34. Always the Ocean

Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter! Or Draco, or Hermione, or the magical world.

Note: Many thanks to my beta, eilonwy! You know what a HUGE help you have been with this story, and how much better it is because of you. THANK YOU! Also, special thanks to Z, for helping me with this one too. Title taken from "The Ocean" by...Dar Williams

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Chapter 34 - Always the Ocean

Believe in me as I believe in you — Smashing Pumpkins

Draco Malfoy was many things. He would quickly admit that he could be rude, snarky, petulant, difficult and mean. He could put on airs, carry himself as though he alone was the center of the universe, and look down his nose at just about anyone for just about any reason.

In general, he was poised, intelligent, sure of himself. He rarely put himself in situations where he had no control, and on the rare occasion when he did, he still had enough information to make reasonable guesses as to how people would act, how the situation would resolve.

He'd had two years to imagine the moment when he would tell Hermione what he'd done. At first, he wasn't too concerned with what her response might be. The more he watched her, the more his conscience pricked him about his actions, though hardly enough to overpower his will to survive and complete his mission.

After she'd moved into his house, things had changed. Her tremendous strength, in the face of the belief that her parents were dead at his hand, had affected him more than he could have anticipated. The more time they spent together, the more he cared about her, and eventually, how she would feel about him once she knew the truth.

As the time to face Voldemort approached, Draco had pushed thoughts of telling Hermione the truth aside. He'd had more immediate concerns. But he'd thought about it a great deal before that time, and had never come to a good hypothesis.

After Voldemort's death, Hermione's reaction was all he'd thought about. One thing he'd decided was that she'd be angry. Beyond that, he couldn't venture an evidence-based guess.

She was so…impossible to define. She didn't fit into any one category. One moment he'd think he had her figured, and then he'd remember something she'd said or done that contradicted his definition.

In short, he was afraid to look at her when he'd finished his story. No matter what she did, no matter how angry she was, he had to take it. There was nothing he could say—nothing he would say. She had every right to feel whatever she would feel, and he had no intention of trying to deny her.

It was true there were more details to cover—the reality of faking their deaths, how he convinced the Dark Lord not to kill her, an explanation of the Binding Spell—he even wanted to tell her about Ron. But the bulk of the message had been delivered.

It wasn't until he felt the oppressive weight of silence in the room that he realized he'd stopped talking. All through the story, Draco had kept his eyes fixed on a point on the wall behind Hermione and her parents. With great trepidation, he dared a look at her. She was literally gaping at him. If the situation weren't so serious he would've laughed.

When their eyes met, she seemed to snap out of her trance. She shut her mouth, but continued to stare at him as if he'd sprouted an extra head. A blue one. Which then in turn sprouted daisies. Then she turned away.

Draco broke his gaze with Hermione and looked at her parents. Jane was smiling at him kindly, while Steve was watching his daughter. Draco wanted more than anything at that moment to hear Hermione's voice. He'd been talking for nearly half an hour, with her parents interjecting occasionally, but for the most part leaving the telling to him.

When the silence became stifling, he cleared his throat. Hermione's eyes snapped back to his and she blinked.

Then Jane put her hand on Hermione's arm. "All right, Sweetheart?"

Hermione looked at her mother, tears in her eyes. She could only nod and then leaned her head against her mother, who put an arm around her daughter's shoulder and pulled her close.

"Hermione," said Draco, hoping he didn't sound too desperate. He needed to know what she was thinking, how she was feeling, what was running at what he knew would be light speed through her mind.

She shut her eyes tight and took several deep breaths. "Was there anything else?" she asked quietly, eyes still shut.

Her emotionless tone twisted something inside him painfully. Anything would have been better than that—yelling, crying, hexing him. But she just kept her eyes shut, waiting for him to continue.

He nodded. "I went to my house and retrieved the potion from my father's stores, then returned to your house. Your parents positioned themselves as you found them and then drank the potion. I waited for you to come home, after casting the Dark Mark over your house. I knew you would summon the Order when you saw it, so I also knew you wouldn't be alone when you entered."

