[AN: A HUGE thanks to antiques_ who made me such a beautiful cover I cried.]
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In the beginning there was nothing but fire. The world was made up of destructive flames, the kind brought to life by war. As the world was being consumed by fire, there was light and dark; those trying to save what could be saved from their world, and then there were those who added fuel to the devastation. It was one or the other, there was never an in-between. With that, sides were clearly defined and no one ever crossed over.
She was twelve when she met Draco Malfoy and their hate for one another commenced, transpiring beyond petty and childish rivalry as they grew. She was a Mudblood, everything he hated and supported to eradicate. He was cruel to everyone during their time at Hogwarts, even to his fellow, bigoted Slytherins, but he especially enjoyed tormenting her. He had a knack for insulting her, hexing her when he could get away with it, and openingly teasing that her end would come one day from the hands of one of his pureblood kind.
During the first year at Hogwarts, Hermione managed to significantly ignore Malfoy at all cost. In that time, he hardly ever crossed her. (There was even a time he sat beside her at a library table and they both did their Charms homework in silence). She knew he was a malevolent boy; she of course heard and saw his bullying, but he hardly seemed to notice that she existed. That didn't last long, though; Second Year began his reign of persecution. What followed after made her feelings towards him transform from pity to hate.
Everything that Malfoy was, Hermione tied it with ignorance. He hated all muggles, mudbloods, and certain half-bloods because that's what he was taught from a young age. That didn't excuse his behavior, nonetheless, but it simply made him blind in her eyes. All his aggression towards her was not justified either, she had cried and resorted to retaliation against him, but she always thought that if he got to know her, if he just learned about those he hated, then he'd see that they were all people, too. She pitied him, that was obvious, but that changed in Sixth Year when he allowed the Death Eaters in and Dumbledore was killed. She hated him because he was a vital piece of the war that she knew was going to burn and take everything.
Her perception of Malfoy only shifted slightly in the days following the end of war. When it was just her and Harry camping out, her best friend shared a conversation with her involving Malfoy's hesitance and clear panic when he had Dumbledore corned in the Astronomy Tower. Then, when they were imprisoned in Malfoy Manor, Draco also hesitated in identifying her and her friends to his Death Eater family. During her torture session with Bellatrix, Hermione recalled a few painful seconds when Draco cried silent, terrified tears and looked remorseful for her suffering. When the final battle was going on at Hogwarts, after there seemed to be no more hope when Voldemort proclaimed Harry dead, Malfoy surprised everyone when he threw Harry his wand and played a part in Voldemort's defeat.
Trials for all those with the Dark Mark came soon after the war was over. Harry had gotten no rest as he was in and out of the Ministry, identifying and helping the Aurors track down all Death Eaters who fled after Voldemort's fall. Shortly after, Hermione was torn away from the comfort of her parents to help Harry in a case in defense of Draco Malfoy. She had not exactly given the Slytherin much thought, for her entire focus was in finding her parents after the end of war, but she agreed to help. She testified with the absolute truth, stayed until the Wizengamot gave their verdict, and once they had given him a year of probation and a lifetime of scheduled Legilimency sessions, Hermione went on to rebuild her life.
Unlike Harry or Ron, Hermione went back to Hogwarts to finish her education. She was surprised to see Malfoy's platinum-blonde head in the sea of returning students in the Welcoming Feast, but she didn't quite bother with him after that. She frequented him in class, seeing as they were one of the very few 'Eighth Years', but they never spoke a word. Quickly, the end of year came and Hermione went straight to a muggle university. She spent two years there, earning her degree in criminal psychology at record speed, and then applied for a job in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in her beloved wizardying world.
After her first year as an Auror, Harry entered her office one afternoon to inform her that she was finally getting a partner. She was thoroughly excited about the idea, she'd constantly felt lonely without one, but she had agreed to hold off until the Department found her someone capable of keeping up with her. She was not just another Auror, her muggle degree in criminal psychology made her an asset, but that meant that her excellent mind needed a partner to match it. Her surprise came when Harry announced that someone equally skilled and intelligent, alike her, was none other than Draco Malfoy himself.
