We'll Always Have Paris

We'll Always Have Paris
Chapter 17
(the final chapter)

Hello my friend
We meet again
It's been a while
Where should we begin?
-- "My Sacrifice" by Creed

The door opened, allowing some late summer sunlight and mirthful chatter to trickle into the room. From his chair, he had a perfect view of the door, so he didn't have to turn to see who the new visitors were. Unfortunately, his gaze locked with one of the last two people he'd ever want to see while he was trying to relax and enjoy his newspaper. The other one was there, too, his mouth gaping in boorish astonishment. Both wore identical stunned expressions at seeing him in The Leaky Cauldron, which actually made Draco chuckle. Weasley's mouth opened and closed several times like a fish sucking in air. Draco had always reveled in keeping Ron Weasley off balance. Potter's eyes flickered with surprise, but his response was more subdued than his lanky, red-headed shadow. This was nothing really out of the ordinary from many of their previous run-ins, except, of course, that the usual scowls were absent.

Draco tipped his head in recognition, and then dropped his gaze back to The Daily Prophet on the table in front of him. He willed his body to remain nonchalant and show little reaction to their entrance, but inside he was furious. If his two fiercest enemies weren't properly affronted at his unexpected presence, then how were the rest of his classmates going to receive him? What must everyone be thinking? He had known his first foray into Diagon Alley since The Scandal would be bumpy, which was why he'd arrived early to re-acclimate himself and face down the whispers and pitying looks. After spending four weeks in a New Zealand hospital, which had the best medical team to treat his particularly severe injuries, and two weeks meeting with Ministry officials and Aurors dealing with Lucius' pending trial, Draco wasn't entirely certain he had the strength to withstand a jaunt through Diagon Alley. But she had insisted and would accept nothing less than "yes" for an answer.

So here he sat, waiting for her to arrive and now under the unabashed gaping of those two sodding Gryffindors. He could feel their stares on his lowered head. Damned stubborn witch.

He raised his cup of tea to his lips to take a sip. When the two shadows fell across his table he didn't bother to look up. "I suppose it was asking too much that you would pretend you hadn't seen me and go on your merry little way," he sighed under his breath.

"Saw your father's being held at Ruthven Prison. Couldn't have happened to a nicer bloke." After his friendly opening, Weasley plopped into the seat across from Draco and slid over to make room for Potter. Never mind that Draco hadn't extended an invitation to do so. Simple manners were lost on a Weasley. "What's it like down there anyway? Has Tallulah taken a liking to your old man yet?"

Tallulah was, of course, Ruthven's most infamous guard. The prison was located under a large body of water in Scotland, making escapes difficult. Aurors managed the entire penitentiary, which housed some of the deadliest and most powerful criminals from wizarding communities all over the globe. Because of Lucius' connections, rank, and the plot in which he had participated, his confinement at Ruthven's was not a surprise. Because it was an underwater fortress, a sea serpent patrolled the lake all around it to ensure that if anyone were foolhardy enough to try to escape, they wouldn't get very far. Tallulah had been seen by Muggles on more than one occasion, but thus far, the secrecy of the prison had been shielded from Muggle eyes.

Draco lifted his gaze and looked at the two Gryffindors. "By all means, make yourself comfortable," he drawled sarcastically. "As for Ruthven, I have no idea what the place is like as I haven't had any reason to go there. Contrary to what you Gryffindors may think, simply belonging in Slytherin doesn't automatically make one a criminal."

"You mean you haven't gone to visit your father?"

"Why should I want to visit Lucius? If it were up to me, they could let the man rot in there for all I care."

Potter regarded him shrewdly, openly skeptical about Draco's comments. "He's your father, Malfoy. The man you tried to emulate your entire life," he said disbelievingly.

"The man also tried to squelch the life out of me and …" He stopped short, uncertain of whether or not he wanted to discuss her with them. He assessed the other wizards, unsurprised they were scrutinizing him as fiercely. "Anyway, that's bound to give anyone a new perspective."

He'd almost said it. In the back of his mind, he'd been wondering how long it would take for one of them to mention her. He watched as her two best friends shared a look between them in that unspoken language known only to the Gryffindor Three and knew they'd been wondering the same thing. The taut silence stretched on for a few long moments before Draco finally broke it.

"So, how is she?"

"How's who?" Weasley countered, leaning back casually in his chair.

"Your great grandmum, you dolt. Who do you think I mean?" Draco retorted impatiently. He took a steadying breath as he closed his eyes. "How's Hermione?"

When he opened his eyes, Potter's bright green stare was boring straight into his. "She's fine," he answered and paused briefly before adding, "now. Your father caused some severe damage to her larynx and vocal cords, so she stayed in the hospital wing at Hogwarts for a couple days until they were healed. At first they didn't know if she'd gone too long without enough oxygen to her brain like …"

Potter broke off in mid-sentence, almost like he'd stuck his large, ugly, Muggle-booted foot in his mouth. Which, of course, he had. If some of St. Mungo's top mediwizards hadn't attended the Leaving Ball with their seventh year sons and daughters, Draco would now have the mental capabilities of a Quaffle.

An uncomfortable cloud hovered over the table for a few agonising seconds. In the back of Draco's mind, he knew the polite thing would be to help the hapless Gryffindor get past the awkwardness, but Draco couldn't bring himself to do it. Not that he tried very hard. Besides, he always got a kick out of seeing the great and powerful Harry Potter squirm in his seat. Draco smirked, but Potter continued anyway. "Hermione hadn't been unconscious for long so her injuries were more superficial to her neck and throat."

"She had a pretty bad concussion, too, but Madam Pomfrey healed that right away," Weasley added. "Hermione's throat took a couple of days though. She wasn't allowed to speak for the first forty-eight hours while the healing draught mended the bruised areas. Hermione didn't like that part too much. She kept trying to speak until finally Pomfrey had to silence her with a Silentus charm." Weasley smiled ruefully as he remembered, and Draco couldn't help but grin a bit too. Having to stay in the hospital wing and be quiet for forty-eight hours? She had probably climbed the walls like a trapped cat. "Her voice was scratchy for a while after that, but physically she has had no lasting effects."

Draco nodded and relaxed a bit into his chair. He knew if Hermione had suffered any prolonged damage because of her ordeal, her friends wouldn't hesitate to let him know about it, since the blame lay at his feet. Some form of retribution – most likely embarrassing – would have been involved.

"Of course, you'd know all of this if you'd bothered to get in touch with her," Potter said with more than a touch of reproach. "Did you forget how to use a quill and parchment? Only one letter from you this whole time … and you've been out of the hospital for weeks."

A scathing reply was on the tip of his tongue, but Draco held it back. These two nosy gits didn't need to know the physical and mental effort that one letter had required. His mother had handled all the thank you owls for his gifts and cards, but Draco had insisted on writing the one to Hermione by himself. His motor skills and concentration had been severely impaired by the attack. He couldn't get out of bed on his own for the first week, and he'd practically had to re-learn how to walk when he finally did get to move around. Fortunately, wizarding therapy was more advanced than the Muggle equivalent, so with proper potions, charms, and the best physical and occupational therapists in New Zealand, Draco's body had mended. Wizarding medicine had proven that damaged neural pathways could be regrown in cases of severe brain damage, and the mediwizards in New Zealand led the pack in neural research. As soon as Draco could manage it, he had written a brief letter of apology to Hermione and thanked her for a trilogy of books about hobbits, wizards, and elves she had sent him for his recuperation. But none of that was her friends' business. "My correspondence is none of your concern."

