A Pound of Flesh

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Someone Who Doesn’t Exist

The sun was setting on Hermione’s final day of mourning. She would go back to work tomorrow, do her job, and be a productive member of society once more. There would be less smiles, and less laughter, but that was to be expected when one had just had their heart broken.

The sunset was brilliant, and she twisted in her seat on the bench to watch the sky descend into night. She could no longer see the sun for the buildings, but she could still see the clouds, the pressing and dark clouds that hovered above the horizon, a gathering storm. The sun seemed determined to have the last word, lighting up the small slice of sky still visible at the horizon with brilliant orange, and painting the bottoms of the clouds with magenta and purple.

Soon, it would rain, and Hermione knew she would walk home in it, no matter how cold it grew, just for the chance to experience that sort of peace with the world – accepting the rain, and not fighting against it, or fleeing it, and being alone in the cocoon of the storm.

Her day had been hectic and loud, and the chance for a little peace and quiet was an attractive offer. Even here, where Hermione sat, overlooking the Thames and the London Eye, she was still surrounded by people, though at least none of them acknowledged her presence. They were all too wrapped up in their daily lives to notice the quiet witch in their midst.

Tourists stood at the edge of the water and took photos of the giant Ferris wheel as it began to glow with lights. Parents with pushchairs and young children in tiny, warm coats strolled down the walkway, engaging in conversations that were punctuated with calls for the children to stay close by. Hermione felt very alone on her bench, especially after having spent the day first in the company of Ginny and Harry in the couple’s flat, and then with the rest of the Weasleys at the Burrow.

It had been Ginny’s idea, and she was very insistent that Hermione not spend another day alone. Thus, first thing that morning, Ginny had appeared at Hermione’s flat and made breakfast while Hermione showered and worked the rest of the tangles out of her hair. Then the younger woman had Apparated the both of them to the flat she now shared with Harry, who was at Quidditch practice.

When Harry had finally appeared, sweaty and tired, he had at once pulled her into a tight embrace and whispered in her ear that if she wanted, he’d go rough up the bloke who’d broken her heart. Laughing through the tears in her eyes, Hermione appreciated the offer, however misguided it was.

After lunch, they’d all three gone on to the Burrow, where Hermione had spent the rest of the day struggling to contain her emotion. She appreciated what Ginny was trying to do, but it was so much harder to be around people than to be alone, where she could cry without invoking endless questions. She knew the Weasleys would mean well, but they would want to know what was wrong, and then she would have to put it in words, and she didn’t know if she was capable of doing that again without losing grip of her controlled façade.

So she’d done her best to be a part of the conversation, and to smile and laugh where it was appropriate, but it was exhausting to try to act as though there was nothing bothering her. Thus, after dinner, she’d managed to slip away with a half-formed excuse about needing to do the wash. Until now, it hadn’t hit her that none of the Weasleys had questioned her presence on a workday, and that there had been no discussion of Angelina and George’s impending wedding. A brief swell of love and mortification filled her as she realized that they’d all known of her heartbreak, even Ron, and they’d done their level best to cheer her up.

It was the longest she’d gone without seeing Draco in over a month.

Hermione turned away from the setting sun and heaved a sigh as she watched the Eye make its inevitable, continuous circle. She had not seen Draco since Sunday morning. She knew she’d brought everything on herself, known that her relationship with Draco would end the way it did. But for how it ended, she wouldn’t trade a moment with Draco. It had been stolen, lovely, and worth it. If only he felt the same way.

She also knew her chances of explaining herself to him dwindled with each day that passed. Already, he might be gone away, and then she would never be able to explain. Ginny had told her to wait a week, but that felt too long for her. It was already Wednesday, and it might be too late.

But she wasn’t certain what she would say to him. The truth, obviously, as he deserved nothing less from her. But in order to tell him the truth, she needed him to listen, and she did not know if he was ready to do that.

She stood from her bench, pulling her coat around her as gust of wind signaled the impending storm’s approach. The clouds had overtaken the horizon and blocked out the glow of sunset, and the walkway began to clear of all but the most avid tourists.