"I found out which funeral home you'd be using and got a job there. I made sure I was on duty when the day of the viewing came. Once it was over, and everyone outside was ready to go to the gravesite, I slipped into the room, gave your parents the revival potion, and closed bags of dirt in the coffins before sealing them. We went to the burial site to make sure the plan went off with no bumps, and then I brought your parents here."

"I'd found this island in the few days between their 'deaths' and the funeral, and bought it. We spent a month building this house, and they've been here ever since."

Again Draco looked at Hermione, but she was staring at the door.

"You were there? For my parents' funeral?" she asked. Hermione's mind, which had been rendered useless during Draco's story, now started slowly coming alive. But everything else was still jumbled, and this was something she could focus on. Without looking at anything, she forced her mind to remember the day she buried her parents. She willed her mind to remember every detail possible; the room, the colors, the people—especially the people. There were so many people—former teachers, Harry, Ron and all the Weasleys, most of the Order, her parents' friends…surely she would remember if Malfoy had been there. Of course, he would have looked different. Perhaps he'd had his usual alias of black hair and blue eyes? She searched in her mind, but there was too much fog. She barely remembered waking up, getting dressed, and into the car that day, much less every person who attended. She sighed in frustration and looked at Draco. "I don't remember you."

"I didn't exactly come and introduce myself."

Now Hermione's mind was speeding through everything he'd told her. He had faked her parents' death. He faked their death. It didn't make sense. Why? Why?

"Why?" she demanded calmly. "Why did you do all this? Why did you fake their deaths?" Then she sat up and looked at her parents in turn. "And I cannot believe you did this! I can't believe what you put me through!" Hermione was surprised to find that she was now yelling at her parents.

"Oh, sweetheart," said Jane, giving her daughter a pained smile. "We knew it would be hard, but we had no choice. Draco gave us very few options, and he refused to fake your death as well. Said you wouldn't stay put."

Hermione continued to stare at her mother. "You're bloody right I wouldn't have stayed put. I can't believe you even considered it. I would not have taken kindly to being forced out of the world for two years." Her eyes were flashing as she spoke, but the fire quickly faded to sadness and she looked at her father. "But… I don't understand, why couldn't you have told me?" she asked.

Draco spoke. "If you'd had any idea at all, if you'd known, then it was bound to be found out. You would have mentioned it to someone, or else hinted it through your behavior. You were being watched, you know. By…us." He swallowed. "If you'd gone to your parents, if you'd let slip one errant word, one of the Death Eaters would have reported it to the Dark Lord and both you and I would have been killed."

"But…not my parents?"

"No, they were placed under the Fidelius Charm. Only I could reveal this location. If I were dead, however, the protection would have disappeared. The Dark Lord may or may not have bothered trying to find them."

"Oh," Hermione responded, slightly deflated. It was all just so very much to learn.

"Draco kept us updated regularly on how you were doing," Steve said.

Hermione turned on Draco, eyes blazing once again. "What?! You kept in touch with them?" Her mind started screaming again and fragments of conversations they'd had started coming together Her eyes widened. "Wait, that bird… New Zealand… Christmas!" She put her head in her hands and let out a few tears of frustration.

Oh, how Draco despised hurting her.

"Start talking, Malfoy!" she demanded.

He took another deep breath, ready for the plunge. "I was in contact with your parents the entire time. They would let me know when they needed supplies, and I'd either send them or bring them here myself. Last September, your parents asked if there was any way they could see you, so I set up that dinner in New Zealand. They were listening to our conversation."

At this revelation, Hermione gasped and put a hand to her mouth. "Oh! That's awful! Is that why you kept asking about my job and personal life?"

"Yes, so they would hear from you about your life."