"It is when it makes Hermione even more upset after everything that happened," Weasley spat. "Hell, Malfoy, Hermione wanted to go all the way to New Zealand to see you with her own eyes just to be sure you were all right."

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat before sticking his chin out stubbornly. "I didn't know that. I had assumed, considering what had happened to her because of me, that I would be the last person Hermione would want to see or even think about."

"That goes to show how much you know her," Potter snapped, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. "The moment she regained consciousness, she started asking for you, wanting to know where you were and if you were all right. I think that's why Pomfrey used Silentus on her, for some silence in the ward." He paused as he smoothed a napkin distractedly beneath his hands. "Your mother had already transferred you to New Zealand before Hermione left Hogwarts and could visit you at St. Mungo's."

Draco shook his head. "She wouldn't have been able to see me anyway. It was family only and my mother made sure that rule was adhered to." Draco wished his mother's steadfastness had been out of concern for her son's welfare, but he knew better. She hadn't wanted anyone to see her son so incapacitated because of her husband's own hands. Not that Draco could really blame her. After all, her husband had just been taken into custody for trying to kill his own son and Hogwarts' future Head Girl, and the reporters had circled the hospital like starved vultures. Like the good Malfoy she'd been trained to be, Narcissa had reacted in the most disciplined way to save face for the family. Truth be told, Draco had been relieved by her actions. He couldn't bear for Hermione to have seen him in those early weeks while he was rehabilitating and healing. Even Lissanne, who was an old friend of the family, hadn't seen him until he'd returned to England.

"That doesn't explain why you haven't contacted her since you returned to England. Weren't you the least concerned over how she was doing?" Weasley asked hotly.

"I don't have to justify my actions to you," Draco returned curtly. "My reasons are my own. Besides, the Ministry advised against our family contacting her any further because of the trial. And I don't want anything to foul up keeping Lucius away from her." His sudden outburst of emotion startled him as well as Weasley. But Draco clamped his feelings down and continued in a more nonchalant voice. "In any case, I knew she was on the mend."

"How?"

Draco hesitated for a few moments as he chose his words. "We have a few mutual friends." He left it at that.

The wizards across from him shared another look. Draco vaguely wondered if it was exhausting to share one's brain with another person. It was Potter who spoke for them. "If you cared that much, you should let her know. By now you should have learned that hiding things from Hermione doesn't do her any good. She'll only find out the truth anyway."

"I don't think –"

"It doesn't matter what you think," Potter interrupted, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "If you're healthy enough to come to Diagon Alley, you're bloody well healthy enough to talk to her. The trial starts next week. Wouldn't it be better to clear the air before seeing her at the courthouse?"

While Draco pondered this, the Enlightened One continued his little speech, although he did lower his voice a bit. "Malfoy, I understand why you did what you did." This earned him a raised eyebrow. "If I had been faced with the same dilemma your father and Voldemort had orchestrated, I probably would have done the same thing. More importantly, Hermione understands it too."

Draco looked questioningly at Ron as if to get corroboration on this remark. "He's right, you stupid sod," Weasley assured him in his oh-so-sensitive way. "You did what you did to protect Hermione and her family. Your methods might have been underhanded, conniving, heartless, and …"

"Ron …" Potter warned.

"… but your intentions were … honourable." Weasley grimaced at his verbal admission. "Hermione knows it too."

"I fail to see how getting the Dynamic Duo's seal of approval is supposed to make a difference." Yet, somehow, it did. Were Harry Potter and Ron Weasley encouraging him to pursue their best friend? If so, how did that change things?

"We don't care how you feel, Malfoy," Potter explained. "We just don't want you making Hermione feel any worse when you do see her again."

A not-all-that-tense silence descended upon the table as each wizard ruminated over what had been spoken … and left unspoken. Harry broke the stillness by grabbing one of his bags by the table and rifling through it for something. He pulled a small square box out and slid it across the table to Draco. "Before I forget, I have something that belongs to you."

Draco couldn't suppress a wry grin. "If I open that, it doesn't mean we're going steady, does it?"

A lopsided grin broke out on the Gryffindor's face and he nodded at the box. "Just open it."

Knowing of Weasley's twin brothers' propensity for pranks, Draco reached for the box with trepidation. When neither Gryffindor leaped under the table for cover or dissolved into laughter, Draco pulled the box toward him and opened it. He stared in genuine astonishment at what lay inside before his insides hardened in anger. His face flushed in annoyance, and he snapped the lid closed before tossing it harshly across the table. A surprised Harry caught it deftly with one hand.

"What's this about, Potter? Some sort of sick joke?" Draco asked hotly. Now he understood what all that stuff was about before. They wanted him to lower his defenses so they could move in for the kill.

Harry set the box calmly in front of Draco once more. He shook his shaggy head. "It's no joke. It belongs to you, not me."

It was the sincerity in Potter's voice and that earnest I Cannot Tell A Lie look in his eye. Perhaps it was on the up and up. Potter had never been very adept at scheming. Draco's hand quivered ever so slightly as he opened the box a second time.

It was still in there.

The shiny, highly polished, golden Head Boy badge gleamed on its black velvet cushion. It sparkled under the candlelight, begging Draco to caress it gently. Reverently, one finger ventured out, smoothing over the cool metal, but making sure not to tarnish it with fingerprints or smudges.

Weasley ruined the moment. "Crikey, Malfoy, it's only a badge. Do we need to leave you so you can stroke it in peace?"

Draco ignored him and stared hard at the other wizard as he swallowed hard. "What do you mean this belongs to me? You were announced as Head Boy at the Leaving Ball." Of course, he'd have to owl Professors Dumbledore and Snape to see if Harry could just hand over the Head Boy position like that. If it were possible, Draco and Hermione would have to work closely together during much of the coming school term. That realisation thrilled – and terrified – him.

Harry leaned back in his chair and shrugged his shoulders. "No, I'm not. I was there in the hospital wing with the Grangers when Professor Dumbledore explained what had happened. You are the new Head Boy, Malfoy. Fair and square." When he stared intently back at Draco, his green eyes pierced Draco in his seat. "And I won't win by default to you over anything … or anyone."

+++++++++++++++++++

"It's so good to be back in Diagon Alley! It's been years since I've visited England for more than just visiting relatives or accompanying my father on some boring diplomatic trip." Isabel Dupris practically sizzled with enthusiasm. She turned excitedly to her companion. "Thank you again, Hermione, for inviting me to stay with your family for a few weeks before the Beauxbatons term starts. I know I'll get top marks in my Advanced Muggle Life class project next term. Between all the materials I got at your local library and the information I got from your Internet, my project on the ancient Romans will be magnifique."