And then, while she leaned against the railing and looked out onto the choppy Thames, it began to rain. At last, she thought, tilting her head back to let the wet droplets meet her face. The rain started as a soft sprinkle, and only people with umbrellas remained behind, none of them stopping to pay any attention to the woman at the edge of the river with her face turned up to the sky. The sprinkle became a downpour after just a few minutes, and it was then that Hermione let go and started to cry. Nobody would see now.

It was fully dark before Hermione moved from her spot at the edge of the river. She was soaked through to the skin, and her clothing clung to her like an unpleasant, chilly blanket. But as she had let the rain mask her tears, she’d come to a decision, and now, at last spurred into action, she turned away from the London Eye and headed for Soho.

Drenched and shivering, she came to a stop outside Draco’s building and looked up. The lights were off in his flat, which did not bode well. But if she had to wait for him, she would. Still dripping cold rainwater, she trudged up the two flights of stairs, and then traversed the dim, dusty corridor to his door. She paused, her fist clenched at her side. She would make him listen. He had to listen. She raised her clenched fist and knocked. And then knocked again.

But he was not there. He could be out for the evening, or he could be gone for good. Hoping for the former, Hermione slouched against the wall outside his door and slid down until she was sitting on the worn, dirty carpet. She would wait for him.

***

Sometime between Draco’s tenth and eleventh drink, he’d let his glamour slip. The barkeep had looked at him a bit oddly but then shook his head and muttered something about seeing things.

He was good and pissed now, but he could not forget any longer. Everything bubbled to the surface, and he clenched his teeth to keep from screaming. He remembered standing in front of Voldemort and trading his life away so that his parents could live. He’d bought them a year with his sacrifice. His fingers tightened around his glass of ale as he remembered his mother’s screams from just below him as she’d been murdered.

The good memories – where in the bloody hell were the good memories? He knew there were good things to be remembered – Pansy with her skirt hiked up, rocking her hips against him, nobody the wiser to what they were doing behind the boulders surrounding the lake – Pansy who had lost everything and was full of bitterness as she worked in a bookshop to survive.

Draco lowered his head to the bar and groaned. It was as if he was the punch line of some great, cosmic joke. Here he’d been blissful in his obliviousness, waiting and waiting to remember, and now that he had the memories back, all he wanted to do was go back to not knowing.

The magic, though, that was worth remembering. Draco banged his head against the bar. Not that he could ever become part of the magical community again. He was doomed to be an outsider for the rest of his life, doomed to be –

“Jesus fucking Christ, Damien.” The voice beside him roused him from his spiral of misery. “I thought you’d died. Where in the hell have you been?”

Bleary eyed, Draco raised his head and peered owlishly to his left. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, seeing Tom standing beside him, looking relieved and angry.

“Fuck, mate, what happened to you? You look like shite.”

Draco snorted with dark humor. Trust Tom to cut right to the heart of the matter.

“Good to see you, too,” Draco said, the words slurring together a bit.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tom replied, impatient. “Good to see you. Bollucks. Where have you been? You haven’t come to classes, you missed the exam, and you haven’t answered your phone in fucking days. It’s like you fell off the face of the damn planet.”

Draco quirked his brows once, thinking Tom wasn’t far off by saying that. It felt like the world was trying to shake him free, and he was grasping at the fingertips of two people – Draco Malfoy, and Damien King. And Draco had just let go, so all that was left was Damien, grounding him to the planet. And Damien was about to let go, as well.

“Mate,” Tom said, snapping his fingers. “Focus here. What happened?”

Gee, Tom, I got my memories back. Guess what? I’m a fucking wizard! Guess what else? My girlfriend – the one I love, you know, her? Yeah, she’s a witch. And she knew who I was. And she’s the one who made me forget to begin with. Because I’m supposed to be dead, see, and if I go back to who I was before, they’ll lock me in Azkaban and throw away the key. Oh, and my parents are dead, did I forget to mention that? Yeah, I heard my mum get murdered. Oh, joy!

Draco blinked, finding the speech in his head far funnier than he should. He glanced at his half empty ale and wondered if he’d had too much to drink, or not enough.

“I broke up with Jane,” he said at last.

“I’ve never seen you this torn up over a bird before,” Tom replied.