Considering who they were, fire and ice, winter and summer, the first few months of their partnership was a complete disaster. Things were broken, insults were thrown, hexes were cast, and they both quit their jobs several times. Eventually, after a very awkward and intense meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt, both agreed to put aside their differences for the sake of their civilians. Though she vowed to honor her duty as an Auror, Hermione couldn't help but still see Malfoy as nothing else than a conniving and cruel git. She later went on to find, as he surprisingly respected their pact to be civil, that he only retaliated against her as a means to defend himself. He didn't tell her that directly, of course, but she noticed it in his behavior. When she stopped provoking him, he was quiet and did his work ethically, impressively, and seriously. He kept to himself mostly, or only associated with those who wanted to associate with him, and was polite to the others. Little by little, she eased her, ironically, bigoted perceptions of him.
Though they could never identify themselves as friends, their partnership became tolerable and quite amicable on their third year of working together. They would sit together on occasions in the cafeteria, chatting about a case mostly, or they would head off to a small cafe around the corner of the Ministry. Soon after, their conversations were not entirely work related, but they (she) opened up a tiny bit. She shared things with him, like her favorite book, painting, ice cream, and holiday location. Sometimes, when nights were long and the stress was insane, she rambled on and on and he'd listen to every single word without an insult or complaint.
Though she was the one who spoke a lot, she did get to know more about him through his patterns. Surprisingly, he was a gentleman: he held the door for her whenever they entered or left a building, let her borrow his cloak whenever she foolishly forgot hers during a raid, and often waited for her to Floo home first after a long night in the Ministry together. His favorite color was grey, not a shocker considering the unique hue of his eyes and his time as a Slytherin; he constantly wore the color on either his ties, socks, or button-ups. When it was cold, he became increasingly silent; he tended to look out the window and lose himself in thought. And when it rained, when there was lightning in the sky, fear and remorse plagued his essence. But on those rare, warm British days, he glowed like the sun and she dared herself to think him beautiful.
The night her mobile rang and she answered the call to learn that her parents had died, he was the one with her. They'd been locked in his office, swamped with paperwork for a case they had to present to the Wizengamot the following morning, and he heard it all. He heard the first gasp and saw her break into waves of sobs and uncontrollable shaking. Everything was drowning in pain, so she didn't really realize that he gathered her into his arms and held on tightly. She vaguely remembered his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back and his silence being eaten by her cries.
Two weeks after that awful night, after growing tired of being secluded in her flat and being smothered by her friends, she returned to work. She hated the pity in everyone's eyes, their constant questioning on how she was, or their offering of a shoulder to cry on, but she didn't get that with him. She didn't expect Malfoy to be smothering at all, so she really appreciated when he brought a new case to her office and gave her the heaviest part of it. He sat down on one of her chairs and said, 'well, get on with it, Granger. We've got a murderer to catch.'
On the Friday night before her twentyfifth birthday, Draco pulled out a package with shiny, silver wrappings from his pocket as they were getting ready to depart her office. She had not assumed it was for her until he cleared his throat and distantly handed it to her. She released the handle of her door and, with his exact hesitance, she took it from him. Before she could question why he'd gotten her a gift, he commanded her to open it. So, curiously, she did. The silver wrappings were hiding a withered copy of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. She spent a good few minutes gaping at the book before she heard him say, 'you mentioned your father used to read it to you when you were younger. I thought you might like it.'
It might have been the lack of sleep, the awful British weather settling in, or the fact that she was nowhere near looking forward to her birthday, that caused her to embrace him. She clutched onto the book, but still managed to throw her arms around his neck and pull Malfoy close. She rested her cheek against his chest, breathing in his minty scent and feeling his heartbeat, and closed her eyes. She could feel the stiffness of his shoulders, his arms rigid at his sides, but for the moment she did not care that they didn't have that type of friendship. After a second, or maybe an hour later, she began to pull away, but he reeled her back in. Malfoy captured her lips and stole a kiss from her. Everything inside her roared to life, so she dropped his gift and used her hands to pull on his clothes as they fell against the floor of her office.
