘You could wait somewhere else,’ suggested Draco with the faintest trace of a smirk.

‘Well, I chose to wait here,’ Hermione retorted. Draco was amused to see that she appeared to be disoriented and anxious rather than her usual composed self.

‘Okay,’ he said, careful to keep his voice steady so that the bushy-haired monster wouldn’t think she was affecting him as much as he was affecting her. ‘So how is the interdepartmental challenge going for you?’

Hermione glared suspiciously at Draco. ‘Are you feeling okay?’

‘Fantastic, thanks,’ said Draco lightly, ‘but it would be nice if you could try to make a little conversation while you’re standing here watching me.’

‘I’d rather make conversation with the floor,’ she snapped.

The words hit Draco like a burning whip across the face. He had heard them so many times before – grown used to them, even – and yet this time, he was suddenly seething inside. Struggling to keep his sudden and unexplainable irascibility at bay, Draco tightened his lips and said icily, ‘Go ahead then.’

Hermione’s eyes widened. She, too, seemed surprised that her retaliation had actually penetrated Draco’s cool, indifferent facade. Looking down, she fidgeted with the book Draco had got for her. Then, after many minutes of uncomfortable silence, she murmured softly, ‘Sorry.’

Draco’s heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had said that to him; in fact, he didn’t know if anyone had ever apologised to him. Instead of letting his uncharacteristically emotional reaction show, though, Draco simply turned away from Hermione and said stiffly, ‘I think your friend is coming to get you.’

Sure enough, the Weasley girl was approaching them. Not wanting to be caught in a position where he would have to say hello to her, Draco quickly snatched his book from the shelf, pushed past Hermione, and made his way over to the register to pay for it.

Draco drummed his fingertips on the cover of his book while he waited for the witch in front of him to finish purchasing her armful of romance novels. He couldn’t help but steal a glance over in the direction he had just come from every now and then to see what Hermione and Ginny were doing. They were talking very rapidly, their foreheads so close together that they were nearly touching, and every now and then Hermione would make a frantic hand gesture that would send Ginny into fits of giggles.

Draco narrowed his eyes. They’re talking about me, he realised with a scowl as he stepped forward and handed his book over to the clerk.

‘Two Galleons and fifteen Sickles, sir,’ piped a bright, cheerful voice, interrupting Draco’s thoughts.

Draco reached into his pocket and extracted a handful of coins. Throwing them down on the counter, he said tersely to the young clerk, ‘Keep the change,’ grabbed his book, and stalked towards the door.

Once Draco was outside, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes and hunched his shoulders against the bitter winter wind. As he passed a large store selling wizardwear, he gazed longingly at the thick, colourful winter cloaks they had on display. Then, shaking his head, he continued on past the shop.

It wasn’t that Draco was poor, for he certainly wasn’t. However, he was far from rich. His father and mother had been lavish spenders, and when they died in the war, they had left Draco next to nothing. This was partially why he had got a job in the Ministry, for he had not had the money to start a business, nor would he have desired to. Nevertheless, though Draco received a fair salary for his work, being a Hit Wizard was not as well-paying as, say, a desk job at Gringotts. This resulted in the denial of certain luxuries – such as winter cloaks – and forced Draco to have to keep his spending in check. Not that he wouldn’t have, anyway; unlike his parents, he had experienced the misfortunes of a life where he had nothing except his wand and a few scraps of clothing. Seeing as Draco did not wish to go through the ordeal again, he had no problem disciplining himself when it came to money. And, since he already had a cloak (which he had, unfortunately, forgotten to wear that morning), there was no need for him to buy a second one.

As Draco strolled past a group of Christmas shoppers huddled together against the cold, his mind wandered to Hermione’s words. His hands involuntarily clenched into fists as he recalled her biting retort.

I’m not a horrible person to talk to, he thought bitterly. She’s never given me a chance; she doesn’t know me; she doesn’t have any right to judge my character when all she’s done to me is –

Draco thoughts came to a grinding halt there. What had she done to him?

Nothing, came a remorseful little voice from the back of his mind. She’s never done anything to you. You’re the one who always tried to provoke her; you’re the one who called her –

‘Shut up,’ said Draco loudly, shaking his head slightly to get the voice out of his mind. An old couple passing by stared at him as if he had grown a third head, and picked up their pace slightly. Draco glared at their retreating backs.

At that point, Draco realised that he had stopped in front of Eeylops Owl Emporium. Usually, he strolled right past the owl shop without so much as a glance; however, as he lazily scanned the cages, his attention was snared by a snowy white owl in a brass cage hanging near the door. Feeling oddly drawn to this owl, Draco pushed open the door to the dark shop and stepped in without thinking.

The moment the door slammed closed behind Draco, an unpleasant, musty odour immediately pervaded his nostrils. Wrinkling his nose, he stepped up to the dusty counter and cleared his throat.

An old, stooped wizard with a long, tangled beard looked up. ‘What do you want, kid?’ he asked in a cracked voice.

‘How much is that one?’ asked Draco loudly, pointing at the snowy owl.

‘Fourteen Galleons and one Sickle,’ wheezed the old wizard without following Draco’s finger. ‘You want her?’

Draco hesitated. Did he want the owl? He glanced cautiously at the creature again. Its amber eyes were fixed on him, and as he looked over in its direction, it hooted dolefully as if imploring him to take it home with him.

‘Yes.’ The words were out of Draco’s mouth before he could stop them.

‘Give the money then, and you can take her as you leave.’

Grimacing, Draco reached into his pocket and extracted several heavy Galleons and a silver Sickle. He counted the coins to make sure he had enough then handed them over to the clerk.

The clerk took the coins and eyed them beadily before giving Draco a half-bow. ‘Her name’s Latera,’ he said with a toothless grin.

‘Right,’ said Draco grimly.

With that, he turned around and strode over to the display case. With some difficulty, he unhooked the heavy brass cage from the ceiling. The owl ruffled its white feathers restlessly as Draco lifted the cage down and brought it up to eye level to examine its inhabitant.

Looks healthy enough, he thought, still wondering what had possessed him to, so impulsively, spend so much money on a stupid bird.

‘Thank you,’ Draco called over his shoulder as he gripped the cage tightly in his hands, pushed the door open with his foot, and walked out onto the snowy streets.

Now unsure as to where he could head with a birdcage – and an owl – in his arms, Draco looked around. His eyes fell on a fairly new inn across the street. A wooden sign with the words ‘The Red Dragon’ hung above the door, swinging violently in the wind. From what Draco could see, the small bar in front was packed with people seeking protection from the cold.

Though the natural instinct to shy away from large crowds urged Draco to turn away, his common sense refused to let him turn from any kind of warmth. Thus, he crossed the street and entered the tavern.

Once the door had swung shut behind him, Draco was immediately received with many curious looks that quickly turned to fearful ones when they took in his disfigured face.

Bet they’ve never seen a more bizarre pair, thought Draco wryly as he pushed through the crowd, searching for a table he could sit down at. He nodded curtly at a pretty 20-something witch as he passed, smiling bitterly when she shrunk away in alarm.

When at last Draco found an unoccupied seat at the bar, he heaved a sigh of relief. His arms were aching from having to carry the heavy brass cage, and he was glad to have a solid surface to deposit it onto temporarily.

Once he had seated himself comfortably on the bar stool, Draco dropped his chin onto his hands tiredly and closed his eyes. He felt as though someone else had been playing him as they might play the strings of a marionette the past few hours. First his inability to control his outburst, then his spur-of-the-moment decision to buy an owl…an owl, for God’s sake!

‘Ahem.’

Draco opened one eye to gaze exhaustedly at the bartender. ‘Yes?’

‘You plannin’ on orderin’ anythin’, son?’

Draco sat up a little straighter. ‘Sorry. I’ll have a shot of Ogden’s.’

The bartender peered at Draco cautiously over his grizzled beard before saying gruffly, ‘Comin’ right up.’

As the grumpy-looking man turned around to pour the drink, the sudden urge to try something a little bit stronger swept over Draco. Without thinking, he called out, ‘Wait, change that order to a bottle of Hell’s Wrath.’

The bartender glared over his shoulder at Draco. Disbelief and suspicion were evident in the lines of his face as his dark eyes took in the bedraggled appearance of his customer. Draco didn’t blame him – Hell’s Wrath was not only the strongest liquor available in public but also the most expensive.

At long length, the old man seemed to decide that Draco was trustworthy enough. Reaching under the counter, he groped about before pulling out a small bottle filled to the brim with a pale grey liquid. He glanced at it briefly before handing it over the counter to Draco.

‘That’ll be two Galleons,’ he barked, reaching out a gnarled old hand.

Draco nodded and scooped out the last of the coins in his pocket. He counted them before dumping them in the bartender’s hand. ‘That should be enough.’

The bartender nodded. ‘Good luck,’ he cackled.

Draco raised the bottle in mock toast before placing it back on the counter and popping the cap. For a split second, a shadow of doubt passed across his face; then, he tilted his head back and downed half the bottle.

For a few seconds, there was nothing. Feeling a little more confident, Draco took another gulp of the drink. Half-way through his second gulp, though, his throat seized up, causing him to spit out the remaining liquid in his mouth. Slamming the quarter-full bottle onto the bar table, Draco clapped both his hands over his mouth frantically as his insides writhed and seethed, burning and freezing at the same time. Fire seemed to course through his veins, setting his body aflame.

Sputtering and gasping for breath, Draco clutched his forehead in his hands, digging his fingernails into his flesh. His shoulders shook violently as the effects of the liquor wracked his thin frame, but he hardly noticed, for his vision was blurring, his head was swimming, and voices were echoing and bouncing off the walls of his mind: ‘Rather talk to floor’…’still working under Ministry’s power’…’welcome to a life of power beyond comprehension, Draco Malfoy…’

Shuddering, Draco inhaled sharply. The cold fire in his blood was beginning to subside, although his throat still burned intensely. His mind, too, was suddenly clearer than ever, and he knew what he had to do to partially lift the darkness that had been hanging over him for so long.

Draco reached into his pocket with a trembling hand and pulled out a quill, a few sheets of parchment, and a crystal ink bottle. Closing his eyes tightly, he counted to ten and willed the haziness distorting his sight to go away.

When Draco opened his eyes, he found to his relief that his vision was significantly less fuzzy. Taking advantage of this, he pulled a sheet of parchment towards him, dipped the point of his quill into his ink bottle, and began to messily write out a letter.

Dear Starlight,

I’m sorry I haven’t written you anything for the past week. I’ve been caught up in work and, admittedly, my own reluctance to write back.

I hate to sound useless, but I haven’t much good advice to offer. I would say to spend time away from him or maybe even go your own separate ways, but I don’t want you to break off your relationship with him if you love him as much as you insist you do. But perhaps a little space might do the two of you some good. Go out and spend time with your friends rather than him. Also, don’t let your frustration over his protective behaviour linger. Try to see it from his perspective. As terribly stereotypical as it sounds, most men feel as if it’s their duty to guard their loved ones.

If it still bothers you, though, let him know. Tell him exactly how you feel. It might spur on another argument, but at least he’ll have something to think about.

Draco wiped the sweat from his brow, his fingers still shaking uncontrollably. He could feel the aftermath of drinking the Hell’s Wrath beginning to fog his mind and mix up his thoughts, yet he still managed to mumble under his breath, ‘Granger was wrong…’

Draco glanced helplessly at the remaining Hell’s Wrath in the bottle. Though he knew the consequences of consuming the entire bottle, his murky and muddled mind begged him to provide it with the clarity it had known immediately after his first gulps of the drink. Thus, Draco picked up the bottle, raised it to his lips, and poured the remaining pale grey liquid down his throat.

This time, the burning sensation was neither as prolonged nor as intense as it had been the first time around. Once the flames faded away, Draco was rewarded with the lucidity he had been longing for. The moment his head cleared, he picked up his quill, dipped it in the ink bottle, and began to write once more.

Now it’s my turn to implore your help. At the moment, my life is – to put it mildly – more chaotic and confusing than I would like. I feel like I’ve lost the control I’ve been so tediously establishing ever since I understood the meaning of the word ‘power’. The past haunts me more than ever, the sharp words of my peers are beginning to hurt, and I feel as though another force is guiding me through each day and living my life for me.

I…well, I’ve been told that I’m a difficult person to talk to. I’m not a fool who wears his heart on his sleeve; I believe the weakest thing people can do is let their emotions run away with them. Nevertheless, I find myself susceptible to my temper sometimes, especially when remarks touch upon a sensitive part of me: my past, as you might have guessed. Indeed, this causes me to act rather cruelly towards some people – or at least, it did.

I’m tired of being that person everyone avoids and distrusts, though. I’m tired of having people turn away when they see me and glare when I speak to them. Starlight, tell me…how do you melt a heart of ice?

Sincerely,
Shadow

Unable to write legibly any longer, Draco stuffed the letter and the rest of his writing supplies into his pocket. His eyes blearily searched for the bartender, but the moment he opened his mouth to order another drink, the realisation that he had no more money on him forced him to close it again.

Sighing despondently, Draco picked up the empty bottle of Hell’s Wrath, lifted the birdcage – inside which his owl was sleeping – off the table, and trudged out of the inn.

Outside, the icy wind whipped at Draco’s robes and stung his cheeks. His owl screeched loudly, having been woken up from her slumber by the blustery weather.

‘I’m cold too,’ muttered Draco, hating how his words had become slurred and incomprehensible. Then, with a quiet pop, he Apparated back home.

Chapter 7: My Power Over You Grows Stronger Yet

‘How sad!’

Hermione couldn’t help but agree with Ginny’s words. She, too, couldn’t help but feel anything other than sympathy for Shadow. He seemed so…lost.

‘“How do you melt a heart of ice�…that’s so romantic, Hermione! I think someone –’

Hermione quickly clamped a hand over Ginny’s mouth before she could finish her sentence. ‘Shh!’

Ginny pried Hermione’s hand away from her mouth and said quizzically, ‘Why?’

‘Ron might hear you,’ said Hermione uneasily. She looked towards the closed door as if expecting her boyfriend to be standing there. ‘You know how he was with just the mention of Shadow…’

‘Oh, and you’re starting to call him Shadow too,’ said Ginny teasingly, ignoring Hermione’s warning. ‘Not just “my pen pal� anymore, is it?’

Hermione rolled her eyes even though she could feel her cheeks beginning to heat up. ‘Ginny, I told you, he’s a friend. Besides, it’s not as if I would ever leave Ron for a man I know only by what he writes to me in his letters – romances, after all, don’t develop on parchment.’

Ginny’s expression suddenly became more serious as she said quietly, ‘But Hermione…you and Ron are having problems, aren’t you?’

Hermione turned away, unable to bring herself to answer Ginny’s question. Instead, she murmured, ‘Don’t tell him about this letter, okay?’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t,’ said Ginny reassuringly. ‘I want you to survive to attend my wedding.’

Hermione laughed. ‘Speaking of the wedding,’ she said pointedly, drawing out the last word, ‘when’s it going to be?’

‘We’re not even engaged yet,’ said Ginny, laughing, ‘so let’s not get ahead of ourselves with talk of weddings. Mum doesn’t want her little girl to marry at only 21, anyway.’

‘Surely Fred and George’s marriages – ?’

‘Oh, but they’re already “well established financially� according to Mum,’ said Ginny, pulling a sour face. ‘She apparently doesn’t think Harry having the second highest position in the Auror department is enough to support the two of us.’

‘I thought she wanted you to live with her,’ said Hermione, surprised.

‘She did,’ said Ginny, ‘but even living with her won’t due us much good…I mean, with Dad gone…’ Her voice trailed off and she seemed unsure of what to say next.

Hermione nodded quietly, knowing that the Weasleys had had a rough time getting back on their feet after the Second War and the murder of Mr Weasley. His death was rarely brought up in the house, for Mrs Weasley broke down into hysterical sobs everytime someone mentioned his name, but nevertheless, it was impossible to hide the fact that the family had lost one of their only sources of income when Mr Weasley died.

Thankfully, the twins had managed to pull their business back together in the nick of time. They, along with their older brothers Charlie and Bill, were able to support their family financially until Mrs Weasley picked up a job as a cook at The Three Broomsticks and Harry and Hermione went to live at the Burrow to help out around the house.

By now, Ginny had pulled herself back together and was explaining to Hermione how well her chase after a rising dark wizard by the name of Nocabsichten was going. Hermione listened to Ginny’s excited exclamations of how they had nearly caught him the other day, smiling and nodding at appropriate moments to give off the impression that she was paying close attention.

When Ginny at last paused to take breath, Hermione quickly interjected, ‘So how is the interdepartmental unity challenge going for you?’

‘My pen pal is a witch,’ Ginny explained. Her eyes twinkled as she added, ‘She’s not nearly as interesting as your Shadow.’

Hermione wrinkled her nose and protested, ‘He’s not my Shadow!’ Determined to move the topic of conversation off of her pen pal, she asked, ‘How many times has she written to you?’

‘We’ve both written to each other once.’

‘Only once?’

‘Well, we’re both busy!’

‘Ginny, don’t you think this is slightly more important than work?’

Ginny gaped at Hermione. ‘More important than work? I thought nothing was more important than work!’

‘Of course there are things more important than work,’ said Hermione with a glare. ‘And don’t laugh, Ginny; I’m being serious! The Ministry is right; we ought to make an attempt to get along with everyone. I can’t stand all of distrust between the workers.’

Before Hermione could reply, there came a knocking at the door.

‘Come in.’

The doorknob turned and Harry entered. He was grinning and holding a folded map in one hand.

‘Ginny, they’ve found him!’

Ginny’s hand flew to her mouth and she jumped off the bed to run over to Harry. ‘Where?’ she asked breathlessly once she was standing before him.

‘By the North Sea. Come on, we have to go round up the Hit Wizards,’ said Harry eagerly. His green eyes shone brightly behind his glasses as he grabbed Ginny’s hand and led her to the doorway. ‘Hermione, Ron wants to talk to you,’ he added with a smile in Hermione’s direction.

‘Okay, I’ll be down soon,’ said Hermione. She returned the smile. ‘Good luck, you two. You’ll have no problem catching him.’

‘Thanks!’ chorused Harry and Ginny in unison before leaving Hermione’s room and closing the door behind them.

Alone now, Hermione sighed and read over Shadow’s letter once more. Her heart ached painfully; she could nearly feel his forlorness through his words. She couldn’t help but wonder, fleetingly, why it was that his handwriting was so messy and crooked, for his earlier letters had been filled with straight, neat lines of long-practised cursive.

Though her fingers were itching to take hold of a quill and write a reply, Hermione forced herself off her bed. Harry had mentioned that Ron was looking for her, and Hermione did not want to push their already precarious relationship by not going to find him.

It did not take long for Hermione to locate Ron. He was downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table, and talking seriously with Fred. When Hermione approached them, Fred immediately stood up, uttered an unconvincing excuse about him needing to go feed his and Alicia’s baby (Hermione noted here that the said baby was, at the moment, nonexistant), and hurried out of the room.

Ron coughed abashedly and gestured at Fred’s vacant seat. Determined to force an apology out of Ron first this time, Hermione said nothing as she obediently sat down.

‘Er…’

Hermione watched Ron in stony silence, her arms folded and a scowl fixated firmly on her face.

‘Listen, I’m sorry, Hermione.’ The words seemed to tumble out of Ron’s mouth of their own accord.

Hermione fought away the smile that threatened to emerge by saying coldly, ‘It would be nice if you could explain what caused this sudden change of attitude.’

The redness at the tips of Ron’s ears seemed to spread to his cheeks as he said hotly, ‘Isn’t it enough that I apologised?’

‘No,’ responded Hermione bluntly. ‘From the looks of it, Fred put you up to it, so unless you can explain to me why you chose the say the words to me, you just wasted an apology.’

Ron spluttered angrily; then, after a few minutes, he seemed to decide that protestations wouldn’t be worth it in the long run, and said sullenly, ‘I was jealous that you were writing to this stranger when we hardly spend time together anymore. I didn’t think before I spoke.’

‘And?’ prompted Hermione.

‘And I’ll let you write to your pen pal without objection from now on,’ Ron finished, scowling noticeably.

Hermione felt her resolution to maintain a cold pretence crack when she saw how hard it was for Ron, whose dignity prevented him from uttering apologies on a regular basis, to attempt to make amends on his own. Thus, she smiled tentatively at him and said softly, ‘It’s okay, Ron. Don’t worry about it.’

An expression of immense relief crossed Ron’s freckled face. He grinned at Hermione and said happily, ‘D’you want to join me for lunch, then?’

Hermione opened her mouth to accept the invitation, but then she remembered Shadow’s advice. Perhaps a little space might do the two of you some good… Hermione promptly closed her mouth and bit her lips in contemplation.

Was Shadow right? Should she and Ron try to spend a few days apart? He himself had warned Hermione that his advice might not be good, and yet it was the only advice she had…

‘Hermione?’

Hermione looked up at Ron. Softly, she whispered, ‘I’m sorry Ron, but I have to work on…work on a few things today.’ She cringed, loathing herself for letting the lie slip out so easily.

Ron looked crestfallen. Instead of arguing, though, he simply said quietly, ‘Okay. I’ll see you at dinner, Hermione.’

And with that, he stood up and stalked out of the room.

Hermione gazed after Ron’s retreating back, wishing she could run over to him and hug him and tell him that there was nothing in the world she wanted more than to spend an afternoon with him. Despite this, she held back, remembering Shadow’s advice.

Shadow.

Hermione wasn’t sure how she felt about him anymore. On one hand, he acted as if he was making his best attempts to change and become a better person than he had been in the past. On the other hand, the bits of his past he did mention all but frightened Hermione. What if he had not entirely turned over a new leaf? Was the shadow (Hermione smiled wryly at the pun) of his old self still lurking behind him?

Sighing, Hermione ran a hand through her hair, wondering why she was troubling herself so much over someone she hardly knew. Just by existing, Shadow was making a mess of Hermione’s life: first her job (which did not receive as much attention as it used to, for Hermione now spent many hours just staring into space and wondering when her next letter would arrive), then Ron, and now herself.

Yet despite all the trouble he was causing, Hermione felt an inexplicable pull towards this seemingly miserable, conflicted man. She wanted to help him put the scars of his past behind, and at the moment, the only way she could do this was by writing back to him.

And so she did.

---

Dear Shadow,

Just this morning, I received your letter, and now I can’t help but write back to you. To be honest, it may not be very smart of me to be devoting all this time to the challenge, but – and I don’t know about you – I’m enjoying it.

It seems that all I do lately is sleep, eat, work, and write to you. I feel like I can never spend enough time at the Ministry. I’ve been working tirelessly on finding out all I can about a collaboration of ex-Death Eaters that, as I’ve been told, and planning to found a new dark era. No matter how hard and long I try, though, it’s like trying to keep water in your bare hands: as soon as I scoop up more facts, some others disappear or are proven false. I can’t even put into words how frustrated this makes me; not only does it get me no where, between it and standing guard over certain rooms in the Ministry, I have absolutely no time on my hands. Luckily, my family and friends are both wonderfully supportive and sensible enough to force me to get rest or go out when I need to.

About my problem: I took your advice. He apologised to me this morning, though, and I felt dreadfully guilty brushing him off. Nonetheless, I thought I would try what you said – that is, maintain a little space between us for a while. I can only hope that it will work out, because the last thing I want is for our relationship to fall apart.

I’m terribly sorry; I shouldn’t have rambled on about myself like that. Shadow…I’ve been thinking. Perhaps it’s too much to ask too soon, but might it be possible for us to meet? I could take the Invisibility Cloak I usually use on missions so you won’t see me, and you can think of some other way to hide your identity. It probably sounds far-fetched, but I would like to talk to you in person. If this is possible, please owl me back a location and time.

Hoping to hear from you,
Starlight

Hermione shut her eyes tightly the moment she let the quill fall out of her hand. Had she really written it? It was true; she had secretly been pondering the possibility of someday meeting Shadow in person. But…she hadn’t intended to suggest it so soon.

What better time than right now? her mind encouraged. He sounds very upset; I’m sure he’ll welcome the chance to talk to you face to face…

Praying that her request had not been too out of line, Hermione swallowed hard and folded the letter. She would seal it when she returned to her bedroom and send it immediately afterwards.

Now, though, Hermione had an entirely different task on her mind: to find her boyfriend and apologise.

Chapter 8: Secret Dreams of Beauty

Draco woke up the next morning to the glare of the sunlight in his eyes. His first impulse was to grab his head, roll over, and vomit his insides out; however, the pounding headache that wracked his brain prevented him from doing anything but groan pitifully.

‘Lydig,’ he moaned, unable to raise his voice to anything above a whisper.

Thankfully, the magic that bound the house-elf to Draco assured that it would hear Draco no matter how far apart they were; and, sure enough, Lydig appeared immediately at Draco’s bedside with a loud crack.

‘Master called?’ Lydig squeaked, gazing warily at the disgruntled-looking Draco.

‘Find some way to rid me of this headache,’ mumbled Draco into his pillow, ‘and close the blasted curtains; it’s bright enough to wake up an entire town in here.’

Draco listened to the scurrying of Lydig’s feet as he ran to do as his master had ordered. When at last the blinds were drawn tightly, Draco opened one eye expectantly, gestured at his forehead, and muttered, ‘Now do something about this.’

‘Lydig – Lydig is afraid he is not knowing how, sir –’

Draco glared at Lydig. The house-elf’s ears oversized ears were drooping and he had a look of absolute terror in his great eyes. Draco did not have the heart to reprimand him, so instead, he said resignedly, ‘Fix me some breakfast, then, and I’ll try to brew something later today to help me lose the migraine.’

‘Yes, Master,’ said Lydig at once, sounding greatly relieved. With a deep bow, he hurried out of Draco’s bedroom.

While Draco waited for Lydig to return, he gazed blankly up at his dusty ceiling. He tried desperately to remember what had possessed him to buy – and drink – a bottle of Hell’s Wrath, but he found it impossible to come up with a reason that would justify such a drastic and stupid move.

At long length, Draco became away of a faint rustling coming from the other end of his bedroom. Lifting his head a quarter of an inch off his pillow, he looked around and saw, to his utter bewilderment, a snowy white owl sitting in a brass cage atop his dresser.

‘What the – ?’

The recollection of his visit to Eeylop’s the previous day jumped into Draco’s mind, cutting his sentence off. He bit back a yell of frustration when he realised he was now stuck with an owl he didn’t want.

The owl – what was her name? Latera, the clerk had said? – blinked at Draco. Draco glared back.

‘Fine!’ he said out loud. Reaching over to his nighttable, he wrapped his fingers around the handle of his wand, pointed it at the birdcage (he didn’t have the strength to lift it up), and thought, Alohomora!

The door of the cage flew open with a loud clang which caused Draco to clap his hands to his ears and groan in pain. However, the noise did not bother him so much as the fact that, upon finally being let out of her cage, Latera promptly flew down to her new master and landed on his head, digging her sharp claws into his cheeks to steady herself.

‘Argh!’ Draco yelled, waving his arms around frantically to get the owl off his face. ‘Go away, you effing beast!’

Latera simply stared at Draco, her round amber eyes unfazed.

At long last, Draco ceased his struggles. He was tired, his head was throbbing more than ever, and Lydig had not yet arrived with his breakfast so he was hungry as well. Sighing, he buried his face back into his pillow and mumbled grumpily, ‘The rest of today better be a hell of a good day to make up for this…’

---

As it turned out, the rest of the day did end up going so well that all thoughts of the disagreeable morning were gone from Draco’s mind by nighttime. There was one sole reason for this: Starlight’s letter.

It was the first thing Draco saw when he stepped into his office. Someone had dropped it on top of his desk while he’d been gone.

Draco crossed the room in two long strides and grabbed the letter eagerly. He turned it over and glanced at the address: nothing but a simple ‘Shadow’ written in green ink. He then flipped the letter back around and broke the wax seal, eager to see what Starlight had to say.

Something deep inside twinged uneasily as Draco unfolded the parchment and smoothed it out. He knew the uneasiness was a result of something he had written in his letter to her the day before; it had been bothering him since he woke up. Unfortunately, he couldn’t remember for the life of him what he had written that was so bad, and so it was with a strong sense of apprehension that he began to read Starlight’s reply.

It took several readings of the letter before Draco was able to absorb the last paragraph: She wanted to meet him. In person.

The bottom of his stomach seemed to drop at the very thought. She had urged him to wear a disguise so that neither of them would find out who the other was, but still…it made him rather queasy just thinking about what she would say and do if she found out who he was. Run away in fear? Look at him with utter repulsion in her eyes?

‘I have to say no,’ he muttered wildly to himself as he stood up abruptly and began to pace the length of his office. ‘I can’t meet her. Not this soon. No, I can’t do it…’

And yet though he continued to mumble these refusals underneath his breath, Draco couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel to just sit down and talk…talk to someone who would listen…

Against his better will, Draco returned to his desk and sat down heavily in his chair. He gazed at Starlight’s letter for many long minutes, desperately trying to decide what to do. Should he agree to her request, agree to meet her and possibly risk their faint friendship? Or should he take the safer, lonelier path and refuse, a choice that would allow him hide behind a page of words forever?

You also risk falling in love, a sly voice in the back of Draco’s mind pointed out.

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ said Draco out loud. He glared angrily at the wax otter. ‘For all I know, she could be a forty-year old witch with a bad complexion and a poor back!’

Why so shallow? scolded the voice. Look at your own face…

‘Leave me alone,’ Draco growled. He rubbed his temples, trying to rid himself of his slowly-returning headache.

Very well…if not love, at least a friendship so deep that you’ll no longer be able to stand her not knowing your identity…

‘That won’t happen,’ said Draco firmly, wishing he was as sure of this assertion as he sounded, ‘I won’t let it. We’ve been writing to each other for two weeks now and we’re only correspondents.’

If that’s so, murmured the voice, sounding amused, why do you fear scaring her off?

‘I said, leave me the hell alone!’ said Draco loudly, gripping the edge of his desk so tightly that his knuckles turned white. ‘I’ll do it!’

The words were out of Draco’s mouth before he had the chance to consider them. His heartbeat quickened considerably when he realised that, now that he had said it out loud, there was no way he bring himself to go back and rethink his decision.

‘It’s just a meeting,’ he assured himself in low tones as he unscrewed the cap on his ink bottle and dipped a quill into it. ‘Just a meeting…’ he repeated quietly before bringing out a clean sheet of parchment and scrawling a few short sentences on it:

Dear Starlight,

Meet me tomorrow evening by the pond in Sherwood Park. Be there no later than seven o’clock. Wear your cloak and tap me on the left shoulder when you arrive.

Sincerely,
Shadow

Not wishing to doubt his decision any further, Draco quickly folded his letter the moment he finished writing it and stuffed it into an envelope addressed to ‘Starlight’. Then, Draco stood up and walked over to the Ministry owl he always kept in his office.

However, as he made to tie the letter onto the owl’s leg, he heard a low hoot from behind him. Turning around, he saw Latera staring reproachfully at him from inside her brass cage. Sighing, Draco turned away from the Ministry owl and walked over to Latera instead.

‘You better find her quickly,’ he muttered, glaring at his owl. She bobbed her head up and down as if to assure him she would.

Once the letter was secured firmly to Latera’s leg, Draco carried her over to the open window on his arm. Just before he thrust her into the open air, he paused and said sternly, ‘I’ll be expecting you to return with her reply soon.’

Latera ruffled her feathers impatiently and bobbed her head once more. Then, she was gone.

Draco watched Latera disappear into the distance. When she was gone, he sighed and shut his window, wondering whether he had done the right thing by agreeing to meet his mysterious pen pal.

---

Despite his concerns about agreeing to meet Starlight, Draco couldn’t help but feel significantly better having read her letter. As he headed out of his office and to lunch, he even managed to smirk suggestively one of the Hit Witches, causing her to blush furiously and turn away.

Just as Draco was about to push open the door leading out of the office, he felt a hand on his arm. Looking down, he saw, to his surprise, that the hand belonged to Kay. She was smiling widely up at him and looked as though she desperately wanted to ask him something.

‘Yes?’ said Draco mildly, checking his watch to make it clear that he was on his way somewhere.

Kay noticed this too, and she quickly released Draco’s arm. However, her bright smile remained firmly fixed on her round face as she said cheerfully, ‘Mr Shacklebolt’s just told me that I’m to take up the position of your assistant starting tomorrow, sir!’

Draco’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I’m going to be –’

‘I know what you said,’ Draco snapped, cutting off Kay’s response. He noticed a hurt look flash across her face, and he regretted his harsh tone; however, he was too preoccupied by this sudden news to bother with an apology.

Since when did I apply for an assistant? thought Draco furiously. He glanced at Kay warily. He didn’t have anything against the young witch; she was, as he had said, much brighter than half of the others in his department. However, Kingsley knew that Draco preferred to work alone. Besides, his position called for him to do next to nothing: sitting in an office and ordering lower ranked Hit Wizards around was not a job that required more than one person to execute.

‘Er…’ said Draco at last. He still wasn’t quite sure what to say. ‘Er…let me talk to Shacklebolt about this, okay, Jamison?’

Kay looked slightly crestfallen at Draco’s response, but she recovered quickly and said steadily, ‘Okay, sir. I’ll let you go now.’

‘Thank you,’ said Draco stiffly. He watched Kay disappear behind a row of cubicles before turning around and leaving the office at last.

What was Shacklebolt thinking, assigning me an assistant like that without even telling me, thought Draco indignantly as he made his way to the Ministry lifts. I don’t even have anything for her to do…

Draco continued to fume over the appointment as he exited the lift on the ground floor, left the Ministry, and crossed the street to a small tea shop called ‘Brown’s’.

When he entered the little building, his feet instinctively took him to his table: the one in the furthest corner of the shop; the one he sat in everyday for lunch. Sitting down, Draco did not have to wait any more than a few seconds before one of the eager waitresses hurried up to him.

‘The usual, Mr Malfoy?’ she asked enthusiastically.

Draco nodded, and the waitress sped off.

While Draco waited for his order, he gazed at the customers in the tea house dispassionately. He noticed that many of the witches and wizards that usually had lunch there around the same time he did were absent. This was rather disconcerting, for Draco had got used to seeing them at their usual tables.

What surprised Draco even more, however, was the presence of two new customers: Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. They were sitting at a booth not far from him and talking earnestly to one another as they ate their lunch.

His interest piqued, Draco watched them through narrowed eyes. Ron held Hermione’s hand in his casually as he excitedly explained something, his free hand waving about to help illustrate his words. Hermione was leaning forward as she listened to Ron speak, an expression of enthrallment on her face.

Draco couldn’t help but feel slightly resentful that it was Ron Weasley sitting across the table from Hermione, and not someone more deserving. Hermione – whose intelligence he’d learned to accept once he realised that his life did not revolve around his marks – had always struck him as someone who would choose her significant others with the same care and consideration she used when measuring ingredients for a particularly tricky potion or researching facts for an essay. In Draco’s opinion, Ron was anything but the smart, accomplished man that should’ve been in his place.

‘Excuse me, Mr Malfoy, I’ve brought your drink.’

Draco was snapped out of his thoughts by the return of his waitress. She was holding a tray upon which sat a teacup filled to the brim with wild blackberry tea and a large slab of fruitcake. The tea Draco took gladly, but the fruitcake he had not ordered, and so he did not touch it, instead choosing to eye it suspiciously.

‘Compliments of Madam Brown,’ the waitress explained, beaming. She offered the tray to Draco again.

Shrugging, Draco took the fruitcake and thanked the waitress. When she had disappeared behind the counter again, though, he pushed the plate bearing the fruitcake away.

Once he was finished sweetening his tea with sugar and milk, Draco brought the cup up to his lips and took a tentative sip. Perfect. He smiled, enjoying the way the hot liquid warmed up his insides.

As Draco took another sip, his eyes fixed themselves on Hermione and Ron’s booth again. Hermione seemed to have forgotten about her lunch, while on the other hand, Ron was wolfing his down with wild abandon. Draco’s lips curled in disgust at this, and again, he couldn’t help but think fleetingly that Hermione was an extremely brave and kind woman for choosing to date an oaf like Ron.

The longer Draco observed the couple, though, the stronger the pangs of loneliness inside of him became. As much as he disliked both Hermione and Ron, he couldn’t help but envy the way their eyes sparkled as they spoke to one another, the way they smiled at each other so lovingly. This sort of joy and ardency was foreign to Draco; he had never felt nor received it. Naturally, he never showed this in public, for he had learned from his father long ago that love was a weakness for reasons that had never been properly explained to him. Regardless, Draco secretly longed for the chance to love and be loved, and this yearning was perhaps why he was so drawn to Starlight.

Once Draco was finished with his tea, he set his cup back down onto the saucer and stood up. He threw a few silver Sickles down onto the table then briskly made his way to the exit of the tea shop. As he passed Hermione and Ron’s table, he determinedly avoided looking their way, hoping they wouldn’t notice him.

As Draco stepped outside, he shot one last glance over his shoulder into the tea shop. His eyes met with a pair of curious brown ones. Scowling, Draco turned away again. However, as he stepped off the curb and hurried across the street, he could feel the heat of Hermione’s gaze lingering around him.

Chapter 9: The Point of No Return

Hermione inhaled sharply. The feel of the silken material of her Invisibility Cloak brought to reality what she was about to do.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to do this, she thought faintly. Her eyes, reflected in the mirror before her, were wide and filled with uncertainty and fear.

‘Why did I ever suggest it?’ Hermione murmured to herself as she glanced once more at Shadow’s last letter: the one detailing the time and location of their meeting. The letter was taped to her mirror, and she’d been stealing glances at it for the past two hours despite having memorised every word of it.

A sharp knock at Hermione’s door pulled her out of her thoughts. Hermione quickly stuffed her Invisibility Cloak under her blanket before saying out loud, ‘Come in.’

It was Ginny. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and sat down on her bed, careful to make sure she didn’t move the covers enough for Ginny to catch a glimpse of the cloak.

‘Sit down,’ said Hermione, gesturing next to her. She smiled nervously, hoping Ginny wouldn’t notice how flustered she was.

As it was, Ginny had noticed. The first thing she said once she had seated herself next to Hermione was ‘What are you up to?’

‘Nothing,’ said Hermione, perhaps a little bit too quickly. ‘I just thought you were Ron.’

‘And why wouldn’t you want to see Ron?’ said Ginny, her brown eyes glinting with suspicion and interest. ‘Come on, Hermione, you’re hiding something. Tell me what it is you don’t want me to know!’

‘Don’t be silly, Ginny,’ said Hermione with a tense laugh, ‘I’m not hiding anything.’ She checked her watch as she said this. It was 6:50PM. She had five minutes to throw off Ginny and Apparate to the park.

Ginny was saying something now, and Hermione tuned in just in time to hear the words ‘…else he’ll tell Harry, and you don’t want Harry involved.’

‘Yeah,’ said Hermione absently. She checked her watch again. 6:51. ‘Listen Ginny,’ she said, her voice a little higher than she would’ve liked, ‘I’m sorry, but I really have to go somewhere right now.’

‘Go somewhere?’ repeated Ginny. She raised an eyebrow. ‘Where?’

‘Meeting,’ said Hermione hurriedly. ‘I have to change, though, so I’ll see you later.’

Ginny slowly stood up. ‘When’s later?’ she asked. It was clear that she didn’t intend to exit Hermione’s room anytime soon.

‘In an hour or two,’ replied Hermione. She gave Ginny’s shoulders a little push. ‘Please, Ginny, I really have to leave!’

Ginny allowed herself to be ushered out of the room. Just before Hermione slammed the door, she called out, ‘You had best tell me where you were once you get back, or Ron’s going to hear about this!’

Finally alone, Hermione hastened to the other end of her room while checking her watch. 6:54. Without pausing, she snatched her Invisibility Cloak out from underneath her blankets and threw it around herself.

Hermione took one final deep breath, made one last silent prayer, then closed her eyes and, within seconds, disappeared from the attic of the Burrow with a tiny pop. Little did she know that as the last of her bedroom disappeared into darkness, she was minutes away from plunging into an ocean of events from which she could never turn back.

---

Hermione arrived at the edge of Sherwood Park shivering. The Invisibility Cloak she clutched tightly around herself was no help in protecting her from the frigid winter air.

Once she had adjusted herself to the cold air, Hermione looked around, trying to gain a sense of her bearing. Shadow had said to meet him by the pond, which was at the north end of the park.

It did not take long for Hermione to figure out where she was. She had, thankfully, Apparated to a spot not very far from the pond, and the walk there would take no longer than five minutes.

Hermione passed through the gates of the park and began to stroll along the cobblestone path that wound between trees and bushes. As she hurried along, she did her best to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. This was it. This was the point of no return. After meeting Shadow, he would no longer be just a name, just a letter, just words of comfort. He would be real.

The closer Hermione drew to the pond, the tighter the knot of worry inside of her grew. What would happen when the two of them finally met? And how would he have disguised himself? What if he wasn’t there?

Trying to eradicate these distressing thoughts from her mind, Hermione walked on, her stride never faltering. In less than a minute, it seemed, she had arrived at the pond.

It was not the least bit difficult to locate Shadow. There was no one else at the park – those with half a mind didn’t dare wander out into the blustery weather – so Hermione’s attention was immediately drawn to a lone figure standing underneath a willow tree. His back was turned to her, so all she could see of him was his black cloak.

Hermione’s heart pounded wildly against her ribcage. For several long moments, she stood rooted to her spot, simply staring at him. Her head felt lighter than she could ever remember it being. Did she dare approach him?

Her feet answered for her. Unable to hold herself back, Hermione took a step forward, and then another, and another, until she was walking steadily toward the cloaked figure. As she neared him, she noticed that his hair and the gloves he wore on his hands were both of the same pitch black as his cloak.

Finally, Hermione was standing right behind him. This was it. With a deep breath, she lifted a trembling hand and touched his left shoulder lightly.

Shadow’s shoulders stiffened. Slowly, he turned around to face Hermione, and as he did, she couldn’t help but gasp quietly.

He wore a white mask that covered nearly all of his face. The only parts of his features Hermione could see were his eyes, which were light grey, his lips, and his chin.

Hermione fumbled around underneath her cloak until her fingers closed around the handle of her wand. Lifting it up, she touched it to her throat and thought, Dissimulo vocis. Then, closing her eyes tightly, she whispered in a voice much breathier than her own, ‘Hello.’

---

It was disconcerting, Draco couldn’t help but note, to hear a voice speak to him out of nothingness. He wasn’t sure where exactly to look, so he settled for keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead as he replied softly, ‘Hello, Starlight.’

There was a faint rustling; then, she said quietly, ‘Come, sit down with me.’

Draco followed the sound of her footsteps over to a nearby bench. Not sure where to sit, he let her take his arm and guide him to the empty side of the bench. Once he was seated next to her, he turned around, praying that she wouldn’t recognise him under the mask.

He had, admittedly, got the idea for his disguise from his years of being a Death Eater. Instead of wearing a hooded cloak, though, he had chosen to change the colour and length of his hair with a simple spell. His mask, too, differed from those of the Death Eaters: instead of being made to look like the top half of a skull, it was shaped more like a mask that might be worn by a guest at a masquerade ball.

‘Starlight,’ he murmured, careful to keep his voice low and soft so as not to give away his identity. He had chosen not to perform a voice-altering charm on himself simply because he preferred to use his own voice.

‘I’m sorry to bring you out like this –’

‘No, it’s fine,’ Draco quickly assured, interrupting her. ‘I would rather to speak to you in person, anyway.’

‘As would I.’ She paused before adding, ‘I didn’t think I’d be able to address your letter fully in just a few lines.’

Draco nodded. He nervously adjusted his mask and said quietly, ‘What was it that I wrote?’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, sounding surprised.

Draco swallowed, realising how bad his last words must have sounded. ‘I – I wasn’t paying attention,’ he explained, not wishing to reveal the entire reason why he couldn’t remember, ‘I was preoccupied at the time that I wrote it.’

Starlight was silent for a few moments before she finally said softly, ‘I see.’

Draco turned his head to gaze over the frozen pond. Though he couldn’t see where exactly Starlight was looking, he could sense that she was staring straight at him in a manner that made him feel as though he were an animal on exhibit.

After a while, Starlight spoke again: ‘You asked me to help you. You told me that lately you feel different, that you want to make an effort to change and become the person others don’t avoid and distrust.’

As the words washed over Draco, a sense of dread erupted in the pit of his stomach. He had not intended to sound so vulnerable, to pour his heart out like that. Clenching his teeth, he struggled to remain silent as Starlight continued to voice the pleas he had written.

‘Are you feeling okay?’

Draco nodded stonily, feeling his cheeks turn warm at the concerned note in Starlight’s voice. ‘I’m sorry, I drifted off. I – that wasn’t what I meant to write, that’s all.’

There was a prolonged silence. Draco felt the bitter winter cold settle around him, but he paid little attention to the dropping temperature; he was, instead, racking his mind for topics he could mention to start the conversation again. The less time Starlight had to sit still and gaze at him, the better.

‘Which department do you work in?’ he asked at last, the words sliding awkwardly through his cold lips.

‘I can’t tell you now, can I?’ Starlight replied teasingly. Draco marvelled at the enormous difference a touch of lightheartedness made in her sweet but far-too-serious voice.

‘Good point,’ he agreed with a slight smile. ‘What do you want to talk about then?’

Starlight let out an audible sigh. ‘I thought maybe we should talk about…you.’

Draco winced. He had known it was coming, but that didn’t stop him from feeling as though he’d had an ice cube slipped down his throat when she finally said it. ‘What is there to talk about?’

‘I…’ Her voice faltered briefly. ‘I guess all I can really say is that I’m here for you, right?’

‘Right.’

‘But you asked me how you can become a more agreeable person. I thought that perhaps…perhaps if we met each other more frequently, you might become more comfortable with talking to others.’

Draco scowled, hating how degrading the description of his situation sounded. ‘Maybe,’ he said doubtfully.

‘It was just a suggestion; I’m sorry, I phrased it poorly.’

‘It’s fine,’ said Draco, wishing he could reach out a hand and touch her on the shoulder. It would help to know that there was something tangible in front of him.

‘I made up with him,’ Starlight suddenly murmured.

‘What?’

‘My boyfriend.’

‘Oh…did you?’ Draco forced himself to sound happy for her.

‘Yes,’ she responded in a tone of voice Draco couldn’t quite identify. ‘I’m sorry, I tried what you said, but it didn’t work out. I couldn’t stand avoiding him, and it’s almost Christmas…’

‘Of course,’ Draco said quickly, not wanting to give Starlight the impression that he was upset she had not followed his advice. ‘I’m glad you did what you thought was best.’

‘I don’t know.’ She sighed. ‘I shouldn’t be fretting over it so much; there are other things to worry about. You probably know this already, but Edna Malkin, the owner of Madam Malkin’s, was found dead outside of her shop last night. No one has a clue who murdered her or why, but the wizard who did it left behind the ghost of a Dark Mark floating above her body, and…well, the Mark hasn’t been seen for so many years…’

Draco nervously tugged the sleeve of his left arm a little lower, something he had grown used to doing unconsciously. He wondered briefly what Starlight would think of him if she knew that the same serpent-tongued skull that had been found floating over Edna Malkin’s body was imprinted there on his left forearm.

‘…assigned, of course, because the search I’m currently in charge of is going nowhere,’ Starlight was saying when Draco focused back in on her words. ‘I’m supposed to be there in the early morning tomorrow to look around before the Daily Prophet gets ahold of the news.’

Draco smiled inwardly, deciding not to point out that Starlight had just broken her own rule by indirectly informing him that she worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the only department in the Ministry that dealt with the capture of Dark Wizards and investigation of crimes. Instead, he said quietly, ‘I’m sorry your job is taking up so much of your time. You can leave anytime if you need to catch some sleep to stay awake tomorrow morning.’

‘Thank you,’ Starlight said in a rather grateful tone, ‘but it won’t be necessary. I’m used to getting little sleep at night now. I usually make it up in the daytime, sometimes during my office hours on really bad days.’ She laughed lightly, which Draco promptly decided she should do more often, as she had a very nice laugh that wasn’t too harsh or too giggly.

‘Your job must be a hassle,’ Draco remarked, wishing that his gloves could at least somewhat protect his increasingly stiff fingers from the cold.

‘It is sometimes,’ she admitted, ‘but I wouldn’t want it to be otherwise. Strangely enough, I enjoy the time in my schedule it takes up and the amount of stress it piles on me. It’s something I like to do, work constantly. The only thing is that my position in my division is a rather hands-on one, and I’d rather sit behind a desk and do paperwork.’

‘I see.’

‘I’m boring you now, aren’t I?’

‘No, not at all. There’s…there’s nothing about me that will entertain you for very long, so I prefer listening to you.’

There was a faint rustle, which Draco assumed was caused by Starlight shaking her head. ‘No,’ she said, ‘please, tell me about yourself.’

‘To be honest, I explained it all in the first letter,’ said Draco wryly. He did not add that he had been a former Death Eater, nor did he mention his secret passion for potion brewing.

‘That can’t be all there is to you.’

Draco pursed his lips and did not reply to her question. He was aware that he was being rude, but he made no attempt to apologise, and instead changed the topic. ‘I’m surprised at how smooth this conversation has flowed so far. I would have expected that the little we know about each other would’ve hindered our ability to converse naturally.’

‘Me too,’ Starlight said softly.

There was a long pause, during which Draco was surprised to see a dead flower lift itself up from the frozen ground to hover near his nose. Then, he remembered that Starlight was wearing an Invisibility Cloak – he’d nearly forgotten, and now chided himself for having willingly accepted the fact that he was talking to what appeared to be thin air for even a moment – and reasoned that she had probably picked it up.

Draco frowned at the wilted petals of flower. ‘It’s sad how everything dies when the frost settles in.’

‘But it all regrows when Spring rolls around, doesn’t it?’

‘Not everything.’

Another pause, this one longer than the last. Then, Starlight said, ‘And what of the new life that rises from the remains of the dead leaves and such? That makes it worth it, don’t you think?’

Draco shrugged and readjusted his mask. ‘Depends how you look at it. Do you think that new life is better than the old?’

‘Of course it is. Evolution requires life to improve between generations.’

‘Evolution? I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention in History of Magic when that was mentioned…’

Starlight laughed again, causing a warm glow to inch its way up Draco’s spine. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she chided, ‘evolution isn’t history; it’s science – logic – reason.’

‘I see,’ said Draco again, though he didn’t quite see. Assuming it was something Starlight had picked up growing up in the Muggle world, he changed the topic once more. ‘Perhaps you should be leaving…It’s nearly nine, and I’d expect that your family will be waiting for you.’

‘Oh!’ exclaimed Starlight, standing up. Her hand briefly knocked into Draco’s shoulder as she did so, the first contact they’d had since they met.

Draco stood up too, but not before picking up the flower Starlight had dropped in her haste. He pocketed it, then said, ‘I’ll write to you soon, then?’

‘Hopefully,’ came Starlight’s voice from somewhere to his left. She seemed to hesitate before saying her next words. ‘I – I have one more question before I go.’

‘Yes?’

‘How old are you?’

Draco raised an eyebrow, an action that was not caught by Starlight because of the mask hiding most of Draco’s face. ‘Let’s just say I was a childhood…acquaintance of Harry Potter’s.’

Starlight remained quiet for a while. Draco waited, expecting her to reply with her age, but at long length, there was a quiet pop, and he knew he was alone.

To be sure, Draco groped around in the air in front of him. Nothing solid. Breathing a sigh of relief, he waited no longer to point his wand at his mask and mutter, ‘Emoveo.’ The mask promptly fell off of his face, no longer held there by magic, and landed in his hand.

Draco cast one last silent look around at his surroundings. Then, he tucked the wand and his mask into his pocket, concentrated on the sitting room of his flat, and Apparated back home.

Chapter 10: Home

When Hermione reappeared in her attic bedroom in the Burrow, night had descended. A few stars and a sliver of the moon were scattered sparsely across the pitch black sky, but other than that, there was nothing but utter darkness.

The moment Hermione’s feet touched the floor of her room, she threw the Cloak off her and hurried out the door. On her way, she grabbed a folded note Mrs Weasley had left on her bedside table. As she descended the crooked steps, praying with everything she had that none of the family members besides Ginny had noticed her absence, she scanned the few short sentences scrawled on it with a deepening frown.

As it turned out, Hermione’s absence had indeed remained undiscovered, and Ginny had thankfully not alerted anyone of it. Everyone was gathered in the sitting room, chatting happily over mugs of hot chocolate and butterbeer. Hermione stood at the foot of the staircase for a moment, fighting to dull the pang of jealousy that struck from watching the warm, cosy scene before her. Apparently, her friends had thought it appropriate to carry on without her.

After a while, Hermione shook her head and fiercely reminded herself that they were probably under the impression that she was busy working and wasn’t in the mood to be interrupted. Forcing a smile onto her face, she stepped into the room and said brightly, ‘Hi, everyone.’

The chatter died down as everyone turned to look at Hermione in unison. Ron was the first to stand up, walk over, and hug her.

‘Hey, Hermione,’ he said, smiling and tugging a few loose strands of her hair playfully. ‘We thought you were busy, so we didn’t invite you down here.’

There you have it, said a reassuring voice in Hermione’s mind as she smiled and hugged Ron back. They have no reason to not want you here.

All of her doubts evaporated as Hermione settled down between Harry and Ron on one of the more battered Weasley sofas. Everyone seemed genuinely glad that she had finally joined them as the conversation picked up again. The Weasley twins began narrating one of their more frivolous experiences with a customer while their mother listened with a scandalised expression on her face, and Ron, Harry, and Ginny started discussing the murder of Edna Malkin.

‘We were just talking about how the Dark Mark could have been a fake,’ Ginny explained to Hermione.

‘Oh…do you really think that?’ said Hermione, hoping she didn’t sound as distant as she felt. In the back of her mind, she was still thinking about her conversation with Shadow.

‘I don’t,’ interjected Ron with a frown. ‘As I told Kingsley, there are still plenty of Death Eaters on the loose…any of them could’ve easily done it.’

‘But what are the odds that they’re going to come out of hiding to murder the owner of a apparel shop?’ Harry pointed out. ‘I talked to Malfoy about their situation a while back; he told me that they’re trying their best to avoid the rest of the wizarding world. I doubt they’d risk exposure for something as trite as this.’

‘Agreed,’ said Ginny. She was comfortably snuggled up next to Harry in a position Hermione and Ron had never quite been able to pull off without some degree of embarrassment. ‘There are loads of criminals out there who’d do it as some sick form of entertainment.’

‘She could’ve had something they wanted,’ Ron argued. His eyes suddenly lit up as if he had been struck with a sudden inspiration. ‘Hey, I reckon they’re searching for a new leader! Maybe Malkin knew something about where they could find one.’

‘It’s a possibility,’ Harry agreed, but he still looked doubtful. He turned to Hermione. ‘What do you think, Hermione?’

‘I’m not really sure,’ said Hermione, slightly disconcerted that she had been brought so abruptly into their dispute. ‘The letter Mrs Weasley left on my bedside table while I was out was from Dawlish, though; I’m supposed to go investigate the scene of her murder tomorrow morning now. I’ll definitely let you guys know what I find out.’

‘I heard a few of the Hit Wizards were assigned to the scene investigation too,’ said Ginny in a low voice.

‘Really?’ said Hermione, surprised. ‘I thought they only took care of the capture of criminals.’

‘Most of them do,’ Harry explained, ‘but there are a handful of them who help handle murders and other crimes involving dark wizards by either standing guard in case the perpetrator returns or helping the Aurors in charge gather evidence and such.’ He paused, then added, ‘Malfoy’s one of those.’

‘Malfoy?’ exclaimed Ron indignantly. ‘He’s got a high position in that office, then?’

Hermione couldn’t blame Ron; the Hit Wizards and the Aurors were very closely linked divisions, so Draco holding power was all but the equivalent to him being their supervisor.