Hermione shut her eyes tightly, and tried to remember that night. She knew she and Malfoy had fought; they always did. And of course, she'd cost him 1200 pounds. She looked at her father. "Oh, Dad, I'm so sorry I behaved so awfully! You have no idea how Malfoy and I were. I mean, I told you how mean we were to each other in school, but…."

"It's okay, honey," Jane said soothingly. "Draco warned us that you and he still didn't get along. Of course, we had no idea exactly how much you didn't get along, but it's okay. You thought he'd killed us, and he dragged you there, and… we understood."

Steve chuckled. "That little stunt you pulled. Made me proud."

Hermione forced a smile for her father, then turned back to Draco.

He took it as his cue to continue. "And Christmas. I spent two Christmases here, wishing it had been you instead of me."

She looked at him sadly. She remembered what he'd said when she asked if he were going home for the holiday. And a small part of her, the part that was trying hard to remember that she truly cared about Draco, loved him even, was glad that he had been with people who cared about him.

"And now, to answer your previous question. Why. I'm not sure this will make sense. I knew you'd ask that, and as I had lots of time to think while in Azkaban, this is the best I could come up with.

"Your parents gave me hope, a tiny sliver of hope that night. They gave me the reason I needed to move my life in a new direction. I was at the lowest I'd ever been that night, so low that I could go no lower. There had even been a moment, however brief, where I thought about just… stopping. Quitting."

"Oh," Hermione said softly, and he looked at her briefly. The look on her face was one of shared pain.

"But I couldn't do that, either. Thoughts like that scared me, and I ran as far from them as I could. Still, I was in a terrible place. Imagine I was in a very deep well. I could only just make out a light above me. I could stay in the bottom of that well, no relief or end in sight, or I could crawl toward that light with everything I had left. So I clung to that sliver, and when I woke up the next morning, I felt different. Not changed, not "reformed," but different. It was a small difference too: I didn't groan when I saw the sunlight peeking through my curtains. That's all it was. But I knew it was different, and that's all that mattered. I made my plan that very morning, before eating, dressing, anything, to get out from the prison I'd built for myself. That hope drove me. It pushed me to continue.

"I studied magic harder than I ever have, as many branches I could and especially those involving the mind, including Legilimency and Occlumency, so I would be able to protect myself from my Master and his piercing mind. I studied to find his weaknesses, and the weaknesses of my fellow sheep. I learned about as many of them I could; I worked my way up in the ranks with intelligence and cunning, proving myself to be valuable to my Master in many ways. Only from the top could I avoid such menial tasks as killing or torturing. And only from there could I truly study the Dark Lord and learn his mind.

"Gradually that sliver of hope grew until it became a reality. For a year and a half I worked to bring an end to the Dark Lord, and finally all my work was finished. I worked to think of every angle, every possibility I could. I made plans; I chose you and Harry to help me. You, in part because I was charged with protecting you, and could do that more easily if you were close by. I also knew I would be hunted once the Dark Lord learned of my desertion and I could not move about freely to watch over you. I had believed I had left him forever; however my father's rash actions in killing that family of Aurors, demanding my return, forced me to use one of the back-up plans I'd developed. You remember it, I'm sure."

He looked up and Hermione nodded mechanically.

"I had to assure the Dark Lord my absence was due to a cause other than desertion. Harry was an obvious choice; I had learned of the prophecies concerning him and the Dark Lord, and knew that no matter how much I learned, I would not be able to deal the deathblow. When everything had been made ready, I walked in to the Ministry to try and convince Harry to join me."

Hermione had once again been rendered speechless. He spoke with such poetry, grace, and fervor; she couldn't help but be caught up in his words. Again her brain picked one thing to focus on in his explanation. Protection.

"You speak of protecting me. You promised my parents you would. Yet I never saw you during that time, not once."

"That was the idea." Draco suddenly needed to move. His legs were cramped and his throat parched. "Hermione, would you like something to drink?"

She blinked. "Uhm, yes, please," she said, finding her throat dry as well.