She could not say that she heavily regretted sleeping with Malfoy the moment they redressed. When Monday came, she did not sneak around the Auror Department or avoid him; she was a grown woman and knew exactly what she'd done. She treated him as always, but when it was time to Floo home that night, she grabbed the front of his robes and took him home with her. He never once complained.
It had been two years and something since her...thing with Malfoy started. During that time, unspoken rules were formed that neither questioned or attempted to break. They handled their work professionally, and what happened after they clocked out was solely their business. They never mentioned their arrangement to anyone else, nor were they allowed to. It was only about them until they saw fit to end it.
Despite knowing that there was a line that should not be crossed, a line the separated hooking-up and asking for more, Hermione fell for Malfoy. And she fell hard, deep, and painfully (but she enjoyed the way down, nonetheless). She couldn't give an exact point in time, but the unmistakable longing for him gave it away. She not only craved his body, but his time and attention. She missed him on the days she didn't get to see him, and even the nights after a long day together. All she wanted, all she looked forward to, was to be in his arms and wish the world away. And that's exactly what she truly hoped for: a world of her own where only her and Malfoy existed.
Naturally, she couldn't exactly tell him about her feelings. They had agreed, in a silent way, that they'd just be hooking-up whenever they desired it. The idea of genuinely liking each other, let alone exclusively dating one another, went out the window the first night they kissed. It was impossible for something serious and pure to transpire between them, and they knew that. However, in the two years that they were casually sleeping with one another, neither engaged in monogamous relationships. (And Hermione wanted to believe that was for a reason). She declined various offers, or crushed the potential with someone after the second or third date. Unconsciously, she'd known that no one could really give her what she felt in Malfoy's arms. He, on the other hand, dated here and there, but, alike her, that lasted one or two dates. Why he never formally was in a relationship, Hermione would never know. Malfoy didn't necessarily open up about his love life, so she was left guessing and wishing.
Oh, and how she wished...
"Hermione, your order is here."
Blinking away from her musings, Hermione refocused her eyes to take in her surroundings. When she noticed the brick walls, the beige-colored, cushioned booths, and wooden tables with black, metallic chairs around her, she knew she was inside the little cafe around the corner of the Ministry.
"Sorry about that," the brunette shly muttered to the old barista as she reached for her cup of coffee and slice of apple pie.
Mister Chapman smiled adoringly, yet teasingly as he peered down at her. "Sweetheart, you're always lost in thought when you come into my shop. Seeing as you are without your partner and your nose is not shoved into a case file, I won't blame you for taking a moment to evaluate your life."
"I'm not evaluating my life," Hermione informed quite coldly, "everything is fine as it it, thank you."
"Darling, I've been serving people for over seventy years," he said to her in a tone that reminded her of her father when he'd tell her a story with a moral to it, "and most are all the same. I've seen people sit down for meetings, for chats, or to contemplate things by themselves. I know the look, sweetheart. Not to mention that I've known you since you were eighteen, and something's definitely different in your eyes."
Resting her fork against the rim of her plate, Hermione sighed tiredly. She motioned for the old man to sit across from her, and once he had, giving her a kind smile in the process, she leaned in a few inches to say, "I think I'm in love."
Mister Chapman took in her statement, nodded slightly, but then quickly asked, "it's not Weasley, is it? Because, sweetheart, you can do so much better. Mind you, he's my best customer and is a great boy, but he's an idiot sometimes."
The brunette laughed. "No, not Ron. That ship sunk long ago." She took a small sip of her coffee, allowing herself the moment to collect her thoughts and organize her words before she continued. "It's complicated, actually; this feeling. I'm not allowed to have it. Not is it just odd, but unrequited—which makes it a thousand times worse, really."
"How'd you know it is unrequited?" the old man asked.