‘Yeah.’ Harry grinned at the three identical looks of anger on his friends’ faces. ‘He’s not so bad, Malfoy. You just have to understand what happened to him to really start feeling sorry for him.’

‘And do you know?’ said Ginny, leaning forward eagerly. ‘Did he tell you how he got those scars?’

Harry shook his head and cringed. ‘He gets a bit…er…sensitive whenever his scars are brought up. He has changed a lot, though.’

Ron snorted. ‘That’s rubbish,’ he said stubbornly. ‘Once a spineless git, always a spineless git, that’s what I say.’

‘I believe you, Harry,’ said Hermione, rolling her eyes at Ron. ‘Remember what you told us in sixth year? It’s pretty clear that he was ready to back out even then. As unpleasant as he can be sometimes, it's hard not to pity him.’

‘Then he only "changed" himself out of fear,’ Ron said viciously, ‘and that proves nothing other than the fact that he’s a slimy coward as well a bastard.’

‘Ron, drop it,’ said Hermione warningly.

‘Anyway,’ said Harry, cottoning onto Hermione’s attempt to change the subject, ‘what paperwork did Robards assign you now, Hermione?’

‘Paperwork?’

‘Yeah, what you were doing just before you came down. You were working, weren’t you?’

‘Oh! Of course I was.’ Hermione nervously glanced over Harry’s shoulder at Ginny, who was giving her a searching look. ‘I was reading the reports of that recent werewolf attack in Bristol. They think Fenrir is back.’

‘Fenrir Greyback?’ said Harry. His eyebrows were raised in scepticism. ‘Last I heard, he was dead.’

Hermione shrugged. ‘A witch and her Muggle husband claimed to have seen him in the woods by their house before he disappeared. The sighting apparently occurred two hours before the attack, which wasn’t far away from their home.’ This much she knew was true, for she had been scanning the report just before she left to go see Shadow.

‘Are you sure? I mean, it’s hard to recognise werewolves…’

‘Yes, Ron, I know,’ Hermione sighed. ‘I’ll ask Lupin about it when he comes over for Christmas. Your mum did say he and Tonks are coming over, right?’

‘Yeah,’ Ron affirmed.

Ginny and Harry broke into matching grins, for they were particularly fond of the couple. ‘I haven’t seen Tonks for years,’ said Ginny, her eyes shining.

Hermione laughed. ‘You see her everyday at work, Ginny.’

‘But that’s strictly business,’ Ginny insisted. ‘It’ll be nice to have her and Lupin here again; they haven’t dropped by since the beginning of the war.’

Hermione couldn’t help but agree with this. She had missed Lupin dreadfully; he had been her favourite teacher back at Hogwarts and had saved her life countless times during the war. They occasionally wrote to each other now, but it wasn’t quite the same as having him beside her. Tonks, too, would be a joy to have back, and Hermione had no doubt that her very presence in the house would launch everyone into the holiday spirit.

‘So Hermione,’ Ginny continued, her eyes sparkling meaningfully as she leaned over Harry (who had begun to enthusiastically relate his recent lunch with Oliver Wood to Ron) to look at Hermione, ‘how was your evening?’

Hermione pressed a finger to her lips and glared at Ginny, a wordless indication to not mention her earlier whereabouts in the presence of their boyfriends. Ginny smiled smugly and said nothing else on the matter, but it was clear that once the two of them escaped the family’s company later, she wouldn’t hesitate to press Hermione for details.

For the moment, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back against the sofa. Closing her eyes, she let the warmth of the room, the enticing smell of hot chocolate, and the buzz of chatter wash over her and soothe her jumpy nerves.

Her mind drifted back two hours to the initial words exchanged between her and Shadow. She pictured him sitting beside her, his masked face turned away, his gloved hands clenched tightly into fists. He had spoken with such elegance and intelligence that she had felt completely at ease talking to him. Not a single part of her had pointed out just how odd their situation was during the course of those two hours they spent together.

Hermione shivered as she remembered the frown that had played at his thin lips the whole time he spoke to her and the way his grey eyes had swirled with hate, distaste, and sadness – all at the same time. It frustrated her that she couldn’t quite decide whether or not she knew him; though the little of his face she’d seen had created a fuzzy image that continued to linger in the shadowy corners of her mind, a name and identity had yet to occur to her. All she knew for certain was that he’d gone to school with Harry, which meant he was about the same age as her.

Sighing, Hermione rubbed her temples and tried to chase away the memories of Shadow. She had to focus on what was there in front of her at that very moment: her best friends, her second family, and, most importantly, her boyfriend.

‘Ron,’ she said sharply.

Ron raised his eyebrows. ‘What, Hermione?’

‘I’m going to be at the site of the Malkin murder tomorrow morning, but I’m free in the afternoon. Are you going to be working?’

‘I think I get off at two, but don’t quote me on it; I’ll have to ask Robards…he’s been working me to the bone lately, that one…’

Hermione rolled her eyes. ‘You’re only saying that because he tries to make you stay in the office, and you’d rather run around, cursing Dementors and dark wizards.’

Grinning, Ron leaned over and kissed Hermione on the lips. ‘You’ve got me all figured out.’

‘I wish I did,’ muttered Hermione under her breath, unsure as to whether she meant it or not, but Ron didn’t seem to hear her, for he had returned to his conversation with Harry. Hermione frowned, feeling the invitation to lunch she’d intended to offer Ron die on her lips.

With a sigh, Hermione stood up and bid the remaining members of the family, Ginny, and Harry good-night. She didn’t wait for them to respond, and instead hurried upstairs to her bedroom, hoping fiercely that sleep would bring about a temporary stay to her confused and turbulent thoughts.

---

Hermione woke the next morning with a sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. Unable to place its source, she got out of bed, brushed her teeth, and dressed in less than three minutes. She checked her watch as she hastened out of her room, checking to see if she had enough time to grab a quick bite. She did.

When she arrived downstairs, she found, to her surprise, that everyone save for Mrs Weasley was still in bed.

‘Ron’s still asleep?’ Hermione inquired as she shuffled up to Mrs Weasley and eyed the thick, purplish liquid simmering in a small cauldron on the stove. ‘And what’s that? I’ve never seen that potion before.’

‘I would have expected you to be more surprised to find him awake than asleep at this hour,’ teased Mrs Weasley, smiling briefly at Hermione before returning her attention to the sausages she was flipping in a frying pan, ‘and Angelina and Alicia – bless them – have both come down with the flu due to the cold weather here, so I brewed them this potion. I got the ingredients from Witch Weekly,’ she added in explanation when she caught sight of Hermione’s dubious expression.

‘What’s wrong with using a regular Pepper-up Potion?’ Hermione asked curiously.

‘Nothing, of course,’ Mrs Weasley replied distractedly as she prodded the flames beneath the frying pan with her wand. ‘I just haven’t had the time to go shopping lately, and Miranda Buschart insists that this potion cures symptoms more efficiently, so I fancied giving it a try. Don’t fret over it, dear – here, have some sausages –’

‘Thank you,’ said Hermione gratefully as Mrs Weasley dropped three or four sausages onto a plate, ‘but really, Mrs Weasley, I’m fine. I’m just about to leave for work, anyway.’

‘Work?’ repeated Mrs Weasley incredulously. ‘This early in the morning? Why, that’s unheard of!’

Hermione concealed a smile. ‘Don’t worry, it’s just for today. I’ve been assigned to investigate the Malkin case.’ She speared a sausage using a fork lying on the counter, ate it in two bites, and shrugged on her cloak. ‘Well, I’m off now. When everyone else wakes up, let them know that I love them and I’ll be back for lunch if things go well.’

‘Of course, dear,’ said Mrs Weasley, smoothing Hermione’s hair and kissing her cheek in a motherly fashion. ‘Be careful out there!’

‘I will,’ Hermione assured before waving good-bye and stepping out the door.

Once outside, Hermione breathed in the crisp, earthy scent of the frosty morning air, closed the screen door behind her, and strode briskly down the winding dirt path leading to the apparation shack. There, she cast one last fond glance over her shoulder at the Burrow's teetering, crooked form before stepping inside and shutting the wooden door firmly behind her.

In contrast to the bright, sunlit garden, the apparation shed was dark and dusty. Cautiously feeling around in front of her to make sure there was nothing in her path, Hermione took a few steps forward until she was standing in the centre of the shack. Then, closing her eyes, she pictured the cramped apparation closet in The Leaky Cauldron, a pub whose back door led into an alley which in turn hid the secret entrance to Diagon Alley, stepped forward, and apparated away.

Chapter 11: But Who Can Name the Face?

The first thing Draco noticed when he arrived at the scene of the Malkin murder was that everything looked disconcertingly normal. Aside from the large throng of Christmas shoppers fighting to get a look into the store and the thick ropes preventing them from doing so, nothing was amiss – no shattered windows, unhinged doors, or turned over flower pots.

‘Excuse me,’ Draco muttered as he accidentally elbowed an old witch carrying an unusually large purse. She snarled something incomprehensible to Draco, but he ignored her and continued to push his way to the front of the crowd.

When he finally reached the ropes, Draco stepped over them and made his way into the shop, scanning his surroundings critically as he did so. While he walked, he vaguely wondered whether Starlight was on the scene as well; however, he quashed these thoughts when he recalled that she had told him she would be in the office rather than at the actual crime site..

The din died down almost immediately once Draco stepped inside. He could see the other Aurors and Hit Wizards huddled together near the back of the store, so he tramped over to them, carefully making sure not to disturb anything in his path.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked loudly as he stopped behind a short, rotund wizard he didn’t know.

A witch who had been bending over a table and examining something straightened up and looked straight at Draco. ‘We’re just –’

She stopped when she saw who she was addressing. For a moment, her mouth hung slightly open; then, she turned away without bothering to finish her reply.

Just barely managing to contain his surprise at finding out that Hermione had been assigned to the investigation of this murder as well, Draco composed himself and said smoothly, ‘Well?’

‘We haven’t been able to find anything suspicious or unusual so far,’ explained the man Draco was standing behind. As if to prove his words, he flicked his wand and conjured up a ghostly image of the shop interior as it had appeared before the murder. Gesturing at it, he pointed out, ‘Nothing seems to have been touched.’

Draco thoughtfully tapped his bottom lip with his index finger as he gazed at the image the man had conjured up. That wasn’t right. It was not possible for the murderer to not be a Death Eater if the Dark Mark had indeed been found above the body; yet having gotten to perceive their habits through being one himself, Draco knew that Death Eaters rarely – if not never – killed without completely destroying the crime scene afterwards. It was their form of entertainment; their way of letting family members of the victim know that their kind were not to trifled with.

‘Are you sure it was the Dark Mark floating above her body?’ Draco asked carefully, scanning the ceiling as he said the words.

‘Positive. All six of the witnesses confirmed it.’

‘Are they here right now? The witnesses, that is. I’d like to question them if it’s possible.’

‘I’m not sure; I just got here a while ago. You might want to ask Miss Granger – she’s the one who answered you earlier – over there. The one with the brown hair and –’

‘I know who she is,’ said Draco quickly. He thanked the plump wizard for answering his questions, then walked over to Hermione. She was speaking rapidly to a young, sandy-haired man with an Auror-in-training badge pinned onto his chest. Impatiently, Draco crossed his arms and waited for their conversation to end.

After five minutes, however, it seemed that the two of them were not going to part anytime soon. Irritated, Draco tapped Hermione on the shoulder.

She whipped around. ‘Yes?’ she asked tersely when she saw that it was Draco who had interrupted her.

‘That one’ – Draco jerked his head in direction of the Auror he had just spoken with – ‘told me to ask you if the witnesses are on the scene.’

‘No,’ Hermione responded curtly. Then, she turned around and returned to discussion without further elaborating on her response.

Raising an eyebrow at Hermione’s poorly concealed display of acerbity, Draco placed his hand on her shoulder and forced her to turn around and face him. Deciding to drop his polite pretence, he said bluntly, ‘Can you just tell me what the hell is going on?’

Hermione angrily brushed Draco’s hand off her shoulder. ‘Ask someone else! Unless you haven’t noticed, I’m occupied at the moment.’

‘Are you the head of this investigation or not?’ Draco demanded.

‘The head?’ Hermione repeated, sounding genuinely astonished. ‘What gave you that idea?’

‘Well, you seem to be in charge here.’

She blushed. ‘I’m not. Another Auror, Patrick Dawlish, is. He’s by the back door if you need to speak to him.’

Draco shrugged. ‘I don’t if you can tell me if any of the witnesses are around.’

‘I’ve already drained them of everything they knew, if that’s what you were planning to do,’ Hermione sighed, shooting Draco a look that clearly read ‘Now you can leave me alone’.

‘I’d still like to talk to –’

‘Fine,’ Hermione snapped. ‘Only two of the witches are here, though. I think they’re talking to Kingsley right now.’

Draco nodded. No need to thank her when she so obviously made it clear that she hates me, he reasoned as he walked around a stack of boxes in search of Kingsley.

‘Mr Malfoy?’

Draco turned to face the pretty young witch who had spoken to him. ‘Yes?’

‘I was told that you had some questions for me.’

Draco furrowed his brows. ‘Were you? By whom?’

‘The lady over there,’ replied the witch. She pointed in Hermione’s direction. ‘Me and my mum were two of the witnesses,’ she explained.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. Wondering why Hermione had decided to aid him in a task she had discouraged, Draco said briskly, ‘Would you like to sit down? I have a few things to ask you.’

The girl looked uneasy. ‘We might be leaving soon...’

‘Don’t worry,’ Draco reassured, ‘I won’t keep you for too long.’

‘Okay, then,’ she said with a slight smile. She let Draco lead her over to some crates lined up against the back wall.

‘So,’ began Draco as he sat down uncomfortably on one of the crates and gestured for his companion to do the same, ‘let’s start with the basics. What time was it when you happened upon the body, and what were you doing?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t quite remember the exact time.’ The girl frowned. ‘It was night...Diagon Alley was just about to close; my mum and I were hurrying along as quickly as we could to get out before they sealed the gateway. There were only a few other late shoppers on the street, and we had joined up with a few of them as we made our way down the streets.’

‘Mmhmm...’ Draco murmured, twirling his wand thoughtfully between his fingers. ‘And how did you find it?’

‘That was the odd part,’ the girl explained. She bit her lip. ‘It was real windy, you see, and a pamphlet one of the young men with us was carrying got torn out of his hands by a gale. It flew into the alley between this store and Flourish & Blotts. We tried to tell him not to go after it – it was too dark and late to be wandering down alleys – but he insisted that it was very important to him, and that he needed it.

‘He disappeared into the alley, and we waited for a bit. We were just about to leave him – we must have waited for five or ten minutes, and we really just wanted to go home – before we heard a scuffle, a few shouts, and then the sound of someone muttering something. Then the young man ran out of the alley, his glasses askew and his hair all mussed up. He said he had tripped over a body, and that before he’d had the chance to come back to us, a cloaked witch had leapt out of the shadows behind him and tried to strangle him. He told us he pushed her off, then hastened out of the alley without ever finding his pamphlet.’

Draco let out a breath that made a whistling sound as it escaped through his clenched teeth. ‘Could you pick out what the person was muttering?’

The girl shook her head. ‘We were too far away,’ she said, her voice tinged with regret. ‘I think it was an incantation, though.’

‘An incantation,’ Draco repeated to himself. He rubbed his forehead. This was not new to him; he had expected that there would have to be some sort of incantation spoken in order for any form of the Dark Mark to appear. It frustrated him, however, that the witness hadn’t been able to hear what incantation it had been.

‘I think it was a man’s voice who said it, though,’ the girl offered hopefully.

‘A man’s voice?’ Draco asked sharply. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I think so...’

Draco frowned. ‘But that’s not possible,’ he said blankly. ‘You told me the young man had said that a witch attacked him. If he pushed her off, he wouldn’t have had to say anything.’

The girl’s eyes suddenly darkened. ‘You don’t think he lied, do you?’ she asked in a whisper.

‘I don’t know,’ said Draco truthfully. He cleared his throat. ‘Okay, tell me what happened next...sorry, what did you say your name was?’

‘Oh, I didn’t tell you; it’s Anna,’ said the girl with an apologetic smile.

‘Right. Anna.’ Draco stored the name in his memory. ‘Anyway, what happened next?’

‘Well, we lit up our wands and rushed into the alley. We found the Madam Malkin not too far away from the entrance, her body propped up against the wall of her shop.’ Anna gave a little shudder and closed her eyes briefly. ‘It was horrible, Mr Malfoy. She was...she was all cut up, and there was blood everywhere...all over the walls, the ground, everywhere. I hardly even recognised her face; half of it had been torn off. We backed away, intending to call for help, but we stopped when Mum caught the sight...the sight of the Dark Mark...’

Draco waited for Anna to recollect her composure. While he waited, he turned one detail over and over again in his head. If the body was not too far from the entrance, why was it that it had taken so long for the man to discover it?

‘I’m sorry about that,’ said Anna suddenly, bringing Draco out of his thoughts. ‘It’s just that it was so horrible, it being so late at night and...the alley...the Mark...everything, it was so surreal.’ She sniffed. ‘But when we turned around, the young man who had first entered the alley was gone. We thought he might have went to get help, but he didn’t return after half an hour of waiting, so we hightailed it out of there.’

‘Okay,’ said Draco slowly. He ran over everything Anna had told him in his mind. ‘Can you give me an accurate description of this man?’

‘He was tall. About this much taller’ – Anna held her hands a few inches apart – ‘than me. He wore square, wire-rimmed glasses, and he had longish, dark brown hair. He was sort of skinny, but not scrawny.’ She paused, scrunched up her nose, then added, ‘Oh yes, and one side of his face was covered in scars. Scars a lot like...a lot like yours.’ She blushed, as if hoping that she hadn’t been too rude in mentioning Draco’s disfigurements.

‘Right,’ said Draco curtly. He brushed away Anna’s remark; it was not the time to dwell on himself. ‘Have you told all of this to everyone else?’

At this, Anna cast her eyes downwards and murmured, ‘No.’

‘What?!’ Draco exclaimed. ‘Why the hell not?’

Anna looked up, her cheeks flushed. ‘I don’t know. I described the man, the setting, and the body, but I didn’t really tell them why we walked into the alley in the first place.’

Draco shook his head incredulously. ‘Then why are you telling me?’

‘Because I like you,’ Anna stated without a trace of embarrassment. She hesitated, then added, ‘A lot.’

Draco eyed Anna warily. He wasn’t exactly sure what she was implying with her last statement, but he decided to ignore it and continue with the interrogation. ‘Where did you meet up with this man?’

‘I think he joined up with our group somewhere around the Apothecary.’ Anna looked up at Draco through her eyelashes. ‘He was carrying the pamphlet then, and didn’t say a word when he started walking with us.’

‘Hmm...okay...’ In vain, Draco wished fervently that he had brought along a quill and parchment to take notes with. ‘Is there anything else you noticed that seemed out of place?’

Anna bit her lip, but after a few seconds, said resignedly, ‘Sorry, that’s all I remember.’

Draco nodded. ‘Thank you for your time.’ He began to stand up, but Anna grabbed his arm before he could walk away. ‘Yes?’ he asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked down at her.

‘I was just wondering...well, would you like to join me for lunch?’

Draco stared at Anna in silence as he processed her words, one by one, in his mind. When the meaning behind them became understandable to him, he said tersely, ‘I’m afraid I have to stay here for another few hours.’

‘I can wait,’ she said eagerly. Then her eyes widened. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to seem so forward. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.’

Draco shook his head. Wordlessly, he examined Anna’s face. She was quite pretty, he decided. And it wasn’t as if he had anything else to do later that day...

‘Fine. I should be done by eleven.’

Her face brightened. ‘Great!’ she said cheerfully, and Draco winced at the overwhelmingly chippy tone of her voice, wondering how she could be so unfazed after having discovered a mutilated body in a dark alley just a day ago. ‘I’ll wait for you with Mum; I think some of the other Aurors have questions for us.’

‘I would suspect so,’ Draco replied stiffly. He eased his arm out of her grip and turned away. ‘I’ll see you later, then. Thanks again, Anna.’

‘It was my pleasure.’

As Draco walked away, thoughts of the (as he saw it) awkward situation with Anna were pushed out of his mind by the facts he had learned from her. It was clear to him now that the man she had described to him had played a large part in Madam Malkin’s murder, either in the form of an accomplice to the murderer or the murderer himself. He doubted whether the woman Anna told him the man had mentioned even existed, but at the moment, there was only one thing for him to do: visit the alley and see if any evidence that might help had been left behind. Perhaps he might even find the mysterious pamphlet, if it hadn’t yet been picked up by the other Aurors and Hit Wizards investigating the crime.

True to Anna’s word, the circle around the area the body had been found was only five or six feet away from junction the alley formed with the sidewalk. Large spots of dried blood dotted the dirt-packed ground there, and more of it could easily be seen splattered across the brick wall of the apparel store.

Draco ventured a little further down the alleyway, making a mental note to return to the circled space later. As he walked, he examined the ground closely for any signs of the scuffle Anna had mentioned or the pamphlet. Though he found nothing of the former, he fortunately came across what he had really been interested in – the corner of a piece of paper, half-covered in dirt and caught on one of the thick thorns of a weed growing up against the wall of Flourish & Blotts.

As Draco bent down to get a better look at his find, he noted that it appeared as if someone had torn away the rest of the page in a hurry. Carefully, he brushed off the dirt masking the words, and removed the scrap of paper from the thorn ensnaring it.

‘Crushed aconite leaves - 3 pinches,’ he read out loud. The rest of the sheet had torn off underneath that line, leaving only the words ‘r two months’ visible. ‘This sounds like a potion recipe,’ he muttered to himself, frowning on concentration as he ran through all the potions that required aconite in his mind. There were hundreds.

‘What sounds like a potion recipe?’

‘Merlin’s beard!’ Draco yelped, jumping up and spinning around to face the stranger who had interrupted his thought process.

It was Hermione. She was leaning against the wall of Madam Malkin’s former shop and watching him attentively. ‘What have you found?’ she asked curiously.

‘Why did you sneak up on me?’ Draco asked angrily, quickly hiding the hand clutching the piece of the pamphlet behind his back. ‘You scared the hell out of me.’

‘I didn’t mean to,’ she apologised. ‘I saw you leave after talking to Anna, and I figured she must have told you something important.’

Draco shrugged. ‘Why so companionable all of a sudden?’ he sneered.

Hermione looked away. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I really was busy.’

‘Yeah, sort of like you’re always busy whenever I’m around, right?’

‘What do you mean?’

Draco ground his teeth together. ‘You’re always rude to me, Granger.’

Hermione looked back up, her mouth agape. ‘I’m always rude to you?’ She snorted derisively. ‘I see it as the other way around, Draco Malfoy.’

‘That was in Hogwarts. I was still a kid.’ Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ‘I can’t believe you still hold a grudge over that.’

‘You haven’t exactly made any attempts to be chummy now that you’ve “changed�,’ Hermione shot back. ‘And don’t you blame me for that; I have too many things going on to try to find a way through your stupid pride.’

Draco laughed out loud. ‘That’s enough,’ he said once he regained his composure. ‘I have a job to do here, and I believe you do as well, so if you’d kindly return to yours –’

‘I’d like to know what you found before I leave you alone,’ Hermione interrupted, her voice suddenly as cool and calm as Draco’s.

‘It was nothing,’ Draco replied shortly. ‘Just a few bits of paper.’

‘That could be something.’ Hermione uncrossed her arms and straightened up. Holding out her hand, she inquired, ‘May I see?’

Draco’s hand twitched. His first impulse was to say no – to keep what he had rightfully found, and take all the praise that would come along with providing it as proof – but he knew that Hermione could decipher it if he didn’t manage to. It would be selfish and unprofessional of him to pass up her help. Thus, with a resentful sigh, he handed it over.


[A/N: Sorry guys, this will be the last chapter for a while. I'm only about 1/3 done with chapter 12 and I haven't written anything for months. I promise I'll attempt to write some more over spring break when I have more time.]

Chapter 12: In Dreams

Hermione watched Draco silently struggle with his pride for a few minutes. When he finally handed over the scrap of paper she had caught sight of him holding earlier, she smiled at him uncertainly. ‘Thank you.’

Draco said nothing in return. Hermione felt his eyes on her as she brought his discovery closer to her face to read the words.

‘Crushed aconite leaves - 3 pinches,’ she murmured to herself. She looked up quizzically at Draco. ‘This must be part of a potion.’

‘Clever observation,’ he muttered, not bothering to mask his sarcasm.

Hermione bit her bottom lip to hold back the retort that threatened to escape. ‘Which potion, do you think?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’ Draco shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘There are hundreds of potions that require aconite leaves.’

‘Right,’ said Hermione apologetically, ‘I forgot. Snape told us it was the third most common herbal potion ingredient, didn’t he?’

Draco seemed surprised that she had remembered. Hermione noted this, and replied smartly, ‘I may have focused more on Defence Against the Dark Arts in seventh year, but I was in N.E.W.T level Potions for a reason, Malfoy.’ She paused to run her finger along the torn edge of the page corner. ‘What do you think the “two months� underneath stands for?’

‘Either brew, let sit undisturbed, or stew,’ came the almost-immediate answer.

Hermione raised her eyebrows a fraction of an inch. ‘Can you think of any potions that require two months’ sitting time and three pinches of aconite?’

‘A few.’

‘Like what? All that comes to mind are medicinal pastes that help ease the pain of some dark curses, and I don’t even know if they need to stew for two months.’

‘They don’t.’

‘Not one to waste your breath, are you?’ Hermione snapped, her patience having been worn to the point of tearing by Draco’s unhelpful attitude. ‘Well, I have other matters to attend to, then, if you’re not going to give a little effort.’ She grabbed Draco’s arm and pressed the piece of paper back into his palm. ‘If you need me, I’ll be inside.’

Draco did not seem taken aback by Hermione’s outburst. Instead, he simply glanced down at the hand Hermione had latched onto his forearm with a mixed expression of surprise and mild distaste.

‘Oh, don’t even say it!’ said Hermione disgustedly, letting go as quickly as if Draco’s arm had been a red-hot log. She shook her head slightly and took a deep breath to still her nerves before adding in a more composed tone of voice, ‘Show that to Dawlish. He might be able to come up with a few suggestions.’

‘I was planning to, but thank you for the reminder,’ said Draco, the ghost of a smirk settling over his lips.

Without responding, Hermione spun around and left the alley.

---

When Hermione returned to the Burrow, she found the house empty. Mrs Weasley had left a note on the table stating that she had taken the twins, Angelina, Alicia, and Ginny to Diagon Alley to get some fresh air, and that Harry and Ron had left earlier in order to catch a late brunch before heading to the Ministry. As Hermione had been granted leave for the day due to her part in the Malkin investigation, she had the day free to herself.

It had been a while since Hermione had been in the Weasleys’ home alone, and at first, she couldn’t help but feel lonely. She was so used to the sight of Mrs Weasley bustling around with knitting needles in her hands, or Harry and Ron sitting down by the fireplace to play an enthusiastic game of Exploding Snap, that the emptiness of the rooms felt overwhelming.

Hermione grabbed a gingersnap from a plate of them that had been laid out to cool as she left the kitchen. Her feet brought her to the sitting room, where she smiled at the sight of the enormous Christmas tree by the window. Someone – Fred or George, no doubt – had charmed the angel at the top to burst into loud, high-pitched renditions of various Christmas carols whenever a person entered the room, so that the moment Hermione’s foot touched the carpeted floor, an off-tune version of ‘Silent Night’ shattered the silence.

For a few seconds, Hermione struggled between amusement and exasperation; then, the latter won out, leading her to pull out her wand, point it at the source of the clamour, and mutter irritably, ‘Silencio!‘

Immediately, Hermione’s ears were filled with soothing silence once again. Sighing with relief, she said to the angel, ‘Sorry, but I need some quiet time right now. Maybe when the rest of them come home you can grace us with your lovely voice once more.’

Sinking down upon one of the couches, Hermione ran a hand across her forehead and inhaled deeply. The room smelled like a pleasant mixture of butterbeer, freshly baked cookies, and clean laundry. Hermione smiled.

As she hadn’t taken the scrap of paper Draco had found with her to examine more closely – and she wished now that she had – Hermione decided to pull out some parchment and write a letter to Shadow. It had been less than a day since the two of them had met in person, but the morning’s events had made the short time period seem ten times longer.

Dear Shadow,

I had a lovely time talking with you at the park last night. I hope you don’t mind that I was under the cloak the entire time; now that I reflect upon it, it does seem rather rude, and I apologise if you thought so as well. I thought your ‘disguise’ was very clever, though. I must admit, I’ve been scouring my mind for any acquaintances of mine with black hair and grey eyes, but the only one I’ve ever had...well, he passed.

This morning was less pleasant than I would have liked it to be, but then again, no one ever told me my job was going to be enjoyable all the time. I have a mystery on my hands, that’s for sure. And I don’t only mean the Malkin case – my coworkers have been acting strangely too. Fortunately, I haven’t the time to dwell on it. And I think this is the point where I’ll stop talking about my job, because I’m sure it must be boring for you to listen to me drone on and on about matters that don’t concern you.

Anyway, how are you planning to spend your Christmas break? I’m going to guess you’ll be with your family, just like me. Well, technically I won’t really be with my family; my mother and father are celebrating their 20th anniversary in Switzerland. They invited me to go along, but I think they deserve some time together without the company of their daughter so I declined the invitation. I don’t really mind, though. I love my boyfriend’s family, and I can’t think of any better way to pass the few days we get off from work than by relaxing with them.

This might be too much to ask, but if you’re not too busy over the holidays, would you like to meet again? I’ll most likely be free on Christmas Eve, so if your schedule is open that day and you have no objections to a second meeting, please reply with an appropriate time and place.

Sincerely,
Starlight

Hermione carefully folded the letter and sealed it with hot wax from a candle flickering on the coffee table. She then stamped the wax and stood up, tucking the letter into her pocket and making a mental note to herself to mail it the next time she was at the Ministry.

Pleased with herself for having accomplished one more task, Hermione shuffled out of the living room and began to ascend the rickety staircase. Time to take a well deserved nap, Hermione, she thought, yawning pleasantly at the very thought of her warm bed.

Once upstairs, Hermione turned on the dim lamp in her room with a short flick of her wand and walked over to the mirror. She glanced at her reflection briefly, frowning at the greyish tint in her skin and the dark circles beneath her eyes.

‘I need to get more sleep,’ she grumbled to herself as she pulled the sealed letter out of her pocket and tucked one corner of it underneath the heavy bronze frame around the mirror.

‘Secret admirer, love?’ a coy female voice piped up.

Hermione couldn’t help but snort at the mirror’s words. ‘Me?’

‘Oh that’s right, you’re the one who’s always working and never goes out,’ said the mirror, sounding slightly disappointed that Hermione had no gossip or secrets to divulge.

‘That’s not true,’ Hermione replied crossly, although she couldn’t help but note to herself that the fact that she was discussing her social life with a mirror unfortunately proved otherwise, ‘I go out a lot. I go out with Ron, Harry, and Ginny all the time. Besides, it’s not as if I don’t meet new people at the Ministry.’

‘Yes, yes, whatever you say, dear,’ intoned the mirror lazily. Then it said no more.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione undid the last of the buttons on her robe and shrugged the garment off. She hung it on one of the hooks protruding from her door and smoothed out a few subtle wrinkles before removing the rest of her work clothes and changing into one of Ron’s old t-shirts.

As she snuggled up underneath her worn but comfortable covers, Hermione couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty for sleeping instead of poring over the case and all the clues she had gathered that morning. However, her sleep-deprived mind was currently in control, so she silently promised herself that she would look over the new leads later that evening and closed her eyes with a small sigh.

Within a few seconds, Hermione drifted off to thoughts of aconite and mysterious men in white masks.

---

‘Hermione, wake up.’

A cold finger prodded Hermione’s cheek. She sleepily swiped at it and turned around, pulling her blankets up to her chin.

‘Come on, Hermione, Mum said it’s time for dinner.’

‘What time is it?’ Hermione mumbled, still stubbornly refusing to open her eyes for fear that the nice dream (the details of which she couldn’t quite remember) she had been rudely woken up from would completely fade away.

‘We just got back; it’s seven.’

‘Seven?!’ Hermione half-shrieked, bolting up in bed and turning to look at her visitor (who turned out to be a rosy-cheeked, snow-covered Ginny). ‘I’ve been sleeping for over seven hours?’

‘Apparently,’ Ginny quipped as she pulled her off knitted toboggan and shook the remaining snowflakes out of her thick red hair. ‘It’s a good thing you didn’t go out, though; it just started snowing ten minutes ago and it’s already a blizzard out there! Anyway, like I said, Mum’s got dinner ready and she wanted me to bring you downstairs.’

‘Seven hours,’ Hermione muttered to herself as she pushed herself out of her bed. ‘I can’t believe I wasted that much time.’

‘You deserve to sleep a little,’ said Ginny sternly. ‘Now come on down. I’ll wait for you.’

As Hermione got dressed, Ginny chattered on about the Nocabsichten case. ‘That time Harry and I went off to follow a reported sighting turned out to be a false alarm,’ she explained as she watched Hermione search her drawers for trousers. ‘So we’re back to square one. Luckily, we’ve narrowed his whereabouts down to somewhere in the Southern region of Africa.’

‘Hmm, that’s good,’ said Hermione distractedly. Ginny’s mention of her current assigned dark wizard had reminded her that she still had to go over the results of the Malkin investigation earlier that morning. ‘Great,’ she muttered under her breath as she finally pulled out a pair of pyjama pants Mrs Weasley had given her a few Christmases ago.

‘What’s that?’

‘Nothing. How is the interdepartmental unity challenge coming along for you? Have you stopped writing to your partner entirely?’

Ginny laughed. ‘Afraid so. Aside from those two letters I told you about last time, we haven’t communicated at all. I’d actually forgotten about the challenge until now.’

‘Ginny!’ Hermione scolded, straightening up and pushing the drawer closed with her foot. ‘Am I really the only one in the Ministry who sees the importance in forming better relationships between all of us?’

‘Looks like it,’ said Ginny with a grin. ‘It doesn’t hurt that you have an tall, attractive male partner with black hair and grey eyes to keep in touch with either.’

‘What?’

‘I heard you talking in your sleep a few minutes before I woke you up…you were describing Shadow,’ Ginny snickered.

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up. ‘I never said he was attractive,’ she said hotly.

‘No, you didn’t; that part was based on assumptions I drew from your extensive letters to him and your sleep-talking. How do you know what he looks like anyway?’

Hermione blinked, then realised that she had been keeping her meeting with Shadow a secret. ‘Guesswork,’ she said quickly. ‘I guess I’m just trying to imagine what he looks like.’

‘A Sirius look-alike?’ said Ginny, quirking her eyebrow. ‘Okay,’ she said, the doubt painfully evident in her voice. ‘Anyway, I think you better start treating Ron a little more nicely. Christmas will be here in a few days, and he might not buy you a present if he still thinks you want to spend time apart.’

‘How did you figure that one out?’ asked Hermione as she groped around the top of her desk for her hairbrush.

‘He told me,’ Ginny said simply.

‘Oh, I should have known,’ Hermione said through clenched teeth as she tried to pull the brush past a particularly stubborn knot in her untidy hair. She gave up after a few more attempts and stood up. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

‘About time,’ Ginny chirped. ‘Now hurry up, the smell of Mum’s Christmas cake is calling to me.’

Hermione laughed and followed Ginny out of her room. She pushed the door half-closed behind her, but before she could take more than three steps, a gust of wind from an open window down the hallway blew the door shut. Both she and Ginny jumped slightly at the loud bang.

‘Remind me to close that window before I go to bed,’ Hermione said.

Ginny nodded, and the two of them continued down the stairs.

Inside Hermione’s room the letter addressed to Shadow drifted gracefully through the air, having been dislodged from between the mirror and its frame by the heavy slamming of the door, and landed beside the bed. A few minutes later, a gentle breeze entering the room through a crack beneath the door nudged the letter forward just enough so that it became engulfed by the shadows under the bed – all of it, that is, but one corner.

Chapter 13: Backwards Glances

Draco had hoped to make a quick exit once he showed Dawlish the scrap of paper he had found. Unfortunately, Anna had apparently not forgotten about their lunch date. The moment Draco walked out of the shop and into the late morning sun, she pounced on him.

‘I was thinking that we could go to The Leaky Cauldron to grab a quick lunch,’ she said cheerfully, jumping straight to the point.

‘Right,’ replied Draco uncomfortably. He had forgotten about his promise while he was working, and now it dawned upon him that if he wanted to ditch her and go home to mull over the case, he would have to come up with a plausible excuse. What have I got myself into? he thought crossly.

‘How did the investigation go?’

‘What?’ Draco muttered absent-mindedly, for he had just glanced over his shoulder and seen Hermione leaving Madam Malkin’s. This surprised him, for he thought she would certainly have stayed into the afternoon.

‘How did the investigation go?’ Anna repeated. She gave Draco’s arm, which she was still clutching, a little shake as if to remind him that she was still there and waiting for him to dote upon her.

‘Very well, thanks,’ replied Draco. He cast a fleeting look behind him again. Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

I wonder where she went, he thought, surprised – in the split second he had looked away, Hermione had disappeared without a trace.

‘Mr Malfoy?’

‘Call me Draco,’ said Draco automatically. He winced, immediately realising how easy it was for those words to be taken the wrong way.

Anna, it appeared, did indeed mistake Draco’s words for something more than an act of courtesy, for her lips curled into a satisfied smile. ‘Well then, Draco, did you find anything new this morning?’

‘A few things here and there,’ said Draco indifferently. As he did not know anything about the girl other than her name, he felt strongly that it would be unwise to tell her more than she needed to know.

‘Such as?’ Anna prodded. Before Draco could respond, she shook her head and said quickly, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be nosy.’

Draco shrugged.

‘It’s just that all of this is so horrible, especially considering my presence at the scene of the crime…it’s quite disturbing, knowing my mother and I could have been walking with a murderer in the middle of the night…’ Anna gave an affected shudder and looked mournfully up at Draco.

Draco felt a twinge of annoyance. He had a strong suspicion that Anna’s lamenting was nothing more than an act, and he did not enjoy the fact that he was the target audience.

‘Let’s just go eat,’ he said tersely.

The Leaky Cauldron was bustling with activity when Draco and Anna entered through the back entrance. Since the demise of Voldemort and his followers, families had been eager to get out and enjoy the fact that they could go anywhere they desired without having to fear a Death Eater attack. Today, however, the atmosphere in the pub was slightly more subdued than usual due to the nearby appearance of the Dark Mark.

‘Tom,’ said Draco shortly with a nod as he passed the old, hunched bartender.

‘G’day, Mr Malfoy,’ Tom croaked back. He gave the counter before him a quick swipe, and added with a toothless grin, ‘Who’s your friend?’

‘This is Anna,’ replied Draco, trying his best to sound uninterested. He didn’t want to relay any more mixed signals to her. ‘She’s a witness in the Malkin case, and I brought her along for lunch.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ said Anna, smiling uncertainly at Tom.

Tom grunted in response and returned to scrubbing the counter.

Draco and Anna weaved their way through the crowd, pausing once so that Anna could exchange a quick word with a group of middle-aged women who, Anna later said, were friends of her mother’s. Once they located a suitable table for two in the middle of the busy dining room, they settled down and waited for a waitress to bring them menus.

‘So,’ said Anna brightly, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin on them, ‘tell me a bit about yourself. My mother often tells me that I ought not to dine with someone until I’ve got to know their background.’

Draco raised an eyebrow. ‘We’re not really supposed to divulge personal information to our clients.’

‘I’m not really a client, though, am I?’ said Anna teasingly, leaning forward. ‘I’m just someone who happened to be present when someone was…’ she trailed off, wincing, then cleared her throat and switched direction. ‘Oh, come on, it doesn’t have to be that personal. I’d just like to get to know you better.’

She’s good looking, a voice in the back of Draco’s mind encouraged. Just go along with it for now…

‘There’s not much about me you’d care to know,’ Draco said dispassionately. He looked away pointedly, hoping to end the conversation there.

Anna, however, seemed determined to pursue the topic. ‘What’s your job like?’

‘It’s busy,’ said Draco with a shrug.

‘Are you an Auror?’ Anna asked, her eyes widening as if she were awestruck at the very thought.

‘No. I’m a Hit Wizard.’

‘Wow,’ Anna gushed, ‘you must be really brave, then.’

‘Not particularly,’ Draco replied irritably. Anna’s chirpy personality was beginning to grate upon his nerves. ‘It doesn’t require much courage to cast a stunning spell,’ he added, rubbing one of his scars absent-mindedly.

Anna laughed but stopped abruptly. For a moment, she seemed to struggle with herself as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite bring herself to. Draco glanced at her curiously, wondering what was on her mind.

Finally, Anna blurted out, ‘Where did you get your scars?’ She quickly looked down abashedly.

Draco went rigid. He could not remember the last time anyone had asked him that question. Yes, he frequently saw the curiosity and fear in the eyes of those he passed by, but there weren’t many people bold enough to voice their thoughts. A chill ran down his spine as he tried to push back the memories of the night he received the scars that were now trickling slowly into his consciousness.

‘I’m sorry, the question was too personal, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, it was too personal,’ Draco snapped. Almost immediately, he realised how harsh his voice sounded, so to cover this up, he let his hand fall away from his face and clenched it tightly under the table, mentally steeling himself.

Anna looked taken aback by Draco’s tone of voice. For a split second, defensiveness flitted across her dark features; then, her apologetic smile was fixed back in place. ‘I shouldn’t have asked you that. Of course not. What was I thinking? I’m sure it’s not something you discuss a lot,’ she added with a nervous laugh.

Draco exhaled sharply, saying nothing. Now, more than ever, he wanted to get the date over with. He thought briefly of the dark comfort of his basement, and his desire to leave grew even stronger. ‘No…’ he said through clenched teeth, ‘no, it’s not a topic that comes up in my conversations on a regular basis…’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Anna again. She reached up and fiddled anxiously with a strand of her hair. ‘I usually don’t think before I open my mouth. I’d just…well…let’s just rewind a few minutes, okay?’

Draco smiled tightly. ‘Since I’ve got you here,’ he said stiffly, ‘can I ask you a few more questions about what you saw the night before?’

Anna seemed disappointed as she replied, ‘Oh, but I thought we could just enjoy a nice afternoon here away from all of –’

‘Look,’ Draco interrupted, trying to sound as polite as possible, ‘Anna, you’re a really nice young woman, and you’ve helped us a lot in this case. I appreciate all the information you’ve given me so far. However, I don’t know you very well, and I’m not looking to get involved with anyone at the moment, so –’

‘Involved?’ Anna repeated. She furrowed her brow, then seemed to fully process Draco’s words. ‘Oh no, I didn’t mean this to be a romantic date! I just want to be friends. For now, at least,’ she added.

‘Oh.’ Draco frowned, now feeling rather stupid for assuming so much. Annoyed at himself, he raised a hand, looked around, and called out loudly, ‘We’d like to order, now.’

A young couple sitting at the table looked over at him, their eyes narrowed as if his raised voice had interrupted them in the middle of an important conversation. Draco raised an eyebrow stonily at them, then turned back around to face Anna.

‘So Anna,’ he said, barely suppressing a sigh, ‘is there anything else about the murder you haven’t told me yet?’

---

Upon arriving back home later that afternoon, Draco barely had time to shrug off his cloak before a Ministry owl flew in through the open window, landed on the back of a chair, and held out its leg, to which a scroll of paper tied hastily with a piece of string was attached, towards him. Cursing loudly, Draco snatched the note and tried to detach it from the owl’s leg. Alarmed by Draco’s rough movements, the owl flapped its wings frantically, taking off the moment it was free with a loud hoot.

Mr Malfoy,

I wasn’t sure if you were at home, so I decided to send this by owl. Mr Shacklebolt wants me to let you know that you’re to join the rest of the guards accompanying the students at Hogwarts to the train station tomorrow at 4pm. There was another werewolf attack near Hogsmeade, and the Headmistress thinks

Draco stopped reading there. He didn’t care what McGonagall thought. Of course Kingsley would make him follow little kids around the moment he found a lead on his current case. Draco growled under his breath, but was able to suppress his aggravation as he tossed his cloak carelessly onto his shabby sofa and headed towards his basement.

‘Lydig,’ he yelled as he entered the dark hallway, ‘have the owl fed and my dinner ready in two hours!’ Draco was not particularly hungry, as Anna had insisted on him trying half the menu at The Leaky Cauldron before dragging him off to take a walk down the busy streets of Diagon Alley (the worst part of it was that he didn’t even manage to squeeze any new information about the case out of her), but dinner every night was a custom he was used to by now and did not care to break.

As Draco stepped onto the stairway leading down to his potions room, he heard a faint hissing. A smile of satisfaction broke his features; his decision to add syrup of hellebore to the Wolfsbane II Potion, the effects of which had taken a week to settle in, was another jump towards his ultimate goal. He had realised that the hellebore would help to purge the dark magic associated with lycanthropy from the body, and, looking down at the now-pale grey potion-in-progress, he was pleased to find that his hunch had been correct.

However, this left Draco facing a dead end. The hellebore would make the permanent removal of any traces of wolf-like symptoms easier, but that still left the problem of figuring out how and in which order to add the remaining ingredients necessary to making this eradication work.

‘Severus, you could have left me more to work with here,’ Draco muttered as he flipped through his mentor’s old copy of Advanced Potion-Making, as if searching for some answer hidden between the fading lines of the textbook. His mind briefly flashed back to his sixth year when Harry Potter had, to his indignation, thwarted him at Potions upon receiving this book by chance. He almost chuckled at this, but his mood was quickly dampened by the memory of what that year stood for in his past.

It had been a long time since Draco had reflected upon his years in Hogwarts, but now an image of his sixteen-year old self, pale and sickly, floated into his mind. He frowned as he stared down at his wavering reflection on the simmering surface of the potion beside him. What happened to me? he wondered. What had caused him to turn to darkness, and then back away from that once he’d caught a glimmer of a different kind of life?

It had been over a year since he made his reappearance in the wizarding world, Draco realised. He could recall the night he decided to step out of hiding quite clearly. It was November 27, 2001, and it had been dark, cold, and pouring rain. Most people had retired to bed by then, but Draco chose to enter the Ministry anyway, hoping someone would be there to take him in. He had no doubt that his sopping wet, dirty, mangled appearance had given many late-night workers a fright. Incidentally, Potter had been the one who let Draco into his office and gave him a towel. Yet even though word spread quickly that the former Death Eater had Harry Potter’s trust, in the days that followed, Draco had sensed everyone’s distrust. Now, a year later on December 17, 2002, Draco knew that he still had yet to earn the faith of almost everyone else in the Ministry.

Suddenly, Draco was gripped with the desire to write to Starlight. It was so strong an urge that, without thinking, he slammed Advanced Potion-Making shut, turned, and stalked out of the room. Just before he closed the door, he remembered that the fire beneath the cauldron was still burning, and quickly put it out with a well-aimed spell.

Back upstairs, Draco blinked several times, trying to adjust to the darkness. He rarely turned on the lights (in fact, he didn’t even know if the lights still worked, and if they didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to fix them, as he wasn’t very proficient when it came to Muggle gadgets), and usually relied on his house-elf to light the sparse candles in the hallway. Today, however, Lydig had apparently forgotten to do so; so, after muttering about useless servants for a few seconds, Draco said, ‘Incendio!’ and lit a few of the nearby candles with his wand.

At that very moment, Lydig hurried into Draco’s sight, his spindly fingers clutching the tattered black cloth he wore. ‘Master,’ he squeaked, bowing deeply. ‘Lydig did not expect Master to be finished so soon – he has not yet prepared dinner –’

‘There’ll be no need for that, Lydig,’ said Draco shortly, cutting off the house-elf. He opened his mouth to berate Lydig for not lighting the candles, then thought the better of it and instead said, ‘Bring it up to my study later.’

Lydig seemed immensely relieved to be exempt from any sort of punishment, so without another word, he bustled off back into the room he had just come out of.

Upstairs, Draco lit a few more candles, this time the ones on his desk. As he sat down and began to search through the drawers – which he usually kept neat and organised – for a loose sheet of parchment, his hand knocked against something cold and hard. Curious, Draco pushed aside a crumpled letter from Dawlish to find his personal ink bottle. With a slight smile, Draco picked it up and held it to the glow emanating from the candles. The flickering light of the flames caused the crystal, into which a four-pointed star was engraved, to sparkle.

For one wild, fleeting moment, Draco almost thought he saw the outline of a smiling girl in the dancing reddish-orange lights being reflected on the crystal. Then, he shook his head. He put the bottle down, a wry smile snaking across his lips. Quietly, he murmured to himself, ‘Starlight.’

Chapter 14: Queen and Priest

Hermione and Ginny arrived downstairs to find that Harry and Ron had, just a few seconds ago, returned to the Burrow from work. The two of them were talking in low voices about something as they took off their snow-dusted cloaks, but they looked up and smiled when Hermione and Ginny stepped off the staircase.

‘Hey, you two,’ said Harry, trying to stomp the snow off his boots.

‘Hullo, Harry,’ said Ginny cheerfully. ‘I’d hug you, but I don’t want to get wet and cold all over again.’

‘How was work? And what are you two muttering about?’ Hermione asked, stepping over what appeared to be a shattered dish to go cast a drying spell on the puddle of melted snow surrounding Harry and Ron’s feet.

‘We’ll tell you after dinner,’ said Harry out of the side of his mouth, nodding his head slightly at Mrs Weasley, who was stirring a pot of onion soup quite vehemently. Her angry expression, Hermione assumed, most likely was linked in some way to the shattered bowl she had stepped over earlier.

‘I’m going to go upstairs and change,’ Ron announced. To Hermione’s surprise, he suddenly sounded very cheerful. Indeed, he even kissed the top of her head before squeezing past her and walking over to the stairs, dripping water as he went.

Shaking her head, Hermione moved over to where Mrs Weasley was standing by the stove and asked politely, ‘Can I help, Mrs Weasley?’ Dinner was always a frantic affair at the Burrow, and with Fred, George, Alicia, and Angelina over, that meant four additional mouths to feed and all the more chaos.

‘Could you be a dear and set the table for me, Hermione?’ Mrs Weasley asked, looking up from the pot of soup gratefully. ‘Watch out for the broken dishes and such – Fred and George were being themselves again –’

‘I guess nothing’s changed,’ came Ginny’s wry voice from behind them. Hermione turned around to find that Ginny had already begun placing plates (the ones that had not been smashed) at each of the seats around the table.

Hermione laughed and agreed. ‘Where are they, anyway?’ she asked as she grabbed a handful of knives and forks and started placing them next to the plates Ginny had lain down.

‘Those two took Alicia and Angelina with them to Diagon Alley after wreaking havoc in here,’ said Mrs Weasley, sounding extremely irritated. ‘Said they wanted to have a nice dinner alone for once.’

‘Mum, they’re going to be here for the next two weeks,’ said Ginny patiently. ‘There’s no need to get worked up over their absence.’

‘I know,’ sighed Mrs Weasley. ‘It’s just that recent murder that’s got me on my toes…who knows what’s brewing out there…for all we know, the Death Eaters could be plotting to rise up again with a new leader.’

‘You’re being paranoid now,’ said Ginny lightly. ‘Besides, they’ll be fine if one of Voldemort’s old cronies decides to attack them. I’m sure they could pull out a Decoy Detonator and get away before any harm is done.’

Mrs Weasley laughed nervously. ‘I suppose…’

‘Don’t worry, Mrs Weasley,’ Hermione said soothingly. ‘If we hear anything at work, we’ll let you know.’

At that moment, the sound of someone clearing his throat caused Hermione and Ginny to look at the same time. Harry and a very livid-looking Ron were standing at the foot of the stairs.

‘Is dinner ready?’ Harry asked quickly, looking nervously over at Ron.

‘It will be in a few minutes if the two of you sit down,’ Mrs Weasley answered without turning around. She was now using her wand to direct the pot of soup to pour a hefty amount of its contents into each of five large bowls.

Concerned, Hermione asked, ‘Are you alright, Ron?’ as she pulled up a chair and sat down.

Ron glared at her in response and, through tight lips, replied, ‘We need to talk.’

Hermione was alarmed to find that Ron’s ears were beginning to turn scarlet, which was never an indication of anything good to come. She exchanged a nonplussed look with Ginny, but said nothing, assuming that the ‘talk’ Ron had referred to would take place after dinner.

‘So Hermione,’ said Ginny casually as she helped her mother bring over plates of bread and a large chicken and ham pie, ‘are you going to come carolling with us on Christmas Eve?’

‘Carolling?’

‘Yeah, remember, we’re going with Neville and his Gran.’

With a small ‘Oh!’, Hermione remembered what Ginny was talking about. Every year, the Weasleys plus Hermione and Harry went carolling with the Longbottoms. It was a custom they had started two years ago. Mrs Weasley usually insisted on the whole family going, as it was, in her words, ‘a good bonding experience’.

Hermione was just about to say that she would be going as always when it hit her that she had offered to meet with Shadow on Christmas Eve. You’ll just have to change the date…it’s not like moving the meeting a day back will hurt anyone…

‘No, sorry, I don’t think I’m going to go this year.’

‘Why not?’ Ron asked sharply above the exclamations of protest from Ginny and Mrs Weasley.

Hermione blinked. ‘My schedule…my schedule is tied up,’ she lied, wincing inwardly. It’s just a white lie, she reassured herself. Just this once.

Ron narrowed his eyes at her, but said no more, and instead ripped a piece of bread apart with more violence than needed.

Confused by Ron’s odd behaviour, Hermione returned to buttering her bread slowly. She puzzled over the possible causes of his change in mood. Could it be whatever he and Harry had been discussing that Harry didn’t want Mrs Weasley to know about?

‘There was another werewolf attack,’ said Harry suddenly. Mrs Weasley dropped her spoon, causing onion soup to splash all over her front. She didn’t seem to notice, though, for she was staring at Harry in horror. ‘That’s what I was going to tell you after dinner,’ Harry added to Hermione.

Apalled, Hermione put her bread down and brought her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, Harry, that’s awful!’

‘I know. It happened just a few hours ago, and it was close enough to Hogsmeade that Robards is assigning you and Ginny to join a group of Aurors and Hit Wizards that will accompany the students leaving for the holidays to the train station tomorrow.’

Still stunned by Harry’s announcement, Hermione could only nod numbly. It was Ginny who voiced the question she was unable to ask. ‘Was anyone…y’know?’

‘No, no one was bitten because it’s not the full moon. But an eleven-year old girl named Bianca…they say the injuries she sustained are fatal.’

There was silence. Hermione felt dazed and winded, as if she had just run a long distance. Eleven years old? ‘Was…’ she swallowed and tried to speak up again. ‘Was it Greyback?’

‘It must’ve been,’ Ron interjected, apparently having been momentarily snapped out of his bad mood by the discussion at hand. ‘First the attack in Bristol, and now this. And he’s the only one who’d attack kids when he’s not even transformed.’

‘My goodness,’ whispered Mrs Weasley. She had a hand over her heart and looked rather faint. ‘Eleven?’

Harry nodded grimly. ‘All I know is that she was out at a park with her father, and she was attacked. Her father tried to stun the man – Greyback – but he was stunned from behind. He woke up to find his daughter gone. She…they found her in the forest a few miles away.’

The table fell silent again. For the remainder of the dinner, hardly a word was spoken, for everyone seemed to be absorbing the dismal news Harry had brought.

The moment Hermione was finished eating, she stood up and excused herself. No one said anything, so Hermione picked up her plate, put it on the counter, and left the kitchen as quickly as possible. The atmosphere there was stifling, and she wanted to get away from it.

As Hermione began ascending the stairs, she heard Ron ask to be excused as well from behind her. A few moments later, she felt his hand on her shoulder, and she turned around to face him.