“She was different,” Draco explained, and then he hunched over his drink and emptied it.

“What happened?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“How many have you had?” Tom asked as Draco set the empty glass back on the bar and tried to catch the barkeep’s attention for another drink.

“Not enough, apparently.”

“How many?”

“I dunno,” Draco said peevishly. “Twelve? Thirteen?”

“Why don’t you come back to my place and drink there? It’s free, after all.” Tom grabbed Draco’s arm and attempted to boost him out of his seat. Caught off guard, Draco slipped sideways in the seat and almost landed on his face on the floor. Tom righted him and leaned him against the bar. “Grab your coat, mate.”

Draco grumbled and then groaned as the pub began to spin. He attempted to focus and stop the spinning, but the effort made his head ache and his stomach churn. He leaned against the bar and rubbed his face, taking shallow breaths through his nose.

“Alright, mate?”

Draco shook his head, groaning low in his throat. “I wanna go home. But I can’t. They took it from me.”

“What are you talking about?” Tom asked, easing Draco’s coat onto his arms and steering him toward the door.

“My house. They gave my house to my aunt. They gave her everything. I don’t even exist anymore.”

“Sure, mate. Whatever you say. You shouldn’t go home tonight anyway. Just come stay at my place. Da and Mum won’t mind. They like you enough.”

“I can get us there. I’ll Apparate us.” Draco grabbed Tom’s arm and tried to spin on his heel, but ended up tripping over his own ankle and almost pitched over into a rubbish bin.

“Easy, there,” Tom said, grabbing onto the back of Draco’s coat and hauling him up again. He looped his arm around Draco’s waist. “No need to… whatever you said. It’s a nice night for a walk, yeah? Help you clear your head a bit before we surprise my folks.”

“Lucky you have parents. My parents are dead, you know.”

“I didn’t know that,” Tom supplied.

Draco nodded, which was a mistake, as it made the streetlights spin and blur. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned. “Remind me not to do that again.”

“Hey, Damien,” Tom said. “Don’t do that again.”

Draco snorted, and then began to laugh. He gripped Tom’s shoulder and howled with laughter, which made his head hurt, but he couldn’t stop. And then the laughter gave way to tears, and he turned his face away, ashamed.

Tom didn’t say anything about it, other than, “Come on, mate. Let’s go. It’ll be better in the morning, I promise.”

Draco bit his bottom lip to keep from groaning again, and let Tom lead him into the night, hoping that maybe his friend was right, and in the morning, he wouldn’t remember anymore.

***

Hermione shifted on the floor, growing more uncomfortable the longer she sat outside Draco’s door. At least now she knew he still lived in the flat. The old woman who lived across the corridor from him had told Hermione that Draco had held open the door for her that morning as she carried in her groceries.

But it was nearing midnight and he had yet to return.

Hermione rolled her head on her neck, feeling the biting tension between her shoulder blades. She wanted to keep waiting, but she had to go back to work in the morning, and she was exhausted, and she wanted to be in complete control of her mental facilities when she faced him. At least she knew he hadn’t run yet.

She heaved a disappointed sigh and thought about waiting a little while longer, or perhaps going to look for him, but she had no idea where to start. She knew that Draco would never go back to the strip club, so that was out, and even with that eliminated, there was still a lot of London left.

She waited another half an hour, shifting against the wall and yawning into her hand, before she at last admitted defeat. No confrontation that came at this hour would do any good at all, and her explanation – she hoped – would take quite a while to give. Thus, she pulled a piece of paper and a pen from her pocket. She wrote:


Dear Draco,

Please give me the chance to explain.

I’m so sorry.

Hermione


She folded it in half and slipped it under his door, and then she left.

***

It was still raining when Hermione woke in the morning. For a fraction of a moment after she opened her eyes, the events of the last few days escaped her, and she could not explain the dismal feeling of emptiness that echoed and bounced around in her chest, causing her heart to ache. But then it all came rushing back.

She stared at the ceiling and took a deep breath before she pushed back the covers and crawled out of bed. She could do this; she had done this before, when Ron had gone. It was a simple matter of putting one foot in front of the other and focusing on doing what needed to be done.