Jane started to stand, but Draco bade her remain seated. "I need to stretch a bit, Jane. I'll get drinks. Would you like anything?" She shook her head. "Steve?"

"No, thank you, Draco."

Draco moved into the kitchen and pulled out two cups. He stared at the sink for a moment, then filled the cups with water and returned to the living room. He gave Hermione her glass and went to sit, but decided to remain standing.

"That was the idea," he said, starting where he'd left off. "You wouldn't have been too pleased if you found out I was anywhere near you. I simply made sure you got in and out of your flat safely, and to all destinations in between. I watched from afar. I never once had to accost a Muggle while you were under my care, or a witch or wizard, which was what I had expected to happen. Many Death Eaters urged the Dark Lord to take you or Ron captive in order to lure Harry.

"I knew he wouldn't attack you so long as he believed you would prove useful, but eventually, he decided to go after Ron."

Hermione gasped.

Draco nodded, knowing what she was thinking. "I was there when he was injured. I did all I could do to keep him alive. I'm sure you can understand how careful I had to be during that battle. When I saw him dueling with Rabastan, I sent a nasty curse at my uncle. It wouldn't kill him, but no one would know where it had originated."

He paused and took a deep breath. She wouldn't take his next words well. "It missed him and hit Ron instead, and he fell to the ground."

Hermione gasped and raised a hand to her face.

Draco continued quickly, wanting it to be over. "Rabastan was about to kill him when I ran over and called him away. From the way Ron looked, it was hard to tell if he was alive or not; I had to assume he was still alive, as I hadn't tried to kill Rabastan. I sent up sparks from Ron's location when I saw someone from the Order nearing him."

"Oh, Draco," Hermione whispered. She had wondered whether he had been there when Ron was hurt, but had never imagined he might have been the cause. To find out that he had been, no matter that it was unintentional, was hard. But Merlin, she'd forgiven him for far worse already and wouldn't let this stand in her way.

"For the most part, the Dark Lord had much bigger plans than Potter. He saw Harry only as a small nuisance, never a serious threat of any kind, until I told him about your supposed project. For a while, he worried about Harry, but when nothing came immediately from your project, he dismissed Harry as an immediate threat. With Dumbledore out of the way, he saw nothing to keep him from his ultimate schemes. He did not concern himself too much with Harry Potter, having fought him a few times and found him lacking.

"As I discussed with your parents, I had to convince the Dark Lord that you were more valuable alive than dead, to prevent my own death and in turn, yours. I made up a story that I'd found something in your room the night I went to kill you, a file from your work that described a research project being conducted by the Department of Mysteries."

"I didn't work for the Department of Mysteries," Hermione interrupted.

"I know that. I told my master that you were involved with the project and critical to it, the only person not an Unspeakable given access to it. This project was something—a device, a spell, a potion—to increase Harry's strength, accuracy and power, to aid in his battles with the Dark Lord. It would ultimately help Harry defeat him."

Hermione chuckled wryly.

Draco frowned. "What's funny?"

She looked at him intensely. "If you think about it, you were the secret project."

He blinked and let her observation sink in. Then he nodded. "That's…true. I hadn't thought of that before."

"I convinced him that through you, I could learn more details of the project and report those to my master. He believed me – I cannot tell you how terrified I was to lie to him, as this was the day following your parents' deaths."

"Had you ever lied to him before?" Hermione interrupted.

"Never."

"And…he didn't know?"

"I was somewhat skilled at Occlumency even then, thanks to Lucius' insistence. He didn't say anything immediately after I finished, but hopefully he attributed my fear to my failure to complete the mission rather than the fact that I was lying to him."

"It sounds…terrifying."

Draco nodded and looked at Jane. She and Steve were quiet, but Draco had expected them to be. They knew he had a lot of things to say and wanted to leave him to it, to tell his story in his own way.

"He put me in charge of watching over you as my punishment for not killing you, which went along perfectly with what your parents wanted me to do. I was to report to him any and all activity with respect to this project.