‘What is it?’ she asked, remembering what he had said earlier about needing to talk.

‘This!’ Ron said angrily, whipping out a folded letter from his pocket. ‘What the hell is this?’

Hermione frowned. ‘A letter.’

‘Just a letter, eh?’ Ron hissed. He shook it in Hermione’s face. ‘You’re still communicating with him, aren’t you? And what now? You’re meeting each other?’

With a thrill of dread, Hermione realised that Ron was holding the letter she had written earlier to Shadow. How did he get that? she thought numbly, mentally running through her actions earlier that day. She had brought it upstairs with her, then secured it under the frame of her mirror…it must have fallen off and caught Ron’s attention somehow.

‘Ron –’

‘What’s your excuse this time?’ Ron yelled. He jabbed at words on the parchment. ‘Your schedule’s full on Christmas Eve, is it? What other rubbish do you plan on pulling out of your arse so you can meet with him? Again?’

‘Ron!’ Hermione exclaimed reproachfully. ‘Will you calm down and let me explain myself?’

‘THERE’S NOTHING TO EXPLAIN!’ Ron roared. He looked like a mad man; his flaming red hair was sticking out in every which way, and his freckles stood out in stark contrast against his skin, which had turned white in his fury.

‘For goodness sake, Ron, we met once and all we did was talk about work!’

‘You don’t even know anything about him!’ Ron cried. ‘And now you’re lying to us so you can be with him!’

‘Be with him?’ Hermione repeated in disbelief. Her outrage flared up within her, and she felt her cheeks flush with anger. ‘That’s it! I’m tired of you minding my business as if it’s yours! If you trusted me, there would be nothing to worry about!’

Ron looked stunned by Hermione’s outburst. For a moment, his mouth silently opened and closed like a fish out of water. ‘Trust – trusted you –’ he spluttered.

‘Yes, trusted me!’ Hermione yelled, tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. ‘Because that’s what good boyfriends do. They have faith in their girlfriends’ loyalty!’

‘How do you expect me to have faith in your loyalty when you’re gallivanting around with some – some bloke you’ve never even seen – and lying to me about it?’

‘Well maybe it’s because I know you’d explode like this if you knew!’ Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands up. ‘Stop acting like I can only have eyes for you if I’m going to date you, Ronald!’

‘So what?! It’s not right for you to –’

‘Right?’ Hermione retorted with a derisive laugh, cutting Ron off. ‘You’re preaching me about what’s right and wrong? Do I need to remind you of all those times in school when –’

‘I BLOODY WELL AM!’ Ron bellowed before Hermione could finish her sentence. ‘This is beyond me copying your goddamned homework! You act like everyone has to follow your every wish and command, Hermione. Like I’m supposed to just sit on the sidelines while you go romping around behind my back, like no one is allowed to have a say in your life if you won’t have it!’

And with that, Ron grasped the other end of the letter to Shadow and tore it in two. As if this wasn’t enough, he drew his wand, looking like he wanted nothing more than to finish off all traces of the letter once and for good. Before Ron could utter a word, however, Hermione grabbed his wrist and snatched his wand out of his hand.

‘Stop it!’ Hermione screamed, trying to push him away as he attempted to get his wand back. ‘Just stop it! Don’t think you can control my life, Ron, because you can’t!’

And with a choked sob, she shoved Ron’s wand back into his hands, pushed him out of her way, and stumbled back down the stairs, across the hallway, and out the front door. Just before she slammed the door behind her, she shouted tearfully back to Ron, ‘I’m not perfect, Ron, but neither are you – so don’t you dare make me out to be the only culprit!’

Once outside, Hermione burst out crying. For a few minutes, she simply let her frustration and petulance seep out through her tears. It was all becoming too much. Her job, the murder, the werewolf attacks, keeping Shadow a secret, and now Ron.

Why can't he just be understanding for once? Hermione thought, fuming, as her sobs began to subside, leaving her gulping down large amounts of the chilly night air. Forcibly ignoring the little voice that reminded her she had lied to him and the other Weasleys, Hermione swiped furiously at her wet cheeks. She had chosen not to tell Ron about Shadow because she didn't want him to be upset, not because she thought she was doing something wrong.

It was not long before Hermione became aware of how cold she was. It was still snowing, and now it occurred to her that she had not brought a cloak when she ran out the door. Shivering, Hermione pointed her wand at herself and whispered, 'Tepicorpus!' Immediately, a bubble of warmth enveloped her.

Hermione knew that sooner or later, someone (Probably Ginny or Harry, she reasoned) would come out looking for her. As she was in no mood to return to the house at the moment, she decided to take a walk. To light her way, she conjured up a little ball of flames which fell out of the tip of her wand and onto the palm of her hand – a spell she had learned from Lupin and modified to fit her own needs.

As Hermione set out into the dark, snow-speckled night, her thoughts wandered to Shadow. She wondered where he was and whether he was alone. Her heart ached as she remembered his previous letters and his confessions of loneliness. Would he be spending Christmas alone? As angry as Hermione was with Ron at the moment, she couldn't imagine spending the holidays without the company of someone, whether it be her parents or the Weasleys and Harry.

The idea of Shadow sitting at home alone while faint strains of Christmas carols floated in through an open window troubled Hermione. She looked upwards, and as she did, she was surprised to see what appeared to be a large snowflake descending steadily towards her. Confused, Hermione kept watching the white blob until the vague outline of a snowy white owl became distinguishable.

'What are you doing here?' Hermione murmured once the owl landed on a scraggly bush a few feet away. She edged towards the creature, her thoughts briefly flitting towards Harry's old owl, Hedwig. This owl looked exactly like Hedwig, but they couldn't be the same, for Hedwig had died several years ago.

The owl blinked its dark amber eyes as Hermione approached. As if to answer her question, it stuck out its leg, revealing the letter it was carrying.

Hermione stopped in her tracks, puzzled. None of her friends had a snowy white owl. Curious, she reached forward and detached the letter from the owl's leg.

'Thank you,' she said to it with a small smile.

The owl hooted solemnly at this. At this point, however, instead of taking off back into the night, it simply ruffled its feathers and looked at Hermione expectantly.

Surmising that the writer of the note intended for her to send a reply with the owl, Hermione unfurled the tightly-rolled parchment she now held and glanced at the first line. Her heart skipped a beat when she read the words, 'Dear Starlight' written in small, neat script. The letter was from Shadow.

Hermione looked nervously over her shoulder, as if to make sure Ron wasn't behind her. Then, with a thrill of excitement, she began to read Shadow's words.

Dear Starlight,

To be honest, I had a very long letter written up and ready to send to you. However, I'd prefer to speak to you in person, so I'm going to keep this as succinct as possible: Would you like to meet again? If so, please send a reply back with Latera (my owl) with the date and time.

Sincerely,
Shadow

Her heart pounding more fiercely than ever, Hermione quickly searched the pockets of her robe. She had never been more thankful that she carried a quill and parchment around with her at all times. After a few seconds, she managed to extract a bent but fully functional eagle-feather quill from one of the inside pockets.

As best as she could without a flat surface to use, Hermione brought her quill to the back of Shadow's letter and scrawled, with only a second's hesitation, 6pm on Christmas Eve.

Chapter 15: Face of Beast

‘Who am I supposed to check in with?’

A young woman with a gold Auror’s badge pinned to her breast pocket turned to face Draco at the sound of his voice. ‘Susan Arthur. She’s the lady speaking to Arnold right now,’ she said, pointing towards two huddled figures a fair distance away. ‘She’s busy, so you’ll have to wait a while before you go talk to her,’ the Auror added, her voice trailing away as her eyes travelled from Draco’s scars to his thin cloak with obvious confusion.

‘Thank you,’ said Draco shortly, turning and walking away before she could say anything else. As he paced back and forth, he scanned the gathering, counting the number of heads silently. There were eight people there; four Aurors and four Hit Wizards, most likely. Even from afar, Draco recognised three of the Hit Wizards.

He began trying to identify the Aurors. A flash of red hair caught his attention, and he squinted, hoping against hope that it wasn’t a Weasley. Unfortunately, just as this thought crossed his mind, the person turned around and confirmed Draco’s worries. It wasn’t Ron – Thank goodness, I don’t know if I’d survive being surrounded by little children and that blundering idiot for an entire afternoon, Draco thought with an inward sneer – but the youngest Weasley, Ginny – Potter’s girlfriend.

Draco grimaced. ‘Fantastic,’ he muttered, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets and resuming his pacing. ‘Obnoxious students, below freezing temperatures, a Weasley, and –’

Draco stopped there, for he had just caught sight of a very familiar mass of bushy brown hair. He pursed his lips. ‘– and Granger,’ he finished under his breath.

At this point, Draco realised that the Auror he had been waiting for was no longer occupied, so he trudged through the knee-high, untouched snow over to where she was standing.

‘Draco Malfoy,’ he said brusquely in response to her questioning look, holding out a hand.

She nodded and firmly grasped the hand Draco had offered. ‘Susan Arthur,’ she said. She spoke slowly in voice as warm and smooth as melted chocolate; Draco couldn’t help but note how such a voice contrasted with Susan’s sharp, stern features. ‘You’re a Hit Wizard, correct?’

‘Right.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, Mr Malfoy.’

‘And you as well, Ms Arthur. Do you know when we’ll be leaving?’

‘The kids are filing out right now, so we’ll be leaving in a few minutes. We were waiting on your arrival.’

Draco turned away to hide his cringe. He hated being the delay for anything. ‘I’m sorry I was late,’ he apologised.

In truth, once he’d finished Starlight’s letter, Draco had returned to his basement to scour Advanced Potion-Making for potions requiring three pinches of aconite. He had narrowed the list down to one hundred and forty-eight various potions, and had begun the process of eliminating those which did not have ‘r two months’ in their instructions when he fell asleep out of pure exhaustion.

‘It’s fine,’ Susan said with a reassuring smile, ‘fatigue gets to the best of us.’

Draco didn’t know what to say to this, so he just nodded at her and walked away. He stopped when he reached the trunk of a bare-branched willow. His gaze wandered over to where Hermione and Ginny were standing, engaged in deep conversation with another Auror. He briefly wondered if either of them still communicated with their pen pal. His general impression was that everyone in his office had forgotten about the task, and he assumed the same applied to the other Ministry workers. For some reason, though, he didn’t mind that he and Starlight were apparently the only ones still caught up in the silly assignment; in a way, this made their friendship seem even more real to Draco.

‘Gather round!’ came Susan’s voice, interrupting Draco from his thoughts. He looked up and saw her gesturing for all the Aurors and Hit Wizards to move in closer to her.

‘Do all of you know what we’ll be doing this afternoon?’ Susan asked once everyone was within earshot. There were a few blank stares, indicating that Draco was not the only one who had been assigned on such short notice. Susan seemed to notice this, for she sighed heavily and began explaining their duty. ‘I’m sure everyone here has heard of the recent werewolf attack nearby. Minerva has asked me to gather a group of witches and wizards from the Ministry to accompany the students leaving for the holidays down to the Hogsmeade train station. Because we will be walking, those –’

‘Why are we walking, ma’am?’ interrupted a middle-aged man whom Draco recognised as Edwin Braveheart, a Hit Wizard who sat near Draco in the office. ‘Won’t it be easier for the students to take the carriages as they usually do?’

‘Minerva feels it will be more appropriate for the students to walk. It makes our job of keep track of them much easier.’ Susan looked around. ‘As I was saying, because we will be walking, those stationed at the back of the procession must make sure no one falls behind. Our job here today is not difficult. We’re simply here to make sure none of the students are harmed. In the case of an attack, follow whatever rules you’ve been taught, but remember that the student’s safety is your first priority. Any further questions?’

Draco saw a few of the members of the group throw nervous glances at each other. Susan’s speech made it sound as if the chances of an attack were very high, and Draco was sure that most of his peers were wondering if they would be spending Christmas alive and well after all.

‘There’s no need to look so worried,’ Susan added with a small laugh, for it seemed that she too had noticed the tension amongst the people encircling her. ‘Only a fool would try to ambush eight trained Ministry officials and over four hundred students. Now, wands out!’

And with that, she began to trek through the snow drifts towards the front gates of Hogwarts, where the students choosing to return home for the holidays were now gathering.

As Draco began following Susan, he noticed that Hermione, who was now walking without the company of Ginny, looked rather miserable. Though he was curious to find out which aspect of Hermione’s perfect life had went wrong, Draco did not bother asking her; he knew better than anyone else what it felt like to have people poking around in his personal matters.

It turned out, however, that Draco did not have to go to the trouble of confronting Hermione. As the group made their way up to the front gates, Hermione, to Draco’s surprise, tapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘I didn’t know you were assigned too.’

‘Yes,’ said Draco stiffly without looking at her, though he could now sense that she was walking alongside him. ‘Where did the Weasley go?’

‘She’s talking to a friend,’ said Hermione dispassionately.

Draco raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch. The fact that Hermione had not gotten angry at him for his condescending tone was even more puzzling than her unhappy expression. However, he said nothing else, and continued to walk in silence, trying his best to ignore Hermione’s presence.

‘How are you coming along with the bit you found yesterday?’

‘Why so sociable all of a sudden, Granger?’ Draco asked, still resolutely looking forward.

‘Why so eager to turn away company, Malfoy?’ Hermione shot back, mimicking Draco.

‘Your company,’ Draco corrected. He broke off an icicle from a bush he passed and tossed it aside. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not the best of friends.’

Hermione laughed dryly. ‘I don’t know how you figured that one out.’

‘You’ve got a sense of humour,’ Draco observed. ‘This is earth-shattering.’

Hermione didn’t say anything in response to this. Resisting the urge to turn and look at her, Draco glanced upwards and found, to his relief, that they were finally at the gate

‘Malfoy,’ Hermione said as Susan and McGonagall approached each other and began conversing in low tones, ‘have you ever had a girlfriend?’

Draco couldn’t help it this time. He swivelled around and stared at Hermione in disbelief. ‘What?’ he repeated, not sure if he had heard her correctly.

‘Have you ever –’

Thankfully, at that precise moment, Hermione was interrupted by Susan ordering the guards to get to their assigned positions around the cluster of students. Draco hurried away from Hermione, flustered over the question she had asked him.

Unfortunately, as it happened, when Draco turned to see who would be patrolling at the back with him, he found the only person he had hoped it wouldn’t be standing there.

‘Looks like we’re stuck together, huh?’ remarked Hermione with a grim smile, stationing herself a few feet away from Draco and turning her gaze over the sea of heads to watch for Susan’s signal to start walking.

‘Why do you want to know about my personal life?’ Draco demanded.

‘Forget about it. The question just slipped out. I didn’t mean to sound nosy.’

‘You haven’t got a chance with me, if that’s what you were wondering,’ said Draco, smirking. He checked over his shoulder one last time as the students in front of him started moving.

‘That’s not what I wanted to know,’ Hermione replied, sounding disgusted. ‘I just…nevermind.’

‘Having issues with that pitiable excuse for a wizard?’ Draco suggested lightly.

‘At least he’s a better person than you,’ said Hermione, her voice tight with irritation. Draco could tell it took every ounce of resolution she had for Hermione to not lose her temper.

‘So it is Weasley,’ said Draco wisely. ‘Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s a wonder you’ve even tolerated his stupidity up to this point.’

‘For your information,’ Hermione said loudly, ‘we had a row.’

‘I’ll remember this for future reference.’

Despite his indifferent tone, however, Draco’s curiosity had skyrocketed. From the little he knew about Hermione Granger, she was hardly one to share her private affairs with anyone but her closest friends. What had Weasley done to infuriate her so much that she had to resort to ranting about it to people she disliked?

Silence fell between the two of them as the procession advanced onwards. Draco listened half-heartedly to the chatter of the students as he puzzled over Hermione’s unusual behaviour. He longed to ask her what had caused trouble in paradise, but didn’t want to show any signs of his interest in her problems.

‘I made a list of the potions that require three pinches of aconite,’ Draco said after a minute or so. The silence felt awkward to him, so he figured the best way to break it was to bring up the only topic both of them were familiar with: the case.

‘And?’ Hermione prompted. ‘What did you find?’

‘There are quite a few matches,’ Draco said carefully.

Hermione nodded. ‘I thought there would be.’

‘I haven’t started narrowing down the list to those with “r two months� in their instructions yet, though.’

‘Do you need some help with that?’

Cocking an eyebrow, Draco glanced over at Hermione. ‘You want to help me?’

She shrugged. ‘We’re both working on the case. We could help each other since we’re from different departments.’

Draco glared at Hermione suspiciously. ‘Haven’t you got other things to do? I would’ve thought you’d be glad for a little time off to spend at the dump.’

‘The Burrow isn’t a dump,’ Hermione said flatly. Suddenly, she stopped walking and held out a hand, indicating that Draco should remain quiet. Her eyes were fixed on the underbrush lining their snowy path. Draco watched as she wordlessly lit her wand and quickly swept the beam of light over the bushes twice.

‘There’s nothing there,’ Draco stated before Hermione could affirm it. ‘You’re being paranoid.’

‘It’s better to be cautious than negligent,’ Hermione snapped.

‘Constant vigilance,’ said Draco with a smirk, nodding in a mock-serious manner.

What appeared to be a reluctant smile flashed across Hermione’s lips before she looked away again. Draco rolled his eyes. Who would have known? he thought with some amusement.

‘Anyway, what do you say?’ Hermione asked once she had put out the light issuing from her wand. ‘We’re mature adults; I don’t see why it has to be a problem for us to work together to solve a murder.’

‘You’re the one who brought up our days at Hogwarts yesterday,’ Draco pointed out. He exhaled and watched as the puff of misty fug dissipated away in the fading light, wondering when they would finally arrive at the train station.

‘Stay close to the group,’ Hermione said sternly to a chubby blonde-haired boy who had wandered off the path to go examine something on the ground. The boy scowled at her, but obediently returned to his friends, who were waiting for him impatiently. Once she was sure the student was safely back where he belonged, Hermione picked up the conversation again. ‘I know. I shouldn’t have.’

‘I suppose Weasley planted the idea in your head.’

‘No, I don’t let his opinions influence mine, if that’s what you mean,’ Hermione retorted, sounding vaguely defensive now.

‘Right.’

‘If you don’t mind me asking, Malfoy, what happened to your face?’

The question came out of nowhere, and caused Draco to stop in his tracks and turn to gape at Hermione. ‘I do mind you asking,’ he said, quickly gathering his composure and regaining his stride.

‘Those don’t look like ordinary battle wounds,’ remarked Hermione. ‘Did Voldemort do it?’ One of the young girls walking in front of Hermione and Draco jumped and turned to look fearfully at Hermione.

‘Don’t say his name!’ Draco hissed, almost on impulse.

Hermione sighed. ‘The war is over, Malfoy. There’s nothing to be scared of.’

‘I’m not scared.’ Draco felt animosity boil up within him at Hermione’s comment. ‘The name isn’t just a name to me, Granger. I’m not like all those other cowards out there who were and still are terrified of the fabricated stories they read about in the newspapers.’

They were now passing through Hogsmeade village, which meant there were only a few minutes remaining in their walk. Draco sighed inwardly with relief. The sooner this is over, the better.

‘You still haven’t answered my question about your scars,’ Hermione pointed out.

‘I’d rather not discuss them.’

‘It must have been pretty dark magic. Any regular scars could have been easily patched up by a Healer; even Snape was able to fix the wounds you got from that awful curse he came up with.’

Draco fleetingly remembered the scene back in sixth year…he had been crying, sobbing over what seemed like a hopeless task, when he looked up and saw Harry Potter standing behind him, watching him with a shocked expression. He winced, recalling the excruciating pain brought on by Sectumsempra. It had almost been as agonising as…

‘Malfoy?’

Without knowing it, Draco lifted a hand and pressed two fingers against one of his scars. ‘Yes, it was dark magic,’ he said coldly. ‘Nothing you’d ever be able to wrap your mind around, Granger.’

‘I know more than you think,’ Hermione said softly. She hesitated, then added, ‘You know, they’re not…they’re not all that noticeable.’

‘Perhaps you should try living with two long gashes on your face; then you can tell me they’re not noticeable,’ Draco said scornfully. He craned his neck to look over the heads of the students and see if they were at the station yet.

‘Sorry,’ Hermione apologised. ‘You’re right. Who am I to talk about the dark arts? All those years I spent in the Order, fighting against Voldemort and the Death Eaters…what do I know?’ She rolled her eyes, an action Draco just barely caught out of the corner of his eye.

‘Not much,’ Draco replied as the Hogwarts Express came into sight, gleaming under the glow cast by the lit streetlamps nearby. ‘Until you’ve actually served under his name, you don’t know much at all.’

Hermione stared at Draco for a few seconds. Her eyes were narrowed, but not in a malicious way. Draco stared back, wondering what she was thinking.

After a while, Hermione said quietly, ‘3pm on Boxing Day. Meet me at the Red Dragon. This is a murder we’re dealing with, Malfoy – not a homework assignment.’ And on that note, Hermione spun around and walked away to go help load the luggage onto the train.

Chapter 16: Let Your Spirit Start to Soar

Draco took a deep breath and opened his eyes to look at his reflection in the mirror. Perhaps it was simply the lighting in the room, but he couldn’t help but notice that he looked much paler than usual. He grimaced.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, he thought numbly, his gaze swivelling over to the white mask sitting on top of Starlight’s reply, which lay spread out on his desk. What if she forgot about the meeting? What if she just decides not to come?

‘Calm down,’ said Draco angrily to his reflection, which looked uncharacteristically frightened. ‘She’s not going to stand you up. She’s not like that.’

Regardless of this weak self-reassurance, however, Draco’s insides still writhed with uncertainty. His trust in people had been severed numerous times in the past, and even he himself doubted that it would ever be fully repaired again.

Draco glanced at the clock nailed to the wall. 5:50pm. He had ten more minutes.

Without tearing his eyes away from the mirror, Draco reached down and fumbled around in his pockets, trying to find his wand. At last, he pulled it out and pressed the tip of it to his scalp. ‘Here goes,’ he muttered.

Closing his eyes, he thought fiercely, Infusco Capillus. He felt his hair ripple as if being mussed by a gentle breeze, and opened his eyes to see his raven-haired reflection staring back at him. Satisfied, Draco lowered his wand.

Now, he picked up the mask and gazed at it thoughtfully. Why not just use the cloak? he wondered to himself. Secretly, Draco already knew the answer to this. It was because he wanted Starlight to see him as he was. He wanted to know that he could stand in his own flesh and bone before her, and she would still stand her ground.

Of course, if you were to take the mask off, that might change… a little voice in the back of his mind said slyly. You’re still a coward after all, aren’t you?

Draco ignored this nagging fact. Pressing the mask against his face, he raised his wand once again and whispered, ‘Adhaero.’ Immediately, he felt the mask tighten and fasten itself to his skin.

He glanced once more at the clock. Five minutes to go.

Snatching his cloak off of his bed, Draco shrugged it on, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he fastened the button. At last, he could delay no longer. Under his breath, he muttered, ‘Well, here goes,’ before he straightened up, the clear image of a familiar frozen pond in his mind’s eye, and Apparated away to meet with Starlight once again.

---

When Draco arrived, he looked around nervously. It was colder than it had been the previous week, so the snow had frozen over, making it impossible for Draco to discern any traces of footprints and thus deduce whether Starlight had arrived yet. Sighing, he walked over to the same bench he and Starlight had sat on during their last meeting.

‘Shadow?’ came a sudden voice to his right as he sat down, prepared to wait.

Draco looked up in surprise. ‘Starlight?’ he said uncertainly, remembering in time to lower his voice so that it sounded more like Shadow’s. ‘You’re…you’re here early.’

‘Yes, I am.’

Draco’s eyes darted about as he tried to figure out where to look when Starlight spoke. As if she understood what he was trying to do, Starlight laid a hand upon his shoulder and said softly, ‘Straight ahead.’

‘How have you been?’ Draco inquired once he was as well-adjusted to the disconcerting feeling of talking to thin air as possible.

‘I’ve been…’ Starlight paused, seeming to hesitate. ‘I’ve been better.’

Draco looked away, embarrassed by the miserable tone in Starlight’s voice. ‘What’s…er…what’s wrong?’ he asked awkwardly.

‘A lot of things,’ she replied sadly.

‘Is it your boyfriend?’ Draco asked tentatively. He stared down at his gloved hands, thinking that he was the last person Starlight should have turned to for consolation.

Starlight sighed audibly. ‘Yes, I suppose,’ she said slowly. ‘But it’s not just that. Something else is bothering me. It’s…well, everywhere I turn on the streets I see families celebrating the holidays. They all look so happy and carefree. They let their children wander off to build snowmen and spend to their hearts’ content in the nearby sweet shop. I can’t help but wonder if they’ve got any idea that a werewolf attack took place in that village a few miles away, or that a witch was murdered behind the apparel store they purchase their robes at.’

Draco looked away, unable to think of anything to say

‘I’m sorry if what I just said sounded cold-hearted,’ Starlight quickly added. ‘Of course it’s wonderful to see everyone enjoying life again. How can I say they don’t deserve to after all they’ve suffered through? At the same time, though, they shouldn’t assume that they’re completely free of their past troubles, because…well, because they’re not. I just hope that the parents of those roving children are keeping that in mind.’

Draco listened in silence to Starlight’s speech. Against his own will, he was moved by the palpable compassion in her voice. He imagined her gesturing emphatically with her hands in time to her words, her eyes shining with emotion, and couldn’t resist a small smile.

‘All I want is for everything to be right,’ said Starlight with a bitter laugh, ‘but that perfect world is unfortunately a bit beyond my reach.’

Draco remained quiet as he considered Starlight’s words. After a few moments, he said, ‘And what of your boyfriend? What has he done now?’

There was a muffled rustling sound, and then Starlight spoke up angrily. ‘Apparently the idea of spending time apart means nothing to him. He’s so keen to control every aspect of my life, and it’s driving me mad! I can’t do anything without his permission – he even forbade me from meeting with you today, for goodness sake!’

Starlight’s last sentence seemed to hang in the frigid air for a few seconds, each word stinging Draco like a tiny electric shock. He averted his eyes to the icy ground, trying to ignore the echoing of those words. So now Starlight’s close friends knew of their friendship and, even worse, disapproved of it.

‘I suppose…’ He gulped, feeling his throat tighten and a bubble of anger swell up within him. ‘I suppose this means we should stop communicating with one another? I don’t want to get you in trouble with him.’

As Draco waited for Starlight’s response, it occurred to him that he secretly doubted the truth behind these words. He hated himself for being selfish, but he didn’t care if Starlight was risking her relationships to see him, because he needed and wanted their meetings, and he didn’t care what it took to assure that they continued.

‘No,’ Starlight said forcibly, to Draco’s surprise, ‘I’ll do whatever I fancy doing. I’m not easily forced into submission, you know. We’ll continue to write to each other – that is, as long as you’d like to.’

‘Of course,’ said Draco quickly, his heart now light with relief and hope. ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

---

Hermione felt a smile creep onto her face at Shadow’s swift response. For a fleeting moment, she had been afraid that he didn’t want to stay pen pals after all, and that her problems with Ron had given him the perfect excuse for ending their friendship.

She scrutinised Shadow’s grey eyes for any traces of emotion, and as she did, she wondered what it was that made her cling onto him. Why should I? she thought uncertainly. I’ve got everything I want. What have I got to gain by straying away from that?

‘I expect everything is fine with you?’ said Hermione, forcing these flustering thoughts out of her mind. She didn’t want to think about what she was doing; she couldn’t trust herself to right now.

‘As fine as it will ever be,’ said Shadow, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Hermione smiled weakly. ‘That would be a “no�, then.’

‘I’d say that’s a fair guess,’ Shadow replied with a faint smile. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t complain, though. Nothing has really gone wrong as of late, which is more than I can usually hope for…then again, nothing has gone right either…’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Hermione sympathetically.

‘It’s nothing to fuss over,’ Shadow said in response. ‘Your situation sounds worse than mine.’

‘I’ve gotten used to it by now,’ Hermione sighed. ‘Living with him…well, let’s just say I’ve realised he’s not going to change his ways by now.’

‘Do you not believe that people can change their ways, then?’

Hermione stared at Shadow, surprised. His elbows were resting on his knees, and he was looking at the ground again.

‘I don’t know,’ she answered truthfully. ‘I’d say it depends on the circumstances. There are some habits that can’t be broken, but at the same time, I don’t think it’s entirely impossible to become someone different if you really want to.’

‘But say someone really wants to change. From – let’s just say – from bad to good. Say he was a Death Eater, but regrets all of that and wants to put it behind him. D’you think it’d be an achievable goal?’

Hermione frowned slightly. Shadow’s example brought to mind two familiar names: Snape and Malfoy. Snape had been good. That much was certain. But Malfoy?

‘Nevermind I said that,’ Shadow suddenly said, interrupting Hermione’s thoughts.

‘I think so,’ said Hermione. ‘I had an…acquaintance, you see. He was caught in a similar situation. But he switched sides. It ultimately caused his death, but he did it. And that boy – that boy I told you about in my first letter. I think he’s changed too.’

Hermione saw the ghost of a smile dancing on Shadow’s lips, and then it was gone. He looked up at her with serious eyes and said, ‘I’m glad you’ve got that sort of faith.’

‘Do you know someone who’s converted?’ Hermione asked, curious as to why Shadow should sound so relieved by her answer.

‘Yes,’ Shadow responded quietly, a distant look creeping into his eyes. ‘That boy you mentioned – if you recall, I wrote back in my first letter that we might be thinking of the same person.’

‘Is the person you have in mind –’

Before Hermione could finish her sentence, however, Shadow had put a gloved finger to his lips. Shaking his head, he said sternly, ‘Let’s not mention any names.’

Hermione felt a laugh bubble up in her throat and threaten to escape. As frustrating as the game was sometimes, she enjoyed their mutual attempts to let as little as possible about themselves be known. It was almost as if they were children playing pretend again.

‘What have we got to talk about if no names are to be mentioned, then?’ Hermione asked solemnly. Again, she had to suppress the urge to laugh.

‘I don’t think talk is necessary.’

Hermione arched an eyebrow. ‘And what do you mean by –’

‘Why don’t we take a broom ride around the park?’

‘What?!’ Hermione gasped. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! We can’t.’

But Shadow was already standing up and holding an inviting hand out.

‘Come on,’ he encouraged. ‘The shed over there has a couple of old brooms. We can use one of those.’

‘No way,’ Hermione said stubbornly, sitting back. She crossed her arms, a gesture of defiance that wasn’t quite as effective as she had hoped, as Shadow couldn’t see it.

‘Why not?’

‘Because,’ said Hermione, emphasising the last syllable, ‘one, we’ll freeze up there; two, taking a broom out of that shed is stealing; and…and…’

‘And?’ Shadow prompted. He stared at her, his eyes questioning.

‘And three, I don’t like riding brooms,’ Hermione finished shrilly. She grimaced. ‘The idea of being up in the air and supported only by a stick isn’t very appealing to me.’

Shadow laughed. ‘Is that all?’ he said harshly. ‘Don’t be thick; there’s nothing to worry about. Come on.’

Hermione recoiled, surprised by the sudden contempt in Shadow’s voice. She had never heard him speak to her in an unpleasant manner, and this new side of him alarmed her. In fact, there was something frighteningly familiar about the tone he had just used with her. Before Hermione could figure it out, however, Shadow spoke up again.

‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised hurriedly, sounding genuinely so. Hermione noticed that he looked very upset now. ‘I didn’t mean to snap at you. If you don’t want to, it’s fine. Forget it.’

He made to sit down again, but before he could, Hermione shook her head.

‘I’ll do it,’ she said, her voice shaking slightly. She stood up. ‘It never hurts to try anything new, does it?’ she added with a quavering smile which went by unnoticed by Shadow.

‘No, don’t bother – I shouldn’t have pressed you –’

‘It’s fine,’ Hermione cut in firmly, trying to ignore the trembling in her stomach that resulted from the very thought of flying. ‘I’ll survive.’

‘Are you sure?’ Shadow said anxiously. He had placed a hand on the back of the bench, as if he weren’t sure whether he should stand up again or not.

‘Yes,’ said Hermione, reaching down and taking Shadow’s hand. He looked up, surprised; Hermione surmised that he must not have realised she had stood up.

‘We don’t –’

‘I want to,’ said Hermione in response, interrupting Shadow’s protests. ‘Are you positive it’s okay for us to use those brooms, though? I mean, they’re not ours…it wouldn’t be right to steal them…’

‘We’re borrowing, not stealing,’ Shadow corrected. He seemed much happier as he led Hermione across the frozen snow, which cracked loudly beneath their feet. ‘Have you flown before?’

Hermione quickly scanned her mind. ‘Yes,’ she said, remembering the times Harry and Ron had pressured her onto a broom at the Burrow, ‘I’ve flown before – in the summer with my friends when I was younger, they made me play Quidditch with them – I’ll be fine.’

‘You can…you can share a broom with me if you’d like. If it makes you feel any more comfortable up there, that is.’

Hermione turned red. ‘I –’ she started to say, but stopped. ‘No, it’s okay,’ she mumbled instead, thankful that the cloak prevented Shadow from seeing her flustered state.

Shadow seemed to have realised the connotations in his proposition as well, for he shoved his hands in his pockets, looked down at his feet, and remained silent for the rest of the walk.

After a few minutes, the pair reached a small, shabby lean-to, partially hidden by the shadows of the evergreens surrounding it. Shadow drew his wand, pointed it at the rusted lock attached to the door, and muttered, ‘Alohomora!’ Immediately, the lock fell away and hit the ground with a dull thud.

‘Why –?’

‘Beats me,’ Shadow said with a smirk and a shrug. ‘I’ve got two guesses, though,’ he continued as he pushed stepped into the dusty inside of the shack and brushed a few cobwebs aside. ‘Either they don’t give a rat’s arse about these’ – he gestured at the brooms, which lay in a heap against the far wall – ‘or they want Muggles passing by to just assume it’s just a regular old tool shed. Most likely both.’

Hermione laughed, and watched as Shadow crouched down to examine the tail of a particularly dusty broom. ‘This one’s fine,’ he announced once he had run his hand down past the words ‘Twigger 90’ inscribed into the crooked handle. ‘Here, take it.’

Tentatively, Hermione edged into the shack and grabbed the broom as Shadow began to inspect the one lying beneath it.

‘Are you sure this is safe?’ she asked nervously, eying the old broom, which looked so frail that Hermione couldn’t help but suspect that the slightest breeze would blow it off course. ‘Don’t they need a warm-up or anything of the sort?’

‘They might be a bit rusty’ (‘Perhaps this isn’t a good idea after all,’ Hermione squeaked), ‘but they’ll still work, and we’ve got nothing else right now.’

‘Can’t we summon better ones?’ Hermione asked uneasily.

‘I would, but…well, I haven’t ridden a broom in a while, so I’ve no longer got one of my own…’ Shadow rolled his eyes, but not before Hermione caught the look of longing in his eyes.

Flying must mean a lot to him, Hermione realised with a twinge of guilt. She remembered that Shadow had mentioned being an acquaintance of Harry’s back at school, and wondered fleetingly if he had been on a Quidditch team as well.

‘Well, then, are you ready?’ said Shadow, snapping Hermione out of her musings.

‘Yes,’ said Hermione unconvincingly, glancing down at her broom. It had been a while since she had been on a broom. ‘Er –’

‘Just swing a leg over it,’ said Shadow with a grin.

‘Right,’ Hermione muttered, doing as instructed. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the handle of the broom so tightly that her knuckles turned pale. ‘You can do this, you can do this…’ she mumbled repeatedly under her breath.

‘Fasten your cloak on tightly,’ Shadow instructed. He too had swung a leg over his broom and was looking over his shoulder at Hermione now. ‘Unless you’d rather take it off entirely, that is.’

Hermione suddenly realised that the Invisibility Cloak didn’t have a button or any other sort of clasp. ‘What should I do?’ she asked anxiously after explaining her problem to Shadow.

He frowned thoughtfully. ‘Why don’t we just go slowly at first?’ he suggested after a while. ‘We’ll figure out what to do after that.’

‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea –’ Hermione began to say, but Shadow was already hovering a few feet above the ground and looking at her.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It’ll feel good.’

Hermione grit her teeth. Here I go… she thought grimly. Closing her eyes tightly, she hesitantly kicked off the ground.

Her broom floated lazily into the air. Hermione gasped involuntarily and clutched the handle even more tightly.

‘Are you alright?’ Shadow asked worriedly. He was sitting easily on his broom with both hands on his thighs.

‘I’m not too sure,’ Hermione replied. Figures it’s easy for him, she thought bitterly as she wobbled to and fro in the air.

‘Perhaps it’d be more convenient for you to take off the –’

‘I’m fine,’ Hermione said loudly as her broom began to drift away from Shadow. ‘How do I control this thing, though?’

‘You just have to direct it with your hands. Don’t jerk it; just nudge it lightly and it should go where you want it to go.’

‘What about stopping?’

‘Just lean back slowly, and it’ll gradually decelerate.’ Shadow angled his broomstick upwards, and added before taking off, ‘Stop worrying; just enjoy the experience!’

Hermione watched Shadow’s form become smaller and smaller until he was just a black prick against the steadily darkening grey sky. Sighing, she cautiously sped up a bit and began to practice manoeuvring her broom between some of the trees ahead.

After a while, Hermione found, to her surprise, that she felt far more confident about being in the air – so much more confident, in fact, that she loosened her grip on the handle and even ventured to take a hand off to pull her cloak, which was slipping, tighter around her shoulders.

‘Shadow?’ she called out uncertainly.

Before Hermione could call out again, she felt a hand from behind her grab the end of her broomstick. She twisted around to see Shadow hovering there, smirking. Her heart immediately skipped a beat; something about his expression at that very moment reminded her of someone she might have known once.

‘Let’s go for a ride,’ he said. It was more of a statement than a request, so Hermione pushed aside her thoughts (It’s probably because I saw him at Hogwarts, she reasoned), turned her broom around and followed Shadow as he climbed steadily higher.

‘It’s c-c-cold up here,’ said Hermione through chattering teeth the closer to the clouds they flew. ‘Sh-shadow, m-my hands are g-g-getting numb now…m-maybe we should fly a little lower…’

‘Really?’ said Shadow, stopping mid-flight and turning to look at Hermione. ‘I hadn’t noticed. I’m sorry. Here, we’ll fly a little lower.’

Hermione could only shake her head and marvel at Shadow’s ability to withstand such low temperatures while wearing only a flimsy cloak and regular street robes as they descended. Her hands felt as though they were frozen to the broomstick, and she seemed to have lost all feeling in her face. When she shook her head, she found that the ends of her hair were tipped with ice.

‘This cloak doesn’t d-do much good,’ said Hermione wryly, still shaking from the cold. ‘Then again, I suppose it wasn’t meant for protection from cold t-temperatures anyway.’

‘Would you like to ride with me?’ Shadow suggested. He looked slightly concerned, even though Hermione knew he couldn’t see her. ‘You can enjoy the flight without having to worry about the technicalities that way.’

‘I don’t know…’ said Hermione doubtfully. ‘That broom doesn’t look very strong.’

‘Believe me, it is,’ said Shadow, waving a hand about breezily. ‘Like I said, just leave it all to me. Don’t think about it. Relax and enjoy the scenery.’

Hermione hung back, silently debating the two sides of the idea in her head. It might be fun, but in a way, it would feel awkward and not right for her to just go share a broom with someone she hardly knew.

But you do know him, a little voice argued. All those letters…these meetings…you’ve heard enough of him to make a reasonable judgment of his character.

Still, Hermione couldn’t help but recall the aggression she had heard in Shadow’s voice earlier. It was as if he had transformed into a completely different person – yet, Hermione reminded herself, for all she knew, he could be like that in all the aspects of his life except for those that included her.

And what will Ron think? another voice chimed in, adding to the flurry of confused thoughts in Hermione’s mind at the moment. As much as he infuriates you sometimes, you can’t just betray him like this, especially after that argument. He’s probably going spare at home, wondering where you are. You can’t just –

Hermione bit her lip. ‘Since when has such a simple decision been so hard to make?’ she exclaimed out loud in frustration.

‘What’s that?’ said Shadow.

Hermione blushed. ‘No, I don’t think I will today,’ she said quickly, before her mind could become jumbled up again. She breathed an inward sigh of relief. ‘Perhaps next time we will. I’ve – I’ve got to get on home.’

For a split second, Hermione could have sworn she saw Shadow’s lips tighten in anger, but then he simply nodded and said, ‘Let’s go back down.’

---

‘So,’ said Hermione as she gazed at Shadow through the silken material of her Invisibility Cloak, ‘I suppose it’s time for me to leave.’

Upon returning to the ground, the two of them had silently returned to the run-down shack to put their brooms back. Afterwards, they had talked about the holidays (to Hermione’s dismay, Shadow had confirmed that he would be spending Christmas alone) as they walked back through the woods and to the bench they had sat down upon earlier. Though the mood had stayed light throughout the conversation, Hermione couldn’t help but feel as if something had changed in the way Shadow spoke to her – almost as if he had become more reserved, more tightly wound up. This minor alteration alone had left Hermione feeling almost grateful to be leaving as she stood there, facing Shadow and bidding him farewell.

‘I’ll write to you soon,’ Shadow promised. He hesitated, then added, ‘Happy Christmas.’

‘Happy Christmas to you too,’ said Hermione. Without thinking, she leaned forward and hugged him. ‘By the way – I might have known Harry Potter in my school years too,’ she whispered in his ear before letting go, taking a few steps backwards, and Apparating away.

Hermione had been concentrating so diligently on the image of her bedroom in the Burrow, however, that she failed to catch the last thing Shadow’s eyes saw before she disappeared: the flash of a red-and-gold striped scarf as she pulled away from him.

---

[A/N: Many thanks to the wonderful Amy (Kedavra), who beta'd this chapter (and the ones after it) for me!]

Chapter 17: Fantasies Unwound

Hermione woke up early the next morning. Yawning, she opened one eye and peeked out the window. It was snowing – yet another white Christmas.

Quietly, Hermione pushed back her covers and sat up. She reached up, opened the window, and looked out. The morning sunlight reflecting off of the fresh layer of snow on the ground was almost blinding, and the stray rays bouncing off the drifting snowflakes caused them to sparkle, dazzling her eyes. She blinked several times and grinned.

‘What wonderful Christmas weather,’ Hermione sighed happily, falling back onto her bed and breathing in the chilly air entering through the open window. Her thoughts drifted lazily to her meeting with Shadow the previous night. Thinking back, it seemed almost like a fairy tale, like it had never really happened after all. Of course, they hadn’t really talked about anything, but the flying…the memory of it was akin to something from a dream. She had never felt so free, so disconnected from everything. It had just been her, the never-ending expanse of sky, and…Shadow.

Hermione yawned again and stretched her arms out above her. At that very moment, she felt completely at peace with herself and everything around her. Remembering her time with Shadow helped to push all her job- and family-related worries out of her mind, something she usually had a difficult time doing.

After a few more minutes of lying in bed, hovering somewhere between being asleep and awake, Hermione eased her lower half out from under the covers and stepped into her slippers. She draped a knitted shawl around her shoulders half-heartedly and shuffled out of her room, closing the door behind her.

The moment Hermione stepped into the hallway, however, her contentment seemed to fall away like a loose extra skin. She shivered; the cold feeling of dread now weighed heavily on her mood. What would she do once she saw Ron downstairs?

‘Hermione, is that you?’ came Mrs Weasley’s voice from downstairs before Hermione could turn on her heel and run back into her room

‘Yes,’ Hermione called back, her heart sinking. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

‘Hurry down now, dear, we’re already half-way through breakfast.’ Mrs Weasley poked her head out the dining room doorway and smiled at Hermione. She wore a stained, maroon apron and had bits of tinsel in her flyaway hair.

‘I’ll be right down,’ said Hermione, returning the smile weakly.

As Hermione descended the rickety staircase, she quickly planned out what she would do once downstairs. She couldn’t afford to look at Ron; she had never been good at lying to him. Her mind raced as she tried to mentally craft a good answer to the inevitable question: where had she been the night before?

When Hermione entered the dining room, Ron didn’t look up. He appeared to be eating his porridge with great concentration, and even when Harry pointed out Hermione’s arrival, he simply grunted and continued to eat.

‘Good morning, Hermione,’ said Alicia with a smile.

She was sitting next to George, who busy heaping copious amounts of strawberry jam onto a slice of toast. Across the table, Fred was attempting to charm the raisins in his slice of Christmas cake to build miniature snowmen on his plate, a job that was being received with glares from Alicia.

‘Happy Christmas,’ Hermione said distractedly to Ginny and Mrs Weasley as she squeezed past them to get to her usual seat beside Ron.

Hermione saw Ginny and Harry exchange concerned looks out of the corner of her eye, but she ignored them. She knew they were both itching to ask what had happened – Hermione and Ron’s fight had not slipped past their attention unnoticed, but neither of them actually knew what the yelling had been about.

‘Good morning,’ said Hermione nervously, sliding onto her chair and glancing quickly at Ron before grabbing a slice of toast. ‘Happy Christmas.’

Hermione saw a muscle in Ron’s cheek tighten, but other than that, he showed no sign that he was aware of Hermione’s presence. Instead, he said loudly, ‘Pass the butter, Harry.’

Harry’s eyebrows shot up, but he did as requested and handed the butter dish over to Ron. ‘Where were you last night?’ he asked Hermione inquisitively as he did so.

‘I had to meet with a friend,’ said Hermione. That’s not a lie at all, she reassured herself. ‘We – er – we were discussing the case.’ She grimaced inwardly. Okay, maybe that one was.

‘Hermione, you ought to take a break once in a while and just enjoy some time with your family,’ Mrs Weasley chided. She looked up at Hermione over the hot chocolate she was sipping. ‘It’s a shame you couldn’t come carolling with us last night.’

‘Yeah, you missed out on a lot,’ said Ginny with a snicker. ‘An old Muggle couple offered us some gingersnaps, and it turns out Neville is allergic to them…his Gran refused to fix him up in a Muggle neighbourhood, though, so he had to go the rest of the way looking like he had red spots painted all over him.’

‘Was he alright?’ Hermione asked, concerned.

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Mrs Weasley, jumping in. She shot a reprimanding glare in Ginny’s direction. ‘And I’ll have you know, young lady, that you had similar allergic reactions when you were a child, so I’d watch who I’m cheeky about next time.’

‘Sorry, Mum,’ Ginny mumbled into her porridge amid Fred and George’s snickers.

Breakfast turned out to be an awkward affair. Ron continued to hold his silent grudge throughout the rest of the meal, while the other Weasleys tried to lighten up the mood to no avail. By the time Hermione had finished putting the last bowl in the sink, she felt drained, as if just keeping up her alibi had taken all of her energy. It was not even noon yet, and Christmas was already turning out to be one of the most unpleasant days of the year.

When Hermione arrived in the living room after clearing away the table, everyone except Mrs Weasley, who had insisted on washing the dishes alone, was already settled comfortably around the fire. Hermione’s gaze, however, was immediately drawn to Ron and Harry. They appeared to be arguing over something in the corner by the Christmas tree.

‘Really, Hermione, you ought to let our baby sister do the cleaning next time…’

Ginny, who was curled up at one end of the sofa closest to the fireplace and reading Witch Weekly, stuck her tongue out at George in response to his comment, but Hermione just smiled distractedly, sat down next to Ginny, and muttered, ‘What are they going on about?’

Ginny looked up. ‘I’m not sure,’ she replied. ‘I think Harry’s trying to tell Ron to do something but Ron won’t listen.’

Hermione frowned. What was it that Ron didn’t want to do? Could it have to do anything to do with her?

‘Hermione,’ said Ginny suddenly. She had put down her magazine, and was now leaning forward with a look of urgency on her face. ‘Where were you last night? You weren’t meeting with a friend to discuss the murder, were you?’

‘What makes you say that?’ Hermione whispered back, hoisting up an unconvincingly innocent expression while inwardly cursing herself. Of course Ginny could tell she was lying; she had always been able to.

Indeed, Hermione’s response was met with a stern glare. ‘I’m being serious,’ Ginny said, and her tone confirmed her words. ‘You met with Shadow again, didn’t you?’

‘So what if I did?’ Hermione answered defensively. ‘We were just talking.’

Ginny frowned. ‘You need to stop this, Hermione. You’re not fooling anyone – not Ron, not Harry, not me, and certainly not yourself. You can’t keep thinking that all of this is going to end well.’

Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples. Ginny was right. She couldn’t stop putting all of this off. How could she manage to stay friends with Shadow for long if neither of them knew the other’s identity?

‘I just wish I knew who he was,’ Hermione mumbled, leaning back so she could stare up at the cracks in the ceiling. ‘It would make all of this so much easier. No more mystery man, no more lies…and I could just crack on with my normal life.’

‘Why don’t you ask him, then?’ Ginny suggested.

Hermione shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Ginny,’ she answered truthfully. ‘Right now it’s like we’re playing some sort of game where we’re both trying to see how long we can go on without knowing much about each other. And I…well, I like it. It’s nice.’

‘That doesn’t sound like you,’ said Ginny worriedly. She paused, and then continued slowly, ‘But you know you’ve got to fess up to Ron eventually, right? He’s worried. He covers it up well by being a prat, but he really is.’

‘I know. I’m in a bit of a compromising position, aren’t I?’ said Hermione feebly.

She sighed again and threw another glance in Ron and Harry’s direction. Ron appeared to be holding a small package in his hand, and kept pointing at it angrily as he spoke to Harry.

‘Am I just bored with my life?’ Hermione asked after a few moments of silence. She rested her chin on her arms and looked at Ginny. ‘Is that it? Am I just doing this because I want something interesting to finally happen to me?’

Ginny looked uncomfortable. ‘Er…well…I dunno, to be honest with you. I don’t think you’re stupid enough to do that. You know this is stupid, right?’

‘He works at the Ministry, for God’s sake!’ Hermione exclaimed, but not too loudly, ignoring Ginny’s question. ‘How bad can he be?’

‘I don’t think it’s that aspect of your friendship and letters that has Ron so furious…’

‘What do you mean?’ Hermione asked impatiently.

‘Well…’ Ginny hesitated, as if she were trying to think of a good way to word whatever she wanted to say. ‘Well, it’s just that Ron tends to get a bit jealous sometimes’ (‘Believe me, I’ve noticed,’ Hermione scoffed), ‘and he’s just upset that you value the friendship of someone you barely know over his.’

‘But that’s not true!’ Hermione protested. ‘I – I mean –’

Somewhere near her right ear, however, a little voice piped, You mean what? Isn’t she right? You’ve been sacrificing your time with Ron for Shadow…you even told him you wanted to spend less time together because Shadow suggested it…

Ginny seemed to share this sentiment, for she raised an eyebrow at Hermione in a manner that clearly read ‘Told you so’. Hermione groaned and buried her face in her arms.

‘What am I going to do?’ she muttered. ‘I can’t just stop talking to Shadow.’

‘Why not?’ Ginny asked warily. ‘You’ve got to get a grip here, Hermione. He’s the guy in the mask who writes you sad letters. Ron may be a bit dim sometimes, but he loves you and he’s always been there for you.’

‘I just don’t see why I have to choose! I mean, it’s not as if it’s against the law to maintain a friendship and a romantic relationship at the same time. I’m friends with Harry, and Ron hasn’t got a problem with that.’

‘Ron knows and trusts Harry, though.’

‘Well, there’s nothing not to trust about Shadow,’ said Hermione crossly.

She glared at Ron’s back. He and Harry were still bickering, though it seemed like Ron was on the verge of storming away, for his arms were crossed and his jaw was set resolutely. Hermione wondered idly what had been in the box Ron had put away again.

After a while, she said timidly, ‘Do you think this will blow over like everything else has?’

Ginny knitted her brows. ‘I can’t speak for Ron. You two need to work together to sort this out.’

‘I suppose,’ said Hermione. She laughed reluctantly. ‘I’m being rather immature about this, aren’t I, asking you for help? It reminds me of the days when I always complained about Ron to you in Hogwarts.’

‘And I in turn whined to you about how Harry would never like me,’ said Ginny with a grin. ‘Nothing’s really changed after all, has it?’

Hermione gazed sadly at Ron. ‘Some things have,’ she said quietly.

‘He’s always been like this,’ said Ginny quickly. ‘Don’t worry too much about it. Everything will be fine.’

Hermione’s response to this was cut off when Ron spun around and stomped away from Harry, just as Hermione had predicted. As he approached her, Hermione opened her mouth to say something. However, Ron simply looked pointedly away, walked by without giving any indication that he had seen her, and slumped down next to Fred.

Her anger fuelled once more, Hermione looked over at Harry as if demanding that he do something. He gave her a hopeless shrug.

‘I did the best I could,’ he muttered under his breath as he returned to the sofa where Hermione and Ginny sat.

‘You can sit here,’ said Hermione quickly, standing up as Harry made to step over her feet and sit down on the armrest next to Ginny. ‘I’ll…I’ll be upstairs if anyone needs me.’

Without waiting for a response, Hermione pushed past Harry, who seemed surprised by her behaviour, and hurried out of the sitting room. She almost ran into Mrs Weasley, who had just finished doing the dishes, on her way out.

‘Sorry, Mrs Weasley,’ said Hermione, faking an apologetic smile that did not come easily due to her seething insides. ‘I’m going to my room. If you need me, just call.’

‘Why, we’re about to open –’

But Hermione was up the stairs and out of sight before Mrs Weasley could finish her sentence.

---

The moment Hermione entered her room, she dashed over to her desk and began fumbling around in the drawers, searching for parchment. She found a spare sheet underneath a pile of old documents and eased it out. As she reached over to grab a quill from the mug where she kept all her writing utensils, however, Hermione happened to glance in the mirror and see the reflection of her bed.

Lying atop the neatly made sheets was a poorly wrapped object with a letter tied to it.

Hermione pushed her chair back and stood up so rapidly that it tipped over and hit the wood floor with a clatter. Ignoring the fallen chair, she walked over to her bed and picked up the item, her fingers trembling. She untied the string holding the letter to the package and turned it over.

Written on it in emerald-green ink was the word, ‘Starlight’.

Confused, Hermione looked around. The window! she realised. She had forgotten to close it that morning. That must have been how Shadow’s owl had flown in and delivered the parcel.

Hermione unfurled the letter, eager to see what Shadow had written. To her disappointment, however, there were only a few lines:

Dear Starlight,

Happy Christmas. Use this to relive your happiest memory with your boyfriend – perhaps it will help you two patch things up.

Sincerely,
Shadow

A thrill of excitement coursed through Hermione as she unwrapped the gift, taking care to preserve the silver wrapping paper. A tiny bottle of a dark green potion fell out onto her palm.

‘Reco Memoria,’ Hermione said out loud, reading the tiny words etched into the stopper. She gasped inwardly when she realised what it was. It was a memory draught – one that allowed the drinker to revisit any recollection of his or her choice. Its purpose was similar to that of a Pensieve, but slightly different at the same time, for it actually let the drinker become who they were at that the selected moment in time. The potion was incredibly difficult and wearisome to brew, and was therefore not sold in most apothecaries. There was enough in the little bottle for one use.

Wondering how Shadow had managed to find someone to brew the concoction for him, Hermione broke the seal around the stopper and pulled it out. However, she hesitated before downing the potion. It had suddenly dawned upon her that between all the shopping she’d done for her friends and family, she had forgotten to buy a gift for Shadow.

As Hermione stared at the green liquid, slightly embarrassed that he’d given her so much and she’d forgotten about him entirely, it also occurred to her that perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea to take the potion so willingly. What if it had been tampered with? Of course she trusted Shadow, but nevertheless…

Hermione walked back to her desk, reached into the top drawer again, and searched around blindly until her fingers closed around a narrow phial. She took this out, shook it gently, and then uncorked it. Holding it up to the bright sunlight streaming in through the open window, Hermione scrutinised its clear contents for a moment, then returned to her bed and sat down.