She reached over and grabbed the other girl's hand as they walked down the crowded street on this busy Saturday afternoon, headed toward The Leaky Cauldron for lunch. Hermione laughed at her French friend's exuberant boasting. "We were glad to have you, Isabel. You know how much I've missed you, and looking forward to your visit helped the summer holiday in America pass quickly."

Isabel glanced quickly over her shoulder then whispered, "I think your father will be glad to have his computer back. I had no idea that stock market and financial portfolios were so fascinating."

Both girls started giggling. "Don't forget about his silly fantasy Rugby Union league," Hermione teased.

From behind them, Hermione's father defended his fondness for his favourite sport. "I won over two thousand pounds in that ‘silly league,' I'll have you know."

Her mother's softly mocking chuckle followed. "Stop teasing your father, Hermione. Don't you remember during week eight when he did that thing with Jason what's-his name?" She winked at the girls. "That was quite a daring move."

"It was a transfer and his name is Jason Koumas. And yes, it was daring. Why, I …"

"Dad, we really don't want to hear about your league today," Hermione said in a smiling but bored voice. "Isabel has to go back to France soon." She turned to look at the picture perfect girl beside her. "Your visit has been just the thing to help the last few weeks of the holiday fly right by," Hermione admitted with a smile. "And I enjoyed helping you with your research and going to the library with you. It's made me anxious to get back to the Hogwarts library and find some supplemental material which I'll need for Advanced Potions next term."

Hermione's father laid a hand on her shoulder. "Our little girl never was very keen on taking a break from her studies for too long. Ever since she was a wee bitty thing, she always wanted to be in school," her father said proudly.

Isabel squeezed her hand and gave her a knowing glance as they continued walking. She leaned in and said quietly, "I also thought you could use a friendly face in the crowd next week."

Hermione smiled back gratefully. Lucius' trial started next week. The Ministry had assured her family that it would be straightforward and more of a formality than anything else, because in his rage that night, Lucius had pretty much confessed his nefarious deeds to everyone in the room. In addition, a search of his home turned up the dossier he had on the Grangers and a list of contacts he had planned to use if he'd decided to go forward with his plan. But Hermione still had to face her attacker again in court to give her testimony … and him.

Truthfully, the fact that she had only heard from Draco once all summer stung. Especially considering one of the last things she'd heard him say was that he loved her. Correction. Love. He hadn't used past tense. So why hadn't he owled her when he'd come back to England? His letter from New Zealand had pleasantly surprised her. Madam Pomfrey had explained the severity of Draco's injuries and that his recovery would be painful and slower than hers. She could tell by the writing on the envelope that he'd penned it himself, not dictating it to his mother or a nurse like the ones Isabel had received from him while he recuperated. His penmanship had looked shakier than his normal, firm script, but it had been his. He hadn't mentioned what he'd said the night of the ball but just apologised for what his father had done and sent his wishes that she was recuperating.

But then nothing else. Isabel had received several letters from him as had Lissanne Sheldon. Hermione still groaned inwardly at the awkward meeting she'd had with the Slytherin girl outside the Ministry office shortly after she and her mother had returned from America. Hermione had needed to go there to answer some additional questions regarding the case, and since Lissanne was a witness to Draco's actions, she had been there for the same reason. Although Hermione now knew cerebrally that she hadn't actually walked in on Lissanne and Draco doing anything more than pretending to be intimate, the sight of the other girl still caused Hermione's blood to simmer with the sense of betrayal. Frankly, Lissanne had looked quite a mess that day, but her meeting had just ended and Hermione could empathize with her. The strangeness of the situation had shaken her more than once. Lissanne had expressed her concerns over Hermione's health and that there had been no permanent damage because of her injuries. Of course, she had not apologised, but Hermione had not really expected her to. She knew Lissanne had done what she had felt was right, and she also saw a little resentment in the other girl's eyes as if it had been Hermione's fault that Lucius Malfoy was a violent, vengeful nutter. However, Lissanne had smiled a little too triumphantly, in Hermione's opinion, when she'd discovered Hermione had only received one letter from Draco while the Slytherin girl had received at least half a dozen.

Having to hear about Draco's motivations for his action and the true story behind their split had left Hermione feeling a little … uncertain. It had taken months and amazing support from her friends to get past the debacle with Draco, and she had emerged from it smarter and more cautious regarding her heart. She'd started looking forward to her trip to America with her mother, meeting new people, putting her relationship with Draco even further behind her. Then the night of Leaving Ball had happened. Did those revelations change anything? Should they? He'd said he loved her … but he hadn't trusted her with the truth. He'd said he'd done those things to protect her … but he'd manipulated her love and self doubts to do it. He'd almost died trying to save her … but he hadn't even owled her to let her know he was back in the country. In a matter of moments a flood of long-repressed feelings for him had re-emerged, flooding her sensibilities.

Hermione was genuinely happy for Isabel's presence at home the past week. Before she and her mother had left for America, Hermione's parents had fussed over her quite a bit, but they had always doted on their only child. She'd wanted to stay in case Draco had come back so she could talk with him or in case the Ministry had needed more answers from her, but her parents had insisted that she not change her summer plans. In light of how things had turned out and the media circus that had erupted upon Lucius' capture and imprisonment, she thanked them for their foresight.

Hermione had never been to America, so she visited as many of the sights surrounding the dental college as she could while her mother taught her classes. She visited the local library and Muggle bookstores to catch up on some pleasure reading. And of course, she leafed through her texts for next term because one could never be too prepared for N.E.W.T.s. Harry and Ron had again proven themselves to be joyful correspondents and Ginny, as always, wrote with regularity. But Hermione had missed her father and was glad to be back, in spite of having to be in the same room with Lucius Malfoy in a few days. Isabel's effervescence and vitality had proven to be a welcome distraction to what lay ahead.

As for Draco … Hermione wasn't at all sure what she would do or say when she saw him at the Ministry courthouse next week. Was there really any way to mentally prepare oneself for such a meeting? Isabel had helped keep Hermione's mind off Draco and the impending trial. That was what Hermione was most grateful for.

"Is something wrong?" Isabel's softly accented voice interrupted Hermione's reverie. "You've got that I'm Thinking Too Hard Again look about you. Don't you know that will give you crease lines in your forehead? And you are much too young for those, Hermione."

The light teasing elicited a soft laugh from Hermione. "No, nothing's wrong. I'm just … thinking."

"Lucius Malfoy will be convicted and jailed for many years. Don't worry. He won't be able to hurt you again," Isabel reassured her. The sincerity in her tone touched Hermione as well as surprised her, since Lucius wasn't the Malfoy who had been occupying her thoughts.

"I know. I'm actually not worried about that too much. I was thinking about other things, school things," she added hastily, lest Isabel try and probe any further.

Isabel nodded surely. "Sure you were," she said with a disbelieving half grin. Before Hermione could protest, Isabel looked forward and nodded. "Oh, look, we're finally here."