"Over the past two years, I've fed him false information about that project. After a while, when nothing materialized, he pushed it from the forefront of his mind. He had much bigger things to attend to. However, I still gave him a report every two months, full of lies. In that way, I was able to convince the Dark Lord to keep you alive.

"As soon as I knew that he believed me that first, most terrifying day, I made arrangements for your parents. As I said before, I retrieved them from the funeral home, we went to the gravesite, and then I brought them straight here, where I'd already collected tents and enough supplies for a month.

"After a few weeks, I returned and we started work on this house. I don't think I slept at all that first month—from watching over you, building this house, working for the Dark Lord, and being utterly sure he would find out and kill me."

"He's dead, you know," Steve interrupted.

Everyone looked at him.

"Draco, we've heard you refer to that madman as 'the Dark Lord' and your 'Master' for two years. He's not your master anymore."

Hermione looked back at Draco. "He's right, you know. You can say his name."

Draco looked at her. "That…will take some effort. It's hard enough saying your name."

She reddened and looked down at her hands.

Draco looked back at Steve. "But thank you for reminding me. You're right; I'm no longer bound to him."

"Do you still have your Mark?" Jane asked.

Hermione looked up again, waiting.

Slowly Draco nodded and pulled up his sleeve.

"That doesn't make sense," said Hermione. "Before, the Mark disappeared. It's the reason they weren't able to tell who'd been a Death Eater and who hadn't."

Draco shrugged. "He also didn't actually die last time. I know very little about this particular spell. Regardless, it is still quite visible."

"Did it…hurt? When he died, did you feel it?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, and it did hurt. It felt as though my arm was on fire. But I didn't think about it too much at the time as I had to help Harry. The pain passed quickly."

"That's good," said Jane kindly.

Hermione shook her head. "I—I can't—Harry believed you? Is this what you told Harry that day in his office? That you hadn't killed my parents?"

"Yes, for the most part. At first, when I told him, he laughed outright—as perhaps was to be expected. But I managed to convince him and then he got really quiet and let me just talk. I told him all about what happened that night, and what I'd been doing for the last year and a half before going to him, including everything I'd done for you. He was…stunned. Still didn't quite believe me, kept saying it was some kind of trick. I'd taken a photo with me to the Ministry that day of me with your parents. A Muggle photo at that, taken here on the island. That was what finally convinced him, I think."

So Harry had known, all along, and he'd said nothing. Hermione shut her eyes tight.

"Remember, Harry had taken a Vow," said Draco. "He couldn't tell you."

She nodded. "Doesn't make it much easier."

"Blame me," he said. "Don't be angry with Harry."

Hermione sniffed. Easier said than done. She was feeling so many things for Draco at that moment she wasn't sure what was real. And being angry with Harry allowed her to postpone thinking about Draco.

"What—about the spell?" she asked.

"The Binding Spell," Draco said with a nod. "I cast it in order to protect you, as I wasn't able to be around you at all times. I bound you to me so that I would know, in the blink of an eye, if you were ever in danger. The spell sensed your fear. That's how Harry and I came to rescue you when my father attacked you." He sat down and looked intently into Hermione's eyes. "And if I hadn't been asleep, I would have known about his presence long before I did and we might have prevented him from hurting you at all. I'm so sorry."

She shook her head, dazed. "But how did you perform that spell? It is supposed to require the participation of both parties."

He smiled slightly. "I…managed," he said. "I did what I had to do in order to cast the spell."

"But still," she protested, shaking her head. "You needed me. How did you do it?"

"Please, let this go," Draco said, almost pleadingly. Though he had no intention of lying to Hermione, there were a few things he wasn't completely ready to tell her. "It—it was quite complicated. I know you want to understand, and I want to explain it all, just...just not now, okay?"

"Why not? You're telling me everything else?" she asked stubbornly.