Placing the bottle of memory draught atop her bedside table, Hermione carefully poured in one drop of the poison detector in the phial. She corked the phial again, and watched the green potion carefully.

After a minute, nothing had happened. Satisfied, Hermione picked the bottle up and brought it to her lips. Before drinking it, however, she once again faltered, this time wondering if saving the memory draught was a better idea. Regardless, this worry was quickly brushed away, for Hermione reasoned that if there was anytime she needed to remember the better times she and Ron had shared, this was it.

Thus, before any further second thoughts could stop her, Hermione tipped the bottle and swallowed all of its contents in one gulp.

Immediately, the sensation of being disconnected from herself hit Hermione. She blinked and instantly saw clearly in her mind’s eye millions of images spinning past her. I’m inside my own head, she realised. As if to confirm this, she felt her feet hit what felt like firm ground – apparently some form of her body had followed her.

‘Welcome!’ said a high, somewhat squeaky voice suddenly.

Hermione jumped and looked around. ‘Hello?’ she said out loud. Strangely enough, her voice seemed to disappear as she said the word, but somehow she knew she had spoken it anyway.

‘Is this your first time doing this?’ said the voice, sounding surprised.

‘Taking the potion? Yes, it is,’ said Hermione, feeling a bit stupid for talking to thin air.

‘I suppose I should explain this to you, then,’ said the voice, sounding slightly exasperated. ‘I’m your unconsciousness. Among other things, I manage these memories and your feelings towards them. The potion you took is a limited version of an actual memory draught. It will only permit you to revisit your happiest memories. I’m here to guide you along as you make your way through your mind.’

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. ‘This sounds like something out of a –’

‘– science fiction novel, I know,’ finished the voice impatiently. ‘I thought you’d say that. I realise that all of this sounds rather unrealistic, but without my guidance, it’s likely that you’ll get lost. It’s confusing up here.’

‘I noticed,’ Hermione muttered. She sighed. It would have been so much easier if she had just used a Pensieve. What was she thinking, using the memory draught for this? She should have saved it for something more important.

‘Now, now, you mustn’t think like that,’ the voice chastised. ‘Simply revisiting a memory isn’t going to do you very much good if you can’t experience it again.’

Hermione said nothing in response to this.

‘Very well,’ continued the voice. ‘I understand you’re here to find and relive one of your happier moments with that boyfriend of yours?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s get started, then.’

As if on cue, all the pictures whirling around Hermione turned pale gold, glowed for a moment, and dropped, forming pools of a shining gold substance. Tentatively, Hermione reached out a hand – but was she really reaching out a hand? After all, in this state, she didn’t actually have any physical form – and touched one nearby. The image of Ron and Harry standing next to the Christmas tree downstairs shimmered into view.

‘Don’t bother testing that one,’ the shrill voice warned as Hermione made to dip her hand into the viscous substance, ‘it won’t work.’

‘What do you mean?’ Hermione asked. She stepped back and frowned.

‘Try it.’

Hermione did so, and found to her surprise that there was an invisible, inflexible barrier preventing her from penetrating the golden surface.

‘Why doesn’t it –?’

‘Like I said, it only lets you visit your happiest recollections, which means you’re barred from entering the ones I don’t categorise as “happy�. Now, carry on…there are lots more memory pools for us – you – to visit.’

Hermione proceeded onwards, not quite walking but still in full control of her movements. As she passed by pools of gold, all of which she touched, her unconsciousness continued to speak to her and explain how she felt towards each of the memories she came across. At times, Hermione found it rather annoying; for instance, she hadn’t asked to be told that she’d actually secretly known she was overreacting when Ron accused Crookshanks of eating Scabbers in third year. However, she couldn’t deny that all of it was very fascinating, so she pressed on, searching for a suitable memory to relive.

Finally, Hermione located a pool of gold bearing the wavering image of Ron abashedly giving her a bouquet of flowers. It had been an early birthday present the year before, and though the gesture had been simple and somewhat cliché, she had been touched by Ron’s thoughtfulness (which rarely showed in his actions) nonetheless.

She now skimmed the gold substance with her fingers and felt them break the surface. ‘This one will do,’ she said out loud, desperate to get the task over with. She didn’t know if Shadow’s suggestion would work, but perhaps remembering why it was that she loved Ron in the first place would at least give her reason to be more patient with him, because at the moment, she felt slightly ashamed for lying to him – even if she did still think he had been wrong.

‘You sure you want to go with that one?’ asked the voice doubtfully. ‘We’ve still got plenty of time to look around for more. It’s not every day you get to visit your own storage of memories; you might as well make the best of it.’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ said Hermione firmly. At the moment, she just wanted to step back into the world she was used to and enjoy the rest of Christmas with everyone. Everyone but Ron.

Again, a wave of guilt washed over Hermione. Determined once more to try Shadow’s suggestion, Hermione cautiously knelt down by the edge of the recollection, preparing to step in. As she did so, however, she accidentally moved her hand into another memory puddle behind her. To her surprise, she did not hit a rigid blockade.

Hermione turned to see which of her happier memories her unconsciousness was allowing her to enter. She expected to see an image of Harry or Ron, so it took her a few seconds before she recognised the masked figure on a broomstick as Shadow.

‘Oh, now that one is worth taking a second look at,’ piped the voice, sounding much more pleased with Hermione now. ‘Go on, enter that one.’

Hermione looked up and glared at nothing in particular. ‘I can’t,’ she said angrily. ‘I’m here to fix the problems between Ron and me. Seeing Shadow again isn’t going to help. Besides, he’s the one who suggested I do this…I’m sure he’d want me to go with the Ron memory.’

As if to prove that she didn’t intend to stray away from her current mindset, Hermione turned back around and lowered both legs into the memory of Ron she had just been about to visit. She felt the thick substance swirling around her, but it didn’t cling to her clothes and drag her down.

‘Get out of there,’ said the voice irritably, just as Hermione was about to let go of the edge and drop. Hermione felt an unseen force tugging her out of the pool. ‘Don’t be ridiculous; that’s not the one you really want to go to.’

‘Oh yes it is,’ Hermione hissed through clenched teeth. She tried to tear herself away to no avail. ‘Let me go! I thought you were my guide, not my boss.’

‘I’m also you,’ her unconsciousness pointed out, refusing to cease its hold on her. ‘In fact, I control most of your actions, and right now, I’m controlling this one…so off you go.’

And with one more heave, Hermione tumbled backwards into the memory of her last meeting with Shadow.

As she plummeted towards whatever bottom awaited her, the liquid-like matter around her began to thin out until it felt as though she were free falling through air. Hermione struggled to reach out and grab hold of something, but there was nothing there, so she simply shut her eyes tightly and prayed that she wouldn’t hit anything hard.

Soon enough, Hermione sensed the atmosphere around her turning colder. She opened her eyes, looked up, and barely had time to notice the light grey sky above her before, with a soft whoosh, she gracefully slid into what felt like a form-fitting bodysuit and landed on the thin, wooden handle of a broomstick.

With a thrill, Hermione realised she was inside her body once again, but this time as what seemed to be an outside presence. She was not in control of her actions, for right there before her eyes, she saw her own hands guide the broom upwards into the clouds. Though she knew somehow that she was looking up at Shadow, her current, visiting self was free to look wherever she chose.

Every turn, every swoop Hermione still sensed as clearly as though she were experiencing the broom ride for a second time. However, she was not aware of the same worry she remembered suffering from her first time around. Instead, she felt extraordinarily light and free of ordinary concerns. She wanted to laugh out loud, or perhaps spread her arms and lift off on her own.

This must be what real flying feels like, she realised as she heard herself express her coldness to Shadow. All thoughts of making up with Ron had by now completely escaped her mind.

Shadow turned around. Hermione took in every detail of his, from his tussled, black hair down to his scruffy trainers. She had never noticed how thin his lips were, how pale his skin was, how pointed his chin was. His eyes burned with a ferocity she couldn’t recall ever coming across in his letters, or even in his speech. Before he opened his mouth to suggest sharing his broom, he bit his lip and hesitated for the slightest fraction of a second.

Hermione found all of this enthralling. She felt to urge to simply sit there and study Shadow’s features all day. Again, the sense of familiarity she had felt so many times the night before came back to her, stronger than ever. Still, she couldn’t figure out what it was about Shadow that reminded her so much of someone else, and she quickly gave up on trying to.

Too soon, it seemed, Hermione heard herself declining Shadow’s offer. With a surge of disappointment, she felt her broom being turned and directed at the ground again. As she began to descend, she twisted around to look at Shadow. His lips were pursed, and his hands clenched the broomstick handle so tightly that Hermione got the feeling that it wasn’t the cold that was turning his knuckles white.

At that very moment, Hermione began drifting upwards and away from her body. She watched as her figure and Shadow’s became smaller and smaller, until they were just points on the ground. Then, the chilliness around her faded away, and the scene at the park was gone.

When Hermione opened her eyes again, she was back in the attic of the Burrow.

---

[A/N: Thank you so much to my amazing beta, Amy (Kedavra)! She gave me the idea for the potion and Hermione's "guide". WIthout her, this chapter wouldn't even be finished.]

Chapter 18: Blood Begin to Race

Draco arrived at the Red Dragon a few minutes before his scheduled meeting with Hermione. Because it was Boxing Day and so many people were frantically shopping around in Diagon Alley, the pub was extraordinarily busy. The number of bags and parcels heaped on the tables, chairs, and floor only added to the crowdedness and chaos, and Draco had quite a bit of difficulty manoeuvring around everything before he was able to find an unoccupied table.

‘This better be worth it,’ he snarled under his breath as he tossed a box of self-refilling plates off of one of the chairs and sat down on it. He immediately jumped up again and looked down at the seat, for he had sat on something unpleasantly sharp – a set of Nose-Biting Teacups.

‘What is this, a tea party?’ Draco grumbled as he picked the teacups up and placed them on a nearby table.

‘If you had told me you wanted one, it could have been arranged,’ said a very amused-sounding voice from behind Draco.

Draco turned and saw Hermione standing behind him. Her cheeks were flushed, presumably from the cold, and she was bundled up in layers of clothing. On her arm, she carried a small shopping bag imprinted with the words ‘Slug & Jiggers Apothecary’.

‘About time,’ said Draco, sitting back and crossing his arms while Hermione took off her many scarves and hats. ‘What’s in the bag?’

‘Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger,’ Hermione recited as she removed her mittens. ‘Flourish & Blott’s was too busy, so I just went to the apothecary. You can look at it, if you’d like. You brought your list, right?’

Draco grunted in response. He had finished it just the night before – it had taken him a while to do so, for he’d been thinking of his meeting with Starlight and wondering if she had received his gift, but he had finished it nonetheless.

‘Okay,’ said Hermione, finally sitting down. She placed both hands on the table. ‘Let’s get down to business. What did you find out from the witness?’

‘Anna?’ said Draco automatically.

Hermione stared at him. ‘Getting friendly with her, are we?’

Draco lowered his gaze and inwardly cursed himself for letting that slip. Out loud, he said smoothly, ‘She told me to call her by her first name.’

‘Right. Anyhow, I’m not really interested in your relationship with her. What did she tell you?’

Draco hesitated. For a moment, he considered not revealing the information Anna had given him. That way, he’d have an advantage over Hermione. She didn’t know yet what exactly the torn bit of parchment had to do with the murder. However, Draco also knew that withholding any sort of evidence in this kind of case had serious consequences, so sullenly, he explained everything about the man’s pamphlet.

Hermione listened in silence. Once Draco had finished speaking, she frowned severely. ‘Why didn’t she tell me or anyone else that?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Draco lied. He had no desire to let Hermione know about anything Anna had said beyond the evidence she’d provided.

Sighing, Hermione said, ‘So what do you think this means?’

Draco raised his eyebrows, surprised that Hermione had even bothered to ask for his opinion. He had always seen her as the kind of person who would take any chance to seize control over the situation at hand. However, as he did have a few theories he wanted to share, he reluctantly answered her question.

‘Well, first of all, I think it’s safe to say that the man was in on the murder in one way or another, because he didn’t mention the corpse even though he should have seen it. Now, one of two scenarios could have taken place: either Malkin was killed when the man ventured into the alley, or she was killed before he ventured into the alley.’

‘Or your Anna is lying,’ Hermione pointed out.

‘She’s not my Anna,’ said Draco irritably. ‘Anyway, she said there was silence for five or ten minutes and then there was the scuffle and the muttered incantation. Assuming the incantation was Morsmordre, I’d say it’s highly unlikely that Malkin was killed in the alley, because as far as I know, there aren’t any hexes or spells that completely mutilate a body. The man could have been doing anything within those ten minutes, but whatever he was doing, it wasn’t heard or noticed by the group of people standing on the sidewalk.’

Hermione tapped her bottom lip thoughtfully. ‘The back door was unlocked,’ she said slowly. ‘Perhaps he – or an accomplice – entered the shop that way and committed the murder in there?’

‘I never thought of that,’ said Draco, surprised. ‘You’re right, it’s possible.’ He was so caught up in analysing the details that he even forgot to annoy Hermione by being disagreeable.

‘Do you think there was an accomplice?’

‘I’ve got no idea,’ said Draco. He tried to think back to what Anna had said about the man’s mention of a witch attacking him. ‘I think it’s likely, though, because someone else must have done the deed. Anna didn’t say anything about blood on him, and there would have been had the man killed Malkin himself. You can’t tear someone up like that and get away with just tussled hair.’

‘This is so much more complicated than I thought,’ Hermione murmured. Draco watched as she began to fiddle with the pages in her book. ‘I wonder why the pamphlet was so important to him. It must have carried instructions on how to brew a certain potion that he needed.’

At this point, Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a paper crane. He tapped it, and it unfolded itself to reveal the list of potions he had gathered. ‘Here are the candidates,’ he said, dropping the list on the table. ‘All eighty-seven of them.’

‘Eighty-seven?’ Hermione repeated. She looked utterly appalled. ‘How are we ever going to narrow them down to just one?’

‘You’re the genius between us; you can figure it out,’ Draco sneered. Now that he had finished speculating on the evidence he had, he was remembering to be rude to Hermione again. ‘And while you’re poring over that, I think I’ll order myself a drink.’

Pushing his chair back, he stood up and kicked aside a cloak lying in a heap at his feet. Noticing Hermione’s gaze on him, he sighed and drawled, ‘Want anything?’

She smiled sweetly. ‘Butterbeer would be nice.’

Draco walked briskly over to the bar, squeezing between two arguing wizards to cut his way to the front of the line.

‘One butterbeer and one firewhiskey,’ he said loudly over the din to the bartender.

The tired-looking witch behind the counter was glaring at Draco as if he were the cause of all her misfortunes, but she reached into a box at her feet and pulled out two bottles anyway. She slammed these on the counter, held out a hand, and said flatly, ‘Twelve sickles.’

Draco dug into the pockets of his robes and fumbled around. At last, he extracted a few gold and silver coins. He counted these carefully, and then handed them over to the witch. With a curt nod, he took the drinks and returned to where Hermione sat, waiting for him.

‘Thank you,’ she said as she took the bottle Draco had put carelessly down on the scrubbed wood table.

Instead of saying ‘You’re welcome’, Draco simply sat down and took a swig of his firewhiskey. He felt it burn all the way down his throat.

‘You know, excessive alcohol isn’t good for you,’ said Hermione in a conversational tone. She had returned to examining the list of potions Draco had created. Her chin was resting in one hand as she read it, and her other hand held the bottle of butterbeer. ‘You drink often, don’t you?’

‘What, are you stalking me now, Granger?’ said Draco sarcastically. ‘I thought I already told you that the chances of you getting with me are slim to none.’

‘Oh, shut up, Malfoy,’ said Hermione, never lifting her eyes from the sheet of parchment before her. ‘One might think you’re beginning to grow a bit obsessive about me, the way you’re always talking about us getting together.’

Draco flushed angrily. He hadn’t known Hermione was even capable of making such a snarky response, much less beating him at his own game. In silence, he watched as Hermione continued to read down the list.

‘There seem to be a lot of medicinal potions on here,’ she murmured after a while. She looked up at Draco. ‘Did you notice this?’

‘I finished this at five in the morning,’ Draco snapped. ‘Of course I wasn’t scouring for patterns.’

Draco saw a muscle in Hermione’s cheek twitch, but otherwise, she gave no sign that she was bothered by Draco’s attitude.

‘Well, then,’ she said reasonably, ‘perhaps we can assume that our mystery man has some sort of magical ailment. Maybe that’s why he refused to part with the pamphlet – it carried instructions for brewing some sort of antidote to his illness.’

Grudgingly, Draco had to admit that he agreed with this conjecture. ‘Let me see that,’ he said, reaching out a hand to take the list from Hermione.

She gave it to him. As she pulled her hand back, her fingers brushed against Draco’s lightly. Draco felt something in his stomach region lurch, and he swiftly retracted his hand, somewhat flustered. He glanced quickly at Hermione, but she hadn’t seemed to notice.

‘Right,’ he said, forcing his voice to stay calm. ‘I’m more familiar with Potions, so maybe I’ll draw more connections.’

He examined the list of potions. Many of them dealt with healing creature-induced wounds: insect bites, contact with poison, and other such physical injuries. Something about the names seemed odd, though. Draco had the distinct feeling that he knew which of them it was, or that at least there was a more obvious correlation he wasn’t registering. However, try as he might, he couldn’t figure out what his instincts were trying to tell him.

Draco sighed. ‘I’m going to take this home with me again, if you don’t mind. I need to go over this on my own.’

‘You’ll let me know if you find anything, right?’ said Hermione anxiously. She smiled awkwardly at Draco. ‘Since we’re working together now, that is.’

‘Sure,’ said Draco uncomfortably. Hermione’s smile was very disarming, especially since he wasn’t accustomed to holding a civil conversation with her in the first place. Strangely enough, he wasn’t even bothered by the fact that she had stated their newfound partnership as if he had already agreed to it. ‘Er – do you want to go over the details of Anna’s evidence again?’

Hermione checked her watch and sighed audibly. ‘No, I’m afraid I can’t,’ she said, sounding genuinely sorry. ‘I need to get home soon and write up the report on Bulstrode’s capture. I return to the Ministry tomorrow, and seeing as Robards is already angry with me for waiting this long to start searching for leads on this case, I need to make that report as thorough as I can.’

‘You got her?’ said Draco, surprised. He had known the witch they had been after, Millicent Bulstrode, back in Hogwarts. She had been in his house, and she’d always admired him because of his father’s connections to Voldemort. Now, the thought of it brought a bitter taste to Draco’s mouth.

Hermione nodded. ‘They told me she had been in contact with Amycus and Alecto…your team got those two, didn’t it?’

‘I led them,’ said Draco, not quite answering Hermione’s question. He cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, if you need to be leaving…’

To Draco’s confusion, Hermione was busy staring at a point somewhere on the surface of the table. Her eyes were unfocused, and she appeared to be imagining or remembering something very ardently. At Draco’s words, however, she started and said hurriedly, ‘Oh yes. Sorry about that; my mind wandered away.’

Draco barely suppressed an eyeball roll. ‘That would be your cue to leave, then.’

‘Thanks, it’s good to know that you want me to stay so much,’ said Hermione, actually rolling her eyes.

She stood up and began putting on all her winter attire again. As she wrapped a Gryffindor scarf around her neck, she opened her mouth to say something. However, before the words could leave her lips, someone bellowed, ‘HERMIONE!’

Draco whipped around. In the doorway stood Ron and Harry. They were both staring at him and Hermione with identical expressions of shock.

‘Ron?’ said Hermione incredulously. As she too whirled around to look at Ron, she accidentally knocked over the half-empty bottle of butterbeer sitting on the table with her hand, causing its contents to spill everywhere. Through his surprise, Draco managed to snatch up the list of potions and Hermione’s book before they became soaked with the sticky liquid.

By now, Ron and Harry had hurried over to their table. ‘What the hell are you doing here with him?’ said Ron angrily. He ignored Draco as he grabbed Hermione’s forearm and tugged at her. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

‘Ron, let go of me!’ Hermione exclaimed sharply. She jerked her arm out of Ron’s grasp. ‘We were discussing the case, we had –’

‘What?’ said Ron, his jaw dropping. He looked absolutely dumbfounded. ‘You – you chose – you purposely came here to talk with him?’

Hermione pursed her lips, looked over Ron’s shoulder at Harry, and said furiously, ‘Harry, why are you two here?’

‘Er –’ said Harry. He looked over at Draco. Draco raised an eyebrow back at him. ‘Er, we were just passing through…thought we’d stop by for a drink…’

‘And it’s a good thing we did!’ said Ron heatedly. ‘Why are you here with this – this scum –?’

Anger flared up within Draco. He had been purposely trying to stay unnoticed during the quarrel, but Ron’s words had tempted his fury.

‘Excuse me, Weasley,’ said Draco smoothly, keeping the irritation in his voice well-masked, ‘but I feel this is an appropriate time to step in and interrupt your little temper tantrum.’

‘Malfoy –’

‘Shut it, Potter,’ said Draco calmly. He had stood up and was watching Ron with narrowed eyes. Come on, Weasley…step up to the challenge, you useless git…

Ron turned red. ‘What are you implying, Malfoy?’

Draco took a step forward, silently daring Ron to fight. ‘What I’m implying,’ he said slowly, ‘is that I’ve had to deal with your thick-headed antics for the past eleven years, and I think it’s about time for me put you in your place.’

‘You want to have a go in here?’ said Ron, the tips of his ears turning scarlet. ‘Because I’ll destroy you, Malfoy, if that’s what you want. You couldn’t fight and win if you were up against a ruddy house-elf. That’s why you came back, isn’t it? You were too scared to stand up for your pathetic self, so you –’

‘Ron, leave him alone!’ Hermione screamed all of a sudden. She grabbed Ron’s wrist, stopping the path his hand was taking to his wand. ‘This isn’t about him. He did nothing wrong; I was the one who invited him.’

‘I don’t want your pity, Granger,’ Draco snarled, pushing Hermione aside roughly.

He drew his wand. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that Ron was only trying to goad him into action; unfortunately, it was working. Red hot anger coursed through his veins; he had never hated someone so much as he hated Ron at that moment.

‘Go ahead,’ Draco whispered dangerously, throwing his hands up mockingly. ‘Go ahead and try.’

‘Okay, this is enough,’ said Harry firmly, stepping in front of Draco. ‘Leave it alone. Especially you, Malfoy. People are staring, for Merlin’s sake.’

It was true. The bar had suddenly turned silent; all the previous cheerful chatter had stopped. Every pair of eyes was fixed on the tussle at the table near the back of the room. Even the bartender was leaning over the counter, her mouth agape.

Ignoring Harry’s words, Draco stepped around him and pointed his wand at Ron. ‘If you’re too scared to try,’ he hissed, ‘then I’ll step in. Petrificus Totalus!’

At the same time that Draco uttered the hex, Ron shouted, ‘Protego!’

The jet of crimson light that had issued from Draco’s wand rebounded off of Ron’s shield and hit the ceiling with a deafening crack. Bits of wood and plaster showered down upon the bar, causing screams to erupt into the silence.

Meanwhile, Draco stood panting, adrenaline still coursing through him. The urge to curse Ron into a million pieces lingered. He wanted to walk away, to be the one to end it for once, but his rage wouldn’t let him do it.

‘Ron…’ said Hermione weakly. One of her hands was clenching the edge of the table behind her; the other one was pressed, shaking, to her lips. ‘Ron, just leave. Get out of here.’

‘You think…you think I’m just going to…leave you here with this bastard?’ said Ron between gasps of breath.

‘She’s right, Ron,’ Harry interrupted. ‘Let’s just go. Now. Before any more trouble starts.’

He seized Ron’s upper arm firmly and pushed past Draco, his eyes fixed ahead determinedly. As Ron stumbled by, his and Draco’s gazes locked; for a moment, they exchanged silent threats. Then, Harry and Ron were gone. As the door swung shut behind them, Hermione finally looked at Draco.

‘When shall we meet again to discuss this?’ she said coldly. She still looked shaken by the mini-duel that had just happened. Draco couldn’t tell if she was angrier at him or her boyfriend, and frankly, it was the last thing on his mind.

‘I don’t care,’ said Draco savagely. He wanted to hate Hermione at that moment, but he couldn’t bring himself to. After all, she had defended him in a way. ‘It’s not as if I’ve got anything better to do than escort children from school to the train station anyway.’

Hermione stared at him blankly. ‘This Saturday, then,’ she said as she pulled on her mittens. Draco was astonished to see that as she turned to pick up her cloak, which was lying underneath her broken chair, a few tears slipped out of her eyes and down her cheeks.

‘Are you –’ Draco started to say, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he gripped his wand even harder and closed his eyes tightly, willing the roaring in his head to go away.

‘By the way, Malfoy, it’s good to know that you’re taking this seriously.’

Draco’s eyes snapped open, but Hermione’s back was facing him by now. Swallowing, he said icily, ‘The snow is starting to pick up, so watch your step and hurry on home to the dump quickly. You wouldn’t want Weasley’ – he spat the word out – ‘to worry.’

Hermione seemed to freeze up at the mention of Ron’s name. Then, she said in an equally frosty tone of voice, ‘Oh, rest assured, he won’t worry.’

Before she turned to leave, however, she added softly, ‘By the way, the snow doesn’t perturb me. I find it more beautiful than threatening. Then again, you’re not frightened by anything either, right?’

The mocking tone of Hermione’s last sentence struck Draco sharply like a dozen tiny darts. He watched as she made her way around the piles of merchandise and debris from the hole in the ceiling. As soon as she was out of sight, Draco rested his elbows heavily on the table before him and furrowed his eyebrows. It was then that it hit him.

Those last words…they had sounded so familiar. He had heard someone say them before. Who was it?

Starlight. The name burst into his mind as clearly as if she had spoken the word in his ear herself, so clearly that Draco even whispered it out loud. She had said that she loved the snow, that she found it beautiful. And her boyfriend troubles…hadn’t Hermione been having problems with Ron? Could Starlight…was it possible…could it be that Hermione…?

‘No,’ Draco muttered fiercely, kneading his temples to get rid of the disturbing possibility. No, Starlight is different…she’s not like Granger at all…they couldn’t be the same, there’s no way. I would have figured it out by now. I know Granger like the back of my hand. Besides, it’s not as it’s rare for someone to like the snow. A lot of people like it. And everyone gets into relationship troubles from time to time.

Consoled by this thought, Draco downed the rest of his firewhiskey – which, surprisingly, had remained upright throughout the entire earlier scuffle – and stood up somewhat unsteadily. Coughing and still clutching Hermione’s book, he weaved his way out of the packed room and back out onto the bustling streets of Diagon Alley.

---

[A/N: Thanks to my amazing beta, Amy, for beta'ing this chapter!]

Chapter 19: Nothing But a Man

Hermione breathed in the chilly air outside of the Red Dragon gratefully. For a few seconds, she stood there beside the door, inhaling and exhaling deeply, trying to calm her nerves. The tears on her cheeks stung as a gale of wind blew by, but she simply swiped at her face, straightened up, and began walking toward the Leaky Cauldron.

‘I hate him!’ she suddenly burst out furiously, eliciting a few terrified glances from shoppers passing by. She wasn’t quite sure who ‘him’ was; while she certainly wasn’t happy with Ron’s behaviour, the fact that Draco had taken the bait somehow disappointed her as well. But why? Why did Ron always have to do this? For a fleeting moment, she wondered what it would be like to break up with him. Would she still be allowed to live at the Burrow? Would the Weasleys hate her forever? What about Harry?

Hermione shook her head, trying to will these dreadful thoughts out of her mind. It would never happen. She loved Ron, despite all his flaws, and she’d never destroy their relationship over some silly disagreement. Nevertheless, at the moment, she wanted nothing more than to be rid of him…just this once…

‘You left this behind.’

Hermione spun around, startled by the sudden voice, the unexpected hand on her shoulder. Draco was standing behind her, holding the book she had earlier bought. He offered it to her.

‘Thanks,’ said Hermione uncertainly. She reached out and took it from him. As she did so, she noticed something peculiar in the way he was watching her. Confusion clouded his eyes as he looked from her hand to his.

Before Hermione could say a word, however, Draco’s arm dropped back to his side, and his usual cold, empty mask slid back into place. ‘Where am I to meet you on Saturday?’ he said flatly.

‘I – oh, I don’t know,’ said Hermione. The book felt awkward in her hands now, so she hugged it to her chest and looked at her feet, trying to think of ways to relieve the discomfort she sensed between them. ‘You could come over to –’

‘No thank you,’ Draco interrupted, the corners of his mouth turning down only slightly in contempt. ‘How about Brown’s?’

‘Fine,’ said Hermione, turning away and resuming her pace. ‘The same time, then.’

‘Wait,’ said Draco suddenly. Hermione turned to glare at him when she felt him grab her shoulder again.

‘What do you want, Malfoy?’ she snapped, tired of his bipolar behaviour. Vaguely, she wondered what had happened to the earlier civility between them. ‘If you have anything else to say about Ron or the Burrow, I don’t want to hear it.’

Draco’s lips tightened at the mention of Ron, but instead, he said shortly, ‘No, it wasn’t that. I’m going your way.’

‘I don’t see what that has to do with me,’ said Hermione stiffly. She tightened her hold on her book. ‘You’re free to walk whichever way you’d like.’

‘And you’re free to turn around and leave, but you’re not.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ said Hermione, slightly miffed that Draco had brought this up.

‘Let me walk with you,’ said Draco bluntly. He held out his arms like he had done to Ron earlier. ‘No wand. I’m not going to curse you.’

Hermione blushed. ‘I didn’t say you were going to. And I’m just surprised that you want to come anywhere near me, that’s all.’

‘I felt I should repay you by blessing you with my company since you were so nice to me while escorting the students to the train station,’ said Draco sarcastically as they began to walk.

Hermione couldn’t help but smile inwardly as she trekked through the snow-covered streets alongside Draco. She had the feeling that somewhere in the past five minutes, she and Draco had made an unheard agreement to act as if the fight with Ron hadn’t happened at all. It pleased her to know that he was making an effort to be polite to her for once, even if he wasn’t very good at it.

‘So – er – how are you coming along with the interdepartmental unity challenge?’ said Hermione awkwardly, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.

‘Good.’

Hermione sighed. Draco was trying to be dull on purpose. Why had he even asked to join her on her walk back if he was going to behave like this?

‘So what happened between you and Weasley?’

‘What do you mean?’ Hermione asked angrily. Even if she had wanted to talk about Ron at the moment, Draco would have been her last choice for an audience. ‘Why do you care?’

‘Because your issues with him just got me insulted and nearly hexed,’ Draco replied sardonically. ‘If Weasley is going to bring me into this, I’d at least like to know a bit more about the problems in paradise.’

Hermione pursed her lips. ‘It’s none of your business,’ she said testily. ‘Besides, it’s not as if you haven’t attacked us unprovoked in the past.’

She crossed her arms and looked straight ahead. Unfortunately, her gesture of defiance proved to be most unhelpful, for while she wasn’t watching her step, she accidentally slipped on an icy patch on the ground and bumped into Draco.

‘Watch where you’re going,’ said Draco irritably, but to Hermione’s surprise, his hands shot out to grab her wrists and help her steady herself on the slippery sidewalk.

‘Thanks,’ said Hermione as she regained her footing, surprised and puzzled by Draco’s act of courtesy.

Draco seemed to realise what he had done, and instantly released Hermione’s wrists as if they were burning hot coals.

‘Aren’t you cold?’ Hermione asked curiously as they resumed their pace. All Draco wore was a somewhat tattered black robe and a thin, flimsy cloak.

‘No,’ said Draco shortly. ‘I suppose you two haven’t gotten over that row you mentioned.’

‘Well, Ron isn’t exactly the type to get over things quickly,’ said Hermione, rolling her eyes. ‘And you can imagine that he wasn’t too chuffed about seeing me with you.’ She sighed sadly. ‘I…I’m sorry about what he said.’

Draco didn’t respond. Hermione looked over at him tentatively. He was watching her with an odd glint in his eye. For a moment, she read it as…sympathy? It certainly seemed like it. But then he seemed to become aware of her eyes on him and turned away again, surly as ever.

‘I meant that apology,’ said Hermione suddenly. ‘I know what he said might have hit close to home, and –’

‘I also meant what I said earlier,’ Draco snapped. ‘I don’t want your pity, Granger. I’ve lived by myself long enough to manage on my own.’

Rather than feel annoyed by Draco’s rude remark, Hermione felt deep pity sweep through her. She could see through Draco. She knew he was lonely. As much as she had once hated him, she couldn’t bring herself to hate him right now. She had so much – friends and family to love, people she could trust. He had…well, nothing.

Looking up, Hermione realised they had arrived at the archway. She followed Draco through it. They passed through the Leaky Cauldron in silence. When they stepped onto the paved sidewalk on the other side of the pub, Hermione turned to face Draco.

‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ she said softly.

Then, without waiting for Draco’s response, Hermione spun around and hurried away to the subway. She had a report to write when she got home.

---

‘Granger, this was supposed to be in before break!’

As if to accentuate his displeasure, Gawain Robards slammed the pile of papers Hermione had just handed him down upon the desk next to him.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Hermione offered meekly, wincing and casting her eyes downward. ‘I got caught up in other things.’

‘Like that murder you haven’t solved yet?’ Robards growled. ‘What’s gotten into you, Granger? You’ve been late on every ruddy assignment I’ve given you these past weeks!’

It was all Hermione could do not to cry. She didn’t want to admit it, but Robards was right. She was falling behind for the first time in her life – and she hated herself for it.

‘I’m really sorry,’ she insisted again, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘I promise I’ll work twice as hard to make up for it, sir.’

‘I’ll be watching you to make sure of that,’ Robards barked. He shook Hermione’s report in her face menacingly once more before stalking away to go swear at a group of giggling Aurors-in-training.

Exhaling loudly, Hermione collapsed in her chair and buried her face in her hands. Pull yourself together, Hermione! she thought severely.

Biting her lip, she turned her attention to the list Robards had tossed onto her desk earlier. On it were several names written in dark blue ink. Next to each name, the age and specialties of the witch or wizard were listed. At the top of the page, the words ‘Incoming List of Aurors-In-Training’ were printed neatly.

Hermione’s job this year was to train them to use the three Unforgivable Curses. It was one of the many steps in the process of becoming a full-time Auror, one which Hermione hadn’t enjoyed very much. Nevertheless, it had to be done, and unfortunately, she had been the one picked to do it this year.

‘Got yourself into a spot of trouble with Robards, did you?’ came a sudden snide voice from one of the cubicles next to her.

Hermione gritted her teeth and said nothing. Rather than let Ron’s remarks get to her, she stared even harder at names. John Irving, 19, “Outstanding� N.E.W.T.s in…

‘I suppose you’re going to blame your problems on me now,’ Ron continued contemptuously. ‘I’ll have you know that it’s entirely your –’

‘Leave me alone, Ron,’ Hermione cut in angrily, her patient façade having been worn thin. She finally looked up from the list. ‘I’ve had to deal with your ridiculous, childish complaints for the past week. I think it’s about time you started acting your age, especially now that we’re back at work.’ She paused and then added on second thought, ‘And I don’t believe you’ve got enough authority on the subject of sticking to schedules to lecture me about it.’

‘But I’m not the one who’s getting in trouble with our Head.’ Ron smiled smugly, as if he had just uttered the most creative comeback ever thought of.

‘You will be soon if you don’t get back to doing your job,’ Hermione snapped.

Bristling, she returned to reading the names, but her mind wasn’t on the task anymore. Instead, she was lamenting over the fact that it had come to this between her and Ron. Did they really have to resort to bickering like they had back during their school days? What had happened to being mature adults in a mature relationship?

Abandoning the task of getting familiar with each of the candidates listed, Hermione pushed the list away. The tight walls of her cubicle felt confining; she needed to get a breath of fresh air. As she stood up to leave, she noticed that Ron was on his feet as well.

‘Where are you going?’ Hermione asked, trying not to sound too curious.

‘I’m going to have a shifty at an abandoned shack in Hastings. Some old bat living nearby said she heard screams coming from it and wants us to look it over.’

Hermione frowned at Ron’s careless tone. It annoyed her that he always treated each case as if it was less important than what he would be having for dinner. How he had passed the training course at all escaped her.

‘Where’re you headed off to?’ Ron asked suspiciously. ‘Off to see Malfoy? Or maybe that – what’s his name – Shadow?’

‘No, I’m going to check my post,’ Hermione replied angrily, adding sarcastically, ‘but thank you for your concern.’

‘Any day,’ he retorted, equally mock-polite.

The two of them glared at each other for a moment, then turned around and marched away in opposite directions. Upset, Hermione stole a glance over her shoulder at Ron. He was talking to Robards. She sighed, then turned around and left the room.

Because Hermione did not yet have her own private office (Only one more promotion to go, she thought wistfully), she had to go get her post the standard way: by walking to the post room on her floor, which was located, thankfully, just across the hallway.

When Hermione stepped outside, a young witch carrying a short stack of letters was just passing by. The gentle waft of air caused by the closing door behind Hermione lifted a few of the letters off of the top of the pile, causing them to flutter lightly to the ground.

‘Oh!’ exclaimed the girl, stopping in her tracks and stooping down to scoop up a few that had landed at her feet.

‘I’m sorry!’ said Hermione, hurrying to go pick up a few more envelopes. She handed them over with an apologetic smile.

‘It’s alright,’ the witch replied, blushing. ‘I’m just on my way to send these off for my boss. I’m sorry for getting in your way.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Hermione kindly. ‘I’m afraid I was the one who wasn’t watching my step,’ – Hermione glanced at the girl’s nametag – ‘Kay.’

‘I’ve got to go now,’ said Kay, smiling at Hermione abashedly. ‘Thanks for helping me pick these up, ma’am.’

And she hastened off before Hermione could say anything by way of a good-bye.

Hermione stood in her spot for a minute or so, wondering why Kay had been in such a hurry to go send the post she’d been carrying. It occurred to her that perhaps Kay was Draco’s assistant or apprentice; she had certainly seen the two of them together more than once, and Kay’s badge had, after all, indicated that she was a Hit Wizard-in-training.

Shrugging off these thoughts, Hermione crossed the hall. As she was about to enter the post room, however, she trod on something that felt curiously like parchment under her feet.

Glancing downwards, Hermione saw that Kay had missed a letter. She quickly picked it up and looked over her shoulder to see if Kay was still around. Unfortunately, it appeared that she had become lost in the sea of workers milling around in the corridor.

Hermione gazed helplessly at the letter, wondering what she should do with it. She turned it over, hoping to find a return address written on the front. The moment she saw the script on the front, a chill ran down her spine.

The handwriting was Shadow’s.

Though Hermione could not find a return address anywhere, there was no denying the hand that had written the name of the addressee. Hermione had read Shadow’s letters enough times to be certain that he was one and the same with whoever had addressed this envelope.

Then, the truth slowly dawned upon Hermione. How could she not have seen it before? But the list…why hadn’t she recognised it then? Still, she couldn’t help but press a hand to her heart and gasp out loud as the wheels in her brain, which were usually so swift to draw conclusions, finally connected the two pieces of the puzzle: Shadow was Draco.

Chapter 20: Talking In Riddles

The first thing Draco felt when he woke up on Saturday morning was a weight on his chest. He groped around blindly until his hands closed around a thin, flat object. He opened his eyes and sat up, wondering how the item, which was wrapped in gold paper, had come to be there.

‘To Shadow’ was written on the front of the package. Draco’s cheeks reddened when he realised that this was something of a late Christmas gift from Starlight, delivered via owl post. He couldn’t remember when someone had last given him a present. He had forgotten entirely about the memory draught he had sent Starlight, so he hadn’t really been expecting anything in return anyway.

Knowing Starlight had remembered him, however, was a pleasant surprise. Draco sat up, his usual morning peevishness dissipating immediately. Before he set about to unwrapping the gift, however, he looked around, wondering where Latera was. He would need her later to send a thank you note to Starlight.

‘Bloody owl,’ he grumbled when he saw that the window was open. She must have flown out during the night to go hunting and not yet returned.

Deciding that he would worry about letting his gratitude be known when the time to do so arose, he ripped away the wrapping paper around the flat object. A small, handheld mirror tumbled out and landed on his sheets.

Draco frowned and picked the mirror up. It was round, with a heavy golden handle and frame. He turned it over. There was nothing inscribed on the back.

What am I supposed to do with a mirror? he wondered, searching the wrapping to see if there was any sort of note or card that held further information. Then, his eyes fell on a neatly folded piece of parchment which he assumed had also fallen out of the wrapping paper while his attention was on the mirror. He picked it up, unfolded it, and read the message written on it.

Dear Shadow,

Thank you so much for the memory draught. I probably should have saved it, but instead I chose to use it. I wanted to take your advice, but my unconsciousness was being rather obnoxious, so I ended up visiting the memory of our last meeting instead. I don’t regret it, though, so don’t feel bad.

Anyway, I’m sorry I sent this so late. I guess with everything going on, I forgot about the difference a Christmas present can make. If you’re wondering why I sent you a boring old mirror, let me explain to you what it is. I bought this mirror and another one exactly like it from an antique shop in Hogsmeade a while ago, and it occurred to me on Christmas night that I could charm them into two-way mirrors. A close friend of mine had one once, but he was never able to use it. The wizard who owned the other mirror…well, he died. According to the instructions I followed to make ours, the charm only ceases to function when one side of the partnership leaves the other for good. I should hope that doesn’t happen to either one of us in the near future. Like your memory draught, though, these mirrors can only be used once because the process of making them work permanently is, regretfully, far too complicated for me to complete in just a few days. So, if you ever need me, just say my name into your mirror and I’ll appear (or rather, I’ll be there, but you won’t see me).

Now, enough rambling on my end. I do hope you enjoyed your Christmas. Hopefully we can meet again soon?

Love,
Starlight

Draco’s heart skipped a beat. Love. That was what Starlight had written. Love. He was certain she had never signed off any of her letters with that word. Surely she didn’t mean it. But there it was in plain sight. Did she mean it? Or was it something that just came to her so naturally that she hadn’t even noticed when she wrote it? And why did he even care?

Disgusted, Draco threw the letter onto the other end of the bed. Of course she didn’t mean it like that. What was he thinking? He was being daft. ‘Love’ was a common phrase that many people used casually; it was nothing out of the ordinary. Yet even this didn’t explain the fact that Starlight had chosen a memory of them over a chance to amend the wrongs between her and her boyfriend. Draco felt a sick, swooping sense of elation at this revelation.

He wanted Starlight to be happy. If it meant bringing her and her boyfriend back together, then he would do it. But there was no denying the jealousy that clouded his mind and judgment at the idea of someone else hugging her, kissing her, touching her…

Forty year old witch with a bad complexion and a poor back! he silently and furiously repeated to himself, even though he found he could no longer thoroughly convince himself that Starlight was either old or ugly, especially since she’d confirmed that they had went to school together. Regardless, he did not have feelings for Starlight. That was wrong. He didn’t know her, had never seen her. If he wanted to date someone, there was still Anna…he had her address, he could Floo her…perhaps getting together with her would do him some good…get his mind off of Starlight…

Still, it was definitely jealousy that was making him want nothing more at that moment than to shove Starlight’s boyfriend into the nearest Vanishing Cabinet and magically seal the door forever.

Draco miserably leaned back against the headboard. He felt furious with himself, revolted by the knowledge that he secretly wanted Starlight’s boyfriend to keep pushing her away. Angrily, he looked out the open window. The sky outside was coloured a depressing shade of grey, and already, a few stray flakes of snow were drifting about in the still air. Draco’s thoughts unwillingly returned to Starlight; he wondered if she was watching the snow as well. Then, as quickly as the thought of Starlight had occurred to him, he remembered Hermione.

Immediately, his mood worsened. Their second meeting was scheduled for that afternoon.

‘Lydig,’ Draco yelled hoarsely upon realising this, ‘go down to the basement and fetch me a cup of the Draught of Peace, you miserable creature!’

---

An hour later, Draco was pacing to and fro in the kitchen, feeling decidedly calmer than he had felt earlier. Lydig was tailing him at a distance, his hands clutching each other feebly. He winced every time Draco so much as turned his head.

It was no wonder the house-elf appeared to be treading on thin ice. In his rush, he had accidentally measured a dose of Enmity Elixir rather than the Draught of Peace and given it to his master. Too distracted to notice the mistake, Draco had downed all of it without thinking. Lydig, then, was forced to deal with the effects of Draco’s magnified temper until he was able to escape the room, go back down to the basement, and return with the proper potion.

‘Bring my writing materials,’ Draco finally said to Lydig upon locating a bottle of mulled mead he nicked from a Christmas party held at the Hit Wizard Headquarters a few days ago. He poured himself a mug-full and brought it with him over to the small kitchen table.

Draco watched Lydig scurry out of the room as he sipped his mead placidly. The sweet liquid only served to further pacify him. He wondered vaguely what time he was supposed to meet Hermione. She had said the same time as their last meeting. Had that been at 3pm or 4pm?

Might as well go at 4pm, Draco decided pleasantly. There’d be nothing to do there for an hour if I ended up going early.

At that moment, Lydig returned to the kitchen. He was carrying a dull silver platter bearing a neat stack of parchment, an eagle-feather quill, and Draco’s ink bottle. Placing the tray carefully on the table before Draco, he bowed.

‘If Master needs anything else, Lydig –’

‘Yes, yes, I know, you’re at my every command,’ said Draco.

He carelessly waved the elf out of the room, then pulled a sheet of parchment towards him, picked up the quill, and dipped it in the ink bottle. He noted that he would have to go out and buy more ink; he was running low.

How would he start off his letter to Starlight? There was no need to bring up his newfound feelings, of course; that would just cause too much unnecessary trouble. Draco settled on beginning with a few words of thanks.

Dear Starlight, he wrote.

Thank you very much for the gift you sent me. I have stored the mirror somewhere safe (this wasn’t entirely true, Draco noted with some amusement, as he had actually put the mirror under his pillow), and I intend to use it once the need arises.

Now, onto other subjects. Forgive me, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t at least somewhat thrilled that you chose a memory with me in it. I’m glad that you enjoyed the broom ride; I certainly did. Still, I have to warn you about your actions. It’s probably not my place to do so, but I do care about your happiness, and I wouldn’t want the rut between you and your boyfriend to widen any further.

Draco paused here to dip his quill in the ink again. He smirked at what he had written, surprised and pleased by how easy the lies came. Then again, lying had always been an expertise of his.

I understand that there have been a lot of unsettling events happening as of late, and you and the rest of your department must be extraordinarily busy, but I’d like to meet again if that’s possible. Feel free to name the time, date, and place (which I suspect will be Sherwood Park again).

Until then, I await your reply.

Yours truly,
Shadow

Draco let his quill linger at ‘Yours truly’ for a moment. He had almost written ‘Love’, just as she had, but he’d been unable to bring himself to.

Then, he remembered something else.

P.S. – When you turned to leave the other day, I saw a flash of gold and red. Out of curiosity, are you a Gryffindor?

Draco decided that it would be best if he didn’t reveal that he was a Slytherin. Though he had never completely gotten over his contempt for Gryffindors (it was in his blood, he supposed), he had become less focused on the importance of houses over his years in solitude. On the other hand, he was sure that a dislike of Slytherins still remained in the minds of most Gryffindors, and in his current state, he didn’t want to say anything that would cause Starlight to lose trust in him in any way.

She’d probably hate me the most, Draco realised, recalling all the conflicts he had stoked in his school years. If she ever knew my identity, that is…

It was a good thing, then, that he didn’t intend to tell her anytime soon.

---

‘You’re late.’

That was the first thing Hermione said to Draco when he sat down across from her.

‘Sorry,’ Draco apologised. He smiled meekly at her.

‘You’re in better spirits than you were last time I saw you,’ said Hermione suspiciously. ‘Have you been drinking again?’

‘Only mead,’ Draco offered. He shrugged. ‘Let’s get started.’

Hermione started drumming her fingers on the table irritably. ‘First I want to know what kind of potion you took this morning.’

‘I just took the Draught of Peace to calm myself down,’ said Draco defensively, sensing Hermione’s irritation.

‘You couldn’t have just taken a simple Calming Draught?’ Hermione asked doubtfully. She looked at Draco warily. ‘When will it wear off?’

‘I wasn’t that distraught. And it should wear off in the next hour or so. Now let’s just get started on this; don’t worry about the effects of the potion. It’s not as if it made me any less intelligent, Granger.’

She sighed. ‘I suppose I could do without your snide comments for a while. Even though I still don’t think resorting to magic is the best way to deal with your problems…’

‘Right,’ Draco muttered. He could feel the temporary calm the potion had induced within him beginning to fade; already, the noise of the little tea shop was starting to give him a headache.

Reaching into his pocket, he extracted the list of matching potions and quickly scanned down it. ‘Now, what sort of conclusion did we come to last time?’

There was no response. Wondering what was distracting Hermione, Draco looked up, about to complain about her lack of effort. However, the words fell away on his lips when he noticed her gazing at him, an expression of utmost horror on her face.

‘What?’ he asked uncertainly. Hermione couldn’t be seeing his scars just now; she wasn’t that blind.

‘You…’ she whispered, now fixing her eyes on the list. ‘Let me see that,’ she said instead when her first attempt at a sentence failed.

Hermione snatched the list from Draco’s hands without waiting for a word of consent. She stared at it intently for a few seconds, then frowned. ‘But your handwriting…’

‘What about it?’ said Draco indifferently. He took the list back and read it again. His handwriting was indeed a bit messy and somewhat unintelligible, but he had compiled it when he was half-asleep. Surely even Granger would excuse poor handwriting in those kinds of circumstances…

Hermione shook her head, as if trying to clear her mind. ‘I mean,’ she said quickly, ‘I just have a quick question before we start.’

She sounded nervous. Draco wondered what she was withholding from him, but he nodded and allowed her to carry on.

‘Do you – er – know anyone by the name of Kay Jamison? She’s tall, of average –’

‘Yes, I know her,’ Draco interrupted. ‘She works in my office.’

Hermione’s mouth fell open a little. ‘Are you two…friends? I mean, does she work for you?’

Draco blinked. He felt a sense of embarrassment and shame wash over him. There was no way he could let Hermione know he had an assistant; she might think him weak or incapable of doing his own work. This is all Kingsley’s bloody fault, he thought angrily.

‘No,’ he said out loud. ‘I…uh…I’m not too familiar with her.’

‘Oh,’ said Hermione, sounding strangely disappointed. For a moment, confusion riddled her features. She bit her lip, as Draco had noticed she tended to do when she was mentally trying to sort a problem out. ‘It can’t be…’ she murmured.

‘What can’t be?’ he said sharply. The Draught of Peace he had taken earlier had entirely worn off by now. It must wear off quicker when Granger’s around. ‘What the hell are you talking about, Granger?’

‘I just thought – that maybe I figured something out –’ she said uncertainly. Her eyes kept darting from the list to Draco’s eyes and back again. ‘Everything but that adds up…’

‘Everything but what, exactly?’ Draco demanded. He was getting fed up with Hermione’s broken sentences. ‘Granger, if you don’t tell me what’s going on here, I have other –’

‘No,’ she said quickly, holding up a hand. She looked slightly embarrassed. ‘No, don’t go. I just thought…oh, never mind. I don’t know what I was thinking. Let’s just carry on, shall we?’

Draco raised an eyebrow. Though Hermione’s strange behaviour had piqued his curiosity, he didn’t feel like pursuing the topic if she was going to be so unhelpful. Instead, he made a mental note to question her about it later.

‘Fine,’ he said, meeting her gaze with a look he hoped made it clear that her weak excuses hadn’t convinced him of anything, ‘go ahead.’

---

[A/N: As always, much thanks to my fabulous beta reader, Amy. Also, I'd like to add that I won't be able to write more of this fic for a while...I'm very busy with schoolwork and other things at the moment, and I haven't found the time to write at all in the past few weeks. I still have a few chapters left to post, so starting now I'm going to post them slowly. Hopefully things will ease up during second semester. Until then, I apologise for any lapses in updates over the course of the next few months.]

Chapter 21: Say the Word

Draco was staring at her expectantly.

Hermione took a deep breath. She had jumped to conclusions too quickly; that was it. The writing on the list did look slightly similar to Shadow’s, but she was sure they weren’t exact matches, so it was probably just a coincidence. Besides, there was no way Shadow and Draco were the same person. Shadow was considerate and thoughtful. Draco…well, he possessed neither of those qualities.

But the way Shadow had smirked at her…and his eyes…all of it was so reminiscent of Draco. Hermione couldn’t explain that away. Shadow had gone to school with Harry, too. It all added up. Everything but the handwriting on the list and Kay.

But Draco had said he didn’t know Kay very well, and Hermione believed him. After all, he had no reason to lie about it. Besides, she remembered, Shadow knows I’m a Muggle-born. Draco Malfoy wouldn’t treat a Muggle-born he knows nothing about that kindly, no matter how much he claims to have changed.

Perhaps it was just Hermione who was too eager to discover Shadow’s true identity, then. She was grasping at straws, making minor details more meaningful than they actually were.

‘Come back to Earth, Granger,’ Draco suddenly said loudly, jolting Hermione out of her thoughts. ‘Like I said, I have other matters to attend to if you’re just going to sit here and daydream.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Hermione apologised. She tried to push all thoughts of Shadow out of her mind. She had to concentrate on this case right now; it was more important. ‘What were we discussing?’

‘Your theories on the case,’ Draco reminded her impatiently.

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but just then, a waitress walked by. Draco held up a hand, and she came over to their table. Hermione abruptly shut her mouth, slightly annoyed.

‘The usual, Ethel,’ he said brusquely.

The waitress smiled brightly. ‘Very well, Mr Malfoy. Anything for your lady friend?’ she added, nodding in Hermione’s direction.

‘I’ll just have sweet tea,’ said Hermione before Draco could answer for her.

Hermione waited until the waitress was out of sight before continuing. ‘I have an idea to run by you. It occurred to me last night while I was reading up on the properties of aconite that there have been an unusually high number of –’

But once again, Hermione was interrupted mid-speech when Draco suddenly buried his face in his hands and muttered, ‘Hide me.’

‘Wha–?’ Hermione started to say, but then she caught sight of a pretty, dark-featured witch standing near the counter, looking around as if she were searching for someone. Hermione recognised her as Anna, the witness whose account Draco had cited.

‘You’re scared of your girlfriend?’ she said, now amused. Draco was slouched down in his seat, trying to cover as much of his face as possible. She had never seen him willingly put himself in such an undignified position, especially in front of her.

‘She’s – not – my –’

‘Draco!’

Draco was cut off mid-protest by Anna’s exclamation. He groaned audibly and straightened up as she came hurrying over to their table.

‘Hi there,’ she said to Hermione, smiling uncertainly as she tossed her handbag onto the table lackadaisically and sat down in the booth next to Draco.

‘How are you?’ said Hermione politely in response. Then, an idea came to her. It was the perfect way to infuriate Draco. ‘Why don’t you stay for a while? Mal – er, Draco was just discussing how you two met at the crime scene investigation last week.’

‘Oh!’ said Anna, sounding, if possible, even more chipper. ‘You’re the lady I talked to first, aren’t you?’

‘That’s me,’ said Hermione, smiling and reaching out a hand over the table. ‘I’m Hermione.’

‘Anna,’ the girl replied without shaking Hermione’s hand. ‘But surely Draco told you my name already?’

‘Oh yes, he did,’ said Hermione, retracting her hand. She felt slightly affronted about being brushed off so easily, but she ignored it and continued. ‘He told me quite a bit about lunching with you.’

‘Did he really?’ said Anna, sounding not the least bit surprised. She looked quite smug about this, in fact. ‘I expect –’

‘I’m still here, you know,’ Draco snapped all of a sudden. He was glaring daggers at Hermione. She pretended she couldn’t see him.