After a cursory breakfast, half of which went into the rubbish bin, and a quick glance in the mirror to ensure that her face was not blotchy or tear-streaked, Hermione pulled her MLE robes on over her clothes and went to work.

Susan, who was waiting for her at the lifts with a cup of coffee, did not remark on Hermione’s absence other than to say in an offhand manner, “If you want me to rough him up a bit, just let me know.”

Hermione froze in the corridor halfway to their shared cubicle. “Did Ginny – ” she began, furious, but Susan held up a hand to forestall her.

“No, she didn’t. It’s just there; I can see it on your face.”

Hermione rubbed at her face in aggravation and marched toward her desk, back ramrod straight. Self-conscious, she wondered if everyone else could see her broken heart and mountain of guilt as easily as Susan.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Susan asked, reaching their desks.

“No,” Hermione answered, her voice harsh with suppressed emotion.

Susan rocked back on her heels from the force of Hermione’s response. After a moment, she shrugged. “Right, then. But the offer stands.”

Hermione felt more at ease once she was out of the brightly lit office. She and Susan had been assigned patrol duties, and while her partner complained about the rain, to Hermione, it was a relief to be out of the confines of the stuffy MLE headquarters.

London was shades of grey, with the buildings dark grey blobs behind a pale grey shroud of misting rain. The color of the low-hanging clouds reminded her of Draco’s eyes. She allowed herself one moment of mourning, and then pushed it down again.

While in Muggle London, they paced the streets under the shelter of hoods and umbrellas, but once they crossed through to Diagon Alley, Hermione cast a charm to repel water, and folded the umbrella.

Not too many shoppers were out and about on the dismal day, but a few of the brave called their hellos as they went on with their business. She and Susan stopped in at each shop for a few moments to chat with the shop keeps and make sure all was well. In Flourish and Blotts, Pansy Parkinson grumbled that the MLE ought to do more to protect her from harassment before her supervisor sent her to the backroom to sort through a new shipment of books.

“Trust Parkinson to think the MLE has nothing better to do than punish the lads who take the mickey because her dear old dad got what was coming to him,” Susan said in an undertone to Hermione as they stepped out once more into the rain.

“I think they take the mickey because she’s got to work now since the Ministry seized her family’s estate.”

“Which was no more than they deserved.”

“She wasn’t working for Voldemort,” Hermione pointed out.

“Maybe not. But she supported him and his ideologies.”

“We punish people based on their beliefs now?”

“Why not? The purebloods punish people based on blood.” Susan pushed open the door to Madam Malkin’s, then continued in a more serious tone, “No, I don’t think we should punish people just for their beliefs – even if they believe in something utterly evil. But Pansy and her mum knew what her father was getting up to. He was breaking the law – torturing Muggles and Muggle-borns, setting off explosions and blowing up bridges and killing people. Pansy and her mum knew, and they did nothing. They aided and abetted.”

“Still seems a bit harsh – seizing everything they own and turning them into paupers.”

“You lost people you loved, right?”

Hermione inhaled a cleansing, calming breath and nodded. “You know I did.”

“Don’t you think less people would have died if the family members of the Death Eaters had done the right thing, stepped up and reported on their activities?”

“Yes, but who could do that to someone they love?”

“What is right is not always easy,” Susan replied.

Susan and Hermione nodded their greetings to Madam Malkin, who was putting the final touches on a spindly wizard’s robes, and then leaned against the counter to wait for her to finish. While Susan chatted with another customer in process of being measured for new robes, Hermione thought about Draco. She didn’t entirely agree with Susan that everything was so black and white. Draco’s situation had educated her. One did not simply report on Voldemort or his Death Eaters and expect to live. Families were not above being sacrificed.

After chatting with the proprietress of the shop for a few minutes, Hermione and Susan once more went out into the rain. They walked Diagon Alley twice, Knockturn Alley three times, and then went into the small café sitting in the shadow of Gringotts.

While she waited for her turkey sandwich to arrive, Hermione stared out the window at the narrow, rainy street. Though she was glad to be out of the confines of the office, she was gripped with unwavering ennui. The conversation about Pansy was the most interesting thing to happen all day. Startled, Hermione wondered when her job had become so boring and unfulfilling.