Draco sighed. "I am not trying to duck out, I – I'm about talked out, to be honest. Maybe...tomorrow I can go into detail, before I return to England, but suffice it to say that I had to tweak the spell so that I could do it without your express involvement. It required magic in its most basic form and a fundamental understanding of magical theory. The enunciation of spells is a very tricky thing. I was lucky, and there was still that side effect."

"The warning, as you put it." Hermione shivered at the memory of last time they'd touched. The kiss alone had been incredible, but coupled with the energy surge; she had felt as though she would implode from the sensations.

"That's my best guess as to its purpose. I will remove the spell now, if you wish."

Something made her hesitate. She feared it would be the first step to the end, that he would be free to step out of her life. "Not now. Tell me how you knew about Harry and Ginny."

"Oh right. It's quite simple, really, compared to everything else. One night after I'd seen you safely home, I saw them walking toward your place. I stayed within hearing distance and used an extendable ear to eavesdrop. They mentioned it; Ginny wanted to tell you, but Harry absolutely forbade it."

"That's it?" she asked, almost disappointed. Once again they seemed to be at the end.

"That's it. Not too exciting."

Hermione sat back in her seat, untold emotions and thoughts running through her like the swirling water retreating from the beach. Her parents were alive. Draco hadn't killed them. He'd watched over them, as he had with her, and they really and truly cared about him. He'd done this – why?

"I'm…trying to understand everything completely," Hermione said. "You did this—faked my parents' death, plotted against Voldemort, watched over me—all for yourself. To get out of the life you chose because you no longer wanted it. Why did you go about it in such a complicated way?"

He shrugged. "It just happened that way, I suppose. You know what I was involved in, you know the consequences of trying to get out. The night I went to your house, I was ready for something to change and I was almost to the point of not caring how. Your parents provided a start to the turn, and gave me a reason to keep living: you. Your mother was right, watching over you and then caring about you was what got me through the hardest times."

She stared at him. He'd just admitted he cared about her. It was something, at least, as he'd never gave any real indication of his feelings. They'd kissed, and she thought he cared for her, but to hear him say it…despite everything she'd learned that he'd done, she had to fight to keep the smile off her face. It emboldened her. "When did you start…uh…caring? About me…"

Draco reddened then and gulped down the rest of his water. He couldn't look at Steve or Jane—or Hermione for that matter—and again chose a spot on the wall to stare at. "I—I suppose I, um, started to…care…about you—or, really, what happened to you—during the time I watched you. Not at first, of course, but I came to understand you a little bit. I came to care when you were happy or sad, and I genuinely cared about what happened in your life. But I couldn't stand being around you once you and Harry moved in. You acted the same toward me as you always had, though I shouldn't have expected anything different. I put up with it because I could remember what you were like when no one was watching. Except me, of course."

Hermione's eyes widened. "You were like… like a stalker!"

"No, no, no!" he said hastily, shaking his head, agitated. Not at all! I didn't—watch you all the time, in your flat, nothing like that," Draco was turning redder. "I just made sure you got home safely. But sometimes you'd stop in shops or the like on your way home. That's where I learned about you." He was horrified at what she must think. "No, no, nothing like that. Please believe me."

She nodded, still a little unsure. "Okay, I do," she said weakly.

"Hermione," said Steve. "We trusted him with your safety. I believe him, and so does your mother."

"It's something he's always been worried about, that when you finally found out, that you would see him that way," added her mother.

"But – no, Hermione. Never," Draco insisted.

She nodded again, more accepting. "Uhm, is that all, then?"

"I think so," said Draco with a heavy sigh. Only then did he notice that the sun had set, the dinner Jane had prepared was most certainly cold, and only a few candles lit the room. Hermione and her parents suddenly seemed to notice these things as well. "I'll remove the spell now," he said. "Outside."

Hermione nodded reluctantly and hesitantly followed him out the door. She felt so weak, so out of sorts. She was surprised that her legs could support her, much less carry her across the room.