As they crossed the street to make their way to The Leaky Cauldron, Hermione remembered something. "Oh, I completely forgot to tell you this morning, since we were late getting up and it took you forever to find a nail colour that was just the right shade of pink to match your robes." It was a good thing Hermione had shared her dormitory with Parvati and Lavender for six years, or Hermione might have gone bonkers over Isabel's beauty regimen.

"What did you forget?"

"I got an owl from Ron while you were in the shower. The Weasleys and Harry are going to meet us for lunch today, so you'll get to meet my friends." Ron had owled Hermione a week ago that his family and Harry would be making their annual sojourn to Diagon Alley to get all of their school supplies for the upcoming year. Since she had planned to take Isabel there anyway, this had seemed a perfect opportunity for her best friends to meet Isabel. But Ron had waited until the last moment to send his reply that they could meet up for lunch. Hermione hadn't mentioned it earlier to Isabel because if the Weasleys had decided to go on a different day, she didn't want to get Isabel excited over meeting Harry and then have it fall through. After all, Hermione still remembered that Isabel had an eye on meeting the girl-shy Gryffindor.

Isabel's reaction upon hearing the identities of their lunch guests wasn't quite what Hermione had expected. She knew that Isabel had met many important and influential people because of her father's position, so she had assumed that, while meeting the famous Harry Potter might be exciting, she wouldn't look quite so horrified at the prospect. Instead of smiling in excitement, Isabel's shoulders tensed, and she lost her footing as she walked.

"The Weasleys and Harry Potter are coming here? Right now?" the blonde girl exclaimed in a high pitched voice.

Hermione looked at her watch. "Actually, they may already be waiting for us inside."

"This is awful," Isabel groaned.

Suspecting Isabel lamented over the fact that she'd worn her favourite set of robes yesterday instead of today, Hermione comforted her. "Don't worry. They're just two teenage wizards, and you know how to handle them. Besides they've already heard a lot about you and vice versa, so it will be like you already know them," Hermione assured her.

Isabel waved away those concerns with a brush of her hand. "It's not that, Hermione. It's … well, there's no use worrying over it now. What's done is done. Look, we're here." They stood before the door to The Leaky Cauldron, its golden letters glinting in the sunlight.

Hermione paused, placing her hand on Isabel's arm to stop their progress. Her parents stepped around them since they were only a few metres from the door. Hermione looked seriously into the other girl's dancing eyes, suspecting that Isabel was feeling more anxious about meeting Harry than she'd admit to. "Isabel, the first thing you need to remember about Harry is that he's the same as any other seventeen-year old wizard you know. Don't be nervous. You've met important people before with your father, right? I'll bet even more famous than Harry."

Isabel nodded. "You're right." She chewed anxiously on her bottom lip. "I just don't want you to be … angry with me."

Hermione looked confused. "Angry? Why would I be angry?"

Again, Isabel brushed Hermione's questions aside. "Oh, just ignore me. I can hardly think straight on a good day, but I'm meeting Harry and your other best friend so I'm a little more high-strung than usual." Isabel caught her arm, and for a brief moment, Hermione saw an anxious, almost apprehensive look flit across the other girl's beautiful face. Isabel leaned in and gave her a quick hug. Hermione thought she heard the other girl murmur something like "forgive me" as they embraced, but the muttered chatter of some passersby pounded out the sounds. When they pulled away, Isabel smiled at her. She reached out and smoothed Hermione's hair down a bit on the sides. She pulled her wand from beneath her robes and pointed it at Hermione's face. She muttered a quick lipstick replenishing charm for the colour Isabel had selected for Hermione that morning.

Hermione laughed at her friend and tried to swat the girl's arm away. "What are you doing? We're just going to meet Harry and Ron, and trust me, neither of them will even notice if I'm wearing lipstick or not."

Isabel shrugged her shoulders. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to look good no matter who you're going to meet." She flipped her long, honey gold hair over her shoulder. "How about me? Do I look all right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You are stunning, and you know it. I almost feel bad for Ron and Harry. They won't be able to quit staring. Come on, let's get inside. I'm hungry."

Hermione's parents had waited for them to catch up outside The Leaky Cauldron. Her father stepped forward and opened the door for them. Her mother entered and Hermione stepped aside to let Isabel go next before securing the door behind her.

She turned around to ask whether or not Harry and Ron had arrived. But then she stopped. They were both there, sitting at a table.

With Draco.

It took only a second for all of the air to vanish from the room, halting Hermione's ability to breathe and think coherently. Instantly, her mind flashed back to the last time she'd seen him, lying dead on the floor as she'd unsuccessfully tried to revive him. And he had been dead. For almost eight and a half minutes. It had taken some cajoling, but Madam Pomfrey had finally relented and told Hermione what had happened. She hadn't wanted to, but when it was apparent that Hermione couldn't rest until she'd learned what had happened to Draco, the Hogwarts nurse had succumbed.

For eight and a half minutes, Draco's life had ceased. Hermione still couldn't believe it. Ironically, it had been the charm Lucius had used to snuff the life out of his only son that had saved them. Beatrice MacGillapatrick, a seventh-year Hufflepuff, attended the ball with her parents. Her father was a mediwizard at St. Mungo's and had been on call the night of the ball. Many mediwitches and –wizards had recently started carrying charmed devices around that alerted them if they were needed at the hospital. On the night of the ball, Dr. MacGillapatrick's device had gone off, alerting him that there was an emergency -- but at Hogwarts, not St. Mungo's. Similar to the Ministry's system of tracking the use of underage witches and wizards using magic outside of school, St. Mungo's had developed a comparable system of people who used illegal medical charms or abused specialised ones. Dr. MacGillapatrick had received an instant message that an excessive use of the anti-hemorrhaging charm had been detected at the castle. Because of all the security wards on it, the device couldn't pinpoint the exact location. Immediately, Dr. MacGillapatrick had sought Madam Pomfrey and explained the situation; she could do the security-bypassing locator spell, which she often used to locate students who were in medical distress. Professor Snape had been standing nearby and was obviously concerned that some students had taken a prank too far on their last night before the summer holiday. He'd muttered some comment under his breath about how children were a menace, but Madam Pomfrey wouldn't tell Hermione exactly what he had said. The three of them had retired to one of the quiet studies off the Great Hall so Pomfrey could perform her locator spell, which had revealed there was a person down in the Charms classroom and another person in distress. Something in the classroom had dampened her readings though, so she couldn't tell more from the study. They'd raced to the room but had found it locked with a particularly strong charm. Pomfrey had used the Exciper imago charm while the two wizards with her worked on getting the door open. The nurse's eyes had misted up when she'd got to that part of the story. She'd reached over and squeezed Hermione's hand. "If it weren't for Professor Snape's quick thinking…." The nurse's voice had trailed off.

But Professor Snape had not let a silly little locking charm deter him. Especially once the Exciper imago charm had revealed a harrowing image of what was transpiring behind the door. Once he'd seen the murderous scowl of Lucius Malfoy, Snape had pointed his wand at a spot on the wall and had blasted a hole through it. Light from the hallway had flooded the darkened room, illuminating Lucius' crimes. He had been so intent on choking Hermione, he hadn't even noticed when Snape had stepped right up to him. Snape had tried a stunned charm, but Lucius' adrenalin repelled it like water, so Snape tried an even stronger one. Finally, Lucius had fallen. Madam Pomfrey had rushed to Hermione's side, but it had soon become clear that Draco was the one in dire straits.