‘Well, since you’re here, Anna, why don’t you tell us a bit more about what you saw the night of the murder?’

‘They’ve already drained me of everything I know,’ Anna explained airily. She turned to Draco. ‘So, how was your Christmas?’

‘Great,’ Draco muttered. ‘Anna, I’m sorry, but we’re in the middle of a –’

‘I think I’ll order something,’ Anna mused, as if Draco had never spoken at all. ‘The peach tea does sound good…’

Hermione waited as Anna consulted with Draco about which item she should order from the menu. Somehow, the fun of aggravating Draco by bringing Anna into their meeting was wearing off. Indeed, she now found that she rather regretted doing it.

‘Are you two done yet?’ she said grouchily after a few minutes. She glared at Draco, as if it were his fault that their conversation had been interrupted.

‘Oh, can’t your business discussion wait a few minutes?’ Anna asked, waving a hand about breezily. She looked at Draco with sad, doleful eyes. ‘Although if you really need to carry on with it, I suppose I can leave you two alone…’

‘You’re not a bother,’ said Draco, even though his pained expression clearly suggested otherwise. Hermione was both surprised and vexed that Draco was making such an effort to be polite to the girl.

Anna smiled fondly at Draco. ‘Oh no, don’t worry, I know I am,’ she said with a melodramatic sigh. ‘Go ahead and crack on with your meeting; I’ll try to keep out of your way. If you need any help, do let me know.’

Unfortunately, as the minutes inched by, it seemed that Anna was doing everything in her power to not keep out of the way. Every time Draco so much as looked away from her, she’d grab his arm or say something loudly to steal his attention back. The more she did this, the less Draco seemed to resist, until at last he simply dropped the topic of the case altogether.

On the other hand, Hermione was fed up with having to be careful to only reveal details of the case that could be revealed in front of a stranger. She couldn’t help but wonder every once in a while why Anna was attracted to Draco in the first place. Anna came off as someone who only cared about the physical appearance of others, and though Hermione felt slightly ashamed for thinking it, Draco wasn’t exactly the best-looking fish in the sea. The hideous scars had, unfortunately, marred his once-aristocratic features. Thinking about it, Hermione almost felt sorry for him.

Then there was the fact that she was also growing increasingly jealous of the lack of notice she was receiving from him. No, not jealous, she corrected immediately. Exasperated for professional reasons.

‘Malfoy, do you intend to ever start fulfilling the purpose of this meeting or not?’ Hermione finally said loudly after having just sat through Anna’s painstakingly long story about how she and her mother had managed to secure a summer home in Ibiza. She glared at Draco expectantly, ignoring Anna’s offended expression.

Draco ground his teeth together. ‘I would have hours ago if you hadn’t opened your bloody mouth and –’

‘It’s not like I’m chuffed about it either,’ Hermione retorted.

‘What’s going on here?’ said Anna crossly as she looked back and forth between Hermione and Draco. Hermione suspected that she did not enjoy being left in the dark for even a moment.

‘What’s going is you,’ Hermione said through gritted teeth. She was sick of Anna…of her incessant simpering, her shameless flirting, her infatuation with Draco…

‘What do you mean by that?’ Anna said shrilly, flaring up. She narrowed her eyes at Hermione. ‘I thought you said I could sit down.’

‘No, you sat down yourself,’ Hermione corrected coolly. ‘I said you could stay for some chitchat, not the entire afternoon. I’ve had enough of this nonsense. We have matters at hand that we’re forbidden to discuss in your presence, so if you would please escort yourself away from our table…’

‘Why, I – I’ve never –’ Anna spluttered. She sounded quite beside herself.

‘As enjoyable as your company is, Anna, I’m afraid I have to agree with Miss Granger here,’ Draco injected smoothly. He held out her handbag. ‘Perhaps we can meet again sometime soon. In the meantime, if we have any questions, we will certainly come to you for answers. It was nice seeing you again.’

Hermione caught the slight twitch of Draco moving his hand under the table just before Anna was rudely ejected out of her seat by an invisible force. She squealed loudly, stumbled, and almost fell over an old couple’s table before she righted herself.

Pushing her long, curly hair out of her eyes, Anna glowered at Hermione as if it were Hermione’s fault that she had just suffered through that minor loss of dignity. As Hermione had nothing to say, she simply drummed her fingers on the tabletop pointedly until Anna finally spun around and stormed out of the shop.

‘You know, considering the number of O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s you got, I never would have expected you to be so thick when it comes to using your common sense,’ Draco snapped over Hermione’s sigh of relief.

Hermione rolled her eyes. ‘You could have warned me about her earlier if you hadn’t been so busy trying to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible. “I’m not scared�…oh please, I don’t know how you survived Voldemort’s wrath if you couldn’t even stand up to that monstrosity.’

‘We wouldn’t even be here right now discussing the murder if it weren’t for that “monstrosity� and the evidence she provided,’ Draco replied sharply.

‘Oh, so now you’re defending her?’ Hermione fumed. ‘One minute you’re terrified of her, the next you’re hexing her out of her seat, and now you’re defending her. My God, Malfoy, make up your mind!’

‘Let’s just quit the bickering and you can tell me what you were going to tell me earlier.’

Hermione’s jaw dropped. Astonished that Draco had actually stepped up and ended an argument for once, she obeyed.

‘What I was going to say is that I realised that aconite is most well-known for its use in the Wolfsbane Potion.’

‘A conclusion any third year Potions student could have easily drawn, but a conclusion nonetheless.’

‘No, what I mean is,’ said Hermione, passing over Draco’s sarcastic response, ‘with all these werewolf attacks going on recently…and Anna did say the man in question had scars all over one side of his face…you don’t think…?’

‘It’s possible…’ said Draco slowly. ‘So then our suspect was carrying this pamphlet, which presumably held instructions on how to brew the Wolfsbane Potion, because he had recently been bitten?’

‘Or bitten someone,’ Hermione pointed out.

Draco nodded. ‘You might be right. Someone in your office must have records of all the werewolf attacks in the past few months, right?’

‘Right,’ Hermione affirmed. ‘It’s my day off, but I’ll go back later and see if I can get them. Or I can just go right now…it’s just across the street, so –’

‘No need. Why don’t we meet again the day after tomorrow once you’ve obtained the proper files?’

Hermione was surprised that Draco wanted to meet so soon. She had gotten the feeling that he didn’t like these meetings at all, and she had to admit that initially, she hadn’t liked the idea of seeing him on a regular basis either. Now, though, she found herself almost eager for the next one.

It’s Ron, she reasoned. He’s driving me out of the house.

‘Okay,’ she said with a tentative smile. ‘Where?’

Draco seemed to hesitate. He looked down at his hands before saying, ‘My flat?’

‘You want me to set foot in your house?’ said Hermione incredulously. She almost laughed at the peculiarity of the proposition. ‘Aren’t you worried I’m going to get filth all over your –’

‘Well?’ Draco said sharply. ‘Are you going to come or not? After today, I’d prefer not to do this in public, and I’m not about to wander into Weasley’s hovel.’

‘I live there too,’ Hermione said petulantly. ‘But fine. Your place it is.’

‘Here, I’ll write down my address –’

‘Oh, it’s fine,’ said Hermione hastily. At Draco’s questioning look, she added, ‘I know it already. The members of our offices keep records of each other, remember?’

Draco shrugged. ‘Stalker,’ he said, smirking.

Hermione laughed. It felt nice, she decided, to finally relax in front of Draco. All she had to do was put up with his occasional snide remarks…she supposed those would never go away, but for the most part, his intentions did seem to have changed for the better…

‘Now that we’ve got that figured out, I’ve got to attend to my other matters. Shacklebolt’s assigned me to guide the Hit Wizards-in-training through the Unforgivable Curses course tomorrow –’

‘I’m doing that for the Auror division,’ said Hermione, surprised that they had once again received the same assignment. ‘I guess we’ll be seeing each other even more in the future then.’

‘I can’t wait,’ said Draco, rolling his eyes and sliding out of his side of the booth. ‘Same time as always, then. See you, Granger.’

‘Bye Malfoy,’ said Hermione, biting back a grin.

Once Draco was out the door, Hermione sat back and distractedly sipped from her half-empty cup of tea. They had a theory to work with, which meant she could spare some time now for her own issues – Shadow’s identity, for one.

Was he Draco? Had Draco lied? Hermione didn’t know what to believe. It seemed like almost all of the evidence pointing towards Shadow and Draco being the same left no room for doubt, but she nonetheless found herself doubtful. On top of that, she didn’t even know whether she was disappointed or happy at the idea of Shadow possibly being Draco.

Finally, Hermione decided firmly that for the moment, she would assume they were different people. Her instinct fully supported this resolution, and she chose to go with it this once; after all, Draco had told her she needed to make better use of her common sense. If, however, any further evidence suggesting otherwise arose, Hermione knew she would have to rethink the dilemma.

After a while, Hermione realised that she had finished all of her tea and was sipping from an empty cup. She stood up, dropped a few Muggle bills and coins to cover hers and Draco’s orders, and left the little tea shop.

Outside, Hermione crossed the busy street to the telephone box on the other side. It was empty, so she stepped in, dialled six, two, four, four, two, and answered the cool female voice that responded with ‘Hermione Granger, Auror Headquarters, here to visit said office and collect a few reports’.

The floor began to sink; for a moment, Hermione was enveloped in darkness as the bright afternoon sun outside disappeared; then, after a minute or so, she was once again able to see as the light from the main hall of the Ministry slowly slid up her body and illuminated her cramped surroundings.

Finally, the door of the telephone box fell open and Hermione stepped out. As she made her way down the long hallway and towards the golden gates at the end, she nodded and smiled at a few of the witches and wizards waiting in line to depart via the Floo network.

Hermione passed through the golden gates and stepped into one of the many lifts on the other side. It was a rather tight fit, as it was rush hour in the Ministry and workers were frantically trying to return to their offices after their lunch breaks, but Hermione managed to step out when the female voice announced, ‘Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services.’

Luckily, Hermione ran into Robards almost immediately after leaving the lift.

‘What are you doing here?’ he said, looking taken back by the fact that Hermione was at the Ministry on her day off.

‘I’m here to collect the reports on the recent werewolf attacks, sir,’ said Hermione. ‘I just had a meeting with Mr Malfoy, a member of the Hit Wizard Squad who’s also working on this case, and we’re trying to investigate a few hypotheses.’

Robards looked impressed. ‘Good to know you’re seizing this bull by the horns,’ he said gruffly. ‘Go back to the office and ask Dawlish; he should have them. And while you’re there, let him know what you’re doing. He’s in charge and he’ll want to be clued in.’

‘Will do, sir,’ said Hermione, ecstatic that Robards was no longer displeased with her. She hastened to the headquarters. There, she was once again granted with good luck when she met Dawlish on his way out.

‘All right, Granger?’ he said, nodding at Hermione as he passed.

‘Wait, Dawlish, I need to see the werewolf attack records.’

He stopped in his tracks and turned to look at Hermione. ‘Why?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘For the Malkin case,’ Hermione explained.

‘Now wait just a second, I’m in charge of that case. What’ve you been hiding from me, Granger?’

‘I know you’re in charge,’ said Hermione quickly. ‘I’ve been working with a Hit Wizard – Draco Malfoy – on it…I mean, I figured since you’re so busy here…’

Dawlish grunted, looking rather pleased with himself. ‘Damn right I’m busy here…I’ve been trying to deal with those morons at the Improper Use of Magic Office for the past three days…they refuse to dish out the information on –’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Hermione swiftly, cutting Dawlish off before he could work himself into a long-winded rant about why Aurors were the only people who had any sense of courtesy towards other departments at the Ministry. ‘I really need to see those records, though, Dawlish, so if you could fetch them for me…’

‘Fine, fine…’ Dawlish grumbled, turning around and heading back inside.

Hermione followed him to his private office at the back of headquarters. His desk, she noted as he gestured for her to wait outside while he went to retriever the files, was considerably messier than her cubicle, which she always kept tidy despite the lack of space.

‘Thank you,’ she said gratefully as he returned to her with a sheaf of parchment. She took it from him.

‘Mind you tell me everything you find out!’ he called to her retreating back as she spun around and hurried away.

As Hermione wended her way between the rows of cubicles, she noticed that Ginny was sitting, hunched over something, at hers.

‘Ginny!’ she exclaimed, stopping next to her friend’s cubicle.

Ginny looked up and grinned when she saw Hermione. ‘Hey there, Hermione. What’re you doing here? I would’ve thought you’d be sick of this place by now, what with all the time you spend here…’

Hermione laughed. ‘No, I’m just here to pick these up.’ She lifted up the stack of parchment Dawlish had given her. ‘What are you up to?’

‘I’m writing a response to a letter of thanks I received from a witch whose missing husband I helped find a few weeks ago,’ Ginny explained.

‘Oh, good job,’ said Hermione. She smiled kindly at Ginny, adding, ‘But I’ve got to go now…Robards has me doing the Unforgivable Curses this year…’

‘Ouch,’ said Ginny sympathetically. ‘Well, at least you’re not doing the dark creature obstacle course.’ She winced. ‘Let me tell you, it’s a good thing Lupin gave one to your year when he was teaching at Hogwarts…you can help me base mine off of his…’

‘Ginny, you know this is more complex than Lupin’s obstacle course,’ Hermione scolded.

‘I know, I know,’ said Ginny. ‘Don’t worry about it, Hermione. You go home now and try to get some sleep before you get to work planning your training session.’

‘I will, Mum,’ Hermione replied teasingly.

Waving good-bye to Ginny, Hermione left the Auror Headquarters.

Chapter 22: You Alone

When Draco arrived on the seventh and highest floor of the Ministry the next morning, he was in unusually high spirits. Normally, the thought of going anywhere near the Unforgivable Curses sent a foreboding chill down his spine, but he was instead thinking about his meeting with Hermione the next day and the letter he had received from Starlight. She had set the time of their next meeting to the upcoming Sunday at 7pm.

‘Morning, Malfoy,’ said a female voice as Draco pushed through the heavy oak doors and walked into what appeared to be a small, cramped room closed off by blank walls.

Draco had really entered a vast chamber with an extraordinarily high ceiling – the Training Hall, an area restricted to the instruction of physical Ministry-related skills. Today, tall, bronze walls criss-crossed the floor, dividing the Training Hall into smaller classroom-sized rooms, each of which enclosed a different step of the training course. The room Draco had entered allowed visitors to choose the course of their preference: to his left was a wooden door marked ‘Hit Wizards’, while the door on his right was marked ‘Aurors’.

‘How do you do, Ackerman?’ said Draco, nodding at the chubby, mousy-haired witch who had greeted him. She was leaning against the far wall of the small space and chewing a wad of gum. She looked utterly bored.

‘Good, good,’ Marilla Ackerman replied as she twirled her wand between her fingers, causing it to emit bright orange sparks. ‘I’m doing the announcing today.’

Draco nodded, and then passed through the door on his left. He went through several individual training rooms before he reached a larger one which extended all the way across the width of the Training Hall. Since the use of Unforgivable Curses was one of the abilities required of both Hit Wizards and Aurors, Draco and Hermione’s individual rooms had been combined to form one.

Hermione was already waiting on her side when Draco entered. She looked up at the sound of the door closing behind him.

‘Good morning,’ she said, smiling weakly.

‘You okay?’ Draco asked apathetically. He pulled out his wand and began polishing it with a fistful of his robes.

‘No,’ she replied shortly.

Draco looked up. ‘What do you mean, “No�?’ he asked irritably. ‘If you’re sick, you’d better go –’

‘It’s not that,’ she cut in quickly. ‘I just don’t like doing the idea of this part of the course. I mean…telling them to purposely cast Unforgivable Curses…over and over again…’

‘They’ll be thanking us when they meet a Death Eater in a dark alley and only survive through the use of one of the curses,’ said Draco plainly. He had figured Hermione wouldn’t like this part of the training course; she’d always been too soft for her own good.

‘Maybe it’s easy for you to just fire these off, but it isn’t for me,’ Hermione retorted. ‘Even the thought of putting those poor beetles through the Cruciatus curse is unbearable.’

She looked sadly at the large glass jar set across the room from her. It contained a number of fat black beetles. They were flying about so frantically that they kept ricocheting off the walls of the jar. It was as if they knew what was about to happen, and were trying to find some way of escape.

Draco’s insides squirmed uneasily. He rubbed one of his scars unconsciously. Of course, having been a servant of the Dark Lord’s, he had quite a bit of experience with Unforgivable Curses…but the Cruciatus curse…

Out loud, though, he let out a snort of laughter. ‘Don’t know why – much less how – you became an Auror, then, Granger.’

‘Yes, well, I prefer to only think of the more positive aspects of an Auror’s position,’ Hermione snapped. ‘Saving people, for one. Besides,’ she added, as if on second thought, ‘I’m surprised you’d stand for all of this; if I remember correctly, you’re rather inclined towards beetles, aren’t you, Malfoy?’

‘Right,’ said Draco. He doubted Hermione would ever let the Skeeter incident go. He examined his wand for any more fingerprints, found none, and stored it back in his pocket. ‘So when do they come in?’

Hermione checked her wristwatch. Before she could answer Draco’s question, however, Ackerman’s magically magnified voice rang out in the training chamber. ‘Please take your places and proceed to the first room at the sound of the bell.’

Five seconds later, the bell rang loudly.

‘An hour or so,’ Hermione said. She began pacing back and forth.

Draco watched Hermione for a few minutes, amused by her nervousness and feeling rather nervous himself. Each step of the training course lasted exactly ten minutes, and in those ten minutes, each one of the training Aurors and Hit Wizards had to perform a series of tasks generated by the witch or wizard in charge. After each task, the trainee would either receive one point or zero points, depending on whether or not they had completed it successfully.

Draco glanced at his jar of beetles. Unlike Hermione’s, his were unusually subdued. He sighed, wondering what it would be like to suffer through first the Imperius curse and then the Cruciatus curse before being finished off with the killing curse.

The next hour passed quickly, with Draco and Hermione discussing the Malkin case some more. She told him she had retrieved the list and skimmed over it briefly the night before. As she had not dealt with any of the recent werewolf cases, however, she hadn’t been able to narrow it down. Draco was surprised to find himself relaxing in her company and even bringing down his sarcasm, which he usually hid behind, a little bit.

At last, Ackerman announced, ‘Please proceed to the next room at the sound of the bell.’

The bell rang, and the doors to Hermione and Draco’s room sprang open. Two groups of witches and wizards sporting purple training robes stumbled in, looking thoroughly dishevelled.

Draco ushered the twenty or so people on his side of the room into an untidy line. Many of them sported bleeding cuts and scrapes, but Draco paid no attention to this – it was all part of the training process.

‘Right,’ he said briskly once the last individual had entered. ‘Have fun back there, everyone?’

There was a chorus of grumbles and a few muttered ‘not even close’s, but for the most part, everyone was too busy trying to catch their breath to answer.

‘For this challenge,’ Draco continued, ‘you’re to perform the Imperius, Cruciatus, and killing curses, in that order, on those beetles’ – he pointed his wand at the jar of beetles – ‘over there.

‘A solid knowledge of the Unforgivable Curses is crucial when out on a chase. Many of your targets will not hesitate to use one on you, and you must be prepared to do the same – but only for self-defence. If the Ministry finds that any of you have used this on another witch or wizard unprovoked, the consequences will be severe.

‘Now, on the count of three, I will levitate one beetle towards each of you, and you are to perform the specified Unforgivable Curse. You will have one chance and one chance only. Are there any questions?’

The group stared mutely back at Draco.

‘Marvellous,’ he drawled. ‘For the Imperius curse, I want you to make your beetle do three somersaults in the air. This particular spell is very handy when dealing with subjects that refuse to be brought in. Wands out.’

Everyone drew their wands. Some looked very apprehensive about Draco’s instructions. One young, sandy-haired wizard’s hand was even shaking as he held his wand out.

‘One’ – Draco made a twirling motion in the air with his wand, and the lid of the jar lifted off – ‘two’ – he jerked his wand quickly; nineteen beetles began drifting towards the lined-up trainees – ‘three.’

The beetles came to a halt in mid-air. At once, nineteen different voices shouted, ‘Imperio!’

Draco watched nonchalantly as roughly half of the beetles went somersaulting through the air. The other half simply continued to float lazily in place. Many of the Hit Wizards-in-training were evidently straining to make these beetles obey them. Draco clucked his tongue in disappointment.

‘Time’s up,’ he said sharply. He waved his wand, causing the beetles to disappear.

At that moment, he heard a number of ‘Imperio’s come from Hermione’s side of the room, and he looked over. There were three or four more people in her group, and as a whole, they were doing decidedly better than his trainees.

‘Okay,’ said Draco, trying to ignore this irritating detail. ‘Now, for the…the Cruciatus curse.’ His throat had suddenly become very dry. He cleared it loudly and said, ‘While out on a chase or a mission, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement does not support the use of this particular Unforgivable Curse. However, we feel that all incoming Hit Wizards and Aurors should be capable of performing it should the need arise. Wands out.’

Draco repeated the same countdown process as he had done earlier. The moment ‘three’ left his lips, his trainees all screamed, ‘Crucio!’

Draco’s blood ran cold. The word sounded so chillingly familiar…of course these were amateur Hit Wizards just out of school, nothing like the Dark Lord had been, but nonetheless…he shuddered, trying to focus on the task at hand. The group appeared to have done much better this time around. This made Draco almost as uneasy as the sight of the beetles writhing about in pain.

‘Good job,’ he squeaked, trying not to let his distress show. ‘Last one. This one is pretty self-explanatory. Avada Kedavra. I’ll give all of you a moment to collect yourself.’

Draco took advantage of the moment to cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder at Hermione. He wondered how she was faring. He couldn’t help but feel a little relieved to see the pinched, nauseated expression on her face as she observed her trainees casting the Cruciatus curse on their beetles. At least he wasn’t the only one.

Just before Hermione Vanished the row of limp beetles, she looked up. Her gaze met Draco’s. She smiled wearily at him. He turned away before she could see that he was equally shaken.

‘Moment up,’ he said bluntly. ‘Wands out. And you with the long brown hair – yes you – stop crying. If you think this is tough, wait until you have to face a real wizard bearing a wand.’

The skinny, pallid girl Draco had pointed out glared back at him.

‘Don’t give me that nonsense,’ Draco snapped. ‘If you want to be any cop out there, suck it up and draw your wand.’

Draco didn’t wait for an answer from the girl; he didn’t expect one. He knew that if she had any sense, she wouldn’t talk back.

‘Now, on the count of three…’

Draco repeated the levitation process a third time over. This time, all the voices were in unison when they bellowed, ‘Avada Kedavra!’

The explosion of bright green light was so blinding that Draco had to shield his eyes for a moment. Still, he felt a thrill of exhilaration course through him as he felt the killing curses fly past him. This was why he had joined the Death Eaters, he realised. To feel that sense of power and control…to know that with those two words, he could take away another life…but Draco cleared these thoughts away with a shake of his head; it always made him sick to the stomach to think of them.

When Draco was able to see clearly again, he noted that, just as he had expected, less than a quarter of the beetles had fallen to the floor dead.

He raised an eyebrow coldly. ‘Dismal.’

With a sweep of his wand, he cleared the beetles away. He then sauntered across the room to the other side, where a long scroll of parchment was tacked to the wall. He tapped it with his wand and watched as the names of the trainees along with the marks out of three they had received appeared in purple ink.

‘On your way out,’ he said as he walked back to where the nervous Hit Wizards-in-training were standing, ‘you may glance at the list to see how you did.’

As if on cue, Ackerman’s voice suddenly rang out within the chamber again. ‘Please proceed to the next room at the sound of the bell.’

Several members of the group appeared to be so eager to exit that, upon hearing the signal to leave, they rushed out of the door on the other side without even sparing a fleeting glimpse at their marks. Draco suspected that those were the recruits who had failed all three times.

‘Finally,’ he muttered under his breath, sliding down the wall so that he was sitting with his back to it. He rested his arms on his knees and looked over at Hermione’s side.

The last of her trainees were just exiting. When they were all gone, she shut the door behind them and walked over to where Draco was sitting.

‘How did yours do?’ she asked, sitting down cross-legged in front of him.

‘Only a fourth of them managed to do Avada Kedavra,’ Draco replied, rolling his eyes. ‘They’re even more pathetic than you, Granger.’

Hermione grimaced. ‘I wish they hadn’t made the Unforgivable Curses a requirement. My session was dreadful too. I felt awful…a lot of them were crying; one or two couldn’t even bring themselves to utter the incantations. I don’t blame them either,’ she added hastily.

‘They’ll thank us later,’ Draco reminded her.

‘I still don’t think it’s worth it.’

Draco shrugged. He had nothing to say in response to this.

‘So,’ Hermione sighed, uncrossing her legs and stretching them out next to Draco, ‘since you’re so big and bad when it comes to the topic of Unforgivable Curses, care to tell me what in particular terrifies you about the Cruciatus curse?’

‘What do you mean?’ said Draco harshly. He inwardly cursed Hermione for having such astute eyes. How could she have caught his fear from the other side of the ruddy room?

‘You’re not as good at disguising yourself as you may think you are,’ she said simply. ‘Answer my question.’

For a split second, Draco saw himself writhing around wildly on a cold stone floor, screaming as excruciating pain ripped through him…he recalled such intolerable agony that he began clawing at himself, desperate to get out of his own body…

‘My scars,’ he said coldly. The two words felt awkward on his lips; he had never confessed this particular part of his past to anyone, and he wondered vaguely why he was doing it now. ‘It’s how I got my scars.’

Hermione looked taken aback. Apparently, she too had never expected that she’d be the one hearing about Draco’s best-kept secret first. ‘How?’ she asked in a hushed voice.

‘Have you ever been subjected to it, Granger?’

She hesitated, then shook her head no.

‘Let’s just say that the pain is so unbearable that you’ll do anything to escape yourself,’ said Draco bitterly. ‘Even if it means destroying any part of your body within reach.’

Hermione looked horrified by this statement. For a moment, she simply stared at Draco in disbelief. Then, she whispered slowly, ‘And because they’re cursed scars…’

‘…they’re permanent, yes,’ Draco finished.

He was furious with himself. He hadn’t planned on ever revealing this to another human being, and now here he was, sharing every detail with Hermione Granger. Why did he trust her? Now she’d probably run off and tell her stupid friends so Weasley could have another reason to taunt him…

‘Malfoy,’ said Hermione softly, scooting a little closer to him with concern in her eyes, ‘I meant what I said the other day. They really aren’t that bad.’

And this time around, Draco believed her.

Chapter 23: The Unseen Genius

Hermione’s mind reeled as she exited the Training Hall later that afternoon. When she had inquired about Draco’s reaction to the Cruciatus curse, she hadn’t expected him to disclose as much as he had. Of course, she wasn’t upset that he’d told her; she had been yearning to find out for a long time; but nevertheless, she felt almost guilty for hearing him out. It was as if she had stolen something he treasured by prompting him to tell her.

‘Bye, Marilla,’ said Hermione, waving good-bye to the witch who had done the announcing for the day as she pushed the double oak doors open.

‘Have a good day, Hermione,’ she replied with a grin.

The hall outside was empty. There weren’t any departments located on the highest floor of the Ministry, however, so this didn’t come as a surprise. Hermione took the lift down to the Atrium, where she stepped into one of the many fireplaces located there and returned to the Burrow.

Ginny, Harry, and Ron all had the day off, so they were lounging about in the sitting room when Hermione stepped out of the Burrow’s fireplace. She smiled at them briefly. Though she would have liked to sit down and chat with them a bit, the fact that Ron was there made her decide to do otherwise.

‘Not so fast, Hermione!’ said Ginny, catching Hermione’s arm as she attempted to hurry past the trio. ‘Where are you running off to?’

‘Shower,’ Hermione answered quickly, tearing her arm out of Ginny’s grasp. ‘I just got back from the training session…’

‘Well, tell us about it,’ said Ginny pointedly. She moved closer to Harry to make room for Hermione. ‘Don’t worry, we won’t say anything if you smell.’

‘I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,’ said Hermione, casting a nervous glance in Ron’s direction.

Harry looked over at Ron. ‘Ron, you two have got to get over this…’

Hermione shook her head rapidly. ‘I’m going to take a shower now,’ she said, and before anyone could stop her, she left the room.

As Hermione ascended the staircase, she did everything she could to forget about the scene downstairs. She thought about what Draco had told her and shuddered. She had figured he’d had a run-in with some illegal curses and didn’t want to say anything about it, but she had never imagined that the history behind those scars was so brutal. She wanted to pity him, but then she remembered Shadow’s warning about not pitying someone in Draco’s situation, and she held herself back.

Hermione tried to think about the upcoming Sunday when she would see Shadow again, but to her surprise, the thought could hardly entertain her for more than a few seconds. Her focus kept drifting to Draco. She wondered what his flat looked like. Was it large and empty, or was it small and messy? There were so many sides to him, and Hermione had no idea which of them would be reflected in his living style.

It hit her when she finally stepped off at the top of the stairway. For the first time ever, Hermione couldn’t decide which she was looking forward to more: her meeting with Shadow, or her meeting with Draco.

---

Hermione Floo’d over to Draco’s flat at exactly 3pm the next afternoon.

The first thought that crossed her mind when she stepped out of his fireplace was that she must have accidentally arrived at the wrong house. The room she had entered was dark; no lamps or candles had been lit, and the only source of light came from a grimy sky window.

Uncertainly, Hermione groped around in the darkness. She yelped when her hand met another one.

‘What are you doing?’ said a very amused voice out of the shadows.

Suddenly a row of candles on the mantelpiece behind Hermione burst into flame, illuminating the vicinity and allowing Hermione to see the person whose hand she had accidentally grabbed. It was, naturally, Draco.

‘I wasn’t expecting you so soon,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’ Hermione asked, surprised. ‘I arrived on time.’

‘That’s the point,’ he said bluntly.

He left Hermione to figure out his reply and strolled over to an unkempt sofa that appeared to be sagging under the weight of several piles of clothing, empty bottles of firewhiskey, and books.

‘My home isn’t very tidy,’ he explained.

‘I never would have guessed,’ Hermione muttered as she daintily made her way over to the sofa. She cautiously picked up a tatty cushion and inspected it. ‘And you say the Burrow is a –’

‘Watch it,’ Draco warned, clearing a spot on the sofa and collapsing on it. He glowered at Hermione. ‘You’re in my house, and therefore subject to my rules. Rule number one: that baboon and anything belonging to him are not to be mentioned in my company.’

‘I’m here,’ Hermione pointed out.

Draco stared at her.

‘I mean,’ she stammered, realising what Draco had said, ‘I don’t belong to him. I just mean that…well, you can’t really expect Ron to be forgotten entirely if I’m here.’

‘I don’t,’ he said plainly, ‘but it would be nice if you could at least try…starting now.’

Hermione ignored him and released the cushion she had been examining. ‘Are we really going to go over the case…here?’ she asked apprehensively.

‘If you want to,’ he said with a lazy shrug. He picked up a cracked bottle, scrutinised it for a moment, and then looked over it at Hermione with a raised eyebrow. ‘I take it that your disgusted expression says it all.’

‘I’m not disgusted,’ said Hermione hurriedly. She felt slightly embarrassed for treating her surroundings so disdainfully. ‘I just…it’s a bit messy, that’s all…’

‘I know,’ said Draco, standing up, ‘which is why we’re not going to be doing anything here. Follow me to the kitchen.’

Hermione did so. As they entered a smaller, equally-disorderly room, she was both delighted and upset to see through an open doorway a tiny, poorly-dressed house-elf hurrying up a stairway leading downstairs.

‘Master!’ he squeaked once he had stumbled onto the kitchen floor, apparently not noticing the presence of a second person. ‘Master, the potion is in need of more aconite…’

‘Go add another pinch then, Lydig,’ Draco snapped without even looking at the elf.

‘But – but Master told Lydig to never touch his potions – Lydig does not wish to disobey –’

‘You’re even more worthless than I thought,’ Draco growled. ‘Stay here,’ he added over his shoulder to Hermione, who was gaping at him, as he shoved the house-elf aside and proceeded to disappear down the stairs.

The house-elf, whom Draco had referred to as Lydig, nearly fell over from the force of Draco’s push, but he righted himself within a split second.

Hermione was speechless. How could Draco treat the poor creature so cruelly? She had expected him to be indifferent towards the plight of ‘lesser’ beings, as house-elves were often referred to by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but to insult and abuse Lydig for no reason? It was utterly appalling.

‘Hello,’ said Hermione kindly to Lydig, who was now cleaning dirty dishes one by one with a wave of one of his long-fingered hands.

The house-elf squealed and jumped a foot in the air. ‘Who is you?’ he asked nervously once he had regained his composure.

‘I’m Hermione,’ said Hermione with a smile. ‘I’m Draco’s…colleague.’

At once, Lydig fell to the floor at Hermione’s feet. ‘Lydig is terribly sorry for being rude to a friend of Master Malfoy’s!’

‘Oh, no, you weren’t rude at all!’ said Hermione, shocked by Lydig’s subservient behaviour. She bent over and tried to help him up, but he resisted.

‘Lydig, what are you doing?’

Both Hermione and Lydig looked up at the sound of Draco’s voice. He had returned from the basement, and was now looking very annoyed as he addressed his house-elf.

Lydig scrambled to his feet and bowed to Draco. ‘If Master and his lady friend are in need of any drinks, Lydig will be delighted to serve them.’

‘No, just make yourself scarce,’ said Draco, waving a hand carelessly.

At the command, Lydig disappeared with a loud crack.

‘Malfoy!’ Hermione exclaimed angrily. She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. ‘How can you treat him that way?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Draco coolly. He tapped his wand against the countertop twice and a tray bearing sandwiches and wine appeared. He picked this up and set it on the kitchen table.

‘That was awful of you, reprimanding Lydig like that because he didn’t obey one of your previous orders,’ Hermione said, extremely miffed now.

‘Why don’t you just give it up with that SPEW rubbish, Granger?’ said Draco conversationally as he sat down at the table and gestured for Hermione to do so as well.

Hermione reluctantly sat down. ‘Because,’ she said, crossing her arms and refusing the goblet of wine Draco offered her, ‘almost ten years later, house-elves still haven’t received the respect and treatment they deserve. If I don’t try to make a difference, who will?’

Draco looked up at her sharply. ‘What did you just say?’

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, but before she could answer, Draco blinked, and the spark of recognition Hermione had seen in his eyes disappeared.

‘Never mind,’ he said briskly, taking a sip from his cup of wine. He grimaced. ‘Too sweet,’ he muttered.

‘Anyway,’ Hermione continued, deciding to bypass Draco’s odd behaviour, ‘I brought the records.’

She lifted the sheaf of parchment she had brought with her off the floor and dropped it on the table. Draco frowned at the height of the pile.

‘This is going to take quite a while, isn’t it?’

‘Which is why I came here to employ your help in checking through them,’ said Hermione brightly. She brought the sheet at the top of the stack towards her. ‘Start reading, Malfoy. If you find anyone suspicious, put the report aside so we can look over it in more depth later.’

It was a tedious process, scanning the many accounts of werewolf captures in the past few months. Several times Hermione found herself wondering if the name of the man they were searching for was even in there…perhaps the Werewolf Capture Unit had forgotten to write up his file, or maybe the Werewolf Registry had borrowed it for the time being…and then there was the possibility that their suspect wasn’t even a werewolf in the first place, that Hermione’s theory was incorrect…

The pile of possible matches grew. At last, when Hermione reached her hand out blindly to grab another report, she found, to her delight, that there was nothing there.

‘Finally,’ she murmured, sitting back and blinking blearily. ‘Malfoy, you done?’

‘I am now,’ he announced as he tossed the record he’d been reading off to the side. ‘How many have we got here?’ he added, gesturing at the possible matches pile.

Hermione picked the papers up and flipped through them quickly. ‘Not too many,’ she said, relieved, as she handed roughly half of them over to Draco. ‘Maybe fifteen or twenty.’

Silence fell between them again as they returned to looking over the records. After a while, Hermione came across one detailing a werewolf attack on a yet-to-be-captured young, brown-haired werewolf who wore glasses. She pushed the other sheets of parchment away excitedly. She dimly recalled reading this report before leaving for her first meeting with Shadow.

‘Malfoy, this one could be it,’ she said eagerly. ‘It says here that this attack took place fifteen days ago in Bristol. Greyback did it.’

Hermione saw Draco stiffen at the mention of Greyback’s name. She could understand why; just a few years ago, the two of them had been allies.

‘It’s probable,’ he said, putting down the last of his half. ‘There’s nothing here that matches all the described traits of the suspect.’

He held out a hand, and Hermione gave the report to him. He scanned it quickly, then said, ‘This must be it. Listen to this: “…the house, he sported a patched grey shirt and faded jeans. The victim is of average height and is somewhat scrawny, with shaggy brown hair…� That’s exactly how Anna described him.’

‘What about the scars?’ Hermione asked anxiously. She had forgotten to check for them. ‘Is there any mention of the scars in the summary?’

Draco shook his head. ‘He probably received those from the attack. This is just the description his mother provided.’

‘Right,’ Hermione murmured. She bit her lip thoughtfully. ‘Do you think we should go off of this? Because I mean, right now we’re making an awful lot of assumptions…’

‘It’s all we have, isn’t it?’ said Draco, quirking an eyebrow. ‘Unless you have anything else you haven’t told me about, Granger.’

‘No I don’t,’ Hermione said hastily. ‘So where do we start?’

‘Well, usually the Werewolf Capture Unit deals with the incarceration of werewolves,’ said Draco, ‘but I expect they’d let us borrow a member or two of their squad to take along with us if we persuaded them to allow us to deal with this one.’

‘Do you think it’s safe for us to try to track down a werewolf?’ Hermione asked nervously. ‘I mean, I was taught to deal with dark wizards, not dark creatures…’

‘Didn’t you learn anything from those years with Lupin?’ Draco asked incredulously.

‘Lupin never got around to the werewolf lesson before Snape went and leaked his secret,’ Hermione replied snippily. ‘And when Snape was substituting, he was too busy insulting Harry and me to teach us anything substantial.’

Draco laughed. ‘Either way, we’re going to track down that werewolf. I’m not going to let some other git take over my case now that I’ve gotten this far.’

‘Our case,’ Hermione corrected. ‘And I suppose you’re right. We’ll have to let the Werewolf Capture Unit and our Heads know, though.’

‘Naturally,’ Draco replied mockingly. ‘Because who knows what would happen if you actually did something without permission for once?’

‘Well, I don’t want to get fired for sneaking around behind our bosses’ backs,’ said Hermione matter-of-factly. She paused. ‘So that’s that then?’

‘Hold on,’ said Draco sharply. ‘We don’t even know if the werewolf is the real culprit. If you remember what I brought up while we were at the Red Dragon…’

‘I know,’ Hermione replied quickly. ‘What’s his name, by the way?’

‘Why does it even matter?’ Draco muttered irritably. He checked the list anyway. ‘Noah Lawley.’

‘Okay,’ said Hermione, mentally storing the name in her head. ‘So what do we do if we do happen to find him? He won’t come with us if we tell him we’re from the Ministry, Malfoy. You know how strict their werewolf policies have become.’

‘Then we won’t tell him,’ said Draco pointedly.

Hermione sighed. ‘I wish there was something we could offer him which would sound better than joining up with Greyback…I’m sure he must be miserable, now that he’s been bitten…’ she said sadly, tracing a fading ring in the wooden surface of the table.

She looked up at Draco. His eyes had darkened and he looked as though he were considering something very intently.

‘Malfoy?’ she said cautiously. ‘What are you thinking?’

In response, Draco stood up. His hands clutched the edge of the table very tightly as he leaned forward and stared Hermione straight in the eye.

‘I have a secret,’ he hissed under his breath. His eyes started darting from side to side. Hermione began wondering if she should call a Healer. ‘You have to promise not to tell a living soul.’

‘Malfoy, if it’s about your scars –’

‘No,’ he said curtly. ‘It’s…do you swear you won’t say a word, Granger? Especially not to –’

‘I won’t tell Harry or Ron,’ Hermione replied impatiently. She was very curious about Draco’s enigmatic behaviour now. ‘What is it?’

Draco took her arm and pulled her up from her seat. ‘Come downstairs.’

Hermione followed him across the small kitchen to the stairway he had disappeared down earlier.

‘Not a word,’ he reminded her menacingly, before descending the stairs two at a time.

Hermione felt a sense of trepidation creep up on her as she hurried down the stairs after Draco. What was it that Draco was so committed to keeping concealed? Something illegal, perhaps? For a moment, the wild possibility that Draco had a dragon hidden in his basement occurred to Hermione, but before she could entertain the idea any longer, Draco silently lit the room they had entered with a wave of his wand and Hermione’s worries were cut off by the most astonishing sight she had ever beheld.

Potions. Hundreds of them in cauldrons of all sizes. Hermione recognised the concoction simmering at the foot of the staircase as Amortentia by its familiar mother-of-pearl sheen. Just beyond it was a larger vat of Pepperup Potion, a dark grey draft that was emitting vast amounts of steam.

Hermione gawked at the spectacle. There were cauldrons of Polyjuice Potion, Sobering Potion, Hate Potion, Elixir of Euphoria, Sleeping Draught, Beautification Potion, Invigoration Draught, Wit-Sharpening Potion …almost every brewable potion Hermione had ever heard of was there. It appeared that Draco had magically expanded his basement just to fit all of the cauldrons, because Hermione was positive that the ground floor of his flat was not this extensive.

‘Oh my God,’ Hermione whispered faintly, gripping the railing tightly as she looked around. ‘Malfoy, you did all of this?’

‘No, the house-elf did it,’ Draco replied sarcastically, but still, Hermione was able to pick out the underlying pride in his voice. ‘Of course I did it, Granger.’

‘It’s wonderful.’ Hermione stepped onto the concrete floor of the basement and began slowly weaving around the cauldrons, peering at the contents of some as she passed by. ‘How, though? This must have taken you –’

‘– years, yes,’ Draco finished smugly. ‘Potions is a passion Severus instilled in me. I spend my spare time down here brewing these.’

‘What do you do with them, though?’ Hermione asked, puzzled, as she gazed into a vat filled with an unfamiliar violet potion. ‘What’s the point of having all of this down here?’

‘I enjoy it, Granger. Why do you keep enough books to fill a library? You enjoy reading them.’

‘But you could sell these and make enough money to –’ Hermione stopped there, too embarrassed to continue. Bringing up Draco’s financial situation seemed a bit tactless.

‘I could,’ he said casually, ‘and I occasionally do, but other than that, no.’

Hermione shrugged. She supposed Draco’s pride wouldn’t allow him to sell these potions to make extra money. In a way, she could see why. It was like when she found a particularly old or rare book: she didn’t want to get rid of it because keeping it gave her a sense of fulfilment.

She turned around, about to ask Draco what kind of potion was in the cauldron beside her, but he was already standing right behind her. She gasped, not having heard his approach.

‘You startled me,’ she explained, backing up a bit so that she wasn’t so close to Draco. It made her uncomfortable to have him looming over her.

He rolled his eyes. ‘You should be a librarian; your hearing is keen enough to rival Madam Pince’s.’

‘Watch it, you don’t want anyone thinking you’re trying to flatter me,’ said Hermione, laughing. ‘Is all of this your secret?’ She was confused as to how the potions would help their werewolf situation.

Draco seemed to hesitate before he said, ‘No. There’s something else…’

‘What is it?’ Hermione asked, trying to mask the enthusiasm in her voice. She couldn’t even fathom how anything could be more remarkable than Draco’s basement of potions.

‘It’s back here,’ he said, turning and heading towards the back of the room.

Hermione walked along behind him, curiously looking around as she passed by cauldron after cauldron. She had never been much of a Potions person, but even she was awed by Draco’s collection.

‘Here it is,’ he said quietly, stopping suddenly and causing Hermione to bump into him from behind.

‘Sorry,’ she said, rubbing her nose and trying to look around Draco to see whatever was before him. ‘Malfoy, can you move over? I can’t see.’

Draco turned around and said, ‘Hold on.’ Then, to Hermione’s surprise, he covered her eyes with his hands.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked nervously as she felt Draco move behind her while keeping his hands over her eyes. His skin felt cool and smooth against hers – nothing like Ron’s warm, calloused hands.

‘Take a few steps forward,’ he said into her ear.

She obliged.

‘Now look.’

He lifted his hands away, and Hermione looked down to see a large cauldron full of a glutinous grey-green substance. She frowned. Another potion. Slightly disappointed, she turned to Draco and asked, ‘What is it?’

The dancing fire underneath the cauldron had cast shadows across Draco’s features, illuminating his scars and making his face appear even more sinister than usual. For a split second, Hermione felt a flicker of fear; then, Draco stepped to the side, destroying the strange lighting effect the flames had generated.

‘The Wolfsbane II Potion.’

Chapter 24: Swirling Mist

‘The Wolfsbane II Potion?’ she repeated, her eyes dark with confusion. ‘There’s such a thing?’

‘Not yet,’ said Draco quietly. He gazed down at the murky surface of the potion proudly. ‘Hopefully someday soon, though.’

Hermione gawked at him. ‘You’re inventing a potion?!’

Draco shook his head. He couldn’t let himself take all the glory, even though he would have liked to. ‘Snape started the project. He handed it over to me before he passed.’

‘And it’s meant to cure lycanthropy entirely?’

‘That’s right,’ Draco confirmed. He sighed. ‘But it’s not going very well at the moment.’

‘Maybe…’ Hermione started to say, but then she blushed and looked away.

‘Maybe what?’

‘Maybe I can help.’

Draco stared at her incredulously. Then he shook his head. ‘No, I can’t. You can’t. I mean, I intended to finish this on my own…’

‘Oh…okay,’ said Hermione in a small voice. She shrugged. ‘It looks like you’ve got it covered anyway.’

She turned her gaze upwards and began examining the many potion ingredients on the shelf above her with what Draco recognised as forced indifference. After all, he had practised the very same expression in the mirror many times in the past.

Draco felt guilt stab through his insides. Why was he turning down her help? Hermione was the brightest witch he’d ever known; she would certainly be a useful asset if she were to offer her knowledge. And the days when he could put the development of the potion aside were gone; they had a murder to solve now, a case involving a man whose life might even depend on the potion.

‘Fine,’ he mumbled grudgingly. He moved aside and gestured at the cauldron. ‘Work your magic.’

‘Are you sure?’ she asked, but Draco could tell that even if he said ‘No’ at this point, she would still insist on helping.

‘Only if it makes you feel better,’ he said sarcastically, but then he realised how honest the words sounded as they came out and quickly busied himself with searching for his copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

Hermione appeared to have picked up on the reason for Draco’s discomfiture, because she smiled and said, ‘It’s okay to be nice to me once in a while, Malfoy. I promise I won’t tell anyone.’

‘How very thoughtful of you,’ said Draco as he eased Advanced Potion-Making out from under the cage of rats, flicked off a spider crawling across the binding, and transferred the book onto the tabletop. ‘Here, go ahead and read over my notes, they’ll get you acquainted with the progress I’ve made so far.’

As Hermione studied the cramped script both Draco and Severus had contributed to, Draco wandered around aimlessly, picking up various vials and half-filled jars lying scattered around the room. He kept shooting anxious glances over his shoulder at Hermione, who was deeply immersed in her reading.

Every once in a while, he wondered what she was thinking. This was the second time he had confessed to her a secret he’d never revealed to anyone else. What did she think of him now that she had seen the real him? Did she think of him as a freak, or perhaps a hermit who had nothing and no one but his potions?

I hope so, he thought half-heartedly. Maybe she’ll leave me alone now.

Draco didn’t actually feel this way, though. Other than Harry, Hermione was the first person to give him multiple chances to redeem himself since his return from obscurity, and this made him cling to her with an invisible desperation that made him sick. It was this desperation that had incited him to spill his two secrets.

And then there was what she had said to him the day before about his scars…it was almost as if she had tried to comfort him. No, what was even stranger was that she had lied for the purpose of comforting him. Draco turned this puzzling fact over in his head. Why was she trying so hard to keep him around? He could think of no satisfactory answer.

‘Malfoy?’

‘What?’ said Draco sharply, looking over at Hermione.

‘You’re having trouble trying to stimulate the purgation, right?’

‘Yes,’ said Draco. He returned to where Hermione was standing and looked curiously over her shoulder at his own handwriting. ‘I tested a mixture of essence of belladonna, bubotuber pus, and Acromantula venom – that removes the fur and some of the other symptoms of the transformation in the ordinary Wolfsbane Potion – but that ended up increasing claw length, which isn’t supposed to happen.’

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. Draco could almost see the wheels in her brain turning furiously. After a moment, she said slowly, ‘You wrote down that you added hellebore a few days ago. But doesn’t hellebore cancel out some of the properties of belladonna?’

Draco’s jaw dropped slightly. She was right. How could he have been so dense? Of course some of the traits of the two poisonous plants would annul each other. Just as he opened his mouth to admit his mistake, however, he remembered something.

‘I checked the mixture on a rat as well, though,’ he said, disappointed that the problem had not been solved. ‘I didn’t feed it any hellebore beforehand.’

‘You what?!’ Hermione gasped, turning around swiftly as if to berate Draco for his display of animal cruelty. However, whatever reprimand she had lined up in her mind seemed to die on her lips when she found that her face was inches away from Draco’s, for he was still leaning over her.

‘You’ve got to stop bumping into me like this, Granger,’ said Draco quietly. They were so close he could feel her breath tickling his nose. He felt the overwhelming urge to touch her cheek, to see if her skin really was as soft as it looked.

A number of different emotions flashed by in Hermione’s eyes before she whispered in a breathless rush of words, ‘A rat isn’t a dark creature, so its genetic structure isn’t affected by that blend of ingredients in the same way a werewolf’s is.’

‘I see,’ Draco murmured, forcing himself to straighten up. He smiled tightly at Hermione, knowing he had just cracked her composure. However, it was all he could do to not reveal his own flustered feelings. Before it had just been when they made contact; now he was experiencing these bewildering sensations whenever she was simply near him.

‘Wh-what were we talking about?’ Hermione stammered.

But Draco couldn’t remember either. ‘Maybe we should finish this another time,’ he mumbled.

Hermione nodded rapidly. Draco could tell she was determinedly avoiding his eyes, and he was perfectly fine with it. The two put away everything they had brought out in silence.

When they finished, Draco accompanied Hermione back to his fireplace without a word. They bid subdued good-byes to each other. When Hermione had disappeared into the spinning flames, Draco sat down on his couch with a sharp exhale of breath.

A smirk ghosted across his lips as he briefly wondered what Ron would have done if he’d known about what had just happened between his girlfriend and Draco. In Draco’s eyes, imagining Ron’s reaction almost made the earlier queasiness and discomfort worthwhile.

---

Draco saw Hermione with Harry and the Weasleys later that night when he went to Sherwood Park for the countdown to the New Year. He felt oddly satisfied to see that Hermione and Ron were standing as far apart as possible.

‘Granger,’ he said, nodding at her as he brushed past her. ‘Happy New Year,’ he added to everyone else, forcing himself to smile tightly at them.

‘Let’s move over there where there’s more space,’ Ron said pointedly before anyone could respond to Draco.

He led the group off in the direction he had specified, but not before narrowing his eyes threateningly at Draco. As the group walked away, Draco heard Ron’s mother hissing to him about his manners. Rolling his eyes, Draco watched their retreating backs. He was surprised to see Hermione look over her shoulder quickly and smile apologetically at him before she disappeared into the crowd.

‘TEN!’

The countdown was starting.

‘NINE!’

A father carrying his son on his shoulders was obstructing Draco’s view. Annoyed, Draco searched around for a place where he might be able to see the fireworks.

‘EIGHT!’

All around him, families and couples whispered excitedly to each other. None of them paid any attention to Draco.

‘SEVEN!’

A pang of jealousy and longing struck Draco. When had the air gotten so chilly?

‘SIX!’

Shielding his eyes from the bitter wind, Draco squeezed past a witch hugging her boyfriend for warmth to an isolated spot.

‘FIVE!’

While he waited, Draco searched the mass of people, wondering where Hermione and her lot had disappeared off to.

‘FOUR!’

He found her at last. She was sitting on a bench and gazing at the ground while Harry and Ginny, who were the other occupants of the bench, talked animatedly.

‘THREE!’

Draco saw Ron walk up behind the bench and touch Hermione’s shoulder. She glanced up, realised who it was, and turned away angrily.

‘TWO!’

Suddenly the chill seemed to fade away again. Draco looked up at the dark sky.

‘ONE!’

An explosion of lights momentarily blinded Draco’s vision. Several cracks filled the air; loud cheers followed. For a minute or so, he watched the fireworks display blankly. It held no interest for him. Eventually, his attention fixed itself on Hermione, who looked just as indifferent towards the celebration.

Finally, Draco decided he had had enough. Turning around, he squeezed his way through the large throng of people. Luckily, the light cast by the fireworks helped him find his way to one of the Apparation points.

As the grand finale of the fireworks display lit the sky with a multitude of luminous colours, Draco closed his eyes, thought firmly of his sitting room, and Apparated back home.

---

They had been old school friends, and now here Draco was, tightening the shackles on his wrists and ankles and guiding him down the hallway to the dreaded Dementor’s Kiss room.

‘So, how have you been?’ said Draco conversationally as he walked alongside Blaise Zabini, his wand pressed against the side of Blaise’s neck in case he attempted an escape.

‘What do you think, Malfoy?’ Blaise spat. ‘Isn’t it obvious that I haven’t been enjoying the comforts of a caged life like you have?’

‘I hadn’t noticed,’ said Draco lightly, though in reality, he really had. Blaise looked dreadful. His cheeks were sunken in, scars – though none as noticeable as Draco’s – marred his grey-tinged skin, and his arms, which were the only parts of his body that weren’t obscured from sight by his tattered robes, were bony and scratched. ‘Not as pretty as we once were, are we, Zabini?’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Blaise growled in reply.

Despite the chains that dragged Blaise down, he walked in a proud, straight-backed manner. Draco had to admire his old friend for retaining his poise even though the Kiss loomed over him with each step he took.

‘Come now, Zabini, can’t we at least put the last few years aside for now? Do you want to spend the last few minutes of your life ignoring me?’

‘You’re a traitor, Malfoy. I’d rather not make small talk with you.’

Draco sighed and shook his head. ‘I never was on your side. I didn’t know which side was on. I was a boy; we were all boys. Who were we to choose our alliances?’

‘Well, I must say you knew a great deal more about the right kind of alliances back then than you do now,’ Blaise snapped. ‘What’re you doing here, hanging around with this Ministry riff-raff? We had faith in you, Malfoy. We waited for you to come back and restore our previous power. But you turned your fucking back and walked away.’

‘Language, Zabini,’ said Draco mildly.

Despite his unruffled exterior, however, Draco was seething on the inside. How dare Blaise speak of cowardice to him? Blaise had never been anywhere near the Dark Lord’s closest circle of followers; he’d always been on the outside, boasting about important positions he didn’t have. Blaise was nothing but show, and he had always been that way.

‘So how’re they treating you, eh?’ Blaise suddenly asked maliciously. ‘Haven’t quite received the same kind of acceptance the Dark Lord granted you, have you?’

‘Been having nice chats with Amycus during your tea parties?’ said Draco, slightly nonplussed that Blaise had picked up on the lack of trust the Ministry workers regarded him with but determined not to let the words affect him. ‘Do you two fancy yourselves experts on my life, then?’

‘I haven’t spoken to Amycus since weeks before the final battle,’ Blaise retorted. ‘Last I heard, you brought him in.’

‘Damn right I did,’ said Draco. ‘He deserved it. He was worthless…he and his filthy sister were wasting breathing space…’

‘If I recall correctly,’ Blaise said snidely, ‘you weren’t so plucky towards those two when they were teaching you the Unforgivable Curses. I expect your new “power� at the Ministry gives you the prerogative to say whatever you’d like, though.’