Outside the sky was starting to turn midnight blue, the final touches of the sun retreating out of sight. A cool breeze blew and she turned to let it blow through her hair. The air smelled like the sea by the Edge and when she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend she was there. The crashing of the waves on the beach wasn't as violent and final as the waves that crashed on the cliff face; it was still soothing, just differently. Hermione still preferred the angrier, greyer sea in Wales, but this calmer, warmer ocean was beautiful too.

Draco shifted his weight and the sound brought her out of her thoughts and she opened her eyes. He was looking at her strangely, skeptically.

"What?" she asked.

Draco shook his head. "Nothing." He took out a small stone from his pocket. He pointed his wand at the stone and muttered, "De Adnexus." The stone disintegrated, leaving behind only dust and a few hairs. He turned his hand over to let gravity do its job, and they watched the dust fall to the sand. Then Draco looked at Hermione and held up his hand, his palm facing her.

She looked at it, puzzled, but slowly brought hers up to meet it. When they touched there was no energy surge, as there had always been, but there was something else and they both felt it. It wasn't jolting or overpowering, but it was just as intense, just as staggering, if not more so, than the surge. Hermione avoided Draco's eyes and put her hand back at her side.

"Guess you were right about the side effect," she said, opening the door. He nodded. When she was halfway inside, she turned around. "Uhm, Draco?"

"Yes?" he asked, finding it suddenly difficult to breathe.

"I'm going to need some time. To digest all this."

"I figured as much. Take whatever time you need. I'll sleep outside tonight, you can have the other room."

"What is it with you and small houses?" she asked, smiling a little. "I would've expected a great, twelve bedroom estate with a perfect English garden and fountain out here."

He glanced inside through the crack in the door and saw Hermione's parents sitting on the sofa and talking quietly. "You can't feel so alone in a small place," he said.

She looked at him and wondered a thousand things at once—what his life had been like growing up in a huge, cold, empty house; what he hoped his life would be like now; if he'd return to the Edge or move somewhere else once his probation was complete. She said nothing though, still too overcome to really feel confident that she could adequately express her feelings. She gave him a small smile. "I think I'll sleep outside. You know I like to."

"Are you sure? Because I really don't mind."

"Yeah. You take the room."

"Okay," he said.

She opened the door to let him into the house, but he told her he needed to walk. He knew she needed time with her parents and it would be best if she knew he couldn't overhear whatever they might discuss.

Draco waited a few hours, even fell asleep for a few minutes in the hammock, before going back inside. Hermione and her parents were talking quietly in the living room. He nodded, said goodnight, and went to his room. He sat down on the bed in his room and his mind went to the conversation with Hermione. It hadn't gone as badly as it might have; she hadn't screamed at him, or cursed him, or even cried really. It could have been much worse. Still, she hadn't really said anything. Just asked questions and absorbed the answers. But really, what else did he expect? It would take time for her to digest it all, and he would give her that time. And space.

He lay down on the bed now, looking up at the ceiling. He glanced at the dresser where the ugly little broom from Harry sat, and pointed his wand at it and sent it flying around the room. It flashed and made cheering sounds, making him smile a little. Draco watched the broom fly around his room until his eyes became unfocused.

A rumbling in his stomach brought Draco out of his trance. He realized he hadn't eaten dinner, and was deciding what he should do about it when there was a knock on his door. He stood up and opened it a crack. Hermione was standing on the other side holding a plate.

"I thought you might be hungry," she said.

He smiled and opened the door. "I was just thinking about food. Thank you." Draco took the plate and sat down on his bed to eat.

Hermione looked around the room, thinking how small it must be compared to what he'd been used to, growing up. Then she noticed the flying broom.

"What is that?" she asked, pointing.

Draco looked up. "Christmas present from Harry. It's quite annoying sometimes."

"I would think so."

Hermione remained standing while Draco ate. He noticed that she didn't seem to want to leave. "Er…you're welcome to come in, make yourself comfortable. Sit, if you want." He started to stand, to let her sit on his bed, but she shook her head and went to sit in the window, still without speaking.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Is there something you wanted to talk about?"