Hermione could remember bits and pieces of what had happened after that before someone had whisked her away on a stretcher to the hospital wing. She remembered Professor McGonagall holding her hand, silent tears choking the Deputy Headmistress's voice. Even then, Hermione had known something was very, very wrong. The frantic flurry of people in the corner where she'd last seen Draco had dizzied her, because the people were moving so fast and talking so hurriedly. But before she could make sense of what had happened around her, she had passed out once again, and when she had awoken, Draco had already been sent to St. Mungo's.

The last time she had stood in a room with Draco Malfoy, he had said he loved her and then died. She watched breathlessly as he rose from his seat at the table and stood next to it. He looked thinner, his face a bit more drawn than usual. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked tired. More than tired. But the sight of him still did funny things to her insides. He did not make a move to approach them, and as he leaned against the table, Hermione felt a stab of envy. How she would love a strong piece of furniture to keep her propped upright, since she was quite certain her knees were going to buckle under her. His clear grey eyes caught her gaze across the room and held it. The amazement in them probably matched her own. What an unexpected surprise to see him here, now.

Or, perhaps, not that unexpected.

A high-pitched squeal pierced the silent bubble that had enveloped Hermione for those few long seconds. A blonde blur rushed forward and threw her arms around Draco. Fortunately, his body still leaned against the table, or Hermione feared Isabel would have knocked him to the floor. Hermione's eyes then caught sight of Harry and Ron as they scrambled to get clear of the crazy blonde banshee, who was flinging herself into unsuspecting wizards' arms. The startled looks on their faces elicited a much-needed chuckle from Hermione.

Harry turned around first to look at her, and the friendliness in his vibrant green eyes was unmistakable. He pulled on Ron's arm, dragging his attention from the blonde on blond embrace before him. When Ron saw Hermione, a huge grin lit up his features. Unsurprisingly, he looked even taller than the last time she'd seen him. She always experienced a warm tingle of bliss whenever she saw Harry and Ron after a prolonged break, but this time felt a little different. The last time they had seen each other was the day she had left the hospital wing to go home and convalesce before her trip. She saw the relief in their eyes that she had completely recovered. They hugged her close, and she hugged them back equally as tight. First Ron, then Harry. When Harry pulled back, he kissed her lightly on her temple and whispered, "Today is full of surprises." Before she could reply, her parents moved forward to greet their daughter's friends.

In answer to a question Hermione's mother had asked, Ron replied, "My mum and dad took Ginny to Madam Malkin's to get her some new dress robes. Harry and I didn't want to go there, so we went to Quality Quidditch Supplies instead. They should be here to meet up with us soon."

As Ron spoke, Hermione's gaze drifted a few metres to where Isabel was still fussing over Draco. He smirked lightly at Isabel's attention, but his eyes flickered surreptitiously over at her in between. She could hear part of their conversation.

"… so happy you're all right, Draco. You barely said anything in your letters, and I had no idea if you were really fine or if you'd only said you were fine."

"Now you can see for yourself that I am indeed all right," he teased. Hermione's stomach churned a bit at seeing this friendly interaction. It reminded her of when they were in France, before everything got flipped upside down.

"Yes, well …" Isabel's eyes followed his to where Hermione stood watching them. The French girl, whom Hermione was certain would excel on the stage if she so chose, cleared her throat and spoke a little louder so she could be heard. "Well, I must say I'm surprised at seeing you here of all places, since I only came to Diagon Alley for this one day."

One of Draco's eyebrows rose at her comment. "Quite a surprise, I'm sure," Draco drawled. "Especially since you were the one who invited me for lunch. A clandestine meeting indeed."

She turned to face the small group with a look of such joyful, albeit feigned, innocence that Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing at this arranged meting. Isabel grabbed Draco by the hand and pulled him forward. "How rude of me. It's bad manners to be hogging you all to myself when I'm sure you'll want to greet your friends after so long."

Ron let out a loud guffaw, and then tried to cover it up with some forced coughing. He looked skeptically around the room. "Malfoy, you have friends?"

Isabel turned to look at the owner of the snide comment to defend her dear old friend Draco. But when Isabel's annoyed, azure eyes settled on Ron, she did a double take. Her mouth opened then closed. She swallowed and shook her head the slightest bit to compose herself. "Your hair. It's so very … red."

Faced with the full force of Isabel Dupris' heartstopping gaze, beautiful face, and peculiar greeting, Ron's blush quickly spread across his face, and he self-consciously raised his hand to pat down his hair, which – the stunning vision before him was keen to note – was so very red.

Isabel's comment drew Hermione's memory to a conversation the girls had had back at Beauxbatons, when Hermione had been telling the other girl all about her two best friends. Isabel had been fascinated that the entire Weasley clan had been born with red hair. A wistful smile had swept over her face. "When I was seven years old, I met a boy at school who had lovely red hair and fell hopelessly in love with him. Ever since then I've been irresistibly drawn to any redhead I meet. It's a curse."

Hermione observed Ron's "deer in the headlights" look and Isabel's interested sweep of Ron's other assets, and concluded that Ron would never consider Miss Dupris' proclivity for redheads to be a curse. No, indeed. Hermione saved Ron from saying something stupid and stepped forward to make the introductions.

"Isabel, I'd like you to meet Ron Weasley, chess player extraordinaire and one of my best friends. Ron, this is my friend Isabel from Beauxbatons."

The blonde girl extended her hand first, accompanied by her dazzling smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ron. Hermione's told me so much about you."

For a few seconds, the self-proclaimed lady-killer stood unmoving, looking at Isabel like she had spiders crawling on her hand. A helpful push in the back from a hopelessly chuckling Harry broke Ron's trance. "Erm … yes," Ron finally managed as he took her hand in his.

Conquering the overwhelming urge to collapse into a fit of giggles, Hermione said, "Isabel, this is my other friend Harry." She motioned to her dark-haired friend who took obvious enjoyment in Ron's discomfiture.

Harry laughed as he reached to shake Isabel's hand. "It's a pleasure, Isabel. Hermione's told us a lot about you, too."

Her years of experience at being the French Minister of Magic's daughter must have kicked in. Isabel's gaze flickered up at Harry's scar, but it had not flustered her. Instead, she smiled sweetly as she shook his hand, but, to Hermione's surprise, Isabel's eyes quickly rested once again on Ron.

During the exchange, Hermione could feel Draco's eyes watching her, which added to the quickening rate of her heart and awkwardness of the moment. She'd expected him to make some cutting remarks about Isabel obviously being taken with a Weasley, but he said nothing. He just stood there, arms behind his back, unflinching. Occasionally his eyes flickered to Hermione's parents. Finally, she watched his jaws clench and unclench. Was he nervous? She thought he might be but couldn't trust her instincts about him. She wasn't certain she had ever really known him if he could lie to her so convincingly for months. Now, with everything in the open, did she want to?