“You’re quiet,” Susan remarked once their food arrived.

“Do you ever feel like you should be doing something else?” Hermione asked as she picked at her sandwich.

“Me? Not personally. Why? Is that how you feel?” Susan asked.

Hermione weighed the question in her head and then shrugged. “I suppose so.”

“Are you sure it isn’t because of what just happened with Damien?”

“No, I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

“Well, no offense, Hermione, but I never could figure out what you were doing here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… well, alright. You were brilliant. Are brilliant. You should be inventing spells and charms, creating new potions – something other than this. This job,” Susan said with a rueful sigh, “it’s a good job for someone like me. I got Acceptables on my NEWTs. Not Outstandings.”

“The Ministry needed good people to rebuild it,” Hermione excused.

“It’s rebuilt now.”

“I know.”

“But you’re still here.”

Hermione peeled back the bread and shredded the turkey into bits. She nibbled on her pickle, lost in thought. Susan ate without comment. At last, Hermione said, “I was thinking of going to university.”

Susan said, “I think you should.”

***

The rain did not let up the rest of the day, matching Hermione’s somber, dismal mood. By the time five o’clock rolled around, the puddles on the streets and walkways were ankle-deep in places, and in spite of her umbrella and hood, she came away from Muggle London damp and chilled.

As she joined the queue at the Floos, she checked her watch. She was expected at Harry and Ginny’s flat for dinner in a little less than an hour, which left her plenty of time to go back to her flat, take a hot shower, and change into some fresh clothes.

When she emerged from her flat’s stooped fireplace, she sighed in relief. It had been a trying, exhausting, and all-around boring day. She turned on the nearest lamp and loosened her tie as she kicked off her shoes by the door. A shower sounded like just the thing. She could get her cry out before she showed up at the Potters’ home.

But just as she started down the hallway to her bathroom, there was a knock on her door. She wasn’t expecting anyone, but she wouldn’t put it past Ginny to show up to ensure her attendance to dinner. With an exasperated sigh, she crossed to the door. But when she peered through the peephole, it was not Ginny she saw.

Through the fish-eye lens, the first thing she saw was the fringe of platinum blond underneath the hood of a black sweatshirt. Then Draco looked up from his study of the ground, and she saw his stunning, slate grey eyes, magnified to appear larger than the rest of his face.

Her heart jumped to her throat and stuck there. With a shaky gasp, she leaned against the door, so stunned by his sudden appearance that she would have fallen, if not for the door

“Open up, Granger, I know you’re in there,” Draco said as he resumed his inspection of the ground, sounding annoyed. “Unless you expect me to stand out here all night.”

Her fingertips numb, Hermione disengaged the locks and swung the door open. She braced herself against the doorframe and swallowed, sending her heart back down to her chest where it began to hammer against her ribs.

Draco looked up again, and a chill went down her spine. It hadn’t even been a week, and yet he’d undergone a complete transformation. His face, which had always been thin and full of sharp angles, appeared nearly gaunt now, and covered in pale blond scruff. The smile which she’d grown so accustomed to seeing was replaced by a tight-lipped frown. His expression was impassive, shut off, and far different from the open warmth to which she had become accustomed. It was a face without joy.

“Invite me in,” he said.

Hermione stepped back to let him pass, and he whisked into the room, businesslike and precise. As he passed by her, she realized he even smelled different. The pleasantly musky odor of oil and boy was gone, replaced by something some more acrid.

As she shut the door, she swallowed her tears and the strange, irrational hope that seeing him at her door had inspired. When she had collected herself, she turned away from the door and leaned against it.

“Draco, what are you doing here?”

He dug a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and held it up. “I got your note,” he said in a tight and controlled voice.

“I – ” she tried, and then her throat closed up. Now that he was here, everything she’d practiced saying in her head, and all of her reasons and explanations, grew tangled into an incoherent mess. “I – ” she said again.

He was right there, in front of her, just out of reach. She took a small step away from the door, and unable to stop herself, she reached out for him.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, his voice strained.