‘I’m not a coward, Zabini,’ Draco snapped. Against his better will, he was letting Blaise’s slams perturb him. ‘You try living amongst these people for a few weeks; five Galleons says you’ll be back in the forest after a week.’

‘Then why aren’t you back there with us?’ Blaise retaliated. ‘If it’s so bad here, why don’t you just return to where you belong?’

‘Because it’s not where I belong,’ said Draco simply.

He halted. They had arrived at a heavy stone door. Pulling out his wand, he taped the doorknob thrice, then stood back and waited.

After a minute or so, the door swung open. The numbing coldness of the dark room hit Draco before he even stepped forward. He shivered and looked over at Blaise. Blaise was staring straight ahead, looking quite determined to meet his end with as much dignity as possible. Draco once again marvelled at his control.

‘Zabini…’ Draco hesitated. ‘We were friends once, weren’t we?’

‘I’d rather not talk about that,’ said Blaise through gritted teeth. He was shivering and staring into the room before him with a blank look in his dark eyes.

‘I – I have a question.’

‘I’ve already given you all the advice I’ve got, Malfoy.’

Draco sighed and jerked Blaise away from the door way. ‘Zabini, what if…what if someone really wanted something, and they were offered the chance to have it from the unlikeliest person. But what if they can’t take it? Or rather, they don’t want to admit that they want it. What if –’

‘You forfeited your honour when you ran back to their side out of fear,’ Blaise interrupted coldly. ‘You haven’t any pride left to hold you back from taking whatever you desire. Now let go of me.’

Blaise tore his wrist out of Draco’s grip and took a few steps closer to the open door. A faint rattling sound was now emanating from inside the room.

‘Pity,’ he murmured, turning to look at Draco one last time. ‘Your father would have been ashamed were he still alive to see what a disgrace you’ve become, Malfoy.’

In silence, Draco watched Blaise enter the room and become swathed in the darkness. After a moment, he too walked into the room.

He could feel mist swirling around his feet, could feel the presence of the Dementors; with each rasping breath they took, more warmth seeped out of his bones and flesh and dissolved away in the cold air. Faint voices filled his head – they were all screaming. Draco tried to take steady breaths. He could handle the Dementors. He had faced them several times in the past. They couldn’t affect him anymore; he was immune to their powers. The fog clouding his mind…it would clear away soon…

What a shame… he thought numbly as he watched a team of three or four hooded Ministry workers sit Blaise down on a metal chair. The chair looked more like a throne than anything else; perhaps Blaise would finally get his moment of glory now.

‘See you on the other side, Zabini,’ Draco murmured quietly.

The Dementors were surrounding Blaise now, blocking him from sight, cutting him off from the rest of the living world. Draco began to see, in his mind’s eye, faces contorted in agony, white hands – his hands – dotted with the blood of his sins; the creatures were too close.

And then they began closing in around Blaise. Draco had to get out of the room. Without waiting for the Kiss to be performed, he stumbled blindly away, trying to shut his ears to the hiss of an unnaturally long intake of breath coming from somewhere inside the circle of death behind him. The last he heard before he fell back into the soothing glow of the torch-lit hallway was a gentle, almost inaudible whoosh – the sound of a soul leaving its confinements at last.

---

[A/N: Well, I'm nearly done writing this fic, and I just wanted to quickly thank those of you who have stayed with me thus far and left such wonderful reviews. It will probably be another few months before I finish posting the story here, and during that time, I will be working on my new project, which will be Harry/Draco rather than Hermione/Draco. I will start posting that on here soon, so look out for it. Thanks again!]

Chapter 25: Savour Each Sensation

Hermione’s heart raced as she slipped on her Invisibility Cloak, prepared to go visit Shadow for a third time. She would have thought she’d have gotten used to the procedure by now, but each time felt like the first time all over again. The same jangling nerves, the same difficulty to breathe, the same feeling of exhilaration with a little fear dabbed in.

Hermione noted that it was snowing again as she walked over to her desk and picked up Shadow’s last letter. Ron had, thankfully, stopped visiting her room and finding these letters.

She read the first few lines. They described a witch at the Ministry whom Shadow had known for quite a while but was finding to be different from the person he’d thought she was – kinder, more forgiving. He had asked Hermione how he should act around her, because the two of them had once been adversaries. Hermione had not replied to this letter yet. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted to.

The more Hermione thought about it, the angrier she became. The fun of their game was beginning to fade away. She no longer wanted to pretend that reality didn’t exist between her and Shadow, because it did, and the longer they ignored the fact that they were both real people with real names living in the same world, the harder it would be when the time arrived for them to reveal their identities – if it ever arrived at all.

It will, Hermione thought stubbornly, and it won’t change a thing. We’ll still be close. Telling each other our names is not a big deal.

But it was a big deal. Secretly, Hermione knew she was trying to deny that over the course of the past few weeks, she had become Starlight. Starlight was no longer just a nickname; she was a real person – a real hidden side of Hermione.

Hermione sighed. What would she do now? Was it time to tell Shadow that it was time to let go of the challenge?

‘One more meeting,’ she murmured to herself, searching the eyes of her reflection for the courage to believe her own words. ‘After that, the game is over.’

‘Stop lying to yourself, sweets,’ murmured the all-too-familiar voice of Hermione’s mirror.

‘Shut up,’ Hermione snapped.

She threw the cloak over her and left her room, closing the door behind her. As she descended the stairs, she heard voices coming from the kitchen. Curious, she hurried down the remaining steps, tiptoed over to the kitchen doorway, and peered into the room.

Ron was sitting at the table with Ginny. Hermione frowned. What were they doing?

‘…give it to her, even though Harry said I should,’ he was saying.

Ginny sighed. It was clear that she was exasperated as she pushed her hair back and stared Ron sternly in the eye.

‘Listen to me,’ she said firmly. ‘You two have got to stop fighting over something as trivial as this. I know Hermione; I’ve talked to her about this ridiculous row you two are in the middle of. She’s upset about it too.’

Hermione started. They were talking about of her. Then again, it wasn’t a huge surprise; the subject of her seemed to be all anyone in the house spoke of lately. Her curiosity rising, Hermione edged into the room, making sure not to cause any disturbances that might draw attention to her presence.

‘Why can’t she just do it for once?’ Ron grumbled. He stared glumly into a bottle of butterbeer sitting before him.

‘She has done it,’ Ginny said bluntly. ‘More than once, actually. Ron, think of all the times in Hogwarts when she was the one who had to make amends.’

‘Yeah, well – well, it’s different now –’ Ron spluttered.

‘Nothing’s different, other than the fact that the two of you have hopefully’ – she raised an eyebrow pointedly – ‘matured. And for the record, I’m neutral,’ she added as if she needed to make this point clear before she continued.

Ron took a swig of his butterbeer and slammed it back down on the table. ‘You think it’s the only way for all of this to blow over?’

Ginny shrugged. ‘It’s your job to do it. It was your thick head that got you two into this mess.’

The tips of Ron’s ears turned pink as he glared at Ginny. ‘Maybe I’ll just ask Fred or George.’

‘They don’t know Hermione as well as I do,’ Ginny said casually. ‘But go ahead. See if you can stay in a room long enough to ask them for advice without getting snapped at by one of their Biting Floorboards.’

Hermione turned away. Clutching the Invisibility Cloak around her shoulders, Hermione hurried out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and out the front door.

As Hermione began walking to the park, she reflected upon the conversation she had just witnessed. Ron hadn’t said he would do anything, but he had looked as though he were about to agree to follow Ginny’s suggestion.

Guilt weighed heavily on Hermione’s shoulders as she trekked through the fresh, untouched snow. At the same time Ron was trying to find a way to fix their relationship, she was heading off to see Shadow – the very activity that had roused Ron’s temper in the first place.

You’re a terrible person, a voice in her head nagged. You said you wanted to bring things back to the way they were…now he’s about to, but you’re running off to see Shadow. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.

Hermione winced. She was.

---

When Hermione arrived at their usual location, she sat down delicately. Shadow had not yet come, but she expected he would soon.

While she waited, she busied herself with casting the appropriate charm to alter her voice. Pointing her wand at her throat, she murmured, ‘Dissimulo vocis.’

‘Starlight? Is that you?’

Hermione looked up sharply at the sound of Shadow’s uncertain voice. He was standing behind the bench and looking around.

How did he do that? Hermione wondered, bewildered. It’s like he appears and disappears as suddenly as…

‘I’m here,’ she said softly, hoping he hadn’t heard her uttering the incantation to change her voice. ‘You weren’t here seconds ago, though.’

…as a shadow on a summer’s day.

‘I suppose I have a knack for moving about stealthily,’ he said.

He reached out a gloved hand to find Hermione. She took his hand in hers and whispered, ‘I’m on your left.’

Shadow moved around the bench and sat down beside Hermione. He turned to look in her direction. He’s getting good at this guessing game, Hermione thought wryly.

‘I didn’t get your reply to my last letter,’ he said, sounding confused. ‘It must have gotten lost somewhere along the way.’

Hermione hesitated, looking down at their joined hands. He had wrapped his fingers around hers now. Though she knew she should pull away, she didn’t.

‘I – I expect that’s what happened,’ she said weakly, not wanting to tell Shadow that the reason she hadn’t written back was because she didn’t want to feel as though she were losing him to someone else. ‘It happens quite often.’

‘Well then, do you have advice to give me right now?’ he asked questioningly. ‘But,’ he added hastily, ‘don’t feel obligated to say something. It’s not…really a pressing matter.’

Hermione could tell that it was. ‘I think you should give her a chance,’ she said quietly. ‘Our first impressions of people are more often misconstrued than not. If you’ve known this witch for a long time, you probably made your first judgment of her many years ago when the circumstances were different. Now you’ve both matured. The person she is now is most likely the person she’ll be forever. If she’s willing to forgive and forget, you should be too.’

‘You sound knowledgeable in the area of skewed first impressions,’ said Shadow, sounding surprised. ‘Have you suffered the same dilemma?’

‘We all have,’ Hermione murmured, looking away and thinking of Draco. She had taken her own advice with him. ‘I’m trying to repair things between us, though.’

‘Who is he?’

Hermione bit her lip. There was no harm in telling him. And if the theory about Shadow and Draco being the same person she had dismissed was in fact true, there was no better time to find out.

‘Draco Malfoy.’

Shadow’s lips tightened, but other than that, he showed no signs of recognition. Disappointment washed over Hermione. She would never find out Shadow’s true identity – unless she asked him, which she knew she didn’t have the courage to do.

‘I know of him,’ Shadow said slowly. ‘He turned good before the Dark Lord’s demise, didn’t he?’

Hermione frowned. ‘Why do you call Voldemort the Dark Lord?’

For the first time, Shadow looked flustered. ‘Too many years of being around his followers,’ he said hastily. ‘Tell me more about your thoughts on Draco Malfoy.’

Hermione decided to let Shadow’s obvious discomfort about the subject of Voldemort drop. ‘I believe he did switch at his own risk,’ she said firmly. ‘I saw him…I mean, I just know.’

‘That’s very noble of you,’ he said. ‘Not many others trust his story.’

‘I don’t think he’s told the full story, then,’ said Hermione carefully. ‘He’s never really been an open person, has he?’

‘No,’ Shadow murmured. He seemed to be thoroughly contemplating Hermione’s words. ‘No, he hasn’t.’

Silence fell between them. Hermione suddenly felt very awkward. Since when had it become so difficult for her to open up to Shadow? It seemed like something had changed between them; suddenly, they were no longer able to tell each other everything.

‘I do hope you liked my present,’ said Hermione awkwardly after the silence had become unbearable. She winced. What an awful way to start a conversation.

‘I did,’ Shadow replied earnestly. ‘I plan to use it sometime in the near future.’

He placed his other hand on top of hers and smiled straight at her. This made Hermione rather uneasy; it was as if he knew exactly where she was sitting, as if he could see straight through the protection of the Invisibility Cloak.

‘Are you sure you can’t see me?’ she joked, although her voice wavered slightly.

‘No. I’ve just gotten familiar with the task of finding you.’

Shadow’s words made Hermione shiver. He had found her – or, more specifically, he had found Starlight. But was she who Hermione really was? Or was she simply a cover-up?

‘Let’s go for a walk,’ Shadow suddenly said. He squeezed her hand, as if asking for permission.

‘Good idea,’ Hermione said, somewhat relieved. A walk might ease some of the tension. She allowed Shadow to help her up.

While they had been talking, the snow had begun to fall faster and thicker. It clung to Shadow’s cloak and hair. The dots of white against black reminded Hermione of the day she had first met Mrs Weasley at King’s Cross. She had been wearing a black shawl with white polka dots on it, and Hermione had asked her mother for a shawl just like it later that day. She smiled at the memory.

‘You know, I started realising just how beautiful the snow is after you told me that you loved it in your first letter,’ Shadow mused.

He was looking off into the distance. Hermione marvelled at the fact that his eyes were the exact same shade of grey as the sky – the exact same shade of grey as Draco’s. She tried to shrug away the thought. Shadow was not Draco; this fact had been established already.

‘It really is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?’ Hermione agreed. ‘I wish I could take this silly cloak off and catch a few snowflakes on my tongue. I used to love doing what when I was younger.’

‘Why don’t you, then?’ Shadow said. He stopped and turned to face Hermione. She had never seen him look so serious. ‘Why not take off the cloak once and for all?’

Hermione stared back at him, stunned. ‘I thought you wanted to keep everything a secret…’

Shadow’s lips twisted into an unseemly grimace. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m –’

‘– tired of hiding everything?’ Hermione suggested. She winced. ‘Me too.’

‘Well, there’s only one solution to that problem.’

‘But it’s a solution I…well, I just don’t think I’m ready for that yet.’

‘Why not? I think it’s safe to say we’re past the interdepartmental unity challenge by now.’

‘I know,’ said Hermione, sighing heavily. She glanced down at their loosely entwined hands. Though she felt the cold leather of Shadow’s glove against her hand, all her eyes registered was the sight of his fingers curled around nothing. ‘Believe me, I know.’

‘You don’t want things to change, then?’

‘How’d you know?’ Hermione asked, surprised.

‘It’s how I feel too,’ he replied with a tight-lipped smile.

---

Draco was highly aware that Starlight had not yet taken her hand out of his. In fact, he’d been so conscious of this fact that he hadn’t being paying enough attention to the conversation – not enough, that is, to keep from accidentally bringing up a subject he had been determined to avoid: their identities.

‘Sorry,’ he said as they passed a snow-laden bush. He could just make out a family of rabbits nestled underneath the branches, hidden away from the cold. ‘I didn’t mean to press you.’

‘You’re not,’ Starlight said quickly. ‘I’ve been wondering the same thing these last few days.’

Draco’s heart sunk. If she knew who he was, who she was walking with…

He gripped his left forearm tightly. Was it just his imagination, or was the Dark Mark burning under the thin material of his robe? He mentally shook his head. She won’t ever find out.

‘Is anything wrong?’

‘No, nothing,’ Draco replied through clenched teeth. He looked over at Starlight again. The overwhelming urge to grab hold of her Invisibility Cloak and take it off…it would be so simple; just one jerk of his wrist and he’d know…

No, it wouldn’t be fair. Just like Draco, Starlight had reasons for not revealing herself. She could have easily removed his mask anytime in the past few weeks, but she hadn’t, and he knew he ought to hold himself back as well.

‘So you’re a mighty Gryffindor, aren’t you?’ he said, trying to take his mind off the aggravating subject of their identities. Not that the subject of houses is any less aggravating, he thought to himself sullenly.

‘Not so mighty, but a Gryffindor, yes,’ said Starlight with a laugh. Draco’s heart skipped a beat – her laugh always did that to him.

‘I…see.’

Draco had no desire to delve any further into the topic of Hogwarts houses. For one, he was naturally inclined to hate all Gryffindors, though he was training himself to forget this particular prejudice; for another, if Starlight found out he was a Slytherin, she might hate him.

Change the topic, he prayed silently.

‘So, what house were you in?’

One of Draco’s hands curled into a fist. Not that topic, he fumed. He knew that if he told her, she might figure out who he was, for there weren’t many Slytherins with positions in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

‘Shadow?’

‘Sorry,’ he said gruffly. Deciding his best bet would be to quickly switch subjects, he asked, ‘How’s the situation with your boyfriend? Is he treating you any better?’

‘Not yet.’ Draco was relieved that she had chosen not to pursue her question. ‘But today…just before I left…well, I overheard him talking with his sister…’

‘Yes?’ Draco prompted.

‘It sounded like he was finally giving in and planning to apologise to me.’

Draco sensed that Starlight was blushing. He narrowed his eyes, surprisingly unhappy about this turn of events. He had spent all this time giving Starlight advice about her boyfriend, but now that things were finally working out, he didn’t feel the least bit pleased. In fact, if anything, he was hoping that Starlight had misinterpreted the conversation she’d heard.

‘That’s…’ Draco swallowed; his throat felt dry. ‘That’s good.’

‘You don’t sound too happy about it,’ Starlight noted wisely.

‘It’s just that, uh…’ Draco scoured his mind for a plausible excuse. ‘I’m, uh, just a bit annoyed that none of my ideas worked. I reckon I’m not too good of an advisor. I’m glad he came around on his own time, though.’

‘You’re not jealous, are you?’ she teased.

‘No, not at all,’ Draco replied quickly – too quickly, perhaps.

‘You don’t have to be embarrassed to say you are…I mean, if you are,’ she stammered, suddenly sounding very nervous. ‘I’m admittedly a bit jealous over your friendship with the witch you mentioned.’ She was definitely blushing now; Draco could practically feel the heat radiating from her cheeks. ‘Oh my, I shouldn’t have said that out loud.’

Draco chuckled weakly. ‘She’ll never take your place,’ he said, taken back by how honest the words were, and suddenly, he could no longer keep everything he longed to say to Starlight from tumbling out of his mouth. ‘Really. You’re the only one I can trust right now. Everyone else…when I walk by, I can feel their suspicion and dislike. I try to ignore it and put it out of my mind, but it’s hard to live alone sometimes.’

There was a long pause, during which Draco silently beat himself for saying too much. Then, Starlight said quietly, ‘I know how you feel.’

‘Do you?’ said Draco, trying to keep the contempt out of his voice. He doubted that Starlight had ever been a Death Eater. Her words were empty; meaningless attempts to comfort him. He wasn’t fooled.

‘You probably think I’m lying,’ said Starlight, reading Draco’s mind. ‘In a way, I am. I can’t be selfish enough to say that I’ve suffered through as much as you have. After all, everyone tells me I have a perfect life. Sometimes I even convince myself that I do. But when everything around you is perfect, you become convinced that there’s no need for the kind of friendship you’ve given me. It’s…different. You treat me like a flawed human being, and that’s what I’ve always wanted. Everyone else thinks, “Oh she has her job, her books, her boyfriend, her family…there’s no need to be there for her when she needs a shoulder to cry on,� but I don’t always have all of that. You understand, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Draco answered truthfully. He remembered his days at Hogwarts when he really did have the perfect life and how lonely he had been. Of course, he hadn’t wanted the friendships of his pathetic housemates in the first place…

‘I knew you would,’ said Starlight in a relieved sort of voice. ‘Please don’t think of me as ungrateful, though. Believe me, I’m thankful everyday for what I have.’

‘I am too,’ Draco muttered under his breath, kicking through a loose pile of snow.

‘What’s that?’

‘I’m thankful for you.’

The footsteps walking alongside Draco stopped. Draco spun around to face Starlight, afraid of what she might say.

To his shock, she didn’t run away. She didn’t remind him that she had a boyfriend and that they hardly knew each other, she didn’t tell him she just wanted to be friends, she didn’t do any of that. Instead, he felt the ghost of a hand brush lightly against the little exposed skin on his face before he was pulled into a tight embrace.

‘I’m thankful for you too,’ Starlight whispered, taking Draco’s hand and pressing it against her cheek. She kissed his palm, a gentle touch of her lips to his hand that he could barely feel through the thickness of his glove, and then added in a soft voice, ‘Write to me soon.’

Draco felt the silken material of Starlight’s Invisibility Cloak slide away between his fingers. Involuntarily, his fingers closed around the cloak, trying to hold onto it, but all he managed to secure was a fistful of air.

There was a small pop. Draco looked around helplessly, but he knew already that Starlight had left.

His heart pounding rapidly, Draco removed his mask with a flick of his wand and looked around. They had strayed far away from the bench while they were talking. The snow was beginning to slow down now, and a few weak rays of sunshine were filtering through the dispersing clouds.

Draco stood still silently for a moment, his head bowed, then turned on his heel and Apparated back home.

Chapter 26: One Love, One Lifetime

When Hermione arrived back at the Burrow, dinner had just started. Harry was still at Headquarters, but the rest of the Weasleys greeted Hermione cheerfully when she stepped into the house.

‘How was your day?’ Mrs Weasley asked kindly as Hermione sat down across from Ron. She spooned a heap of peas onto Hermione’s plate for her before passing the bowl to Fred.

‘Thanks,’ said Hermione, smiling gratefully at Mrs Weasley. ‘It was…good.’

She was highly aware that her cheeks were flushed, both from the cold and from thinking about Shadow, so she hastily speared a pork chop on the end of her fork and began eating it diligently.

‘I thought Robards gave you a break to work on the Malkin case,’ Ron said, looking up at Hermione and frowning. ‘What did you do today?’

‘I ran out of ink, so I went to Diagon Alley to buy some,’ Hermione lied. She grimaced. When had the lies started coming out so easily?

‘Oh…’ said Ron uncertainly.

‘You should’ve stopped by,’ said George eagerly through a mouthful of potatoes. ‘We had a busy day, and some help would have been nice. Fred fired Verity because she was –’

‘– stealing merchandise, that’s right,’ Fred finished, nodding smartly. ‘We’ve warned her time and time, but she just –’

‘– refused to listen,’ said George sadly. He sighed dramatically. ‘Shame, too, as she’s been with us from the start. Alicia and Angelina can’t help out either; they’re off on vacation in France.’

‘Said they wanted to enjoy the last week of their break before they go back to training,’ Fred explained.

‘What team do they play for again?’ Mrs Weasley asked somewhat critically. Though she constantly insisted that she was quite fond of both Alicia and Angelina, Hermione knew that she was disappointed that they did not have more respectable, sensible careers.

‘Holyhead Harpies,’ said Fred and George in unison.

‘Like two peas in a pod,’ Ginny quipped from the end of the table, rolling her eyes. She smiled at Hermione. ‘But really, how was your day? I was going to ask you to come shopping with me, but it looks like you’ve already gone.’

‘Sorry,’ Hermione apologised. Now everyone was looking at her. She squirmed uncomfortably. ‘Diagon Alley was busy, so I didn’t get much done. I have another meeting with Malfoy tomorrow.’

‘It’s good to know you’re treating that poor boy so kindly,’ said Mrs Weasley approvingly. ‘He’s gone through so much, and Harry tells me that he hasn’t got very many friends at the Ministry.’

‘I can see why,’ Ron grumbled. ‘I don’t trust him. He says he’s a better person now, but that sounds like a load of rubbish to me. By the looks of it, everyone else thinks so too.’

‘He’s not that bad,’ said Hermione reproachfully. She smiled inwardly. Draco really wasn’t bad at all. In fact, she was starting to warm up to him. ‘He lives alone, though.’

‘How would you know that?’ said Ron snidely.

Hermione stared him straight in the eye. ‘I’ve been to his flat.’

‘Did you really?’ said Ginny, leaning forward interestedly. ‘What’s it like?’

‘Malfoy?!’ exclaimed Fred and George, looking delighted. ‘The same twit Moody turned into a ferret?’

‘What’d you go to his house for?’ Ron demanded indignantly. ‘Another meeting?’

‘Well, we get some peace and quiet there,’ said Hermione, addressing Ron’s question and ignoring the rest. She was finding it incredibly hard to be patient with him, but for the sake of preventing another scene at the dinner table she forced herself to keep her temper in check. ‘So yes, it was for another meeting. I’m going back tomorrow.’

‘Why don’t you invite him over here?’ Mrs Weasley suggested.

Hermione looked down awkwardly. She didn’t want to tell Mrs Weasley that Draco still hated the Weasleys. Luckily, she was spared the trouble of answering by Ron.

‘I’d never let that scum into this house,’ he said obstinately. ‘The only reason why I’m letting Hermione work with him at all is because the Ministry needs to find the murderer.’

‘Shut it, Ron,’ said Ginny. She glared at him pointedly. ‘Besides, didn’t you have something you wanted to say?’

‘Later,’ Ron snapped.

Meanwhile, Hermione was thinking back to the walk she’d had with Shadow, unaware that her elbow was in her mashed potatoes. It had been so romantic, standing in the snow and talking about themselves – nothing like any of the dates she’d had with Ron. Was that what their meeting had been, then? A date?

‘Hermione, can I have a word?’

Hermione blinked, surprised. Dinner had ended, and Ron was standing up and looking at her nervously.

‘Sure,’ she said, pushing her chair back and standing up too.

She followed Ron out of the dining room. ‘Have fun, lovebirds,’ Fred and George chorused in sing-song voices as she passed behind their seats.

‘Hermione,’ said Ron once they were out of earshot and standing alone on the staircase, ‘I…I’m sorry.’ He was staring fixedly at his feet. ‘I shouldn’t have been so protective and jealous. I just love you a lot, and I don’t want anyone else to take you away from me. I do trust you, I really do.’

Hermione felt a little piece of her heart shatter. Of course. She had heard right after all.

‘Oh, Ron,’ she said, torn between guilt, relief, and exasperation. How could she tell him that she was planning to meet again with Shadow after the miniature speech he had just made?

‘Do you forgive me?’ he asked anxiously. He looked like a sad puppy. Ginny must have really given him a piece of her mind this morning, Hermione realised.

The words fell out of Hermione’s mouth before she had time to think about them. ‘Of course I do,’ she said, hugging Ron tightly. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been paying enough attention to you.’

‘You are?’ said Ron, looking relieved.

‘Yes,’ said Hermione earnestly, pulling back and smiling at him. How could she have let the thought of breaking up with him cross her mind? ‘Once this case is over, I promise everything will be back to normal.’

‘What about Shadow?’ said Ron, his eyes darkening. ‘What are you going to do about him?’

Hermione hesitated. She knew what she had to do. The next time they met, she would take off her Invisibility Cloak and show him who she was. He would have to do the same, and once they realised each other’s identities, they could start a normal friendship.

‘I’ll deal with it,’ said Hermione. ‘Just forget about him. Forget about Malfoy. Why would I ever leave you for someone else?’

‘I – well, I’m probably not as smart – and maybe not so brave, or anything of the sort – I just thought –’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Hermione interrupted. ‘Ron, I don’t care about any of that. You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had; you’re not going to lose me that easily.’

‘Hermione,’ said Ron, as if suddenly remembering something. ‘The other day…I had something for you. For Christmas.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out the familiar little box Hermione had seen him waving around. ‘I’ve been thinking about this for a long time…’

‘Thinking about what?’ Hermione inquired apprehensively. She eyed the box in Ron’s hand. ‘What is it?’

Ron cleared his throat nervously. ‘I, uh, want to ask you something.’ He took one of Hermione’s hands in his and gazed at her solemnly. ‘We do fight a lot, but we’ve still survived ten years together, and that’s because I love you a lot, Hermione.’

Oh my God, Hermione thought faintly, the truth suddenly striking her. Her eyes darted from Ron’s sombre expression to the box he held in his free hand. He’s going to –

‘Hermione, will you marry me?’

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth. Feeling very weak in the knees, she whispered feebly, ‘Ron…’

‘I know it’s sudden,’ he said quickly, flipping the lid of the box open and revealing a plain gold engagement ring, ‘but there’s, er, no better time than the present to…y’know…’

‘Of course I will, Ron!’ Hermione squealed, cutting him off mid-sentence. She threw her arms around him again and kissed him, positive that she had never been happier in her entire life.

‘RONNIEKINS IS GETTING MARRIED!’

Hermione whipped around, startled by the sudden yell from downstairs. Fred was standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a gleeful expression on his face.

‘Fred –’ Ron started to say, scarlet-faced.

But the rest of the Weasleys had already come running out to see what the fuss was about. Mrs Weasley was the first to break the stunned silence.

‘Oh, Ron!’ she wailed, running up the stairs to sweep both Ron and Hermione into her arms. ‘You two – always knew – so proud –!’

‘About time, mate!’ Fred roared, ascending the stairs and slapping Ron good-naturedly on the back.

‘We thought you’d never come around,’ George exclaimed, joining Fred on the staircase. He punched Ron’s shoulder, beaming. ‘You’re not as spineless as we thought you were!’

‘Thanks a lot,’ Ron muttered, wincing and rubbing his shoulder. Still, there was a definite grin on his face.

‘I told you he’d come around!’ Ginny squealed to Hermione over her mother’s joyful sobs about inviting Hermione’s parents over to plan a spring wedding as soon as possible. ‘I never thought this would happen, though.’

‘You’re okay with it, aren’t you?’ Hermione asked anxiously, unable to keep a grin off of her own face. ‘I mean, you don’t –’

‘Stop being a worrywart, Hermione!’ Ginny exclaimed, swatting at Hermione’s arm. ‘Marrying you will be the best thing that’s ever happened to that prat!’

‘Everyone, out of here!’ Mrs Weasley suddenly announced, pushing everyone away from Ron and Hermione. ‘Let them have their privacy, for Merlin’s sake!’

She hurried down the stairs, still sniffling and swiping at her tear-stained cheeks, and the other three Weasleys reluctantly followed suit.

‘Well,’ Hermione giggled once everyone was out of earshot, ‘at least your mum is okay with it.’

‘She’s been pressuring me to propose for months now. ‘Course she’s happy.’ Ron smiled at Hermione. ‘I’m glad we got everything sorted out.’

‘Me too,’ Hermione agreed. She sighed contentedly.

‘Oh, hold on,’ said Ron. He reached down and picked up the box containing the engagement ring, which had fallen to the ground in all the commotion. Opening it, he took the ring out and caught Hermione’s hand.

‘Promise me we’ll be together forever, Hermione,’ he said seriously, placing the band at the tip of Hermione’s ring finger.

‘I promise,’ Hermione said softly.

Ron slid the ring onto her finger. It glowed pale blue for a moment, then tightened slightly so that it fit around Hermione’s finger perfectly.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispered.

‘Sorry it’s so plain,’ Ron muttered. ‘It’s all I could afford…’

Hermione shook her head and took Ron’s hand in both of hers. ‘I couldn’t have asked for a better one.’

---

Three hours later – she and Ron had taken a walk outside after the incident on the stairs – Hermione finally closed her bedroom door behind her. Still in a state of disbelief, she crossed the room, sat down at her desk, and turned to gaze at her reflection in the mirror blissfully.

‘What were the odds?’ she sighed to herself.

‘And they say you’re one of the brightest witches around,’ clucked the voice of the mirror disapprovingly. ‘That boy’s been in love with you for eternity and a day, dear.’

‘I never thought he’d ask, though,’ Hermione explained. She played with the handle of her wand distractedly. ‘As much as I love him, Ron can be a bit slow sometimes.’

‘Tell me about it,’ the mirror drawled. ‘Anyway, you’ve got a letter.’

‘Have I?’ said Hermione, snapping out of her reverie and looking around. She spotted the folded piece of parchment lying on her sheets.

Standing up, Hermione made her way over to her bed and, after picking up the letter, sat down. On the front of it, the word ‘Starlight’ was written in shining silver ink.

Hermione’s heart sunk. Of course; she had told Shadow to write to her soon, and he had complied.

For a moment, she was seized with the urge to tear the letter into pieces and throw it out the window. How could Shadow do this to her now, when everything between Ron and her was finally perfect?

Still, her practised fingers had unfolded the letter against her own resolve. Unwillingly, yet unable to stop herself, Hermione turned her eyes downwards and read the words.

Dear Starlight,

I’m sure you didn’t expect a letter so soon, but when I returned home, I brooded quite a bit over your comment about telling each other our names. I’ve decided that you’re probably right and that I do think it’s time for us to leave behind the rules of the challenge. If you agree, please meet me this upcoming Saturday at our usual spot in Sherwood Park.

Yours,
Shadow

Hermione sat back, letting the letter fall out of her hands and onto her lap. She breathed a sigh of relief. Finally it would be over. She was sure that Shadow was someone she knew, and once Ron saw that, everything would go back to the way it was a month ago. Ron would forgive her; she would forgive him; and they would marry and live happily ever after.

Nevertheless, Hermione felt a wave of disappointment wash over her. It would be over. She knew very well in her heart that nothing would ever be the same again, for she’d poured her soul into the words she’d exchanged with him, and he knew her as she was now – better than Ginny, better than Harry, better than Ron. She couldn’t take all of that back.

Tears welled up her eyes as she remembered what he had said to her earlier. ‘She’ll never take your place…’ And oh, the way he had touched her as if he were afraid she would shatter under his fingers. She brought a hand up to her cheek, where the shadow of his touch still lingered, and exhaled shakily.

The tears fell.

The scene replayed itself vividly in her mind. Time had stopped when they came into contact; still, she had forced herself to walk away, because staying had never really been an option. She saw his fingers curl around empty air, and felt her heart break. ‘I’m thankful for you…’

A shudder ran down her spine. She couldn’t take any of it back.

Chapter 27: The Prison of His Mind

‘My God, Lydig, can you take any longer?’

‘Lydig is nearly finished, Master!’ Lydig panted as he scurried past Draco, who was leaning against the wall and watching his house-elf clean the sitting room up.

‘Good,’ Draco snapped, ‘because she’s almost here.’

Sure enough, barely ten seconds after Lydig had cleared away the last of the balls of crumpled parchment littering the now-clean carpet, the dying flames in the fireplace turned emerald-green and flared up. Moments later, Hermione stepped out of the fire, dusting ashes off her robes as she ducked under the mantelpiece.

‘Hi,’ she said, smiling uncertainly at Draco. She glanced around the room, and a surprised expression appeared on her face. ‘Wow, you really did a great job cleaning up.’

‘Uh,’ said Draco, clearing his throat. ‘It, uh, wasn’t me who did it.’

Hermione frowned. It seemed to take her a moment to understand the implications of Draco’s reply, but when she did, her frown deepened disapprovingly. ‘You made Lydig slave away at it didn’t you?’ she accused.

‘You don’t have a problem with that, do you?’ Draco asked with raised eyebrows. He crossed the room to his sofa, sat down, and smirked up at Hermione. ‘Are you going to refuse to sit down now? In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re already standing on the carpet, so you might as well give it up, Granger.’

Hermione sniffed disdainfully, but she reluctantly sat down next to Draco. He watched as she clasped then unclasped her hands. Her discomfort was so painfully evident that he almost felt it.

Sure that Hermione was remembering their last encounter in his house, Draco decided to break the silence before she brought the incident up. ‘The potion should be done in a week’s time.’

‘Oh, good.’ She sounded relieved. ‘Have you talked to Kingsley about pursuing Lawley yourself yet?’

Draco started. ‘Damnit,’ he swore. He had forgotten to bring it up. ‘Sorry,’ he added sheepishly, ‘I forgot.’

Hermione smiled. ‘It’s okay. I forgot too.’

‘That’s unlike you,’ said Draco, somewhat surprised. ‘Have you at least talked to the Werewolf Capture Unit?’

‘No,’ said Hermione. In the dim light, Draco could see she was blushing. ‘I’ve just had a lot on my mind. I’m sorry.’

‘Like what?’ said Draco, interested against his own will.

‘Nothing you’d care to know,’ she replied, shrugging. She arched an eyebrow. ‘Although you should know, as you’ve gotten quite good at stalking me by now.’

‘Oh, please, that’s gotten old,’ Draco drawled. Still, he was curious to know what Hermione had been dealing with the past few days. He knew she’d only been into the office once, so it couldn’t have been work. ‘If you don’t want to tell me, fine…I’m not too keen about your daily business anyway, especially if it involves Weasley…’

‘Actually it does.’ She cleared her throat. ‘We’re getting married.’

Draco nearly choked on his own spittle. For a moment, he was annoyed. Why? Why had Hermione accepted the proposal? She could do much better than Ron. Not that it’s of any matter to me, he reminded himself.

‘Like I said, I don’t care,’ he said coldly. The hurt look that flashed across Hermione’s face gave him a sense of inner satisfaction. That’s right, he thought savagely, go on and cry about it.

‘Since it seems you’re so determined to ruin this for me,’ she said bitterly, ‘it might interest you to know that I don’t think I’m quite as happy as I should be.’

‘Really?’ said Draco, trying to sound bored. ‘Well, I’m not a marriage counsellor, so I’m afraid I can’t give you any advice.’

Hermione laughed weakly. ‘Who am I kidding?’ she muttered, looking down at her hands. ‘You’re the last person on Earth I should be talking about this with.’

‘Indeed.’

Draco’s stomach churned with guilt. It wasn’t his place to be making Hermione feel worse; after all, just because he was alone and friendless didn’t necessarily mean it was her fault. Not entirely friendless, he corrected himself. There’s still Starlight.

But Starlight wanted to leave him too, didn’t she? Draco had known when she spoke of taking off their facades that she secretly yearned to and only said otherwise for his sake, so he’d written the letter telling her he agreed – even though he didn’t.

Enough of that. Keep your mind focused on the current matter, he scolded himself.

Hermione didn’t seem to have noticed that her partner’s attention was elsewhere. She was eagerly explaining the research she had done on the creation of the original Wolfsbane Potion and how the information she had gathered would benefit Draco’s version.

‘…so you see, you’ve just been approaching it with the wrong viewpoint. It’s less of a sedative than a purgative, isn’t it? And the physical attributes aren’t the defining points of the transformation; you’ve got to concentrate on getting rid of the curse and the mindset it instils first.’

‘Mhm,’ Draco murmured distractedly. She really is quite bossy when she gets involved in someone else’s business, he thought irritably. Still, he was grateful for the extra help. Severus would have wanted him to put the potion to use somehow, and there wasn’t any better time than the present to do so.

‘Mind if we go down and get started?’ she asked inquisitively.

‘Keep your hair on and let me relax for a second before you drag me down there,’ Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. ‘Honestly, Granger, this isn’t even any of your concern.’

‘It is now that it’s a part of our case,’ she said brightly. Draco could tell she was trying to put the topic of her recent engagement out of their minds. ‘So what do you say?’

‘Fine,’ Draco intoned, making sure to drag the syllable out extra long. He made a big fuss out of standing up. ‘Follow me,’ he sighed.

As they proceeded down the poorly lit hallway, Hermione spoke up again.

‘You know,’ she said conversationally, ‘it’s really nice of you to clean up your sitting room for me.’

Draco stopped to gaze at her in astonishment. ‘Who said it was for you?’

But Hermione simply smiled at him and continued on. ‘Which doorway is it?’

Embarrassed and annoyed by Hermione’s acuity, Draco picked up his pace again and sullenly led the way to the kitchen. There, they descended the stairs leading down to the basement.

‘I added some Ashwinder eggs last night to keep it temporarily preserved in its current state for you,’ he explained as they approached the cauldron at the end of the large room.

Hermione nodded approvingly. ‘Good thinking,’ she said with a great yawn. ‘Sorry,’ she added. ‘I didn’t get much sleep last night.’

‘Likewise,’ said Draco, surprised that he could actually empathise with Hermione on something. ‘I, uh, had a lot on my mind too.’

Hermione carefully shrugged on a lab coat, saying, ‘I’d ask you to elaborate, but I doubt you’d give me an adequate answer.’

‘You know me too well,’ said Draco sarcastically.

‘It’s my job. After all, I am your stalker.’

A laugh rose in Draco’s throat, but he quickly clamped his lips together to keep it from escaping. It wasn’t that funny, he thought irately.

‘I’m going to go check on the Sleeping Draught,’ he said awkwardly.

‘Wait,’ said Hermione, grabbing Draco’s left forearm. ‘I need you to –’

‘Let go of me,’ Draco hissed, tearing his wrist out of Hermione’s hand. He tugged the sleeve of his robe down forcibly. ‘Don’t touch this arm. Or any part of me, for that matter.’

A look of understanding dawned upon Hermione’s otherwise stunned features. ‘Oh,’ she said simply. ‘The…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just…you’re not…I forgot.’

‘Apparently you’re the only one who has,’ Draco muttered bitterly, clutching his arm tightly to his chest. He took a deep breath to steady his fired-up nerves. ‘What do you need?’

Hermione shook her head. ‘Forget it. I was just going to ask you where you keep your scales.’ She hesitated. ‘Malfoy, why are you so protective of your past?’

‘Because it’s none of your business,’ he said bluntly, leaning over a cauldron and pretending to check its contents. Instead, he had tentatively inched the left sleeve of his robe up to check on the Dark Mark. By now, it had faded to an ashen, greyish-brown colour, but it was still prominent against his white skin.

‘My point exactly,’ said Hermione pompously. ‘You needn’t act as if you’re the only one who can bear the burden of your mistakes. Other people can help you forget.’

Draco wordlessly gazed at his own wavering reflection on the surface of the light blue potion. Stupid Granger and her stupid nosy questions…

‘Isn’t there another life you can interfere with?’ he finally said out loud, straightening up and glaring at her. ‘You’re only here to help me solve the Malkin case. Getting personal wasn’t part of the deal.’

Hermione shrugged. ‘I suppose not,’ she said quietly.

She turned around and busied herself with preparing a mixture of ingredients in a small flask. Draco watched her back, wondering why she was so interested in him. Had Ron ordered her to snoop around? Or was she just genuinely curious?

‘Either way, it’s annoying,’ he grumbled under his breath.

‘What’s that?’ said Hermione as she swirled the concoction in the flask about in the light.

‘Nothing.’

Draco watched as Hermione carefully let three drops of the bright blue liquid fall into the bubbling potion. A puff of smoke rose out of the cauldron and then quickly dissipated.

Hermione yawned again as she put the flask down on the table. ‘S-s-sorry,’ she said again, smiling sheepishly over her shoulder at Draco. ‘I can barely keep my eyes open.’

‘You can rest for a bit if you want,’ Draco suggested, determined to be nicer after his earlier outburst. ‘I’ve got an empty guestroom; Lydig will prepare the bed for you.’

‘Oh no, I couldn’t. I came here to help you.’

‘No, go ahead,’ Draco insisted. At least I’ll finally be rid of your incessant prying, he added silently. ‘I’ll, uh, finish up down here. Maybe test some of the theories you conceived. If I get anywhere, I’ll let you know.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Hermione, sounding concerned. She blinked, and then laughed. ‘Oh, I get it. You want me out of here, don’t you?’

‘And I thought I was hiding it well…’

‘Don’t give yourself too much credit,’ Hermione said lightly, before taking her lab coat off and tossing it at Draco. He caught it just in time. ‘But since you were kind enough to offer, I think I’ll go on up and catch a wink of sleep. Although,’ she added, pressing her index finger to her lips in mock contemplation, ‘you do know you’ll have to scrub all the filth off your sheets once I leave.’

‘That’s why I didn’t tell you to go to my bedroom,’ Draco retorted.

Hermione clucked her tongue. ‘You’ll wake me up as soon as you make any progress, right?’

‘Yes,’ said Draco, avoiding her eyes. ‘Yes, just go. It’ll be a bigger mess to clean up if you drift off and fall into one of these cauldrons.’

‘It’s nice to know you’re putting my safety first,’ Hermione quipped, rolling her eyes.

She turned and left the room. When she had disappeared up the staircase, Draco sighed and stared gloomily at the sparse notes she had scribbled down beneath his own.

Over the past few days, his desire to complete this tedious task had grown increasingly weaker. What had began as the exciting prospect of changing the wizarding world forever now felt like a hopelessly dull homework assignment for Potions class – he didn’t want to do it, and yet he knew that he was obligated to.

In truth, he had not paid one bit of attention to Hermione’s ramblings earlier, so he had no idea where to begin. For a fleeting moment, he regretted sending her upstairs. If she found out later that he hadn’t done anything while she was asleep…

I just don’t want to disappoint her, he realised, marvelling at his own feelings. After all, even though she may not know it herself, Granger really has done so much for me since we started working together.

He remembered what Starlight had said at their last meeting. She was jealous – jealous of Hermione. Why, though?

No, it didn’t matter why. Once Saturday arrived, it would all be over anyway. The next five days – that was all the time he had left with Starlight.

Something inside his chest tightened painfully, and he doubled over, pressing his palms against his throbbing temples. He swore out loud. What was happening to him? He’d never been affected by the loss of someone close to him; even when he’d watched his own father die before his eyes, he’d felt nothing but a cold indifference. Then again, had he ever really even had a close friend before?

And Hermione. Like Starlight, she had thrown Draco into a multitude of troublesome situations. Why did she have to be so open about herself? It had all been a trap, and he had fallen for it. He’d let her into his house, told her about the scars, showed her the potions, and now…now all he could do was think about her and care about her life because she had cared about his.

‘They’re just like each other,’ Draco spat out bitterly, digging his nails into the wooden surface of the table. Splinters of wood dug until his fingertips, eliciting tiny droplets of blood. ‘My God, I’m pathetic, falling for their dodges.’

He sighed, pulling his hand away and gloomily examining the pinprick-sized wounds in his skin. Granger is getting married, he reminded himself, ignoring the fresh burst of rage that followed the thought. She’s off-limits.

He laughed. ‘Imagine that,’ he mused, his lips twisting into a slight sneer. ‘I actually have to force myself to keep away from her. How the times have changed…’

Standing up, Draco extinguished the fire burning beneath the cauldron of Wolfsbane II Potion with a wave of his wand. Time to go wake Sleeping Beauty up and tell her to leave.

Lydig was tending to the fire beneath the stove when Draco entered the kitchen. He looked up and hastened to bend over into a deep bow when he saw his master.

‘Master needn’t trouble himself with waking Miss Granger,’ he squealed, anxiously twisting the soiled black garment he wore between his long, spindly fingers. ‘Lydig shall be glad to take care of it.’

‘No need,’ said Draco, walking by the house-elf without so much as a glance in his direction, ‘I’ll do it myself.’

‘Very well, sir,’ murmured Lydig, bowing again.

Draco proceeded down the hallway to the guestroom slowly. His thoughts were flashing back and forth between Starlight and Hermione so rapidly that he was sure a headache was starting to develop. Gritting his teeth, he brushed the loose strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes away and pushed open the door on his right.

The room was entirely dark, so Draco took one of the candles affixed to the walls of the hallway before entering. The faint glow of the flame preceded Draco as he walked over to the bed, allowing him to dimly make out Hermione’s slumbering form.

Draco sat down at the end of the bed carefully, noting, as he did so, that Hermione had not opted to use the sheets. With a heavy sigh, he studied her sleeping image – the steady rise and fall of her shoulders, the sound of her peaceful, untroubled breathing, the almost indiscernible flickering of her eyelids as she slept on. It was all very fascinating.

The longer Draco sat there and observed Hermione, the more he became aware of an unfamiliar sensation spreading throughout his body. He felt relaxed and unguarded for the first time in a long time. Perhaps it was due in part to the warmth emanating from the candle, but something about being in Hermione’s presence was comforting.

His gaze softened as he brought the candle closer to her face, though not close enough to wake her up. She was by no means beautiful, but nevertheless, he felt a strange attraction to her. It was…it was the air of absolute purity that surrounded her. She was whole and untainted, while he was just the opposite: tarnished, cold, incomplete…

She often spoke of darkness and her knowledge of the horrors it contained, but she knew nothing; Draco was sure of it. Someone like her couldn’t possibly be attuned to true evil.

‘I’m sorry…’

Draco jumped, startled out of his thoughts by Hermione’s unexpected voice. She had shifted over on the bed and seemed to be in the midst of a troubling dream, for her hands were clutching the sheets beneath her tightly, and her face was screwed into an expression of agony.

‘I’m so sorry…’ she murmured again, ‘I just can’t…I can’t do this to him…’

Unsure as to whether he should do something, Draco cautiously edged closer to Hermione. What could she possibly be dreaming of that would cause her so much pain?

‘Shadow…’

Draco froze.

A split second later, the flame atop the candle spluttered loudly and disappeared in a spiral of smoke. The room was instantly shrouded in darkness once more.

Then again, it didn’t matter whether Draco could see or not, because despite the pounding of his heart in his ears, there was no mistaking what he had just heard, no ignoring the significance of the glaring evidence any longer.

Shadow. She knew Shadow. Which meant…

Hermione and Starlight were one and the same.

---

[A/N: Well, this is (most likely) the last chapter I'll post this year. When the queue opens again, it'll be 2007. It's been over a year now since I started this fic on December 18, 2005, and I have to admit it's been one hell of a year. Thanks to the wonderful readers who have supported ATW and continued to review diligently, and Happy Holidays to all!]

Chapter 28: Silent Tears

The first thought that crossed Hermione’s mind when she opened her eyes was that she was in an unfamiliar room. It was dark all around, save for a dim glow at the end of the bed. Still half-asleep, she blinked blearily and looked around to find a shadowy figure kneeling beside her. The flickering lights fell upon a halo of white-blonde hair, illuminating the sharp grey eyes beneath them. For a moment, Hermione wondered if she was still dreaming.

‘It’s about time you woke up.’

No. That voice was too cold to belong in a dream.

Hermione sat up to get a clearer view of her surroundings. From this perspective, she was able to make out the all-too-familiar lines of her companion’s pale face, allowing her to recognise him as Draco and not an angel she had imagined up.

‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ she exclaimed, blushing furiously and turning away slightly upon remembering why she was still at Draco’s flat. ‘Did I sleep too long? Why didn’t you wake me?’

Draco didn’t look at her. There was something strange about his demeanour, but Hermione couldn’t quite place it. Puzzled, she asked tentatively, ‘Malfoy? How far did you get with the potion?’

‘I –’ he began in a choked voice, but seemed unable to finish his sentence. He shook his head instead.

Taken aback by Draco’s behaviour, Hermione warily got up off the bed, grabbed her wand from the floor, and performed a quick smoothing spell on the sheets she had slept on. Once she was done, she walked over to the door, pausing and looking back over her shoulder when she reached the doorway.

‘Ron will be expecting me…I’d better go now…’

Still no response.

‘Well, do you need me to come by and help you do some more work on the potion sometime?’

Again, nothing.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows in concern. This wasn’t like Draco; usually, he’d be bursting with snide comments to spit out at her. At the moment, however, he appeared to be incapable of even saying a word, much less making a sarcastic remark.

She opened her mouth to question him again, but then decided against it. He wouldn’t tell her anyway.

‘I’m sorry for intruding,’ she said quietly, concluding that her presence was the cause of his silence. ‘Don’t forget to let Kingsley know about the chase. Let me know when you reach him, and I’ll take care of everything else.’

Without waiting for a response, Hermione shut the door quietly behind her and turned to face the dark hallway. I wonder what’s on his mind, she mused as she proceeded down the corridor. Perhaps it really is because of me. She stared down at her hands guiltily. I suppose I shouldn’t have fallen asleep here…it really was rather rude of me…

There was already a fire crackling in the hearth when Hermione stepped into the sitting room. She tucked her wand safely in her pocket, grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the cracked pot sitting on the mantelpiece and tossed it into the flames.

Hermione sighed as she watched the fire turn emerald-green and roar up in the fireplace. Poor Draco. He had lived alone in this lonely, dismal place for so long. Ever since the war ended – and perhaps even before that – he’d been deprived of all but his house-elf’s companionship. It was no wonder he behaved so coldly around his peers.

I could never do it, Hermione realised. I could never survive without my friends and family to support me.

Perhaps he wasn’t so weak after all.

---

‘Morning, Granger,’ grunted another Auror as Hermione swept past him on her way to the Auror Headquarters the next morning.

Hermione didn’t even look back to see who had greeted her as she spared him a rushed ‘Good morning’ and hurried on. She had stayed up late the previous night brooding over the incident that had occurred at Draco’s house earlier, causing her to wake up an hour later than she’d intended.

‘I’m sorry!’ she gasped as she finally turned the corner and dashed into the office, accidentally slamming the door closed behind her. Several heads snapped up to stare in Hermione’s direction.

Before she could apologise again for disrupting them, Robards appeared from his office. Upon seeing Hermione, a relieved expression crossed his face.

Hermione shrunk back and prepared herself for the blow as he approached her. However, it never came. Instead, he said brusquely, ‘You’re to meet with a Miss Mary Hedge later this afternoon. She claims she has information regarding another werewolf attack in Bristol.’

‘Right,’ said Hermione in a tiny voice, still ready to shield herself from any possible verbal attacks.

‘Well then,’ said Robards, sweeping the sea of amazed faces turned towards him with impatient eyes, ‘get back to work, all of you! There’s nothing to be seen here, nothing to be seen…’

‘Er –’ said Hermione, taking a tentative step forward. ‘Er, sir, you never told me the exact time or place I should meet Miss Hedge.’

‘I left the information on your desk,’ said Robards, waving a hand lazily over his shoulder at Hermione. ‘You know I’m not stupid enough to expect you to do something without giving you exact guidelines first, Granger.’

With a hearty chuckle and a little shake of his head, Robards marched back into his office and shut the door behind him.

‘You sure got off lucky this time, Hermione,’ Ginny observed enviously from a few cubicles away. She grinned wickedly. ‘I think Robards is growing rather fond of you. I better warn Ron that someone else is looking to steal his fiancé away.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Hermione crossly, smiling slightly to show that she had acknowledged Ginny’s comment as a joke. She walked over to Ginny, grabbing the file Robards had mentioned off her desktop as she passed her own cubicle, and rested an elbow on the wall separating their spaces. ‘Ron has nothing to worry about.’

‘Oh I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ Ginny teased in a mock-serious tone. ‘I’d say Boot has taken to watching you out of the corner of his eye whenever we see him in the hall.’

‘Hannah would kill him,’ said Hermione, laughing and collapsing on her chair. She swivelled around to face Ginny, opening the file she held on her lap as she did so.

‘True,’ said Ginny thoughtfully as she absently doodled on the corner of a wrinkled scrap of parchment. ‘Still, you never know…It’s not like you’re completely undesirable, Hermione. For all you know, someone other than Ron may come and sweep you off your feet before the wedding takes place.’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Hermione, shocked by Ginny’s words. An image of Draco’s scowling face flashed through her mind, only to be quickly replaced by another image, this time of a raven-haired man donning a white mask. She furiously shook her head. ‘Ginny, what are you saying? You know I’d never do that to Ron. And besides, who else would want to date a work-absorbed person like me?’

Ginny snickered. ‘That’s true…Ron’s the only one out there thick enough to put up with it.’

Hermione rolled her eyes, glad that Ginny was back to her old joking self but still puzzled. It was possible that Ginny’s odd remark earlier was nothing more than a continuation of her teasing – yet even so, there was no reason to suspect that Hermione would ever be attracted to anyone other than Ron…was there?

‘I’d better see what this visit is about before Robards comes back,’ Hermione muttered to herself, more as a way of clearing all disconcerting thoughts about secret admirers from her head than anything else. She scanned the short notes typed on the top sheet.

Date: Wednesday, January 4, 2003
Time: 9:23 AM
Caller: Mary Hedge
Details: Claimed to have witnessed a fully-transformed werewolf standing next to a man in woods behind house. Later heard growling and dog-like whimpers. Described man as skinny, unkempt, and covered in scratches, dirt, and blood. Requested a meeting with an Auror later this afternoon at 3:30 pm. Further explanation will be given then.

Underneath the brief statement was a hastily scrawled address, written in Robards’ hand. Hermione squinted at it and was able to make out the words, 14 Woodsworth Way, Bristol.

Hermione sat back in surprise. Another werewolf spotting – and in Bristol too. She frowned thoughtfully. This woman had said she’d seen a fully-transformed werewolf? The only werewolf Hermione knew of who could transform without the aid of the full moon was Fenrir Greyback. But what would he be doing standing next to a man? The Greyback she knew wouldn’t hesitate to attack a human, transformed or not, unless…unless he was planning something.