Finally, Hermione's mother stepped forward and touched her gently on the arm. "Hermione, dear, aren't you going to introduce us to Draco?"

"Oh, erm …" She looked back and forth between Draco and her parents. He stepped forward, a look of serious determination etched on his face. He nodded his head toward her slightly in greeting, but neither of them spoke to each other. What could she possibly say in this situation? "Hi, you look fabulous for a guy who lay dead on the floor the last time I saw you"? Not likely. As he stood next to her, the smell of him caressed her senses like a long forgotten, much beloved scent. Her voice quivered at first, and she remembered she hadn't made the introductions yet. "Mum, Dad, this is Draco Malfoy."

He shook her mother's hand first. "Dr. Granger," he said without wavering as he looked squarely in her mother's eyes. "Dr. Granger," he said again as he turned and firmly shook her father's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet both of you."

Her father still clasped Draco's hand in his. "Thank you," he replied. "Thank you." Her normally stoic father's eyes misted up as he shook the young man's hand, and Hermione understood he wasn't just thanking Draco for the polite greeting. His lips curved upward in a light grin.

Recognition registered on Draco's face, too, and his shoulders relaxed a bit. He pulled away and straightened up, turning around to find Isabel. "It appears your plans for lunch have changed. I won't keep you. Perhaps you can come to the manor before leaving for France …"

Hermione's mother interrupted this time. "That's not necessary, Draco. Why don't you join us?"

Isabel shot Hermione's mother a look of delight while Hermione's heart twisted with anxiety. Is this what she wanted? Could she really sit down with him at the same table? A quick look at Draco told her he was experiencing some of the same concerns. He glanced furtively at the people in their group, looking like he'd rather have tea with Winky and Dobby than break bread with Hermione and company.

Draco raised his hand as he retreated a step. "That's very kind of you, but I don't want to impose."

With speed and grace, Isabel linked her arm with his so he could not run very far. "Nonsense. You came all this way to see me, and I've missed you terribly," she pouted. "I like Dr. Granger's idea." She smiled luminously at the others. "No one here would mind us adding one more to our party, would they?"

A chorus of no's resounded unsurprisingly since Isabel Dupris usually got whatever it was she wanted. Hermione had to cover her mouth with her hand to hide her smile; Ron's voice resonated the loudest, assuring Isabel that he'd enjoy nothing more than eating lunch with the Slytherin he'd spent many late nights thinking about torturing with gruesome and debilitating hexes.

Draco felt he was in a farce. First, Potter relinquished the Head Boy honour and all that comes with it, then his lunch date arrived with his ex-girlfriend and her family in tow. The very same people his dear father had threatened to destroy or, in Hermione's case, almost did. Draco didn't know why Isabel had arranged this cosy luncheon, but he wasn't all that anxious to stick around. Seeing Hermione so suddenly had unsettled him more successfully than a herd of raging hippogriffs could have done.

His heart hammered rapidly in his chest, so loudly he wondered how no one else seemed to have heard it. She looked beautiful. Perfect. No lingering effects of her ordeal. Her skin had a healthy, pinkish glow, her eyes as bright as new Galleons, her hair kissed by the sun from her holiday trip. She'd grinned and laughed when she'd first seen her friends and even smiled a little at him. Of course, that could just have been nerves, but he didn't think so. She'd introduced her parents to him. Not something he would have expected considering, but if Hermione had still hated him, she wouldn't have spoken so kindly. Of course, Draco had wanted to throttle Weasley as he'd gawked and drooled all over Isabel, but that was to be expected from a simpleton like that sod. He hadn't even wanted to determine what sort of appeal that redheaded muttonhead held for a cosmopolitan girl like Isabel. On any other day, he'd probably be horribly disappointed in himself that he hadn't managed a suitably snarky comment about it, but today he could allow this minor slippage. Hermione stood smiling and laughing only a few metres away. He wasn't going to spoil that with any Weasley baiting.

But Draco had experienced enough excitement for one day. The last time he'd sat at a table with Hermione's best buddies, Weasley had put him in hospital. Not an experience Draco hoped to repeat, since he'd had his fill of hospital stays for a while. Draco declined politely again. "I really should be going. I got here late and didn't have a chance to get any of my school things yet." He inclined his head to the Grangers. "If you'll exc—"

Isabel clung to his arm, digging her perfectly manicured nails in a little more harshly than necessary. She smiled broadly at the group. "Would you excuse us for a moment?" Before anyone, including Draco, could object, she yanked him out of hearing distance. Then the polite, pretty witch transformed into a hellion. "Draco Malfoy, what do you think you're doing? Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to get you two in the same room with neither of you suspecting it?"

Draco gave her a wry grin. "Yes, manipulating and scheming can be quite laborious." For a few seconds, he thought she might actually stomp her foot like a spoiled little girl.

Finally, she released an angry breath. Her voice rose in her agitation. "Sometimes you are such a … such a …"

"Personally, I've always thought ‘obnoxious, pretentious prat' summed him up nicely," Weasley offered with a satisfied smirk. Draco turned to glare at the unsolicited comment, and noticed that the others were moving to a large table at the back of the room to accommodate their party.

Isabel turned her head and smiled appreciatively at the Gryffindor before looking back at Draco. "Exactly what I was thinking. Thank you, Ron." She tugged Draco a few more metres away and lowered her voice to be a bit more discreet. "Draco, how can you be so cruel?"

"Me? Cruel? You're the one who just agreed with that overbearing fop that I'm a prat. I fail to see how that has grieved you."

She slapped him lightly on the shoulder as she rolled her eyes. "Not to me, you idiot. To Hermione."

Draco's back stiffened. He'd hoped to clear out safely before this inevitable turn of the conversation. He glanced surreptitiously at the girl in question, who just gave a nervous and distracted laugh to something Potter said. "I'm not discussing her with you, Isabel."

She tightened her grip on his arm before he could flee. "Then with whom will you discuss it? Hermione? That doesn't seem likely since you've only written to her once all summer and that was just after she'd gotten out of the hospital."

He took a few calm breaths. Because Isabel was a friend, and a diplomat's daughter, he didn't want to tear her head off in public. That's just the kind of press his family needed on the front page of the Daily Prophet: Manic Malfoys – Is it Hereditary? But honestly, Hermione's friends were quite meddlesome. Isabel took advantage of this pause as he controlled his emotions. "That really hurt her, Draco. I think more than what your father did to her."

Draco arched his brow. "That's a tad melodramatic, even for you."

Her eyes didn't blink as she stared into his. "No, it's not," she denied firmly. "You're my friend, different from my other friends, and that's precious to me. And I know you're hurting even if you're too proud to own up to it." Her grip eased. "But Hermione's my friend too, and she's hurting just as badly as you. I can hear it in her voice when she talks about you, and I can see it in her eyes when her mind wanders off in thought."