She jerked her hand back, chastised. “I’m sorry.” With that apology, everything came out in a rushing torrent of words. “I didn’t mean to leave you there for so long. It was just supposed to be temporary. But I Obliviated myself in case they captured me, and I didn’t find the note or the memories I’d left myself until Sunday. I didn’t know it was me, Draco. I’m so sorry.”

“But you knew it was me,” he stated.

She nodded. “I did.”

“Was there nowhere else you could have left me?” he asked in the same voice, which spoke of a barely restrained anger simmering just beneath the surface.

“It was just supposed to be temporary. Dearborn – ”

“Fuck Dearborn!” Draco growled. “The strip club, Granger. The fucking strip club!”

“Just – give me a minute to explain,” Hermione said, standing her ground.

“You said you’d be there waiting, afterward. I called for you and you weren’t there.”

For a moment, Hermione didn’t know what he was talking about.

“You said you’d come back for me,” he continued. “I didn’t know who I was – I didn’t know anything – and you just fucking left me there. You didn’t even stay to see if I got the job.”

“But I did!” she defended, catching on at last. “I was behind the rack of costumes – ”

Draco, however, did not appear to be ready to listen yet. “You left me at a strip club!” he raged, beginning to pace between the back of the sofa and the door. “As if it wasn’t bad enough that you felt it necessary to Obliviate me – ”

“I was trying to protect you,” Hermione interrupted.

“How does wiping my memories of the people who would want to hurt me qualify as protecting me?”

Hermione took a deep breath and a short moment to collect her thoughts. And then she explained everything, starting from the moment she’d found him at the manor right up to the moment she’d found her memories of him locked up in Gringotts. Draco, for his part, remained silent, even when she spoke of seeing him at the strip club for the first time and deciding to exact a little vengeance. It wasn’t until she reached the part of her tale where she chose to reverse the Memory Charm she’d placed on him that he spoke.

“Why did you do it?” he asked, confusion just beneath his cool tone.

Hermione stuttered to a halt, not understanding. “I’ve just explained – ” she began.

“I don’t mean why you hid me in the first place, Granger,” Draco answered in an impatient tone. “I want to know why you reversed the charm.”

“Because I couldn’t lie to you anymore. Because you deserved to know who you are. You had the right to know.”

Draco’s lips twisted in a humorless smile.

“So you told me the truth. So you gave me back all of my memories. You gave me back hours of torture by Voldemort. You gave me back a year locked away in the manor, pretending to be dead.” Draco took a dangerous step forward, and Hermione stepped back, finding her back against the door. “You gave me back my father being killed by a damned blood traitor Weasley, and my mother being killed by Voldemort.” Draco stepped closer, and Hermione tried to dodge to the side, but Draco’s arms shot out, palms against the door on either side of her head. He leaned down into her face, his eyes like two chips of dirty ice.

Hermione set her jaw and stared back without apology. Of all the things she had done to him, she would not apologize for reversing the Memory Charm.

Draco’s breath blew hot against her face as he said, “You gave me back a life where I was a wanted criminal, where I would have gone to Azkaban if I’d been caught, where I would have rotted there the rest of my days.”

“I gave you back who you were!” Hermione contested, her voice unwavering, which was something of a surprise, considering that she was shaking.

“Do you hate me that much?” he spat, rearing back. “God, Granger, what am I supposed to do now? Hide the rest of my life?”

“If that’s what you want to do, then hide!” Hermione answered, anger bubbling to the surface. “Would you prefer I hadn’t reversed the charm? Left you to be a stripper, living as a Muggle, not having any clue about who you are or where you’re from? What about your magic? You’ve got that back, haven’t you?” Hermione shoved his arm out of the way and slid around him, backing toward the sofa. “If you want to hide, go hide somewhere! Go to Paris, go to Germany. You can go anywhere now.”

“And you’d let me go, just like that?” Draco asked, his voice becoming a low growl as he stalked toward her.

“Yes!”

“You’re part of the MLE Squad,” Draco pointed out, eyeing her robes with a contemptuous sneer.

“So?”

“And you’d let me go. Could be the biggest collar of your career and you’d let me go.”