"I just know. You can say it's a woman's intuition, I suppose. I know he cares about me in his own way, but it's never going to become something more."
"Dear," Mister Chapman began slowly, "don't take offense, but you don't really have enough experience in the love department to make assumptions. You are a brilliant young woman, but you simply cannot know what others are feeling. You say this man cares about you, but you yourself are blocking any chances of that blossoming into something else."
Hermione frowned, ready to retaliate. She had taken offense on the assumption that she did not know what she was talking about (as if she'd ever speak nonsense). "I know people," she ground out, "especially him. I'm a comfortable pastime to him, nothing more."
"Have you given him indication that you love him?" Hermione shook her head, answering the man with silence. Mister Chapman reached for one of her hands and slightly squeezed. "Sweetheart, you are putting up walls for yourself. I'm not saying that the boy loves you in return, but I am not saying he doesn't, either. You cannot guess what lies in someone's heart. All you can do is be sincere, be fearless. So tell him and you might be surprised."
A weak smile tugged at the right corner of her mouth. The old barista was right to assume that Hermione was scared—how could she not be? Falling in love is always something terrifying; especially if you fall for your once enemy. Generally, shamefully, Hermione had to confess that romantic love was just a concept she did not understand. It wasn't something she could learn from a book, nor was it an experience that she'd felt in her life before. That's not to say she hadn't loved Ron during their time together, but that hardly could be classified as intense, raw, and all-consuming. She'd never felt or dreamt of feeling what Malfoy gave to her.
As frustrated tears prickled her eyes, the moment of advice between her and the old barista was interrupted when two men approached her table. Both were carrying files, both were looking thoroughly serious, and both were deep in her heart. It was Draco and Harry.
"Tell him, sweetheart," Mister Chapman muttered to Hermione as he rose from the seat across her. He smiled tenderly at her once more, and then asked her fellow Aurors if they wanted anything. When they declined, the man went off to the front of his shop and left them to their work.
Harry scooted into the open seat across Hermione. "Tell who what?" he questioned as he placed the files on the table and his hands went to pull her plate of pie towards him. "Sharing secrets with Reggie, now?"
"Mister Chapman thinks I'm still in love with Ron," Hermione lied easily, making sure that she threw off any hint of what she could have been actually speaking to her faithful barista about. She glanced away from Malfoy's penetrating silver eyes as he reluctantly joined Harry on the bench across from her.
Harry made a face. "Merlin, that'd be terrible. Good thing he's wrong. Wait—he is wrong, isn't he?"
Hermione laughed, assuring her best friend that there were absolutely no romantic feelings left for Ron inside her. Harry loved them both, she knew that, but he suffered quite a lot of headaches when she and Ron were an item. He was almost ecstatic when Hermione told him she had broken things off with Ron, though he never actually showed his approval of their separation directly as to not offend any of the sensitive people (Ron) involved.
"Sorry to interrupt your break," Draco cut in, clearly uninterested in the exchange between the two Gryffindors, "but I might have found something connecting one of our cases to the one you're working on with Potter."
Placing back down her cup of coffee, Hermione's immediate surprise and intrigue made her yank the file away from Malfoy's hands.
"Norman Romanoff was a witness in the Cora Fitzpatrick case we presented to the Wizengamot this morning. He was owled an order to present himself at the Ministry by nine, along with the other six witnesses, but we were in a hurry to actually count all of them, seeing as our key witnesses were Maria and Lauren Gallagher. After the sisters testified against that lunatic bint, providing sufficient evidence to convict Fitzpatrick, no one else was called to the stand."
"Yes, Malfoy, I was there," snapped Hermione, clearly not following what evidence he'd found that would help Harry and her out. "Get to it."