Yes, that was it. It had to be. And the man…he had to be Noah Lawley. But why were they back in Bristol? Had Noah gone directly there after the Malkin incident? And what was Greyback planning to do to Noah, exactly?

Hermione sighed and pushed a few loose strands of hair away from her face. She was excited and frustrated at the same time; excited because meeting with this witch might bring her new leads on the werewolf case, but frustrated because she had no idea where to go with those leads. Furthermore, everything she and Draco had at the moment was all based on assumption. They didn’t even know for sure whether the wizard involved in the Malkin case was Noah Lawley, or a werewolf at all.

Maybe I should go see him and ask him if he wants to come, Hermione thought. However, she immediately dismissed the idea upon remembering Draco’s cold behaviour towards her the night before. Her insides squirmed uncomfortably at the memory of it. What had she done wrong? Whatever it was, she wanted to make up for it. After all, Draco had, against his own will, revealed so much of himself to her in the past weeks. It would be wrong for her to not give something back.

‘What did I do now, Malfoy?’ Hermione sighed as she traced invisible circles around Mary Hedge’s address.

‘What’s that?’

Hermione jumped and looked up. Ginny was grinning at her.

‘N-nothing,’ Hermione stammered, her cheeks immediately heating up. ‘I was just thinking out loud to myself. Go back to work, Ginny.’

‘Ah…so you’ve got Malfoy on your mind,’ said Ginny, nodding wisely. ‘I see, I see…’

Blast, she heard me, Hermione thought, embarrassed and annoyed. Out loud, she said nervously, ‘I’ve got to go. Tell your mum I’ll be home for dinner.’

With that, she stood up abruptly and gathered the file, a few blank sheets of parchment, and a quill into her arms. ‘Bye, Ginny,’ she said over her shoulder as she hurried away.

Ginny waved back, still smirking as she did so. Hermione looked down and tried not to fret over the situation. She’s probably put together all sorts of theories about me and Draco by now, she thought, blushing even more furiously. Honestly, you’d think she doesn’t care about her brother’s feelings at all…

Hermione checked her watch as she left the office. There was still half an hour left to go before her scheduled meeting with Mary Hedge, so she decided to Apparate to the location and look around to see if she could find anything that might aid her and Draco in their search.

As Hermione strolled down the bustling corridor to one of the Apparation rooms, she remembered with a thrill of trepidation Shadow’s letter. If you agree, please meet me this upcoming Saturday at our usual spot in Sherwood Park. That was the last sentence he had written.

For a fleeting moment, Hermione wondered whether she really did agree. She had been the one to bring up the topic of revealing their identities, yet…

No, she thought firmly. Stop being childish about this, Hermione. You’re an adult, and it’s your responsibility to handle the situation maturely.

‘Watch it!’

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts just in time to avoid walking straight into someone. Embarrassed, she said hurriedly, ‘I’m so sorry, I – Malfoy?’

A dishevelled, tired-looking Draco turned away sharply at the mention of his name. ‘You shouldn’t gallivant around so carelessly, Granger,’ he said in a hard voice, and began walking in the opposite direction.

‘Wait!’ said Hermione, swerving to avoid a cluster of memos flying towards her. She grabbed a fistful of Draco’s sleeve before he could escape her. ‘Where are you off to in such a hurry? I was just on my way to meet with a witch who might be able to help us find Lawley.’

‘Then go,’ he said apathetically. Despite his cold attitude, however, he made no further efforts to break away, to Hermione’s great relief.

‘What did I do?’ Hermione asked bluntly. All thoughts of the werewolf situation were no longer her priority; for the moment, her only goal was to force the truth out of Draco. ‘Why were you acting so strange just before I left? I don’t recall doing anything to offend you, but if I did, it’d be nice if you could tell me instead of just glaring at me. I mean, if it’s about my sleeping at your place, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude, but you really should have woken me up if it bothered you that much, and besides, it’s not –’

Hermione, however, stopped mid-sentence, too astounded by Draco’s reaction to continue. At first she had thought he was making one of his trademark expressions of disgust, but it was now evident that he was in fact…laughing?

‘Granger…you talk…too much,’ he managed to say in between gasps for air. He leaned against the wall for support, apparently oblivious to the strange looks being directed at them.

Hermione stared at Draco, bewildered by this sudden turn of events but unable to keep a hesitant smile from spreading across her own face. Draco was laughing. As far as she was concerned, this was the first time he had ever laughed so openly.

‘I should have known,’ said Draco, more to himself than to Hermione, as his laughter died away and he was able to straighten up again. He shook his head, sober once more. ‘It was staring me in the face all along.’

‘What was staring you in the face all along?’ Hermione inquired, looking up at Draco and trying to catch a glimpse of his face, which he kept turning in the opposite direction.

‘Nothing,’ he said shortly. He glanced briefly at her out of the corner of his eye. ‘Don’t look so pathetic, Granger. It doesn’t suit you.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Hermione demanded, slightly affronted by Draco’s offhand comment.

Draco shrugged. ‘Nothing,’ he said again. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me…’

‘No, I won’t excuse you,’ said Hermione crossly, hurrying after Draco, determined to keep him in her sight. ‘I want to know why you’ve been avoiding me.’

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘But –’

‘Look,’ said Draco, turning around abruptly so that Hermione almost ran into him for the second time, ‘I think some things need to be clarified. I never expected to get involved in your case; I never asked to start getting along with you; I never intended to tell you anything about me. Hell, I never thought I’d be standing here explaining all of this to you. But somehow, all of that happened anyway. Isn’t that enough for you?’

‘Enough?’ Hermione repeated, stunned. ‘Malfoy, friendship isn’t about giving and taking equal amounts…’

Draco narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth; for a fleeting moment, Hermione thought she saw a shadow of Draco’s deranged sixteen-year-old self flit across his angry features, but then it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

‘I never said anything about friendship,’ he said evenly. ‘I’ve already given you everything you wanted from me. Now I’m asking you to let me keep something to myself for once.’

‘But I want to help!’ Hermione protested, determined not to back down.

‘Yeah, well, you can’t solve everyone’s problems, no matter how much you want to,’ said Draco bitterly. ‘All you want is for everything to be right, but in case you haven’t noticed, that perfect world is a bit beyond your reach.’

Hermione gaped at Draco. How had he figured that out about her? Was she that easy to read?

‘Anyway,’ Draco continued, ‘once we’ve solved this case, everything will return to normal. You can go back to your perfect life with your perfect family – oh yes, and your perfect soon-to-be-husband.’ He spat the last word out as if it were something filthy, something disgusting.

‘It’s not going to end like that!’ Hermione exclaimed, frantically trying to think of something to say that might keep Draco from walking away. ‘Whatever happens, whatever you do, I’m not just going to pretend like all the time we spent together never existed. No matter what you think of me, I still see you as a friend, and because of that I care about you. I don’t want you to suffer. So why can’t you tell me what’s wrong?’

All colour drained away from Draco’s face. He stared blankly at Hermione for a few moments as if everything she had said was utterly incomprehensible to him. Finally, he reached up and gently pried Hermione’s fingers away from his wrist.

‘Don’t say that. Trust me when I say that it will be easier if you leave the suffering to me.’

The overwhelming sadness in Draco’s voice when he said those words struck Hermione so forcibly that she didn’t even object when he dropped her hand and turned away, saying, ‘The seventh – this Saturday – we can have a look about the forest. I’ve obtained permission from Kingsley, so meet me at Brown’s at four in the afternoon.’

And, leaving Hermione rooted to her spot and the crowd of hushed onlookers that had gathered to watch speechless, Draco walked away. Hermione watched him leave, her heart beating fiercely against her ribcage as she mentally tried to sort out everything that had just happened. What had he meant about leaving the suffering to him? Was he trying to imply that he didn’t want her to get hurt by remaining a part of his life?

It was not until Draco disappeared into Hit Wizard Headquarters that Hermione was snapped out of her thoughts by a familiar voice from behind her.

‘Hermione…what was that about?’

Hermione almost laughed out loud when she recognised the voice. Of course this would happen. It was only natural that the only time she and Draco argued and displayed their friendship in a public area, Ron would be there to see it all.

‘I can explain –’ she began to say as she turned around to face Ron, aware that people were still watching but choosing to ignore their presence.

He was hurt. That was all there was to it. He wasn’t angry; he wasn’t even furious. He was just…hurt. Hurt and confused. Hermione could see it all written clearly in the way he gazed at her with furrowed eyebrows, the way his arms hung limply at his sides, the way he didn’t move when she addressed him.

‘You love him, don’t you?’ he asked cautiously, though it was more of a statement than a question.

‘Ron, this isn’t the place!’ Hermione exclaimed as her sense of the situation slowly returned to her. ‘No, don’t say that, I’ll tell you later…don’t make a scene, please…’

‘I need some time to think.’

That was all he said. Hermione watched helplessly as he pushed his way through the throng of people without a backwards glance. She was left alone once again.

How has it come to this? she thought numbly, falling back against the wall of the hallway and pressing her shaking palms against her forehead. What did I do wrong? Was I asking for too much to have both of them?

A sob welled up in her throat and threatened to escape, but she forced it back down. She wouldn’t cry, not in front of all these people. All these people…what were they even doing here? They had gathered like a crowd of spectators at a circus…they were all watching her with the curiosity and secret delight of children observing animals at a zoo, wondering what she would do next to entertain them…

Shadow… Hermione silently pleaded as the desire to merge with the wall behind her and disappear from sight engulfed her, Shadow, help me…

Chapter 29: The Final Threshold

This is it.

Those three words raced through Draco’s mind as he mechanically went through the process of changing the colour of his hair, donning Shadow’s clothes, and affixing Shadow's mask to his face. Every few seconds, he would glance down at the unfurled letter lying on his bed, and each time he saw the otter-shaped seal, broken neatly in half, he would turn away again, unwilling to keep the hateful thing in sight for too long.

Never before had he felt more terrified. His hands shook violently as he tried to straighten his mask, and he was sure his legs would soon fail to support the weight of his upper body. Finally, unable to delay the moment any longer, he dashed over to his bed and snatched up the piece of parchment. He tried to scan the familiar words for the thousandth, or perhaps millionth, time, but gave up half-way through the first sentence, for lack of concentration prevented him from reading any further. Frustrated, he crumpled the letter up in his hand and flung it at the wall.

The clock above the window now read 5:01 pm. Sure that Starlight had specified five as their meeting time, Draco cursed himself for not paying attention to the time and, without a second’s delay, Disapparated out of his room.

---

Hermione’s entire body shivered from a combination of cold and nerves as she paced back and forth behind her and Shadow’s bench. Where was Shadow? She stopped momentarily to check her watch. 5:02 pm – he was late. Hermione’s insides squirmed uncomfortably. This had never happened before; Shadow had always been on time for their meetings. Did this mean he had decided against coming?

For a moment, Hermione dared to hope that they wouldn’t have to reveal their identities after all. Maybe then everything can stay the way it is right now, she thought, almost relieved. After all, Shadow was the only one she had left, and the last thing she wanted was to lose him too.

Hermione spun around on her heel, prepared to resume her pacing, when suddenly someone from behind her cleared his throat. She leapt back, only to realise that the person standing there was Shadow.

‘You frightened me,’ she said, trying to smile but only managing a small grimace. ‘How did you know I was here?’

‘It’s a good thing you’re not a dark wizard on the run,’ said Shadow with a crooked smile, gesturing down at the footprints Hermione had left in the snow.

Hermione laughed nervously. ‘I’d be a right failure at covering my tracks, wouldn’t I?’

Shadow said nothing in response to Hermione’s weak reply. Instead, he silently walked over to the bench and sat down.

Trying to ignore the pounding of her heart in her ears, Hermione followed and sat down next to Shadow. Hating the silence but unable to think of anything to say, she instead twisted a stray strand of hair around her index finger, trying to pinpoint when exactly it had become so difficult to breathe in Shadow’s presence. When did every detail of every moment become so important to me? she wondered.

‘What are you thinking about?’ he finally asked, his voice even lower than usual.

‘Us,’ said Hermione without thinking. As bold as the statement was, she didn’t want to keep any secrets between her and Shadow. ‘I’m thinking about how it feels right now to see you again.’

A slight tensing of the shoulders was the only noticeable sign of movement Shadow exhibited. ‘And how does it feel?’ he asked after a brief pause.

Hermione hesitated. ‘It feels…different.’

‘I see.’

She inhaled slowly, carefully, willing her racing heart to calm down. What was he doing to her? Was she really that scared to show her face to him, to say her name out loud while he listened?

‘I…I’m getting married,’ she finally said. Yes, she thought firmly, I’m going to marry Ron. I have Ron. From now on, Ron is the most important person to me.

‘I see.’

Hermione swallowed with some difficulty. If he wasn’t going to say it, she’d have to. Biting her lip, she blurted out, ‘Shadow, are you really sure about this?’

‘Why not?’ he inquired, picking up on the implied meaning behind Hermione’s question. ‘Didn’t you say you wanted to?’

His voice sounded oddly tense, as if his throat were constricted, as if…he were holding back tears.

‘I don’t know anymore,’ said Hermione truthfully. She clasped and unclasped her hands in her lap. ‘I thought about it, and I know it’s the right thing to do; not because I’m worried about what things between us will be like if we go through with it, but because I can’t…I can’t keep this going now that I’m engaged. He – you know what he’s like.’

Instead of addressing Hermione’s worries, Shadow said quietly, ‘It’s snowing.’

Hermione looked up and saw that Shadow was right. Large white snowflakes, illuminated by the fading light of the sun, were drifting lazily towards the ground. She smiled in spite of her qualms. It was beautiful.

‘It’s going to turn into rain,’ she observed. ‘It’s not cold enough for the snow to stick.’

‘I’m glad to hear that. I’ve never liked the snow very much.’

‘Why?’ Hermione asked curiously, temporarily abandoning her efforts to get to the purpose of the meeting.

Shadow looked over at her, his grey eyes hard and void of emotion. ‘It was the only thing colder than me.’

‘I see,’ Hermione murmured, not knowing what to say to this. She clenched the bench under her tightly, trying to gain a hold of herself. This was not the time to be discussing the weather. They had met here for other purposes.

‘Starlight…’

‘Yes?’

‘Tell me,’ said Shadow, finally turning around to fully face Hermione, ‘is it possible to both hate and love someone at once?’

‘What do you mean?’ Hermione asked, confused.

‘She…that is, I can’t help hating her because I love her, because she made me fall in love with her. I want to hurt her so she’ll understand that she needs to stay away from me, but by doing so, I’m hurting myself even more.’

Hermione felt tears prick at her eyes. Who was she? The one Shadow was in love with? Could she really be so important to him that he was torturing himself like this over her?

‘Tell her,’ she whispered, remembering the way Draco had brushed her off so coldly just two days earlier and how hurt she had been. No, that’s not the case here…it’s entirely different with Draco… ‘Tell her,’ she repeated in a louder voice, trying to ignore Draco’s unrelenting presence in her mind. ‘If you don’t she’ll find someone else.’

‘She already has someone else,’ he said bluntly. His eyes bore into Hermione’s while he said this, as though he believed her to be withholding a better answer to his question. ‘But I understand how she feels even better than she does. Even though she tells herself that she loves the idiot, deep down inside she knows she’ll never be completely happy with him.’

‘Then you should take the chance,’ Hermione said softly. She placed her hands over Shadow’s. ‘Tell her you love her before she completely convinces herself that her feelings for her boyfriend are stronger than her feelings for you.’

Shadow clenched his hands beneath Hermione’s. ‘She doesn’t love me. Someone like her could never feel anything but pity for someone like me. You’re…she’s…you’re both blinded by pity.’

Hermione drew back, stung by Shadow’s accusation. Why was she reminded of Draco every time Shadow said something like this? They were so similar, separated only by Shadow’s aptitude for opening himself up to her.

‘That’s not true,’ she finally said angrily. ‘You mean so much more to me than you think, Shadow. But...but you’re just like him – the man I mentioned in my letters. Always so bitter and unmoved by everything around you, never believing that someone out there could care for you…’

Shadow clenched his jaw. He seemed to have been offended by what Hermione had said, for he too moved away and turned his back to her.

Silence fell between them, a stifling silence that was only made more uncomfortable by the thick sheets of sleet now showering down upon them. At last, when Hermione could no longer stand the tension, Shadow spoke up.

‘If you care about me as much as you claim to,’ he said with his back still turned to Hermione, ‘take off the cloak.’

---

Draco was sure she would say no. He had known it all along, known that she would back out of her own proposition. He’d never been able to understand how Hermione had been placed in Gryffindor, what with the self-assurance and general courage she lacked when she wasn’t battling dark wizards.

Despite his confidence in his theory, however, he had inwardly hoped – no, feverishly wished – that she would agree to it. If she could overcome her fear of losing Shadow…if she could do that just to prove that she cared…

‘Very well.’

Draco stiffened. ‘Very well?’ he slowly repeated.

‘I’ll do it,’ she said quietly. ‘If it means you’ll believe me, I’ll do it.’

Draco’s insides writhed in agony at her words. Why? Why was she so foolishly submissive? He wanted to twist around and shake some sense into her. Where had her beloved logic and reason flown off to? The true Hermione Granger wouldn’t love and trust him so blindly. Were Starlight and Hermione the same after all?

Of course they are, he thought angrily. Hadn’t Hermione demanded that he trust her and that she cared about his well-being just the other day? The two were identical in every feature; they had to be the same.

‘Will you show me who you are afterwards?’

Draco said nothing in response to her question. Did he intend to show himself to her? He didn’t even know.

By now the sleet had turned to rain. Everything around Draco was grey, wet, and cold. He shuddered. The atmosphere seemed to reflect the turmoil brewing within him.

Suddenly, Draco felt Starlight's weight lift off the other end of the bench as she stood up; seconds later, her hands appeared out of the thin air before him, her fingers clenching the unseen material of the Invisibility Cloak that shielded her from Draco.

For a fleeting instant, Draco was overcome by remorse. He could no longer deny that he loved her, whether she was Starlight or Hermione. But if it was true, was it his place to be forcing her to act against her will like this? Guilt welled up inside him. Unable to stop himself, he stood up hastily and said, ‘No, don’t –’

But it was too late. Starlight had already let go of the cloak. It fell away from her ungracefully, landing in a heap on the slush-covered ground, instantly revealing the figure it had masked so well for so long.

There was no turning back now. Deep inside Draco had known it along, yet despite having had his suspicions recently confirmed, his blood still froze in his veins at the sight of Hermione Granger standing in Starlight’s stead.

‘I’m –’

‘Hermione,’ Draco finished. The name felt foreign on his numb lips. ‘Hermione Granger. You’re Hermione Granger.’

‘You know me?’ she whispered, staring up at Draco from beneath a curtain of wet hair. She looked terrified.

‘I’ve watched you…’

Her eyes widened. ‘You mean…?’

‘I can’t say I’m surprised,’ he said, avoiding her question. ‘Hermione’ (for he could no longer hold back from saying her name now that he had overcome the obstacle of using it for the first time), ‘what are you doing here?’

‘I –’

‘What about Ron Weasley? He’s the one you love, isn’t he?’ Draco asked, his voice quavering from the effort of trying to rein in the rage that had risen up within him at the very thought of Ron. ‘Why are you with me when he’s made it clear that he doesn’t want you to see me anymore?’

Her eyes flashed defiantly. ‘It’s not up to him to decide who I spend my time with.’

‘You’re stubborn,’ Draco observed coolly. Inside, however, he was burning…burning with the longing to tell her…to explain…

‘Please,’ Hermione suddenly blurted out, reaching out to grab a fistful of Draco’s robes, ‘please, Shadow, take off your mask. Who are you?’

Draco’s fingers involuntarily curled around the handle of his wand. With one simple spell, he could do it. He could get rid of the hateful mask. She would see his scars and…and it would all be over.

The scrap of hope Draco had dared to nurture for that short-lived moment of desperation crumbled away. How could he possibly convince himself that he was worthy of a happy ending? No, he didn’t deserve one. That was that. He relaxed his grip on his wand and let his hand fall back to his side.

‘Shadow?’

And suddenly, everything around Draco disappeared. He no longer felt the gusts of wind numbing his flesh and bones, no longer heard the deafening sound of the torrents of rain beating down upon the earth…all he could see was Hermione – Starlight – standing there in front of him, imploring him to answer her.

Powerless against the emotions controlling his reasoning, Draco found his hands reaching out to seize Hermione’s wrists and pull her towards him of their own accord. Even though he was shivering uncontrollably, he could feel her heart beating faintly but rapidly through the soaking wet fabric of both his and her robes – or perhaps that was his own heartbeat?

No, he thought feverishly, that doesn’t matter right now. What was important at that instant was Hermione and her being there with him in spite of her better judgment. Blinded by the deliria this knowledge threw him into, Draco found he could no longer restrain himself with reason alone. There was no use resisting; he had abandoned thought and surrendered to desire.

He had crossed the final threshold. There was only one thing left for him to do now.

Gently, he lifted a trembling hand to her chin and tilted her head back. He could see in her eyes a silent plea for him to stop, but that was impossible now. Without thinking, without even considering the weight of his actions, he sealed the remaining distance between them and pressed his lips to hers.

---

His lips were cold. No, that was an understatement; they were like ice against hers. Still, at the exact same time, it was as though long-smothered flames had burst into life within her. Never had she felt like this; like she was falling, falling into eternity; drowning in the sound of her own heartbeat, with only Shadow’s existence to hold onto. It didn’t matter that she was drenched to the core. All she wanted was for Shadow to hold onto her forever.

The kiss was like nothing she had ever experienced. It was reckless and cautious, harsh and tender, passionate and sweet – all at once. The saltiness of what she presumed to be his tears mingled with the droplets of rainwater clinging to their lips, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth; still, she hungered for more. Though she struggled to pull away, she couldn’t gather the will to, and instead ended up leaning further into the kiss.

When they finally did break apart from one another, Hermione found that her cheeks were also streaked with a mixture of rain and tears. As the haze in her mind started clearing away, she continued to cling desperately to Shadow, sobbing for no apparent reason into the front of his robes.

At last she asked shakily, ‘Who are you?’ Pulling away slightly, she touched his mask, and then slid her fingers down to the exposed lower half of his face. ‘Why won’t you tell me?’

Shadow turned his head to the side so that Hermione’s hand fell away. ‘Don’t touch me,’ he said in a strangled voice. ‘Don’t…’

Hermione withdrew her hand and pressed it to her chest, which ached as though someone had thrust a blade through it. ‘Why?’ she asked, tears welling up in her eyes again. ‘Why won’t you believe that I won’t disappear like everything else in your life?’

Shadow glanced at her over his shoulder, and she instantly felt the knife in her heart twist. She had never seen such an anguished expression. In his eyes there existed all the sadness of the world, and she couldn’t help feeling as though it was directed at her.

‘Shadow…’ she said weakly.

He turned away. ‘I can’t tell you for now,’ he said, his voice suddenly callous again.

Before Hermione could open her mouth to protest, he walked away. As if trying to ensure that she wouldn’t call after him, he Disapparated out of sight after a few steps.

Hermione collapsed to the ground next to the fallen Invisibility Cloak. ‘What have I done to deserve this?’ she mumbled into her mud-smeared hands. ‘Why is this happening to me?!’

He had kissed her. Shadow. Was she the one he had spoken of so reverently? No, it couldn’t be. Yet he’d said that he had been watching her. Had he known all along? Why had he kept it a secret if he had known? And why had he kissed her?

Despite all the questions flooding Hermione’s head, she couldn’t get rid of the image of his eyes…those eyes filled with such unimaginable sorrow…they were so much like Draco’s.

Draco.

‘Draco,’ Hermione whispered through chattering teeth, testing the name on her tongue. ‘Draco…’

He was the one her mind strayed to despite Shadow and Ron and everyone else in the world. Above all, she wanted Draco’s forgiveness. She would do anything for it, even get on her knees and beg. He had endured so much pain over the course of his life, and she would rather die than cause him anymore.

‘I’m sorry, Draco,’ she sobbed, hunching over and burying her face in her arms. ‘Forgive me…’

---

The moment Draco arrived back in his flat, he stumbled down the hallway and to the sitting room. There he collapsed on his litter-strewn sofa, too weary and sick of everything around him to even bother reversing his disguises.

He hated her for making him feel so needed. The way she had clung to him like he was the only person she had left in the world; the way she acted with such unfailing compassion towards him regardless of what he said to her. He hated all of it.

‘I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.’ He clutched at his head. ‘I hate her. I…’

He couldn’t say it anymore. In truth, he loved her. He loved her so much that it hurt to keep on loving her, so much that he had to force himself to hate her just so he could breathe everytime she smiled at him. Or perhaps he simply did it out of fear of losing the ability to conceal his emotions he had perfected over the years, because when it came to her, detachment was impossible.

Hermione…

Would he ever muster up the courage to reveal himself? Was he capable of willingly bearing those hideous scars that damned him to a life of cowardice and hatred? No, he didn’t think so. With Shadow, he could hide. He could kiss her and walk away and still have a means of escaping the consequences of his actions in his real self.

‘I’m sorry, Hermione,’ he muttered, recalling the sight of her, the feel of her, the taste of her even as he said her name. ‘Forgive me…’

---

A/N: Okay, so I realised I forgot to let all my MNFF readers know that I've finished writing this fic. Actually, I finished it a few weeks ago, which is why I listed it as finished. The point is, I'm done with the story, so updates should be pretty frequent now. And for those of you who have been asking, there are 33 chapters in total, plus a short, two-part epilogue... so basically 35 chapters.

One last thing – I've begun posting my latest long-term project, a Harry/Draco fic called Some Kind of Miracle, on this site. I know most of you guys aren't Drarry shippers, but if anyone's willing to give the ship a try, you can find the link to SKOM in my author's profile.

That's it for now. Once again, many, many thanks to all my wonderful readers and reviewers *hugs all of you*

Chapter 30: Words Run Dry

The rumours flew. Much to Draco’s chagrin, astonishment, and secret pleasure, when he arrived at work the next day, the first fragments of conversation that reached his ears revealed that Hermione Granger had broken off her engagement with Ron Weasley. Normally such a trivial occurrence would not be a subject of concern within the Ministry, but because Hermione and Ron, having fought alongside Harry Potter, were both esteemed and renowned Aurors, their private lives were consequently under far more scrutiny than the ordinary Ministry worker’s. Furthermore, it was a well-recognised fact that the two of them had been together since their Hogwarts days, so the announcement of a breakup had been most unexpected.

Draco didn’t have much time to reflect upon this surprising news, because as he made his way down the Atrium, he couldn’t help feeling his skin prickle. Was it just his imagination, or were an unusually high number of passers by staring at him with expressions of distrust? His blood ran cold. Could they possibly know about…?

His question was answered when he squeezed into one of the crowded lifts. As it began ascending, he happened to overhear a whispered exchange between two middle-aged witches.

‘I heard she fell in love with someone else,’ the one standing behind Draco was muttering to her companion.

‘Wasn’t it Draco Malfoy?’ her friend whispered back excitedly.

‘Was it really?’

‘Well, you know, Viola – she’s the lovely young lady who works in the Werewolf Capture Unit – says Miss Granger came in just the other day and requested permission for her and Mr Malfoy to take over Madam Malkin’s murder case…’

‘Hmm…well, we mustn’t jump to conclusions, but I do agree that’s quite suspicious. I say, Draco Malfoy! And especially with the high opinion Mr Potter has of him!’

‘Oh yes, but Viola says they despised each other back during their school days. Imagine that!’

‘You oughtn’t be surprised to hear that…Draco Malfoy was once a Death Eater, you know…It’s no wonder he’s involved in this…’

‘But why would Miss Granger go for trouble like him? Really, Mr Weasley is so much better…’

‘Hush, Daphne, he’s right in front of us…’

Throughout the course of this conversation, Draco had been growing steadily more irritated. Now, he turned around and, with every ounce of composure he could muster, said coldly, ‘Yes, and he would appreciate it if old bats like you two would stop gossiping about matters that don’t concern them.’

‘Well!’ said the one named Daphne, sniffing in a highly affronted manner.

‘Come now, Daphne, we get off at this floor…’ Daphne’s friend grabbed her wrist and tugged her away, but not before shooting Draco a look of intense dislike over her shoulder.

Draco rolled his eyes. What did he care if two empty-headed bints like them thought poorly of him? Still, his insides squirmed uncomfortably. If everyone else also believed that he had been the one to break up the happy couple’s relationship, the disapproval of the two secretaries would be the least of his worries…

Sure enough, when Draco stepped into the Hit Wizard Headquarters, all conversation immediately ceased. Several pairs of eyes darted over to him before quickly looking back down. Draco sighed. If that was the way it was going to be…

Ignoring the reaction his arrival had elicited, Draco crossed the room. It was times like this that he was grateful for the assistance Harry had lent him a year ago in obtaining his own private office. He reached the door labelled ‘Draco Malfoy’, pulled it open, and stepped in.

Draco shrugged off his cloak and tossed it carelessly onto his chair with one hand as he shut the door behind him with the other. A neat pile of letters lay on his desk. Draco couldn’t help smirking. As annoying and incompetent Kay was, he had to admit that she was a great help when it came to trivial tasks. He had also seen a great improvement in her abilities as a Hit Witch; just the other day, when she and a group of others had gone to deal with a vampire sighting, the resulting report had stated that she’d been the one to find and subdue the target. Of course, Draco attributed this particular achievement of Kay’s to his influence and guidance.

Sitting down, Draco sifted through the post. The only remotely interesting letter he had received came from Pansy Parkinson, who was currently a prisoner in Azkaban and was scheduled to be released in three months. Draco skimmed it without any real interest before tossing it aside. He cared very little about Pansy’s laments and proclamations of love. Just because she had gone to Azkaban for protecting his whereabouts when she was questioned during the war didn’t mean he owed her anything.

Now there was nothing for him to do. For the past year, his life had revolved around the missions he’d been assigned to and the task of perfecting the Wolfsbane II Potion. At the moment, those missions were on temporary hold due to his involvement in the Malkin case and the Wolfsbane II Potion was done. Or at least he thought so. In truth, even after spending the previous night finishing it, he wasn’t entirely convinced of its effectiveness. It had to be tested…but on what? He had no time; he and Hermione were to set out to track Noah Lawley down the next day, and they needed the potion.

I’ll just have to cross my fingers and hope it works, Draco thought sullenly.

Unwillingly, Draco’s mind now wandered to Hermione. He couldn’t help but wonder if the rumours were true. Had she really broken up with Ron? A tiny spark of hope lit up inside him, only to be extinguished when he realised how much more likely it was that it had been Ron who broke off the engagement and not the other way around. After he had left Hermione in the hall, he’d seen Ron approach her then walk away.

An immense feeling of satisfaction settled in Draco’s gut as he considered the level of his involvement in their relationship troubles. He had known all along that Ron wouldn’t be able to handle Hermione’s friendship with the person he hated the most. Had it then gotten to the point where, after seeing Hermione begging for Draco to forgive her, Ron could no longer stand the burden of pretending to accept Hermione’s opinion of Draco?

I did her a favour, Draco thought viciously. I relieved her of that miserable dunce.

But had he really done her a favour? His mind flashed back to the afternoon before. The hurt in her eyes when he had refused to take off his mask…he couldn’t forget it. The image of her standing in the rain with tears running down her cheeks would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life.

Why had he done it? Even now he didn’t understand. He’d had her standing there before him, all but on her knees and begging for his trust. The chance to steal her away and make her his forever had been presented to him on a platter, yet he had turned it down.

He had to do something. If he kept running away forever, he’d never have her. He had to let her know now, when all ties between her and Ron were on the verge of snapping. Now was the time to tell her everything.

Spurred on by this thought, Draco fumbled around in one of his drawers for parchment. He found some and placed it on his desktop. Taking the quill sitting in his ink bottle, he pulled the parchment towards him and began to write.

Dear Hermione,

Before I say anything else, please allow me to apologise. Since I left you in the park, I’ve been torturing myself replaying our meeting over and over again in my head, remembering everything I said without taking your feelings into consideration. Everything I did yesterday…I’m so sorry for all of it. Most of all, I’m sorry for not finding the courage to reveal myself. I was selfish to think I could keep taking from you without ever giving back. But I’ve realised that now, and it’s time I explained everything to you.

Before the interdepartmental challenge, I had lost all hope of ever finding someone who might understand me. Growing up, I never knew who I was or who I was meant to become. I wandered around, following orders from my superiors and giving them to my inferiors. In doing so, I developed a single goal: to become the Dark Lord’s most valued follower. That goal became my reason for existing, and I devoted my life to fulfilling it. I never stopped to love anyone or anything. But of course, I’ve told you most of this already.

The purpose of this letter is not to explain my background in further depth to you. With this letter, I intend to finally divulge the only two secrets that remain to be disclosed: my feelings and my true name.

I love you, Hermione. I’ve loved you ever since the day we met in the lift after a year of not seeing each other. Perhaps I loved you even before that, when we were still enemies at Hogwarts and later in the war. Perhaps I’ve hated and loved you simultaneously all my life.

But before I delve deeper into that, let me explain the situation to you. Since that chance encounter in the lift, I’ve watched you. At first I did it unconsciously whenever we ran into each other. I thought it was a nuisance that we kept meeting up when I least expected it, but slowly, that began to fade away. I started wanting to spend time with you, because when I was with you, my defences dissolved away and I felt at ease. And the more you persisted in trusting me despite my questionable past, the more I fell for you. You refused to give up on me, and that above all meant the world to me.

That was the real me, the one I knew you could never grow to love. That’s why I relied on Shadow – he allowed me to get close to you and peer into the parts of your heart you opened up to no one else. You trusted Shadow more than you trusted me. But I hurt and betrayed you as Shadow, and I’ll always regret it for as long as I live.

Still, I can’t say it enough: I love you. You’re everything to me, Hermione, and I’m not lying when I say that. You’re the reason why I love, why I hate, why I laugh, why I cry…why I feel anything at all. I had nothing before you, and I’ll have nothing after you leave. Even if you don’t trust me anymore, at least believe my feelings for you. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to repair all the damage I’ve dealt to our relationship, but understand that even if you can’t find it in your heart to love me in return, I’ll never give up on you.

And now for the second secret. Have you realised who I am yet? If not, I’ll keep it from you no longer.

Yours forever,
Draco Malfoy

Draco folded the parchment over twice, tucked it into an envelope, and carefully wrote ‘Hermione Granger’ on the front. However, the moment he finished writing her name, he dropped his quill and pushed the letter away from him as if it were something repulsive. There was no way he could send such a letter to Hermione. He almost laughed at the absurdity of the idea. What had he been thinking?

She was what he had been thinking. She was the one who had reduced him to grovelling for forgiveness. Still, he’d withstand all sorts of humiliation for her. If she would only love him back, he’d do anything. He would never hurt her or lie to her again. That was for sure. He’d be there for her forever, either as Draco or Shadow, whichever one she preferred…he would change himself permanently upon receiving the word from her.

But she still loved her worthless, wretched fiancé. Ron Weasley – the one who did absolutely nothing for her. She stood by him no matter how many times he made her cry or tossed her aside like an accessory. Why?

‘Goddamnit,’ he growled, seizing a cracked paperweight from the open drawer and hurling it at the wall on the other side of the office. The sound of the glass shattering helped relieve some of his frustration, though not very much of it.

And then, as suddenly as it had struck him, Draco’s rage passed. He fell back against the back of his chair, completely spent. What was wrong with him? Was he destined to stay locked in this cycle forever? Always having to bear the weight of his past and present mistakes without the aid of a beacon of light on the horizon…It was a terrible way to live. No potion could save him from that kind of pain; thus, in those years spent in the heart of the forest, he had finally resigned himself to such a life.

But Hermione had given him the chance to escape it. She had reached a hand out to him…and he had passed her by.

Draco looked down at the letter with disgust. He would burn it. Perhaps destroying the evidence would at least smother some of the feelings gripping him. Picking his wand up, Draco muttered, ‘Incen–’

‘Mr Malfoy?’

Draco looked up sharply. Kay had opened the door a crack and poked her head in.

‘What is it?’ he asked, putting his wand back down on the desktop and turning around in his seat.

‘Mr Shacklebolt wants to see you about something.’

‘Can’t it wait a while?’ asked Draco irritably.

Kay blinked. ‘He said it’s about the Malkin murder,’ she offered timidly.

Draco sighed. ‘Fine,’ he said, standing up and tucking his wand into his pocket. ‘By the way, Jamison, send that pile of post sitting on the left side of my desk by owl tomorrow. I won’t be here, so I can’t do it myself.’

‘I will, sir!’ said Kay eagerly. ‘Good luck on your chase tomorrow!’

Draco nodded and walked past her. What does Shacklebolt want? he thought grumpily as he looked around for the Head. I thought I already made it clear that I’m not under his command while I’m working on this case…

‘Malfoy, over here.’

Kingsley was standing with the Head of the Aurors, Gawain Robards, but upon seeing Draco, he left his companion and made his way over to where Draco stood.

‘What is it?’ said Draco, stopping in his tracks.

‘How’s the werewolf situation coming along?’

Draco raised an eyebrow warily. ‘Is that all you wanted to ask me?’

‘Yes and no,’ Kingsley answered seriously. ‘I also wanted to warn you before you leave tomorrow.’

‘Warn me against what?’

Kingsley crossed his arms. ‘Against acting rashly. You might think you’re a bigshot when it comes to manipulating your old mates, Malfoy, but Greyback has got –’

‘I don’t,’ Draco interrupted angrily. ‘I don’t think I’m a bigshot. I know what I’m doing, though. You don’t need to treat me like some overeager trainee going on his first mission.’

‘This is different from the romps I’ve sent you on in the past,’ Kingsley growled, jabbing a finger at Draco’s chest. ‘Greyback has something up his sleeve, and whatever it is, it’s going the way he wants it to right now. He’s a far bigger threat to you than you may think, especially since you’re bringing Hermione Granger along…’

‘I didn’t ask for her to come with me,’ Draco mumbled.

‘Then it’s a damn good thing she made the decision to tag along anyway,’ said Kingsley sharply. ‘I trust her brains to keep your temper in check.’

‘Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?’ said Draco loudly, ignoring the urge to argue Kingsley’s words. Disagreeing with the Head was never a good idea.

Kingsley glared at Draco. ‘Yes. Make sure you take care of her.’

Draco bristled. Of course he would take care of her. What the hell was Kingsley trying to imply? That he would let Hermione get hurt while he was in charge of her?

‘I mean it, Malfoy,’ said Kingsley, his severe tone and expression confirming his words. ‘That’s a direct order from Potter, and I fully support it. Hermione is a good friend of mine, and if anything happens to her because of you…’

‘Weren’t you the one who was just saying she’d be the one to protect me?’ Draco retorted, refusing to be beaten. ‘Keep your hair on, Shacklebolt. I’d rather not be the one taking responsibility for her dead body, anyway.’

Kingsley stared at Draco calculatingly. At last, he said, ‘The werewolf chase wasn’t all I was referring to.’

Before Draco could say anything in reply to this eccentric statement, Kingsley uncrossed his arms and returned to where Robards stood waiting for him. The two of them immediately resumed their previous conversation as they left the Hit Wizard Headquarters together.

Annoyed now, Draco gave the two Heads a minute’s lead before following them out of the office. As he strolled down the main corridor, he tried to concentrate on making plans for the following day’s venture. He would have to bring the potion, of course, regardless of whether or not it was ingestible. But would it be any use? Even if they found the werewolf, it was possible – no, likely – that he had no intention of returning to their side, for Greyback would have certainly poisoned his mind with false ideas concerning the evil of men by now.

So immersed in these concerns was Draco that he almost didn’t look up in time to see Harry and Hermione walk by. He did, however, and stopped almost instantly in his tracks upon seeing them.

Harry appeared to be consoling Hermione about something, for he was gesturing indignantly with one hand while patting her shoulder soothingly with the other. As they passed by, oblivious to Draco’s presence, Harry fell back slightly, allowing Draco a clear view of Hermione’s face.

She was crying. Even though she was trying to hide it with her hands, her tear-streaked cheeks betrayed her. Stunned, Draco reached out a hand and stepped forward, hoping he might catch her attention, but before he could utter a word, Harry looked backwards and saw him.

For a split second, Harry’s expression darkened, but then he shook his head slightly at Draco, a silent warning to stay away. Draco withdrew his hand immediately. Of course – he was most likely part of the reason why Hermione was upset in the first place.

Draco clenched his teeth as he watched Hermione and Harry walk away. It was torturous, being so close to her, yet so far away at the same time. Watching from the sidelines, powerless to do anything…that was how it always ended up.

He exhaled, trying desperately to control his resentment. Now is not the time to be jealous of Potter, he reminded himself. Tomorrow…you’ll have the chance to be alone with her tomorrow…

---

Back in Draco’s office, Kay was humming cheerfully to herself as she busily straightened the last of the items on her boss’s desk.

He’s really not as bad as everyone says he is, she mused, as she picked up a letter addressed to someone named Hermione Granger and glanced at it briefly before placing it on top of the pile of outgoing post. A bit surly, I suppose, but really, I’d be the same if I had gone through all the terrible things that happened to him during the war…

Kay stood back to admire her work. Wouldn’t Mr Malfoy be pleased when he saw how she had organised his things so neatly for him! Satisfied by this thought, Kay turned and left the office, making a mental note to send the post first thing in the morning as she closed the door quietly behind her.

Chapter 31: Shape in the Shadows

‘Were you waiting for long?’

Hermione jumped at the sound of Draco’s voice. Twisting around, she saw him standing behind her. He was wearing a solemn expression and clutching a small phial in one hand.

‘Y-you’re late,’ she stammered nervously.

‘Jumpy, are we?’ he said, though there was no hint of playfulness in his voice. He sat down across the table from Hermione and studied her intently for a few seconds before adding, ‘Sorry for being late.’

‘There’s no need to apologise,’ said Hermione meekly. She looked down at the table, uncomfortably aware of the heat rising in her cheeks. ‘I – that is – I’m –’

She could still feel his eyes on her. Squirming in her seat, she desperately tried to think of something to say, but nothing remotely intelligent came to mind.

‘Malfoy,’ she finally said in a tiny voice, ‘I sort of broke off –’

‘I know,’ he said abruptly, cutting her off. Hermione looked up at him hopefully, but he was staring determinedly down at the phial he held. ‘I heard.’

‘Then you heard the – the part about you?’ Hermione asked timidly, dismayed that the rumours flying around the Ministry had reached Draco’s ears. How humiliating… she thought, covering her face with her hands.

‘I – yes. I heard that too.’

‘Oh.’

‘You can call me by my given name, you know.’

Hermione lowered her hands, astonished. ‘What? Why?’

Draco glared at her. ‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to,’ he said defensively, clearly embarrassed.

Unwittingly, Hermione smiled. ‘I do,’ she said, her mood lifting slightly. ‘I’m just surprised that you offered.’

‘You look like an idiot when you smile like that, Granger,’ said Draco in reply, rolling his eyes.

‘Hermione.’

‘What’s that?’

Hermione smiled again, temporarily forgetting that she wasn’t in any position to be as happy as she felt at the moment. ‘Call me Hermione.’

‘I don’t want to,’ he retorted, but somehow, Hermione knew he was lying. She giggled. Some things would never change.

After a while, a thought struck Hermione. Slowly, she said, ‘Draco…what did you mean the other day? About…leaving all the suffering to you…’

‘Forget it,’ he said immediately, almost as if he had been waiting for her to ask him. He looked embarrassed again. ‘I didn’t mean it.’

Another lie. ‘You don’t have to look after me, you know,’ Hermione insisted. ‘Do you really think you can protect me by pushing me away? Things don’t work like that, Draco.’

‘I’m not protecting you,’ he snapped. ‘Don’t jump to conclusions. I’d just rather not be blamed by all your stupid friends for making you upset.’

‘You don’t make me upset,’ said Hermione softly. ‘I like spending time with you.’

There was no mistaking it now. Draco was actually blushing. ‘Aren’t you the least bit upset about breaking up with Weasley?’ he mumbled, looking away.

Hermione stiffened. In a forced cheerful tone of voice, she replied, ‘That doesn’t matter. I don’t…It never would have worked out anyway. We just need some time apart.’ And I need some time to think about who my heart really belongs to, she added silently to herself.

‘You’re lying,’ said Draco candidly, but he said no more on the subject. ‘Shall we get going, then?’

‘Mmm,’ Hermione murmured, though she showed no signs of wanting to leave. ‘Do you come here often, Draco?’

‘Sometimes,’ he replied with a shrug. He tucked the phial he had been carrying into the breastpocket of the shirt he was wearing beneath his robes and sat back. ‘Why?’

‘I’ve seen you here,’ Hermione explained. ‘You always get blackberry tea, don’t you? With milk and sugar, two cubes on good days and one when you’re not feeling so well.’

Draco looked like he didn’t know whether to be scared or amused by the information Hermione had recited. ‘You really are my stalker, aren’t you?’

Hermione sighed sadly. ‘I don’t think I know enough about you to be your stalker.’

‘You know everything about me.’

She shook her head. ‘What do I know, Draco? I know you were once a Death Eater but switched over to our side at the risk of your own life. I know you carved those cursed scars into yourself when you were being tortured by Voldemort. I know you’ve been brewing an improved version of the Wolfsbane Potion secretly in your basement. But those are all just fragments of your past and present. I don’t know you.’

The corners of Draco’s mouth twitched, as though he were tempted to smile but didn’t know if he was allowed to. ‘I’m twenty-two years old,’ he drawled. ‘I’m introverted, stubborn, and generally apathetic towards the matters of this world that don’t concern me. I –’

‘No,’ Hermione interrupted, ‘that’s not what I mean. I mean I don’t know how you feel about anything or anyone.’

‘I don’t feel.’ Draco’s voice had become characteristically frosty, giving Hermione the impression that he was trying to convince himself of his reply even as he said it. But she didn’t buy it for one second.

‘Everyone feels,’ she said gently. ‘Everyone, no matter how twisted or bruised their heart is, can love and hate and hurt. That’s why I still believe we can save Noah. I’m positive that somewhere deep down inside of him, he hasn’t forgotten what it’s like to be human.’

‘But what if he’s doing all of this because he still remembers?’ Draco asked quietly, leaning forward a little. ‘What if Greyback isn’t really controlling his actions after all? Maybe he just wants to escape from having to feel pain…to experience heartbreak…’

‘Then I’ll remind him that withstanding any sort of heartbreak will always make the aftermath that much better,’ said Hermione firmly. She had no idea where Draco was going with this, but she was determined to make it clear that she wouldn’t give up. ‘Besides, surely the werewolf transformation is just as painful as the downs of being human.’

Draco’s gaze softened. ‘I don’t think you understand,’ he said almost thoughtfully. ‘Not many people are like you. Your capacity to endure emotional suffering is unbelievable. Any regular person living your life right now would have cracked under the strain of it all.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Hermione warily.

‘I mean that you bear the burden of having to choose between the two of them so easily.’

Hermione’s eyes widened. ‘Ch-choose?’

‘Between Weasley and the other one,’ said Draco in a low voice. He had bowed his head so that his his fringe fell over his eyes, shielding them. ‘Choosing who you love more…It must be killing you.’

Hermione’s heart began pounding furiously. ‘How did you –?’

‘As good as you are at tolerating it,’ Draco cut in, ‘you do a shoddy job of covering it up. You never loved Weasley as anything more than a friend. You stayed with him because he gave you safety, comfort, and familiarity. But now you’re falling for someone else, someone much more dangerous, and it worries you. No, it scares you to death. Am I right, Hermione?’

Tears welled up in Hermione’s eyes, but she didn’t even notice. How had Draco known all of that? Was it because she was so terrible at concealing her feelings that Ron had become so protective of her? It had to be.

‘You’re wondering how I figured your feelings out, right?’ said Draco, affirming the questions running through Hermione’s mind. ‘After all, you were hardly aware of them yourself.’

‘I – I don’t understand –’

‘I don’t either.’ Suddenly, Draco sounded less composed, less sure of himself. ‘I don’t understand why you love either of them after they both hurt you so much. How can you be so foolish as to keep going back to them?’

Hermione swiped at the tears now streaming down her cheeks. It was embarrassing, crying like this in front of Draco in a public place, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t stop now that she had begun.

‘I don’t,’ she sobbed, burying her face in her arms. ‘I don’t keep going back them. I keep going back to you, because even when you say awful things or purposely hurt me, I just can’t stay away from you…’

Hermione trailed off there, overcome by the reality of what she was saying. Could it be…was it Draco whom she had loved all along? He was, after all, the one who had been there when she had been plagued by thoughts of Ron or Shadow, the one who had kept her sane with his cynicism and anger and hatred, because all of that was what made him imperfect and, above all, real. It was Draco’s existence that had anchored her to the living, breathing world when she nearly become lost in the abstract visions Shadow had cast around her. Was Draco the one she treasured after all?

It was absurd, yet the idea of loving Draco seemed more rational than anything else in Hermione’s life at the moment. Was it even possible, though?

These thoughts flew out of Hermione’s mind, however, when, to her disbelief, she felt Draco’s hand cover hers. Confused, she looked up, but his face was shadowed by the setting sun. Tentatively, almost fearfully, she turned her hand around so that their palms touched and her fingers curled around his. He didn’t pull away.

‘Thank you,’ she hiccupped, straightening up. She smiled feebly and added in a whisper, ‘I think I’ve made a decision.’

‘Let’s go then,’ said Draco, his voice husky. He stood up and, rather than letting go of Hermione’s hand, waited until she too had gotten out of her seat before he started walking. Together, they headed out of the tea shop and onto the street.

It was strange, Hermione decided dazedly as they went around to the Apparation point located at the back of Brown’s, that she should take comfort in being next to Draco like this. A month earlier, she would have been repulsed by the very thought of holding his hand. Now, however, she felt more lucid and alert than she had felt for a long time, and it was all due to Draco’s presence.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad being in love with him, she thought for one wild moment. If he loved me too…it might work out…

But then she remembered Harry and Ginny and the other Weasleys. What would they think? She had broken off the engagement with Ron because of Shadow, and her getting together with Draco might be the last straw for them…

She shook her head and mentally chided herself. Now was not the time to be thinking of such things. She had to keep her mind focused on the task ahead: finding Noah and convincing him to disclose Greyback’s whereabouts.

When they reached the Apparation point, Draco exhaled loudly. His face was a sickly ashen colour and a grim expression had settled on his features.

Hermione gazed at him sympathetically. The prospect of seeing Greyback again had to be tough for him. Just when he had almost completely severed all ties between him and his past, too…

‘Draco, are you okay?’ she asked carefully. ‘You don’t have to do this. I can go alone.’

‘No,’ he snapped. ‘I told Shacklebolt I’d protect you, and I will.’

Hermione shivered at these words. ‘Fine,’ she said, stepping forward.

Draco nodded. To Hermione’s surprise, he pulled her close to him and muttered, ‘Don’t lose hold of me.’

‘I won’t,’ Hermione whispered, pressing her cheek against Draco’s chest as she clutched onto him tightly. The feeling of having his arms around her like this felt so familiar, like something from a dream…

And then the dream was over as Draco tightened his grip on Hermione and stepped forward into a black, whirling expanse. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat and she shut her eyes, trying to ignore the sensation of being squeezed from all sides. A few seconds later, it was over, and she and Draco were standing at the edge of the Wyrd Woods.

Upon landing, they broke apart and turned to survey their surroundings. As far as Hermione could see, the forest stretched onwards in every direction. It was dark, for the weak rays of the disappearing sun couldn’t penetrate the canopy of leaves, and forebodingly silent. Hermione swallowed.

‘Maybe we should come again when it’s lighter,’ she said weakly.

‘Are you backing out?’ said Draco sharply, looking over at her.

‘No!’ Hermione retorted, folding her arms resolutely. ‘I’m just saying that it’s not safe to wander around in unfamiliar territory after nightfall. Especially if the unfamiliar territory is a secluded forest home to a pack of werewolves. Not to mention the fact that it’s below freezing…’

‘It sounds to me like you’re backing out,’ said Draco, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. ‘Like I said, if you’re scared, don’t bother. You’ll only be a burden.’

‘I’m going,’ Hermione insisted. To prove her words, she pulled out her wand and whispered, ‘Lumos.’

Draco shot her a penetrating gaze but followed suit nonetheless. ‘Let’s go before it gets any darker.’

They entered the forest. Despite the two beams of light emitting from their wands, it was nearly impossible to see, and Hermione tried to keep as close to Draco she could. Her better judgment was telling her that they had made the wrong choice in going through with the plan, but her determination to get to the bottom of the murder overruled it.

‘Keep your ears open for any sudden noises,’ Draco muttered under his breath as he swept his wandlight across their path. ‘Don’t wander off. And for God’s sake, Hermione, you’re cutting off the circulation in my arm.’

‘Sorry,’ said Hermione sheepishly, only slightly loosening her hold on him.

They continued on in silence. Occasionally Hermione would stop in her tracks, positive that she had heard a branch breaking or leaves rustling, but Draco would lay a hand on her shoulder and tell her, with just a hint of exasperation in his voice, that it was her imagination. Nevertheless, it was evident that Draco was scared, and that above all terrified Hermione.

‘What if they’re not here?’ Hermione asked in a hushed voice as they stopped to rest for a while. Unyielding darkness had fallen around them by now; at least an hour had passed since they entered the woods. ‘We really should come back another time…’

‘I’m going to find him,’ Draco said tersely, but the words seemed to Hermione to be directed more towards himself than towards her. ‘Leave if you want to. I’m not forcing you to stay.’

‘I can’t let you wander around here by yourself!’ Hermione argued. ‘That would –’

She never finished her sentence, for at that moment, she froze. The skin on the back of her neck was prickling threateningly. There was someone behind her.

‘Draco,’ she whispered, her voice cracking from the effort of holding back a scream. ‘Draco, behind me…’

Instantly, Draco swung his wand around and pointed it over Hermione’s shoulder. He was just in time, too, for when Hermione spun around to see who was there, she almost bumped into a pair of gnarled, clawed hands reaching out of the darkness, presumably to grab her while her attention had been elsewhere.

‘Oh my God,’ she said faintly, backing up and nearly bumping into Draco. He responded by seizing her forearms and jerking her behind him.

‘Stay out of sight,’ he said in an undertone. ‘I’ll handle this.’ In a louder voice, he said with surprising coolness, ‘Greyback, you can come out now.’

Almost as if he had been waiting for Draco’s invitation, the owner of the hands emerged from the shadows. As he strolled into the beam of light emitting from Draco’s wand, Hermione shrunk back, horrified.

Years spent living in isolation had made Fenrir Greyback nearly unrecognisable. He had never been clean in any shape or form, but now he appeared to be comprised of more grime than flesh. Indeed, the only features of his Hermione could make out clearly were his eyes. Like two polished, black stones, they glinted with malice beneath a tangle of matted hair.

‘Long time no see, Draco,’ said Greyback. His voice was rough and animal-like. Upon receiving no response from Draco, he grinned, revealing sharp, yellow teeth stained with a substance that looked suspiciously like blood. ‘Why’d you bring the girl along?’

‘She’s none of your concern,’ said Draco shortly. ‘Where’s Noah Lawley?’

‘Haven’t a clue,’ Greyback responded innocently as he casually picked at his teeth with a pointed fingernail, ‘though I s’pose if you handed your pretty friend over, I might be able to sniff around for you.’

Hermione saw Draco’s fists clench tightly at his sides. ‘Tell me where he is,’ he hissed, his voice dangerously low. ‘Don’t make me hex you. You know as well as I do that the boy doesn’t matter to you.’

‘“Don’t make me hex you�,’ Greyback repeated mockingly. ‘S’pect that’s what you said to Amycus before you captured him…’

‘I’m not looking to bring you in today,’ said Draco coldly. ‘Now, where is he?’