Draco looked over at Hermione again. Her gaze flickered to his briefly before she turned her head away. A thousand arguments ran through his head for why he shouldn't do this, along with an equal number of questions he wanted to ask Isabel about Hermione. But what was the point? Isabel had arranged for him and Hermione to "run into" each other. And there was no way he could get out of here now without acting as rudely as Lucius would have. That was not a comparison Draco wanted Hermione or her parents to draw.

"Very well," he finally agreed. He took a step toward Hermione.

"Wait. Let me get her parents and Harry and Ron out of here subtly so that you can speak to her alone."

"That won't be necessary," he assured her as he strode over to the table. Hermione's head faced away from him as she spoke to her mother.

Potter eyed him curiously as he approached, but his eyes quickly flickered with recognition. Begrudgingly, Draco admitted – and not for the first time – that Potter wasn't the hopeless half-wit Draco had always accused him of being. But with all the accolades and adulations heaped on The Boy Who Lived, Potter needed constant insulting. Otherwise he just got annoying.

Draco leaned in and cleared his throat. "Excuse me. Hermione, may I speak with you for a moment?"

Hermione jumped a bit at the sound of his voice, and it took her a few seconds to realize that he had spoken to her and wanted to do some more of it. She forced her hands, which had been distractedly playing with the napkin in her lap, to cease their quivering. Slowly, she pushed her chair from the table and stood. She looked at the people seated around the table. Her mother smiled softly and laid her hand over her father's on the table. Her father nodded in permission. Ron was too busy staring at Isabel to notice Hermione. Harry's mouth was in a firm line, his expression inscrutable. "We'll be back soon," she said casually.

In silent agreement, they exited through the Muggle door. Hermione had noticed some curious stares when she had been walking through Diagon Alley earlier; if she and Draco had both taken a stroll together, they were certain to attract attention. And she did not want any interruptions. The air outside was warm, but not nearly hot enough to be the cause of her sweaty palms. He hesitated as they stood outside, waiting for her direction. She remembered there was a pretty park not too far away, so she turned right.

They walked for a little while in silence, neither one certain how to proceed. She kept her gaze firmly on the sidewalk in front of her, but she could feel him turning his head every few steps to look at her, waiting for an opening. Finally, he spoke, "I never realized Isabel had the makings of a crafty Slytherin in her. In her letter inviting me to lunch, she wrote she was staying with her grandmother while she was in England. I didn't even suspect that she'd been staying with your family. I didn't put her up …"

At this, Hermione turned her head to look at him, giving him a lopsided grin. "Relax, Draco, I overheard some of your conversation inside. I know you weren't in cahoots with Isabel. Sometimes I think she just can't resist meddling."

They both laughed a bit, but the awkward tension still clung as they tried to make small talk. There were so many things she wanted to say, but her mind couldn't pick one and articulate it.

In a casual voice, he said, "You know, all the times I thought of what it would be like to talk to you again, it went much more smoothly in my mind."

His admission startled her, but also eased her nerves knowing that he felt as tongue-tied as she did. "I know what you mean," she replied, giving him a small smile. Her shoulders relaxed a bit, and as they made it to the end of the block she turned the corner. She did not really have a specific destination in mind, but she was desirous to find their way to a less crowded side street. "You look good," she blurted out rather suddenly. "I mean, you look healthy. Madam Pomfrey told me about your injuries and the neural replacements you'd needed. Do you feel all right?"

He nodded as he stepped aside to let an older couple pass by them. "I had excellent mediwizards. I get winded a little more easily than before, but that won't last much longer."

Suddenly concerned, Hermione stopped walking and spun to face him. "Should we go back to the pub or maybe find a café to sit down? I don't want you overexerting yourself unnecessarily. Perhaps …"

Draco reached out and rested a strong hand on her arm. "I'm fine. I actually enjoy walking, and it's good exercise." When he smiled at her, she could see a laughing glint in his eyes. "By the time we play Gryffindor in Quidditch, I'll be in better shape than ever."

The swift image of watching him flying through the air, resplendent in his silver and green Quidditch uniform, which cropped unbidden in her head, did funny things to her stomach, so she pushed it to the back of her mind. They had more serious things to discuss. "I'll be sure to give my housemates a heads up then," she said with a light laugh.

Slowly he pulled his hand away from her and put it casually in his pocket. He commenced walking again. "You look recovered as well. I'm happy your injuries weren't too damaging."

Her mind filtered through a hundred different ways to bring up the subject of why he hadn't replied to any of the letters she'd sent him when he'd seemed perfectly able to answer other people. But all of them sounded whiny and petty. Hermione had written Draco several letters from America, knowing how dreadful it must have been for him to be so far away from home and in hospital, no less. She'd tried to keep them lighthearted and upbeat, so as not to add any more complications. When she hadn't received any responses other than his initial reply, she hadn't felt discouraged, assuming he'd needed all of his concentration and energy on recovering. That she could understand. But when Isabel had written in her letters about how much better Draco had seemed in every new piece of correspondence she'd received from him, Hermione had felt hurt. Again. Obviously, he had some reason for not wanting to answer her letters, but since he hadn't responded, she couldn't find out what the reason was. Especially not from halfway across the world. In a fit of stubbornness after she'd learned he'd returned to England, she'd vowed not to contact him in any way until he made the first step. Weeks passed with nothing, until today. Thanks to Isabel. Hermione suspected that girl was a romantic at heart despite her cool façade.

Thinking of it like removing a sticking-plaster from a cut, she decided the pain would be easier to handle if it was quick. Subconsciously, her pace quickened. "Draco, why did you only write to me once all summer? After that first one you'd sent –" which was so heartfelt and made me cry every time I read it -- "I thought … well, I guess I thought there were a lot of things we needed to discuss." Like your saying you love me.

He didn't say anything for a little while, and Hermione thought he might be waiting for her to finish talking. But then he inhaled a deep breath. "I didn't want to make things worse."

"After everything that happened?" she asked disbelievingly.

"Because of everything that happened. I didn't want you to feel obligated to … I don't know … stand by my side or some noble drivel like that, out of pity." That was the last thing she'd expected him to say, not to mention completely way off base.

"One of the last things you said was that you loved me." Her voice cracked at the end. "That's kind of hard to forget."

He didn't speak, just nodded slowly in agreement. His lack of a more definitive response relit some of her lingering doubts. What if he'd only said that because it was what his father had expected him to say? What if she really meant nothing to him? "Were you lying then too? Like you lied before, to protect me?"

Draco's heart fractured at the dejection in her voice. So many of his actions regarding Hermione had spawned more self-doubts and anxieties in her. He'd witnessed them every day during the term and, as he watched her now, they still lingered in her mind. Everything he did hurt her. He thought of an old French poem they had needed to analyse for one of their assignments at Beauxbatons.

La vérité, absolue et cruelle comme çela peut être,
Est la choix qui vaut mieux pour le cœur;
La tromperie fait des blessures plus profondes qu'un poignard.

Truth, as absolute and cruel as that can be,
Is the choice that's better for the heart;
Deception makes deeper wounds than a dagger.

"No, Hermione. I meant it."