"What?" she said, looking at him. "Oh, well, I don't know. It seems like there should be, doesn't it?"

"I don't know, what do you mean?"

"I mean, after everything that just happened, everything you've told me…it seems like we should be having this enormous conversation about it."

"I'm more than willing to discuss anything you wish. Was there something in particular?" he asked.

"That's just it," Hermione said with a slight chuckle. "I—I have no idea what to say, where to start."

"I think you need more time," Draco offered.

"See, I'm not sure! I just don't know. One moment I think I need more time, then next moment I feel as though I can't wait another moment."

"For what?"

She shook her head. "Whatever comes next. And I have no idea what that might be. You answered all my questions; I just feel as though I'm ready to move forward, but I'm not sure where I'm going. And I have no idea how to get there."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, just…something," she said, feeling slightly frustrated. She turned and looked out the window. The steady beat of the waves calmed her and she looked back at him. "You don't feel it?"

"Well, I keep waiting for you to hex me or scream at me, so in a way I feel it."

Hermione smiled. "I'm not going to hex you. Or scream. I think. I don't know. Is there anything left for us to say?"

Draco looked at her incredulously. He understood she might not want to talk about…everything that had thus far remained unsaid between them, but surely she must at least know. He had questions of his own that needed answering. Could she forgive him? Did she hate him? Would she want him in her life? Did she ever want to kiss him again? Would she even want to be friends?

He shook his head. It certainly wouldn't help anything to think about kissing her. Even though at that moment, she was sitting in his window, bathed in moonlight, her large curls blowing in the sea breeze, with a calm yet remote expression on her face—the perfect moment to tell her—again—how sorry he was, how much she meant to him, and how much he wanted to mean something to her.

He didn't know what to say. He really didn't. So he told her that.

Hermione sighed. "I guess there's no great conversation then."

"Guess not," he repeated, an odd sense of disappointment filling him. He'd thought—maybe. "If I may, I have a question," he said after a moment.

"Okay," she said.

"What did you tell your parents about me?"

She frowned and cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"When I went to your house that night, they said you'd told them all about me. What had you said?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh. That. Well…sometimes I talked about work," she said, not looking at him.

"And?" he prompted.

She sighed. "And…you were part of work. Though I talked about you more than any other of my cases, it still wasn't very much. One night, soon after sixth year ended, Harry and Ron were over, and we started talking about that night on the Tower, and my parents asked what had become of you."

"Why?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I'm not sure, though if I had to guess, I'd say because they're very caring people in general. And…we'd discussed our theories about you in their hearing. That we didn't think you were completely evil, that you didn't kill Dumbledore after all, that you'd been coerced."

He swallowed hard. "Oh."

"Of course, as soon as your name starting appearing the Prophet, linked to the usual Death Eater activity—murder, torture, all of that—we stopped saying anything nice about you at all. But…they still asked."

Oh.

He looked away from her and felt slightly sick. He'd done such horrible things…He set the fork down and looked past her. "Thank you."

She stood. "Just figured you might be hungry."

"I'm…glad you at least don't hate me. Since you made sure I was properly fed."

Hermione laughed a little. "I don't hate you." She stood and walked toward him. "I'll take your plate."

"Oh, right." He handed it to her, and she left the room without another word.

ooo

A/N: Oh wow, only one more chapter! Thank you SO much to everyone who has been following this story! I want to say thanks for all the wonderful "deleted scene" requests I got for the last chapter! I'm going to have a lot of fun with them. If you still want to request one, go right ahead.

Some of you have mentioned that you hope I"ll write another D/Hr story—don't worry! I'm not going anywhere. I have a few things in mind, and a few stories very close to being ready for posting. And another long one in the works. You make me feel all special because you want me to keep at this, and I certainly intend to. Thank you!

I'll probably have a lot more to say next week. AH:)