Greyback let out a bark of laughter. ‘Hear that, Lawley?’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Someone’s hear looking for you…looks to be from the Ministry…’

There was a faint rustling of leaves, followed by the appearance of a skinny, bedraggled boy. Criss-crossing scars had disfigured the left side of his face; a distrustful scowl marred the right. He wore a torn t-shirt and ripped jeans covered in mud. Right away Hermione recognised him as the man who had been described by both Anna and Mary Hedge.

‘I don’t want anything to do with you,’ Noah said sullenly. He turned, apparently to return to the depths of the forest, but before he could leave, Draco spoke up.

‘Wait!’ he exclaimed, pointing his wand at Noah. ‘Tell me, are you the one who murdered Madam Malkin?’

Noah stared at Draco blankly for a few seconds before answering crossly, ‘None of your business.’

‘I’ll be damned if it isn’t,’ Draco responded angrily. He took a few steps forward. Afraid that she would be left alone, Hermione followed as quietly as possible.

Fenrir inspected Draco almost lazily. ‘A bit feisty, are we now? I’d be careful, now, or your friend is going to joining us for dinner…’

‘LEAVE HER OUT OF THIS!’ Draco bellowed, pointing his wand at Fenrir again. Hermione could see that he was shaking violently.

‘Don’t,’ she said anxiously, reaching out and touching his shoulder. ‘It’s okay. He’s trying to provoke you; he wants you to lose your composure…’

‘Stay back,’ Draco growled. To Greyback, he said venomously, ‘Hand the kid over and I won’t touch you.’

Greyback chuckled. ‘I’m afraid I’m disinclined to acquiesce to your request,’ he drawled. ‘He can’t go back now. Ain’t that right, Lawley?’

Noah looked away. ‘That’s right,’ he mumbled.

‘Why?’ Hermione whispered despairingly. She made a move to approach Noah, but Draco pushed her back.

‘You’ll have your chance in a bit,’ he muttered rapidly to her. ‘I’ll distract Greyback. Wait for the opportune moment to sneak up on Lawley and Apparate him out of here.’

‘Don’t go having private conversations with your girlfriend now, Draco,’ Greyback said loudly before Hermione could protest against Draco’s plan of action. ‘I’m hungry and bored, and you know better than anyone else what that means…’

‘Shut up,’ said Draco calmly, though Hermione could tell he was slowly crumbling under the weight of Greyback’s taunts. ‘If you want to make small talk, tell me how you did it. How did you commit the murder?’

Greyback nodded approvingly. ‘Now there’s a good topic. How did I commit the murder, indeed…what do you say to that, Lawley? You ought to tell him, you’re the one who did it!’ He cackled happily, apparently amused by this fact.

‘Go,’ Draco hissed under his breath. ‘Go, while he’s busy explaining.’

But Hermione stayed put. She wanted to hear what Noah had to say. Now at last the mystery of Madam Malkin’s murder would be solved.

‘Yeah, I did it,’ said Noah stonily. He stared at Draco defiantly. ‘I murdered the old lady. I did it to prove that I’m serious about becoming one of the pack. It wasn’t a full moon, but I did it anyway.’

There was a pause, and then Draco said quietly, ‘Go on.’

‘I was with a group of other people, but I left them. I went down the alley by the shop, broke in through the back door, and attacked her from behind. It was over in a few minutes. I dragged her out and left her propped up against the wall. But I was covered in blood, so I went back inside. He’ – he jabbed a thumb in Greyback’s direction – ‘was waiting for me there. He took the Polyjuice Potion and took on my appearance. While he walked back out through the back alley as me, I cleaned up and left.’

‘What about the Dark Mark?’ Draco asked sharply.

‘That was me,’ Fenrir cut in with a grin. ‘Thought it’d be a nice touch.’

‘Of course,’ said Draco, clearly disgusted.

Meanwhile, Hermione stood stock-still with her mouth hanging open. Too stunned by Noah’s confession, she didn’t even notice when Draco nudged her urgently with his elbow.

He had done it, this teenage boy. He looked barely eighteen, and yet he had murdered someone so violently and cared so little that he could narrate the whole process without a hint of remorse in his voice. Had she been wrong? Would they not be able to persuade him after all?

Unable to hold herself back any longer, Hermione stepped past Draco and into clear view of the two werewolves. Trembling, she turned to Noah and said pleadingly, ‘This isn’t the end, Noah. You…you may have killed her, but that doesn’t mean you have to resign yourself to this kind of life. We can return you to who you were. We have a cure, a cure for your lycanthropy. Please, come with us…we’ll give it to you, we’ll save you, we’ll –’

‘Who the ruddy hell do you think you are?’ Greyback suddenly snarled, approaching Hermione. Before she could move, he had grabbed her wrist roughly and twisted it behind her back, causing her to gasp as pain streaked up her arm. ‘Playtime is over,’ he growled, leering at Hermione and baring his pointed teeth. ‘I reckon it’s time we made a meal out of you.’

‘GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF OF HER!’ Hermione heard Draco shout from behind her, but Greyback paid no attention. It all seemed to happen in slow motion as he raised a clawed hand and brought it down below her right collarbone, just nearly missing her neck. Excruciating pain ripped through her, and she screamed.

Looking down, she saw her own blood pouring out of the wound, staining her shirt crimson. The dark clearing swam before her eyes; Greyback was going to strike again, she knew it, but even though she tried to pull away, she couldn’t move her arm…And then suddenly blackness edged in from every corner, just before she heard someone scream, ‘Crucio!’

---

A/N: The quote “I’m disinclined to acquiesce to your request� is, as most people have probably realised, from Pirates of the Caribbean (a.k.a. the best movie ever, or at least one of them). And the “opportune moment� mention is another reference.

Anyway, today was the last of my high school finals, which means I'm a second semester senior now :D I thought I'd celebrate by posting this chapter. Sadly, this story is over... but never fear, for there are still a few chapters left to post. I will say this about the ending: prepare for a bit of violence, a lot of cheesy lines, and an onslaught of drama ;) The last chapter and epilogue may or may not be a surprise, depending on whether you've read my other fics...

Finally, I'm thinking of starting a Yahoo! group for my fan fiction. It would be mostly for my new fic, Some Kind of Miracle, but readers of ATW and SS could also join and discuss those fics. I dunno... it seemed like a stupid idea at first, but apparently it's all the craze these days :P If anyone is interested, just leave a review saying so, and I might make one.

Chapter 32: Breathing Lies

‘Good evening, Kay!’

‘Hi, Evelyn,’ said Kay with a hurried smile as she ran past her friend down the corridor towards Draco’s office. ‘Sorry, I can’t talk today!’

‘That man’s got you working too hard!’ Evelyn called down the hallway as she waved her friend off with a grin.

Kay laughed as she hastened along. It was true; Mr Malfoy did keep her constantly busy by sending her on small tasks; but she enjoyed it nonetheless. Despite all his curtness, she rather liked her supervisor, for he had helped her improve her abilities immensely over the course of the past month.

But he’s going to be so angry when he finds out I forgot to send his mail this morning! she thought apprehensively as she turned the corner and dashed into the Hit Wizard Headquarters. Panting, she made her way to the back of the room where Draco’s office stood. She threw open the door, ran in and grabbed the pile of letters he had wanted her to send, and hurried back out, glancing up as she did so. The clock on the wall read 6:03 pm.

‘Drat,’ she muttered to herself. She quickened up her pace and left headquarters, oblivious to the curious stares she had elicited from her fellow employees.

When Kay finally reached the Ministry’s Owlery, the first thing she did was lean back against the door and take a few moments to catch her breath. She had run all the way from the Hit Wizard Headquarters, anxious to send the post as soon as possible.

Upon regaining her composure, she took to the task of finding suitable owls. There were at least eight or nine letters in the stack, so more than one owl was needed.

It took but a few minutes for Kay to choose owls and send them off with the letters. Once she was finished, she pressed a palm to her forehead and sighed in relief.

Hopefully he doesn’t mind that I sent them a tad later than he wanted me to, she thought guiltily as she turned and left the Owlery.

---

‘Really, Ron, don’t worry about it. She’ll come around.’

Ron looked at Harry doubtfully. ‘I dunno, mate…she seems pretty serious this time.’

Harry blinked thoughtfully. ‘Well, you did call her a –’

‘Harry!’ Ron exclaimed, turning red. ‘Okay, fine, I shouldn’t have said that. But it’s true, isn’t it? Merlin knows what she’s doing with Malfoy and…and that…that Shadow bloke…’

‘You’ve got to trust her,’ Harry explained patiently. ‘You’ve been going spare trying to figure out what she isn’t telling you, but maybe she’s not telling you for a reason.’

‘The only reason she’d have to not tell me something is if she knew that whatever she was doing was wrong!’ Ron exclaimed crossly.

Harry shrugged. ‘I s’pose girls have their own way of rationalising between what’s wrong and what’s right. But Hermione isn’t stupid, Ron. She knows what she’s doing.’

Ron sighed and kicked at a pile of frozen snow. ‘I just…I just worry that she won’t always be logical about everything. Even Hermione has feelings, you know.’

‘I’m not saying she doesn’t,’ Harry replied, laughing. He clapped Ron on the shoulder. ‘But I’m being honest when I say you shouldn’t let it bother you this much. Remember all those times she swore she’d never talk to you again? I mean, I can’t even count the number of instances where I had to sit between the two of you, trying to make conversation…and now look where you’ve both ended up. You’re nearly married!’

‘Not nearly,’ said Ron sulkily. ‘She broke it off, remember?’

Harry’s expression sobered as he gazed at Ron. They were approaching the Burrow, and the dim light cast by the windows of the house illuminated the worry lining Ron’s face.

‘I guess it’s pointless to keep telling you it’ll all work out, isn’t it?’ said Harry softly as they stepped onto the porch.

Ron nodded sheepishly. ‘You’d feel the same way if you were in my position and it was Ginny breaking up with you, wouldn’t you?’

Harry grinned wickedly. ‘Well…’ he said, pretending to think on it.

‘You’d better!’ Ron threatened. ‘Or I’ll – I’ll –’

‘Glare at me?’ Harry suggested. He laughed. ‘Of course I would, Ron. You know I love her more than anything.’

‘Yeah, yeah, just don’t go into it with me,’ Ron grumbled good-naturedly. He paused, his hand on the doorknob, and smiled at Harry. ‘Thanks for the advice.’

‘Anytime,’ Harry replied, relieved that his friend was smiling again.

When they entered the house, the smell of Mrs Weasley’s cooking was wafting in the air. Both of the boys inhaled deeply before removing their cloaks (Ron tossed his into the corner by the door, and Harry hung his up neatly next to Ginny’s).

‘We’re home, Mum,’ Ron said loudly. He plodded down the hallway and peered into the kitchen.

Mrs Weasley was busy stirring the contents of an enormous pot, but she looked up when her son entered the room. ‘Where have you been?’ she demanded, looking extremely vexed. ‘You missed Fred and George. They just left with Angelina and Alicia.’

‘Did they leave me a good-bye gift?’ said Ron eagerly, perusing the room as if he expected to find a wrapped parcel waiting for him.

‘No,’ said Mrs Weasley exasperatedly, ‘they told me to tell you that they know you stole that box of Memory-Enhancing Potion and are planning to hire extra security to make sure you don’t try to nick something from their store again.’

Ron spluttered angrily. ‘I’m their brother!’

‘Well, don’t complain to me about it!’ Mrs Weasley replied snippily. ‘And for heaven’s sake, Ron, take off your trainers!’

‘Hi, Mrs Weasley,’ said Harry as he entered the kitchen as well. He started as he looked around. ‘Where’s Ginny?’

Mrs Weasley smiled wearily at Harry. ‘Good evening, Harry dear. She had to meet with Robards, so she’ll be a bit late for dinner.’

‘Oh, okay,’ said Harry as he sat down at his usual seat. He looked up at Ron inquisitively. ‘Aren’t you going to sit down?’

Ron’s eyebrows were furrowed thoughtfully. ‘Do you hear something?’

Harry blinked. ‘No…’

Ron, however, ignored Harry’s response and walked over to the window on the other side of the room. ‘Aha!’ he exclaimed, opening it. A small, rotund owl flew in, its wings dotted with snowflakes.

‘Oh dear, I didn’t notice it tapping at the window!’ said Mrs Weasley, hurrying over to the owl, which had landed on the counter. ‘It looks like it has a letter for you, Ron,’ she added as she picked the owl up and examined it.

Ron took the letter from his mother. Unrolling it, he frowned. ‘It’s for Hermione.’

Mrs Weasley and Harry exchanged panicky looks at the mention of Hermione.

‘Give it here, then,’ said Mrs Weasley nervously, shuffling over to Ron and attempting to take the letter from him. ‘I’ll leave it in her bedroom…she’s probably still out looking for werewolves, the poor girl…’

‘No, wait,’ said Ron sharply, veering away from his mother’s outstretched hand. ‘This handwriting looks familiar…’

Slowly, almost jerkily, he made his way over to the dining table and sat down across from Harry. Mrs Weasley followed, twisting her hands anxiously.

‘That’s Malfoy’s handwriting,’ said Harry without thinking. The moment the words left his lips, he clapped a hand over his mouth. ‘Er, I mean –’

‘Is that so?’ said Ron angrily. Ignoring his mother’s attempts to snatch the letter away, he unfolded it and began reading.

The seconds ticked by. Harry watched Ron’s face carefully for any signs of emotion. For a moment, he considered pulling out his wand in case Ron needed to be subdued in any way after finishing the letter, but Mrs Weasley’s presence stopped him.

Finally, Ron put the letter down. For a very long time he sat still, hunched over and unmoving. Then, at last, he stood up.

‘Where does Malfoy live?’ he said stiffly to Harry.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, somewhat alarmed. ‘Er…’

‘Never mind, I’ll find out myself,’ said Ron, cutting Harry off. His fists, Harry could see, were clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles had turned white.

‘Ron…’ Harry tried to say, very worried now. He made to get up, but Ron gestured for him to stay seated.

‘Don’t worry, Harry, I won’t do anything illegal,’ he said grimly.

‘Ron!’ exclaimed Mrs Weasley from across the table apprehensively. She glanced at the letter lying on the table. ‘What did it say?’

Before Harry could reach over and grab it, however, Ron stalked out of the room.

‘Uh oh,’ said Harry warily. He looked from the letter to the doorway Ron had just walked through, torn between finding out what it was that had thrown Ron into such a curious mood and going after Ron to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. Finally, his curiosity won over, and he picked up the letter.

Harry skimmed the words in record time. When he dropped the sheet of parchment, his face was ashen.

‘What is it?’ Mrs Weasley asked anxiously. She seemed almost too afraid to ask.

Harry swallowed. He tried several times to get the words out, but they were stuck in his throat. Finally, he managed to squeak, ‘Apparently Malfoy was Shadow all along.’

---

A/N: I know this chapter was short and pretty boring, so please, with all due respect, don't complain about it. I meant for it to be a filler chapter when I outlined it, and seeing as it gets the point across, I didn't feel any need to change it.

I've started the Yahoo! group I mentioned in the last chapter, so you guys can join (link: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/anniesfanfiction/) if you have any particular questions or comments about this fic or any of my other fics you'd like me to reply to. (Sorry, I usually don't respond to reviews on here; they're too hard to keep track of.)

So, this is it. How will the story culminate in the next and final chapter? What will Ron do once he reaches Draco's flat? And, most importantly, who will Hermione choose – Draco or Ron?

Stay tuned!

Chapter 33: One Final Question

When Hermione came back to, the first thing she felt was a pounding headache. She groaned out loud and turned over – a mistake on her part, for the movement only served to increase the magnitude of the pain splitting her skull.

What happened? she thought groggily, trying to remember why she had been unconscious through the fogginess in her mind.

After a few minutes, Hermione’s headache began to fade away into a dull throb, and she became gradually aware of the loud scratching of a quill on parchment nearby.

‘Who –?’ she tried to say, but she was unable to utter the remaining words due to her parched throat. She tried to swallow but couldn’t muster up the energy to do so, so she simply closed her eyes and tried to breathe evenly.

‘There’s water on the bedside table,’ an eerily familiar voice suddenly murmured.

Hermione’s eyes flew open. ‘Who’s there?’ she asked shakily as she groped around under the thin sheet covering her for her wand. When she couldn’t find it, she began to panic.

‘How are you feeling?’ A pause. ‘Don’t sit up too quickly. It’ll take another half hour or so before the Blood-Replenishing Potion starts working.’

Hermione groaned out loud as her temples gave another painful throb. ‘Who are you?’ she rasped, struggling to get up despite the warning. The quick rush of blood away from her head, however, made her fall back against the mattress with a grimace.

‘I’m sorry,’ the voice said softly. ‘I didn’t reach you in time. I managed to fend Greyback off, though.’

Slowly, Hermione began to remember. She had been in the forest looking for Noah Lawley…Greyback had attacked her…and then Draco…

‘Draco!’ she gasped, sitting upwards. Her limbs protested angrily. ‘Is Draco –?’

‘He’s fine. Lawley is downstairs at the moment. He’s unconscious, but he will come to in an hour or so.’

Relief flooded through Hermione; relief and confusion. ‘But why –?’

The question died on her lips, however, when she noticed her companion.

He was sitting at a desk pushed against the far corner of the room, his back to Hermione. When she faltered, he turned around to look at her, as though he knew the reason for her loss of words.

‘Shadow?’ Hermione whispered, her voice cracking. It couldn’t be. Why was Shadow there? Hadn’t she just been with Draco? What was going on?

He crossed the room in three long strides, and before Hermione knew it he was kissing her, fervently and desperately. Only when his hands reached up to grip her shoulders was she brought back to her senses. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she pushed him away on instinct.

‘What are you doing?’ she gasped, bringing a trembling hand to her lips. Her head spun as she tried to focus on Shadow’s face, on the mask that hid everything but his silver eyes, the eyes that were currently begging for her to understand.

He fell to his knees next to Hermione and took her hands in his. ‘God, Hermione, I’m so sorry.’ He seemed to be having trouble breathing. ‘I should have told you.’

‘Told me what?’ Hermione asked hysterically. ‘Told me what?’

Instead of answering her question immediately, Shadow reached up and tenderly brushed his fingertips along her cheek. He then leaned forward until their noses were nearly touching, closed his eyes almost fearfully, and breathed, ‘That I love you.’

Before Hermione could even register the meaning of these words, Shadow’s lips were upon hers again and meaning no longer mattered. He kissed her gently and lovingly, yet with a hopeless despair that suggested that even as he held her close to him, even as he wordlessly soothed the fear and confusion and guilt tearing her apart, he was fully aware that the erasure of the world around them would and could not last forever.

Hermione whimpered against Shadow’s mouth; he tilted his head so that their lips locked into place, a perfect and imperfect fit at the same time, and drew her nearer to him, as if to eliminate any and all distance between them. At that moment, Hermione knew.

Sliding her hands up Shadow’s back and up to his face, she gripped the edges of his mask tightly. In one swift motion, she jerked it off.

The mask fell to the ground with a clatter that resounded within the room like a gunshot. Hermione tore herself away, her eyes still shut tightly. She was afraid to open them, afraid to see the face of the man who loved her.

‘So now you know,’ he said, his voice strangled but suddenly chillingly familiar.

Hermione’s eyes flew open, and her blood ran cold. It was not the sort of surprise one usually feels after discovering a shocking secret; indeed, it wasn’t really surprise at all. Rather, what hit Hermione at that very moment when she took in Shadow’s true face was understanding, for she now saw why it was that she had been tested with the torture of loving both of them at once.

Draco Malfoy knelt before her, his face ashen and his eyes lowered, the mask lying still at his feet like the piece of plastic it had always been. Even as Hermione watched, the raven colour of his hair faded away like the cover of night at dawn, revealing shockingly pale blond locks.

‘You,’ she whispered, the word riding on a single exhale of breath.

His lips twisted into a bitter smile. As if to confirm what his face already exposed, he opened one of his clenched fists to reveal a folded paper crane.

‘Surprised, Hermione?’

---

He didn’t know what had gone wrong with the adhesive charm he’d used on the mask, but it didn’t matter anymore. She had taken it off. She had found out.

She was staring at him, her eyes dark with both bewilderment and understanding at once. Slowly, she reached out a shaking hand and touched Draco’s hair as if testing to see if he was tangible and not a mirage before her.

Draco caught her wrist and pulled her to him, crushing her aganst his chest. The paper crane he had conjured drifted to the floor in the process. ‘Don’t say anything,’ he said as she gasped in surprise.

‘Wait!’ she cried, trying to push Draco away. ‘Please, explain what…’

But her voice trailed off helplessly, for Draco had moved up to sit next to her and was holding her face in his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. They were so close now that every breath she exhaled fluttered the strands of hair that had fallen over Draco’s eyes. Her bottom lip trembled and Draco stifled a groan, fighting the urge to kiss her again.

‘Draco…’ she breathed, and Draco could hold back no longer.

He brought his lips to hers with bruising force. They fell backwards onto the bed, Hermione beneath Draco, and Hermione let out a muffled cry of protest. Draco ignored her and began urging her to open her mouth with his tongue as his hands posessively pinned hers to down to the mattress.

Even as fireworks exploded in his mind’s eye, blinding him to reason and pride and control and everything else that no longer mattered, Draco was afraid she wouldn’t respond, afraid she would twist away and break the kiss again. He was sure that if she didn’t kiss him back this time, he’d do something he’d regret.

Relief and disbelief flooded through him, then, when to his shock her lips tentatively parted, allowing him entrance. She was kissing him back, slowly at first but then with almost as much passion and fervour as he was – her way of letting him know that she forgave him. Blind desire erupted within Draco, stronger and more dangerous than ever. He ran his hands up her arms, freeing her wrists and allowing her to reach up and clutch at his shirt. His tongue probed her mouth, tasting her, drinking every part of her in and still wanting more.

Then he felt Hermione’s hands against his chest, pushing him away firmly; he straightened up and gazed down at her, his eyes clouded with confusion and want.

‘Draco – I have to – breathe –’ she panted, her eyes half-closed, a smile dancing across her lips.

Draco buried his face in her shoulder. Each breath of air he drew in seemed to tear his chest apart; or maybe that was just the feeling of his heart breaking in despair, because deep down inside he knew that this couldn’t last, that Hermione would be taken away from him, just like everything else he’d ever had.

‘It’s not real,’ he gasped, his voice muffled against her skin. ‘This…it isn’t real…’

‘What are you saying?’ Hermione asked softly, running her fingers down one of his scars, causing him to stiffen involuntarily. She turned so that both she and Draco were lying on their sides, face to face.

Draco could hardly bear into her eyes for fear that if he did, he’d find a confirmation of his doubts there. ‘Hermione, tell me this is real. Tell me.’

‘This is real,’ she said urgently, her voice laced with worry and anxiety. ‘Draco, this isn’t just your imagination. I’m here. I’m not going to disappear like everything else in your life.’

Her words were tempting. Draco wanted to believe them, but he couldn’t. All of this…none of it should have ever happened, he thought despairingly as he entwined his fingers with Hermione’s and kissed her lightly on the lips. He had done this to himself; he had put himself in this mess. If he hadn’t agreed to meet her in the first place, if he had just ignored the first letter she had sent to him…

Hermione let out a shuddering breath when Draco released her. She had a pained expression on her face as she said, ‘Draco, I –’

But she was cut off by a loud crash. Both Hermione and Draco jolted upwards and turned to look at the source of the noise.

Ron stood in the doorway to the bedroom, his freckled face white with shock. His mouth hung agape as he gawked at the sight of Hermione and Draco sitting on the bed next to one another.

‘This – you – how – what –’ he spluttered, clearly without the ability to string two words together.

Draco looked quickly over at Hermione. All the blood had drained out of her face.

‘Ron?’ she choked out. She seemed unable to move. ‘What are you doing here?’

Ron’s face turned red. ‘WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?’ he bellowed, forming his first comprehensible sentence. He was beside himself. ‘GET AWAY FROM HIM!’

At that moment, something inside Draco snapped. Molten fire scorched through him without warning; his skin burned from the very heat of his uncontrollable, full-blown rage. Slowly, without betraying any of the hatred suddenly writhing and coiling inside of him like a heap of serpents, Draco pushed Hermione aside and stood up, drawing his wand as he did so.

‘Weasley,’ he said coldly, his voice chillingly calm. ‘How kind of you to join us.’

‘Back off, Malfoy,’ Ron snarled. Loathing flashed in his clear blue eyes. ‘Don’t you dare come near me.’

But Draco kept walking towards Ron with deliberate, calculated strides. In a dangerously low voice, he hissed, ‘Save your breath, or it will be the last one you ever take.’

Before Ron could react, Draco pointed his wand at him and said venomously, ‘Incarcerous!’

Ron let out a strangled yell as thick ropes flew out of Draco’s wand and wrapped around him, binding his limbs together, tightening until he could scarcely breathe.

‘It’s over, Weasley,’ Draco sneered, bringing his lips right up to Ron’s ear. ‘Say good-bye to her. She’s mine now.’

---

‘Draco!’ Hermione screamed. She scrambled up, pressing a hand to the wound Greyback had inflicted upon her as she got up. ‘Draco, stop it! Don’t hurt him!’

Draco’s shoulders tensed, but other than that, he gave no indication that he had heard Hermione.

Cold horror gripped Hermione’s senses as she stumbled over to Draco, still dizzy from the loss of blood, and tried to pry him away from Ron. Suddenly everything that had happened between her and Ron didn’t matter anymore. All she cared about was getting Ron out of this alive, because she had a terrible feeling that Draco was serious, that he really was going to take Ron’s life. What had happened? When had he reverted back to this cruel, heartless monster?

‘Let him go!’ Hermione pleaded as she tried to wrestle Draco’s wand out of his hand.

‘Hermione, don’t touch him,’ Ron growled, struggling against the ropes that bound him. ‘He’s a lying, manipulative traitor. He’s been lying to you all along!’

At these words, Draco shoved Hermione away, causing her to fall to the floor. ‘Shut the hell up, Weasley,’ he snarled, jabbing his wand against Ron’s throat, causing Ron to choke. ‘I mean it. I won’t hesitate to kill you now.’

Hermione’s eyes widened as Draco’s words reached her in a tone of voice so unlike that which he had used with her earlier. It hit her that he was no longer the Draco she had come to know. He was…he was…

‘NO!’ she screamed, getting to her feet and grabbing Draco’s wrist again. ‘Draco, please, this isn’t what you want! Don’t do this, it’s not you, it’s not –’

‘Hermione, he’s Shadow!’ Ron yelled. ‘Get it into your head – he’s been lying to you.’

Hermione gasped and, in her shock, let go of Draco. ‘What did you say?’ she whispered, horrified.

‘I know what’s been going on!’ he shouted, his face red from the effort of trying to escape the bonds Draco had placed on him. His voice rose as he continued. ‘He sent you a bloody letter, Hermione, telling you he loves you. We read it, Harry and I. I read it. Do you love him? CAN YOU LOVE SOMEONE LIKE HIM?’

‘Cruci –’

‘YES!’

The small room fell silent. The incantation died on Draco’s lips and Ron stopped his struggles as both of them raised their eyes to stare at Hermione, astounded by what she had said.

‘Yes, I do!’ she cried, burying her face in her hands. In her mind, the same thoughts kept repeating themselves over and over again: Buy time…stall him…keep talking…save them both… ‘I love Draco. I don’t know how or when or even why, but I do love him, Ron.’

‘You – what?’ Ron finally managed to say hoarsely. ‘Hermione, this isn’t funny, you can’t –’

‘That’s enough,’ Draco growled, flicking his wrist so that Ron flew across the room and slammed against the far wall with a dull thud. Hermione screamed and tried to run over to him but Draco grabbed her wrist before she could move and twisted her around to face him.

A shudder passed through Hermione when she saw the bare trust gleaming in the depths of Draco’s silver orbs. The layers of hatred, scorn, and suspicion had finally been stripped away, leaving Draco…vulnerable. At that moment, Hermione knew that she was being offered his very soul.

‘Is it true?’ he asked, his voice shaking uncontrollably. ‘Hermione, if you’re lying to me…’

‘I would never lie to you, not after how honest you’ve been with me,’ Hermione said softly, and even though she was petrified inside, she raised a hand and touched Draco’s cheek gently. ‘I do love you.’

‘“Friendship isn’t about giving and taking equal amounts�,’ he quoted sadly, his eyes boring into hers as he waited for her to reveal her true intentions. ‘Tell me…this is real.’

‘It’s real!’ Hermione said for the second time as she tried to edge towards Ron without catching Draco’s attention. ‘If these feelings aren’t real, Draco, I don’t know what else is!’

He caught her wrist again. ‘If you go back to him, I’ll kill him,’ he said coldly, and suddenly the gleam of trust in his eyes was put out, like the ghost of a flame disappearing in the wind. He pointed his wand at Ron, who lay crumpled against the far wall.

Hermione froze. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she whispered, desperation rising in her throat, causing her to choke on her words. ‘I believed you! I thought you had changed!’

Draco’s eyes narrowed. He said nothing.

Hermione shook her head weakly. ‘You deceived me…’

Draco’s grip on Hermione’s wrist tightened. In a voice dripping with bitterness, he hissed, ‘It’s me or him, Hermione.’

If she could have found the strength to, Hermione would have broken down into tears. As it was, she was too uncertain, too afraid, too miserable to do anything but stare helplessly at Draco. He had presented her with the ultimate ultimatum: choosing between the two people she couldn’t live without. Regardless of the choice she made, she would end up losing one of them.

There was a sense of heartbreaking finality in the moment. Hermione couldn’t help remembering the words Draco and Robards had both said to her: ‘Because who knows what would happen if you actually did something without permission for once?’…‘You know I’m not stupid enough to expect you to do something without giving you exact guidelines first, Granger’…

Could she do it? Was she capable of acting according to her own heart’s desire for once? Hermione and Ron belong together, they had all said. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps that was why she was afraid of being with Draco – he wasn’t expected, he wasn’t predictable. Draco lived without rules. Was it even possible for her, then, to prove them wrong?

Hermione turned and looked hopelessly at Ron: at the open, trusting face, into the bright blue eyes that held nothing but warmth, comfort, security…He had loved her all along; he had always been there when she needed someone to hold her…

Her gaze flicked over to Draco. The tumultuous grey eyes that met hers were full to the brim with passion, desire, desperation, all partially shrouded by mistrust. His pale features stood out in the dim lighting, marred by the two hideous scars he bore as a sign of his sins.

Understanding dawned upon her. Draco would always keep her falling – falling forever with no bottom. She knew at least with Ron that she could count on him to be there to catch her, no matter the circumstances. She would surrender the feelings for Draco that had been brewing just below her consciousness for the past few weeks if she could only have those arms to prevent her from plummeting into that dark, bottomless pit.

And at that instant, she knew. Even though it ripped her apart inside, even though her heart screamed in fierce protest, she knew what she had to do.

---

‘Malfoy.’ The word was like a sharpened blade, piercing into Draco’s heart, splintering his soul.

His raised arm fell to his side, and his wand fell to the floor with a clatter.

‘I’m sorry. I can’t stay with you knowing you could turn into…knowing you’re not…I just…it’s Ron I want to be with.’

Draco saw Hermione brace herself. He knew she was expecting him to lose his mind, but he didn’t. He didn’t scream or curse or even pick up his wand and kill Ron like he had sworn he would. Instead, he smiled. He smiled at the irony of it all.

In the end, it had been his obsessive love for her that had driven her back into Ron’s arms.

‘I see,’ he murmured sadly. His voice never wavered, even though he was dying inside. ‘I guess ice always shatters before it melts, huh?’

Draco saw the tortured look in her eyes. He knew she loved him hopelessly; he had known it all along. But he also knew that he had pushed her trust too far. The grounds they had built everything on had been too fragile to bear the weight of reality. He had been too late to repair all the damage his mistakes had caused, too late to tell her, and he was paying the price for it now.

In the end, it had all just been a cruel illusion.

Hermione stepped up to him, and he flinched. ‘I love you,’ she whispered into his ear. He stiffened. ‘I don’t know how or why, but I do.’ She inhaled sharply. ‘I can’t stay with you, though. You understand, don’t you…Shadow?’

‘No,’ Draco said bitterly. He took her face in his hands and leaned down. ‘I’ll never understand,’ he breathed, and then he kissed her one last time. As their lips met, he felt his heart burst open and all the pain and hatred he had kept bottled up inside swell out, rising until it flowed through his mouth and into hers.

Gently, she pushed him away. ‘This has to end here.’ Her eyes were hard and determined, but Draco saw the slightest quiver in her lower lip.

‘Get out,’ he said, his voice harsh and callous. ‘Take him and leave.’

Without a word, Hermione tore herself away from Draco and ran over to Ron. Draco slashed the air in front of him with his wand, and the ropes binding Ron split cleanly and fell away, dissolving into nothingness before they hit the floor.

‘Ron,’ Hermione gasped, falling to her knees beside him and grabbing his shoulders. ‘Ron, are you okay? Can you breathe?’

‘GET OUT!’ Draco snarled, jabbing his wand at the door, which consequently flew open with a bang. His chest rose up and down as he struggled to breathe through his tightly constricted throat. He couldn’t take it…he couldn’t stand to look at her anymore…

Hermione didn’t look once in Draco’s direction as she helped Ron to his feet and let him lean on her shoulder. They left the room together, hand in hand, side by side. Long after the echoes of their footsteps died away, long after the sound of his front door opening and closing reached his ears, Draco continued to stare unblinkingly into the blackness outside the empty doorway.

He felt something clawing at his insides, a ferocious creature straining to get out. It was agonising. Never before had he felt so strongly. He couldn’t understand it at all. If Draco had looked into a mirror then, he wouldn’t even have recognised his own grey eyes; the pain brewing there had turned them an endless shade of black.

Slowly, as if in a dreamlike state, Draco walked over to his bed. He touched the sheets, remembering how Hermione had lain there less than an hour ago, making false promises of forever that turned out to be nothing after all. Angrily, he grabbed his pillow and flung it away.

The mirror was still there, its golden frame glowing in the dimness. Draco picked it up. It was heavier than he remembered, but he held it up anyway and looked into it.

He could scarcely make out his own reflection, save for his eyes which glinted like two chips of silver. Fearfully, he brought the mirror closer to his face, touched his dry, feverish lips to the cold, smooth glass surface, and whispered, ‘Starlight.’

Draco waited with bated breath, praying, hoping with everything he had…

Minutes dragged on and the face of the mirror remained blank. Cold realisation began to descend upon him; he fought it away ferociously. It had to work. She had said it would…

‘Hermione Granger,’ he said almost pleadingly. ‘Hermione. Hermione. Hermione…’

But still the only image reflected on the mirror’s surface was his own pale, scarred face, blurred by the tears in his eyes. The mirror showed only the truth; the truth Draco had lived with all his miserable, desolate life; the truth that he was alone in the world.

‘So, if you ever need me, just say my name…’

Draco glared at his hateful reflection. He needed her now; where was she?

‘…the charm only ceases to function when one side of the partnership leaves the other for good…’

Magic was never literal, and Draco wasn’t a fool. He knew that the dissolution of the charm meant only one thing: Hermione had left him for good, left him to live out the rest of his pitiful existence on his own. Truth had been restored.

And in the fleeting moment following this terrible realisation, Draco’s heart broke. A wild look appeared in his eyes, and he hurled the mirror at the opposite wall. It smashed against the corner of his desk and shattered. Draco watched impassively as the splinters of glass showered the floor, sparkling in the candlelight like snow, or perhaps rain, in the sun.

He left the room and went down to the basement. Noah Lawley was waiting for him there.

‘Who are you?’ Lawley demanded, standing up abruptly upon Draco’s entry.

Draco stared at him blankly. Without saying a word, he reached into his pocket, pulled out the phial he had brought with him, and held it out.

‘What is that?’ Lawley asked, eyeing the phial warily. ‘What do you want me to do with it?’

‘Drink it,’ Draco said harshly. His fist clenched around the glass tube tightly. ‘We went to you to give you this. It will dissolve your lycanthropy.’

Mistrust settled in the twisted lines of Lawley’s scarred face. ‘There’s no such thing,’ he said angrily.

‘There is now,’ Draco spat out. He was shaking with rage. ‘Take it. Now.’

‘I’m not trusting you,’ Lawley insisted, crossing his arms obstinately. There was fear mixed in with doubt now. ‘For all I know you’re trying to give me some potion to tranquilise me so you can take me to the Ministry. I – I don’t want anything to do with the Ministry. I want to go back to Greyback.’

‘Why the fuck would you do that?’ Draco growled. He approached Lawley. ‘You may be too young to understand right now, but Greyback could care less about you. He wants to use you for his own purposes.’

‘Shut up!’ Lawley shouted, backing away from Draco. His eyes widened. ‘You Ministry crackpots are exactly like Greyback told me. He said you’d try to turn me against him. I’m not stupid, y’know!’

‘You’re putting on a damn good show of it, then,’ Draco snarled. He grabbed the front of Lawley’s shirt and slammed him against the wall. Bringing his face right up to Lawley’s, he said venomously, ‘Look at me. I got these scars from dark magic, just like you, and because of them I’ve lived through hell all my life. Do you want to end up like that? Do you?’

Lawley gritted his teeth. ‘Get away from me!’ he whimpered.

Draco released him. Taking a few steps back, he asked in a chillingly calm voice, ‘Tell me, Lawley…what is it like to be a werewolf? Describe your transformations for me.’

Lawley shuddered noticeably. ‘What…’ He faltered and licked his chapped lips. ‘What’s it to you?’

‘I’d like to know before I force this potion down your throat,’ Draco said almost pleasantly. His mouth curved into a sinister half-smile. ‘Go ahead. Tell me. Do you enjoy the feeling of having your limbs brutally torn apart and pieced back together? Do you like the sensation of cursed blood flowing through your veins and poisoning your senses? Or…’

Draco trailed off. His smile widened at the sight of the absolute terror that had settled on Noah’s warped features. ‘Or did you choose lycanthropy to escape everything else?’ he finished softly.

Lawley recoiled.

‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of,’ Draco said coolly. ‘But before I get into that, take the potion.’ He held it out again. ‘You and I both know that getting involved with Greyback is going to not going to take you anywhere you want to be.’

In spite of his projected confidence, Draco was surprised when Lawley reached out and took the phial of Wolfsbane II Potion from him. He had not expected the werewolf to give in so easily.

‘You won’t – Greyback can’t find out, right?’ Lawley asked, his voice trembling.

‘No.’

‘And it’s safe?’

‘It’s – yes.’

Not seeming to notice Draco’s hesitation in answering his last question, Lawley took the stopper out of the phial and stared at its contents nervously. Then, after several minutes of contemplation, he brought it to his lips, closed his eyes tightly, and downed the potion.

He gasped and dropped the phial. His face contorted as he clenched his fists and doubled over, apparently in great pain. Draco watched on impassively. He no longer cared whether the potion was a success or not; he had already made up his mind about what to do.

The seconds ticked by. Finally, Lawley straightened up and wiped the sweat from his brow. He gazed at Draco fearfully with dilated pupils. ‘How – how do I know if it worked?’ he rasped.

‘Wait.’ Draco walked up to Lawley. The broken fragments of the phial crunched under his feet. ‘Wait until the next full moon. See what happens.’

‘I feel different,’ Lawley said uncertainly. ‘Like – I dunno…’

‘Take that as a sign that it worked then,’ Draco said coldly. ‘Now answer my earlier question. Why did you join Greyback?’

Lawley averted his eyes. ‘My mum died in the war,’ he said softly. ‘I was living by myself, and I…I was just tired of life. But I didn’t mean to – to get bitten. But it happened, and I had no one to turn to, so Greyback took me in. He told me…he said –’

‘Did it work?’ Draco interrupted.

‘What?’

‘Did your transformations ease your burdens?’

Lawley straightened up. ‘No, not really,’ he said almost sadly. ‘I only had one night every month. The physical pain helped me forget, but other than that…I only really felt better when I was’ – he winced – ‘killing.’

Draco nodded slowly. Stepping back, he said, ‘But it still worked.’

‘It wasn’t worth it though,’ Lawley said. There was now a suspicious gleam in his eyes. He seemed to know exactly what Draco was thinking. ‘I regret going along with it.’

Narrowing his eyes, Draco said in a low voice, ‘That’s enough. You can leave my house now. Go to the Ministry and explain your situation. Say that you were brought in by Draco Malfoy and – and Hermione Granger.’

Lawley started, as though Draco’s words had reminded him of something. ‘That Hermione Granger lady…’ he said as he began making his way to the stairs. ‘Do you love her?’

Draco stepped back involuntarily. ‘What?’ he hissed.

‘Just a hunch,’ Lawley said with a shrug, but Draco could tell that despite the boy’s stupidity, he understood. ‘The way you protected her back in the forest…I figured…’

Unable to stand it anymore, Draco whipped out his wand. ‘Leave,’ he ordered, pointing it at Lawley’s chest. ‘I’ve already done more for you than you deserve.’

‘O-okay,’ Lawley stammered. Without another word, he spun around and stumbled up the stairs.

With the sound of his own ragged breathing echoing in his ears, Draco crossed the room in short, brisk strides. He stopped next to the cauldron of Wolfsbane II Potion. Without second thought, he Vanished its contents.

It was all over. Draco’s wand fell out of his hand as he collapsed to the ground at the base of the cauldron. Everything he had worked for, everything he had lived for…He no longer had anything but the unbearable agony festering in the depths of his soul, curdling the blood in his veins, consuming all intelligible thought and leaving behind raw emotion.

‘Yes,’ he choked out as tears streamed down his face and ran down the ridges of his scars. ‘Yes, I love her…’

Night fell around Draco’s flat, but he didn’t move. Once, the house-elf peeped down into the basement, but, upon seeing his master’s hunched form, returned to cleaning the sitting room without a word. He had been with his master for many years, and thus knew exactly when to interfere and when to stay away.

Many hours passed before Draco finally stood up, picking up his wand as he did so. He was going to see Greyback.

He walked over to the staircase and stopped at its base. The combined luminescence of the moon and stars streaming in from the kitchen windows fell through the doorway down to where he stood, casting pale pools of light on each individual step. Draco glanced over his shoulder at the countless cauldrons he so carefully tended over the years. Their shadows, fearful of the invading light, now pervaded the room, patches of black against the otherwise dimly lit concrete floor.

Draco sighed. He slowly climbed the stairs. Once he stepped onto the kitchen floor, he shut the door behind him quietly, locking the basement in darkness once again.

He walked over to the front door and opened it. The night sky was strewn with stars, and he paused in the doorway to gaze at them. Unwittingly, his lips moved, silently forming her name for the last time.

‘Starlight…’


Sometimes you hold so tight it slips right through your hands
Will I ever understand?

Nick Lachey – I Can’t Hate You Anymore

---

A/N: *hides* Okay, so before you all scurry off to leave reviews expressing your frustration/anger/disappointment/etc., let me say that THIS IS NOT THE END OF THE STORY. I won't guarantee that things will look up for Draco and Hermione, but there's not much closure in this chapter, and the two-part epilogue will answer the few questions left open.

Now, I understand that this isn't exactly the happiest of endings. I've received quite a bit of negative feedback about it, but I'm sorry to say that I'm leaving the chapter the way it is for several reasons. However, I'm giving you guys the chance to write your own versions of the epilogue (or even rewrite this chapter). I would love to read whatever endings you guys had in mind and post links to them for everyone else to check out as well, so if you do fancy giving it a shot, give me a holler :) It can be anytime you want, whether before or after I post the rest of this fic.

Anyway, I'll stop rambling now. THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who's followed ATW up until now. Wait until I post the rest to hasten away, though, because the story's not over yet!

Loving you isn’t something I should do
Shouldn’t want to spend my time with you
Well, I should try to be strong
But, baby, you’re the right kind of wrong
I should try to run, but I just can't seem to
‘Cause every time I run, you're the one I run to

LeAnn Rimes - Right Kind of Wrong


Epilogue Part One: A World With No More Night

‘Hermione…’

‘I’m fine, Ron,’ Hermione said shakily, turning away to hide her tears from Ron. ‘I just…I need some time alone…’

Upon leaving Draco’s flat, they had promptly apparated back to the Burrow. At the moment, they were standing outside the Apparation shack, both uncomfortably aware that nothing between them would ever be the same again. It was an awkward feeling, especially for two childhood friends.

‘I can’t really say I’m sorry; you know that, right?’

‘I know.’ Hermione gazed at the ground where the frozen remnants of the last snowfall still remained, stubbornly refusing to melt in spite of the many rainstorms since. In truth, she didn’t even want Ron to be sorry. ‘I am, though.’

‘It – it wasn’t your fault…’

Hermione didn’t say anything. Ron had misinterpreted her comment, but there was no need to correct him.

‘C’mon, let’s go back inside…We can forget this ever happened…’

I don’t want to, a tiny voice in her head protested. I can’t just pretend that the last month didn’t exist!

‘Go ahead,’ she said out loud. ‘I need a few minutes right now.’

‘Are you sure?’ Ron asked doubtfully. It was clear that he still thought she’d choose Draco over him after everything. ‘I’ll stay with you.’

‘I don’t need you to stay,’ Hermione said almost angrily. ‘Honestly, Ron, I’ll be fine. He’s not going to come for me now. I made my choice. He accepted it.’

Ron narrowed his eyes. ‘Fine,’ he said in a low voice.

Hermione watched Ron walk away and told herself she would grow to love him unconditionally again. But even though she believed it, she couldn’t erase the traces of a different kind of love Draco had left behind in her life. Dangerous, dark, unpredictable. Just like him. He had lied to her and made her believe he was someone he wasn’t, but he had loved her – perhaps even more so than she loved him.

She realised then and there that she would never be able to forgive herself for everything she had done to Ron, to Draco, to herself.

Hermione leaned back against the rain-soaked wood of the Weasleys’ Apparation shack and let herself cry. She had to get over it. She had to move on. She would move on. But for now, the best she could do was cry and hope for the pain to ease on its own.

---

Two months passed before Hermione saw Draco again. When they finally did meet again, it was in Brown’s, the little tea shop across the street from the Ministry.

The first thing she thought when she saw him sitting at his usual table with his usual order was that he looked different. His hair was thinner and ragged; his normally pale skin had a wan, greyish tint to it. Some of the pride he had once carried his shoulders high with was gone, and he looked exhausted.

When Hermione approached him, he looked up with vacant, bloodshot eyes. The grey of his pupils was hardly recognisable; it was more of a washed-out shade of black. The unseeing gaze he fixed on Hermione was blank, but not in the guarded manner Hermione was accustomed to. If anything, it was more of a complete absence of emotion than a careful containment of it.

‘Draco?’ she said tentatively.

The sound of Hermione’s voice seemed to rouse Draco out of his seemingly subconscious state. He looked back down at his half-empty cup of tea.

‘Can I sit down?’

He shook his head. Hermione sat down anyway.

When Draco didn’t say anything, Hermione asked in a voice barely above a whisper, ‘How…are you all right?’

He shook his head again. Hermione’s sharp intake of breath went by unheard in the pleasant buzz of conversation pervading the room.

‘I haven’t seen you around in the Ministry,’ she tried again. His sickly demeanour was beginning to frighten her.

He swirled the contents of his teacup around, still refusing to meet her eyes. Hermione noticed that his hands were covered in scratches and shallow cuts.

Sighing, she stood up. The words ‘I’m sorry’ sat on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them. She didn’t want to dwell on something she couldn’t take back. Bringing up that day would only make the process of forgetting more difficult than it already was.

‘Bye, Draco,’ she said softly.

She turned and began walking back to the table she had been waiting for Ron at before she saw Draco. She had only taken three steps, however, when Draco spoke.

‘Hermione.’ His voice was rough, like gravel grinding against cement. She froze in her tracks. ‘Don’t look at me,’ he said hastily before she could turn around. ‘This is probably the last time we’ll ever meet. I have other business to attend to from now on, so don’t ask around if you stop hearing word of me. Just…let me say one last thing.’

Hermione stood still, her back turned to Draco. Her heart was beating so quickly that she was starting to feel dizzy. Or maybe that was just because Draco was finally addressing her.

For one long, torturous moment, Draco didn’t say anything. Then, in a whisper that somehow managed to penetrate the mingled conversations in the room and reach Hermione’s ears, he said something so simple and yet so terrifying that Hermione’s rapidly beating heart suddenly slammed to a shuddering stop.

‘I love you.’

Hermione had no time to react to his words, because the moment her brain processed them, she felt the brush of his shoulder against hers as he strode past, his head bowed to avoid catching her eye. Before she could stop him, he had left the shop. The wooden door swung closed behind him, slamming against the doorframe so forcefully that Hermione almost felt the impact of it. She reeled backwards and fell onto the seat she had just vacated without thinking.

She was free. He’d let her go for good, and she was free to live the way she had before she became one with Starlight. But if she was free, why was she so irrevocably miserable?

Impulsively, Hermione touched the scar just below her right collarbone – the scar Greyback had left behind. The wound cut deep into and across her flesh, an ugly imperfection on her otherwise smooth skin. It was a sibling to the pair that marred Draco’s face. Like Draco’s, it would never completely fade away. Instead, it would forever stand as a stark reminder of the deadly consequences of crossing paths with dark magic.

Realisation dawned upon Hermione as she lightly traced the jagged curve of the scar. The answer to her question was simple, really.

The reason why they had worked so well together on the case, the reason for the aching emptiness she felt…It was because Draco had completed her. He was everything she wasn’t: reckless, passionate, daring, and willing to risk it all for something he believed in. He had been her exact complement; he had filled the gaps in her knowledge with his; he had balanced out all of her caution and logic with a frightening kind of truth she’d never known with Ron.

And now, without him, she’d never be whole again.

Take these broken wings
And learn to fly again
And learn to live so free

Clay Aiken – Broken Wings

---

A/N: Yes, I know, it's been a while since I last updated. I've actually had part one and part two written for a few months now, and now I'm finally posting part one as a thank you to the people in my Yahoo! group for being so kind when they requested that I update.

I hate to be repetitive, but here's the rundown again: I'm not going to post part two until I finish the alternate epilogue, which is the one I'm writing for the people who are displeased (to put it lightly) with the end of chapter 32 and demand that I bring Hermione and Draco back together in the epilogue. And I am not doing it for them - I'm doing it for myself, because I'd rather not have people pestering me about the ending of this fic three years from now.

Anyway, the alternate epilogue is still in the works (sorry, I've been so busy with school/college admissions... I haven't even had the time/motivation to write SKOM), so it might be a few weeks or even a few months before I post it and part two. I promise that both will be up eventually.

As always, thanks for reading, and I apologise for the ridiculously long author's note (which, I think, might be even longer than the chapter itself...).

We built it up to watch it fall
Like we meant nothing at all
I gave and gave the best of me
But couldn’t give you what you need
You walked away, you stole my life
Just to find what you’re looking for
But no matter how I try
I can’t hate you anymore

Nick Lachey – I Can’t Hate You Anymore


Epilogue Part Two: Passing Bells and Sculpted Angels

R.I.P. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger
Murdered in a Werewolf Attack

Draco gazed at the gravestone bitterly. A thousand tears he had cried for her – one for every day of torment he’d suffered through since her death. Each one had fallen into the cracks in the stone, into the pungent, damp earth, to remain forever unreciprocated. Still he had returned each night to shed one more tear, hoping, with such diligence and fervour that he’d nearly driven himself mad, that it might just turn the hands of time back and allow him to repair his blunders.

So far, his hopes had not been answered.

Then again, he had never really grasped the notion of hope. He supposed she had implanted that tiny seed of hope within him, a glowing, golden flower which had withered away upon her departure, leaving him colder and emptier than ever. For one glorious moment, he had even imagined a world with her, a world where he would never be alone – a world that had existed only in his mind, and then not at all when she walked away.

Draco lowered himself to the ground and touched the inscription of Hermione’s name. Sighing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an ink bottle with a four-pointed star engraved into its surface. It was half-filled with black ink. Now that he no longer worked at the Ministry, Draco didn’t need it. Nevertheless, he kept the bottle with him always, unable to part with the ink it contained – for it was yet another reminder of Starlight and the letters he’d written to her.

Draco paused for a few seconds, and then placed the ink bottle on the cracked slab of stone that marked Hermione’s grave. He sat back on his heels, willing the fog in his mind to clear. It was nearly time for him to leave, but he wanted just one more moment with her.

He opened his mouth, but could think of nothing to say, so he closed it again. That time in the tea shop had been the last time he saw her before word of her death reached him a month later. Since then, his deal with Greyback combined with her inexorable presence in his mind through it all had made his life living hell. He had myriad things he wanted to say to her, but he realised, as he fought to form coherent thoughts against the sinister power starting to seize control of his mind, that it all really just boiled down to one thing. And even though he had said the words many times, as the dark clouds shielding the moon began to part, Draco didn’t hesitate to whisper them one more time:

‘Hermione, I loved you…’

Draco stood up, leaving the protection of the shadow the gravestone had cast over him and submitting to the full moon’s authority. These were the nights he now lived for: the nights when he found solace in solitude and apathy, in the agony that ripped away his identity and the alluring scent of fresh blood that teased his heightened senses under the solemn moonlight.

His mind shrieked in simultaneous anguish and release the moment his pale skin met the even paler glow of the moon. He collapsed to the ground as translucent tendrils of moonlight tightened around his writhing body, crushing his bones, squeezing his flesh, eroding his skin. A terrible scream ripped from his throat as his human body and thoughts were cleaved apart and moulded back together to form those of the wolf’s. The pain lasted but a few seconds, and when it retreated, a hideous, wolf-like creature stood in Draco’s stead.

The wolf tossed its head and snarled. The cool breeze carried with it the presence of another living creature somewhere nearby, and the desire to kill was suddenly all that mattered. Turning on its heel, the wolf sprang off into the darkness without second thought.

As the creature ran off, one of its long legs grazed the ink bottle sitting at the foot of the gravestone. The bottle teetered dangerously; for a moment, it appeared that it would right itself again, but then it tipped over, hit the stone with a crack that resounded in the still night, and shattered into a million fragments of crystal that gleamed under the luminescent moon.

The ink the bottle had held spread out quickly, running into the cracks in the stone and spiderwebbing outwards like tainted blood flowing through cold, petrified veins. It coloured black a set of words that had been roughly carved into the otherwise blank slab of stone:

A Thousand Words Won’t Bring You Back
I Know Because I’ve Tried
Neither Will A Thousand Tears
I Know Because I’ve Cried

Meanwhile, in the shadows of the forest that surrounded the cemetery, the wolf raced against the wind, whimpering in pleasure as it enjoyed the freedom its silent surroundings allowed it. Overhead, just above the canopy of trees, a snowy owl soared on outspread wings, pure white against the starless black sky. It followed the path of the wolf beneath it for a short distance before swerving away and disappearing off into the distance.

Somewhere, in the deepest recesses of the wolf’s mind, its human side observed the significance of this. It understood, finally, that it was all over, that there was nothing that could prevent it all from ending in such a way.

And, in acknowledging this truth, the wolf’s other self finally conceded defeat. He knew he would never be whole again.


Baby it's all I know
That you're half of the flesh
And blood that makes me whole

Clay Aiken – Broken Wings

---

A/N: First of all, yes, I'm alive. I've been busy with life and other stuff, but none of that is really important right now.

This is the last chapter of A Thousand Words. I've actually had most of it written since I started writing the fic, and I'm happy that the story reached this ending. However, if you want to read an alternate version in which no one dies, please refer to the pre-chapter author's notes.

Now, I'd like to thank every one of you (or at least most of you :P) for being patient and supportive and all that other good stuff. It's been over two years since I posted the first version of ATW on MNFF, and finally, the journey's over. I won't launch into a novel-length author's note like I did in The Sweetest Sin, but I really do appreciate all of your support more than I can express :)

Thanks for reading! If you have any final questions, ask me in my Yahoo! group (link in my profile) or send me an e-mail.