“I already said yes! What do you want, a shining invitation to go?” Hermione asked, her voice going hoarse with emotion.

“Why?” Draco yelled. “Why would you do that?” He grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her close to him. “Why would you let me go?”

Hermione looked at him, shocked. With tears pooling in her eyes, she shouted, “Because I love you!”

Something flickered in Draco’s eyes, some break in his defenses. Before she could react, he leaned forward and caught her lips in a desperate, bruising kiss. Unable to stop herself, she kissed back.

Draco groaned into her mouth and yanked her against him, one hand gripping her waist in a vice-like grasp, the other tangling in her hair. As he attacked her mouth with his forceful, punishing kiss, his hand in her hair curved into a fist, pulling her head back to give him easier access to her mouth. She held back a whimper of pain; it was worth that small cost for the feel of his kiss.

The sun could have burnt out, day turned to night, and Hermione would not have noticed. For all that the kiss was demanding and harsh, it caused her head to spin with a heady lightness. It was needful and selfish, and she took as much of him as she could get. It was already more than she ever would have expected.

And then, just as abruptly as the kiss began, it was over. Breathing in ragged gasps, Draco shoved her away. She stumbled, catching herself against the back of the sofa. Wiping his mouth, he spat, “You don’t love me! You love Damien King!”

“I fell in love with Damien King knowing he was Draco Malfoy! They’re the same person!” Hermione denied.

“No, they’re not!”

“Yes, they are!” Hermione insisted.

Draco laughed, and the sound of it was desperate and humorless. “How can you say that, Granger? You know what I was like before. You fell in – in love with someone who doesn’t exist.”

“That’s not true!” she protested. “People change all the time, Draco. You just changed, is all.”

“Is all!” he repeated in disbelief. “Is all?”

“Yes.” She took a step closer to him, and he stood his ground. She reached out to touch him, but he shied away and averted his eyes. “You think just because you had Damien King’s experiences without Draco Malfoy’s memories, that makes him any less you?”

Draco didn’t answer; he looked to be struggling to catch his breath, and when he looked up at her, she reeled from the intensity of the regret in his eyes. “Draco Malfoy hated you. He never would have fallen in love with you.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, her voice wavering. “You have no idea what might have happened. It’s been three years. Anything might have happened between us in three years.”

Draco looked like he wanted to believe her, but then he blinked and shook his head. “This is beside the point. Who in the hell am I supposed to be?” he asked beseechingly. “I can’t go back to being Draco Malfoy, but I can’t stay as Damien King.”

“Why not?” she said, “Draco, you got a second chance. You got a do-over. You got to experience life without all those beliefs and prejudices from your old life.”

“But that’s who I was!”

“No. It’s just what you believed. Not who you were. Beliefs can change. Be who you want to be. You don’t have to go back to who you were.”

Draco did not respond. Instead, he looked away. Hermione waited, certain her heart would suffocate in her tight chest. It hurt to breathe.

“Who else knows I’m alive?” he asked at last.

“Just Ginny.”

“Not Potter, not Weasley – nobody else?”

“I swear it. I didn’t tell anyone. Ginny is the only one who knows besides me.”

“And she won’t tell?”

“No.”

Nodding his head in acceptance, Draco strode to the door, pulling it open.

“Draco,” Hermione called, desperate. “What are you going to do?”

He paused, his back to her. He took another step; then his shoulders sagged.

“I don’t know. Run, I guess,” he answered, his voice hollow. “Everything I had as Draco Malfoy is gone, the manor, the fortune, the name.”

“Draco – ”

He looked back at her, and she felt her tears spill down her cheeks. Once more, his expression was open, and he regarded her, his face miserable.

“Goodbye, Hermione,” he whispered, and then he slipped out the door, pulling it shut behind him.

She wanted to run after him – throw open the door and chase him down the stairs and beg him to take her with him, or to not go away, or at least ask him to keep in touch, but she did none of these things. Instead, she let him go.

---

Author's Notes: Two chapters and an epilogue remain. As I posted on my yahoo! group, I plan to have the finished story posted by the end of August. Once the completed story is posted, I'll be posting the alternate ending at the yahoo! group and on my livejournal. As always, reviews = love.