If he didn't love her, he wouldn't be haunted night after night with memories of watching Lucius hurt her again and again, her limp body lying on the floor with blood streaming down her face. Draco lost track of the number of times he'd woken in a cold sweat, screaming out at Lucius to leave Hermione alone. Every night he relived that terror from the Charms classroom, and every night he felt just as helpless to save her. The knowledge that Lucius had very nearly succeeded in killing the only good thing Draco had ever had in his life shook him to his core. For weeks now, he couldn't remember Hermione in any other way than broken and unconscious, which was why seeing her so vibrant and beautiful right next to him nearly robbed him of his breath. She wanted to discuss serious matters with him, and it took every ounce of willpower not to crush her to his chest and never let go. Love? What he felt surpassed love. Did they have a chance together? She hadn't run screaming when she'd seen him today. Her parents didn't drag her away from his presence. And, hell, Potter and Weasley had managed to sit at the same table without hexing him or insulting him … much; they'd even smiled a few times.

But none of them really mattered. Had Hermione forgiven him?

They turned another corner and were on a more secluded, tree-lined street. He stopped walking and turned to face her. "I did mean it, Hermione, but I know how badly I've hurt you. Those months after we broke up, I watched you. All the time, actually. I did some horrible things to make you hate me, and you moved on. You started laughing again with your friends, joking around during meals and getting back to the way you were before you got involved with me. I didn't want to jeopardise your happiness … again. I thought if I started writing back to you in light of what I said the night of the ball, you'd feel obligated to get back together. I couldn't guarantee that being who I am wouldn't hurt you again, so the safest solution was to stay away from you."

She stared at him and nodded her head slowly before casting her eyes downward. Well, that's that then, he mused. She agrees with me. Shit. He started to turn to head back to The Leaky Cauldron when her voice stopped him. Her annoyed voice.

"You are such a bleeding, selfish coward, Draco Malfoy," she murmured through clenched teeth. The down-turned look in her eyes had vanished. She glared full force at him, the gold flecks in her soft brown eyes crackling like lightning. "How dare you," she scolded. "How dare you. Once again, you make decisions about my life without consulting me and rationalise it by saying you're doing it all for my well-being. All this time I thought you weren't writing because your feelings had changed or because everything that happened reminded you too much of your father. But it wasn't. It was just you trying to control everything once again. Haven't you learned that the world isn't filled with puppets just waiting for you to give them some direction? Especially not me. I don't need you to choose with whom I can and can't associate." Her cheeks flushed pink with anger, and she paused to take a much-needed breath after her emotional tongue-lashing. "But we'll never be friends if you don't learn to have faith in me, because that's what friends do. They trust each other."

His heart skipped a few beats. He took a step toward her. "Is that what we are? Friends?"

She sighed heavily. "I'd like us to be. I think."

"Do you want us to be more than that?"

She shrugged her shoulders before sitting down on a nearby stonewall. "Honestly, I don't know anymore." She answered him truthfully. "At first, I was furious with you for keeping this all to yourself when I thought you knew you could tell me anything. Especially where my family was concerned. But then, when I had time to think about it and walked around in your shoes a bit, I could understand why you acted as you felt you had to do."

He took a few steps and sat down next to her. She didn't jerk her leg from him when his knee brushed against hers. The contact was minimal, but Draco's heart leapt anyway.

"Draco, while I can forgive your intentions, I can't forget your methods as easily." Deep down, he knew she was right. Forgiving and forgetting were two entirely separate issues. The heels of his dangling feet kicked distractedly at the wall underneath them. Before he could pick his heart up from the pit of his gut, she explained, "You knew me so well, exactly what buttons to push to hurt me the deepest. And I couldn't even tell. That, of course, made me wonder if it really was an act. How well did I really know you, if at all?" She hesitated and then frowned. "And I don't know if I could ever forget the sight of you and Lissanne."

At that, he pushed his feet from the wall and moved to stand directly in front of where she sat. He placed his hands on either side of her knees, and since the wall was raised, his eyes stared levelly into hers. "That was staged, Hermione. It wasn't real."

"Well it sure as hell felt real." She lowered her gaze and murmured, "It still does."

He flattened his palms against the jagged, cool stone, not caring if they got scratched or dirty. Now he felt angry. "You talked about how I need to trust, but you don't sound too eager to trust me."

Her head snapped up, and her jaw dropped in astonishment. "I never betrayed you, Draco."

"And I did what I had to."

Their rising voices and flaring tempers attracted a few curious stares from people walking their dog down the street. She took a breath and shook her head distractedly. "Arguing about it won't get us anywhere."

She was right; assuming he could still be Head Boy, they needed to find some way to work amicably.

"So what do we do, Hermione? We can't go back."

"No, but we can start over, from the beginning. We've both changed a lot in the past year. We need to figure out if we can be friends first before anything else." She rested one of her hands on top of his on the wall. "I got over you once before, Draco Malfoy. It was hell, and there were days I didn't think I'd ever feel whole again, but I did it. I hated what you'd turned me into, what I'd turned myself into. If you want my trust you'll have to do more than just apologise and say a few pretty words. You'll have to earn it."

"How do I do that?" he asked.

She smiled softly. "Very shortly you'll be eating lunch with Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and my Muggle parents. You can start by not hexing anyone and being the charming wizard I fell in love with in France." She reached out and rested her hand over his chest; she didn't pull it away quickly. "If he's still in there."

"He is," Draco answered thickly, savoring the feel of her warm hand pressed against his body. "Is the intelligent, stubborn witch I fell in love with still inside you?" he asked, reaching up to tuck some hair behind her ear. She didn't object when he let his hand linger on her neck, so he kept it there.

"Yes … but she's a little more mature, and, hopefully, wiser. I learned a lot about myself these past few months, and I'm a different girl from the one who went to the top of the Eiffel Tower with you." She stood from the wall, but she didn't flee. In fact, she stepped closer to him and rested her hands on his hips as she looked up into his eyes. "But I can't forget how happy I was with you either before Lucius' ultimatum. The real question is whether or not we've changed so much we no longer fit together."

"Let's see," he whispered as he lowered his head slowly, allowing her plenty of time to turn away from him. But she just closed her eyes, and raised her mouth to meet his. Their lips met each other perfectly, naturally. They brushed softly against each other with breathless wonder. His heart thundered in his ribcage, and he could feel hers beating in a similar rhythm against his chest.

Neither one deepened the kiss, each cherishing the embrace for what it offered … promise.

When they broke the kiss, she leaned back and looked up at him once again. She didn't say anything, just smiled. A broad, hopeful smile.

He took her hand in his and laced their fingers together. She squeezed his back. "Come on," he said, tugging her gently back in the direction of The Leaky Cauldron. "Weasley has probably inhaled all of the warm biscuits by now. If we don't get back soon, the pub may be out of food."

She threw back her head and a genuine laugh escaped her lips. Still holding his hand in hers, she slapped him lightly on the arm with her free hand. "You said you'd be nice to Ron at lunch."

"I know, that's why I'm getting it all out of my system now, before I see him again."

"Some things never change," she sighed.

He took a deep breath and brought her hand up to his lips for a kiss. You're right, Hermione, some things never change.

The End