Instead of becoming upset, which would've been the logical thing for him to do considering who he was, Malfoy grinned at his partner's passionate curiosity. "While you were off escorting Fitzpatrick to Azkaban, I had to finalize the paperwork on the case. As you know, I had to meet with the witnesses and insure their safety and all that rubbish. Well, when I got to Romanoff, the bloke was no longer there. Legally, I couldn't just ignore it, so I asked if he entered the Ministry and was told he hadn't. I looked up his address and was surprised to find that it didn't exist. I searched for him in our archives, and the bloke wasn't registered at all. Norman Romanoff doesn't exist."
"That's when Malfoy found me," Harry chimed in, opening his file and showing it to Hermione. He pointed a finger at the name and watched his friend's eyes widened.
"Veronika Romanoff! Of course!" exclaimed Hermione as she threw Malfoy back his file and she took Harry's instead. Veronika Romanoff was one of the many children their Metamorphmagus murderer left along the way. "How could we have missed it? There are no Romanoffs in all of Britain! This specific clan originates in Russia. Not to mention there was practically a war amongst them when the oldest patriarch disappeared and their inheritance was inconclusive."
Harry nodded eagerly. "Ivan Romanoff has been wiped off the face of the earth for the past twenty years. It was out of our boundaries, so we never really looked into it to come up with a match. But, guess what? Romanoff was accused of thirty accounts of malicious murder in Russia—"
"Which is why he disappeared!" Hermione finished for him. She didn't even have to ask him whether or not Ivan Romanoff's murders had the same patterns as the suspect they were tracking. "Oh, Harry, how could we not assume that along the way the Metamorphmagus would reuse his past names?"
"I put in a submission in the Department of International Magical Cooperation that should be approved by now," informed Harry as he swallowed the last piece of Hermione's apple pie. "With the permission of the Russian government, we can raid the Romanoff homes and interrogate his surviving relatives. We can finally find out how this bastard truly looks like."
Hermione grabbed both files and stacked them together, her excitement playing loudly in her brown eyes. "Fantastic. Let's grab Ron and head there now."
"Actually, Ron's caught in Egypt right now. There was a messy extradition case there and I'm not sure when he'll get out of it. Temporarily, I'm assigning Malfoy to the case. He'll go with you to Russia, meanwhile I will track Romanoff here."
"But Harry—"
"Romanoff is in Britain, Hermione, not in Russia. I'll do the tracking, and you and Malfoy can do the psychological stuff in Russia that could assist us here."
Hermione frowned. "You're assigning him as my babysitter, Harry Potter. Don't think I don't know your tricks."
The bespectacled man smiled shamelessly. "If there's one thing Malfoy has proven to be good at, it's protecting you."
At Harry's comment, Draco looked momentarily sidetracked. His forehead creased with a frown, but it wasn't an aggravated one. If Hermione knew well enough, she concluded that Malfoy was uneased with the praise Harry had just given him. Though they tolerated each other, respected one another as capable Aurors, Harry and Draco persistently managed to steer clear from one another. So, in the moment that Harry complimented him on something that was dear to his heart, saying that he trusted him with the life of his beloved friend, Malfoy looked bewildered.
Tossing back the rest of her coffee, Hermione rose from her seat and her two fellow Aurors followed her lead out of the little cafe.
"Right," Hermione began as they hurriedly walked through the crowd ending their lunch hour that was now headed to or away from the Ministry. "Malfoy and I will gather whatever we need and we'll leave within the hour."
"Do you think this family is dangerous?" Malfoy asked. "Do we know if they have any relation to dark magic associations? We need to be fully prepared in case they have any illegal wards waiting to blow us up when we arrive on their property."
Harry shrugged. "Sorry, but I haven't the foggiest. The Romanoffs have never meshed with British law, so whatever their history is, it's not buried here. You two are going to have to look over the Romanoff archives in the Russian Ministry before you actually find them."
"I can put through another submission with the Department of International—Uff!" Before Hermione could finish her sentence, she accidently crashed into someone. She would've fallen to the ground and probably get trampled over by the stampede of people, but Malfoy's arms were there to catch and save her.
With his strong hands around her ribcage, right underneath her breasts, steadying her, Draco's silver eyes roamed her face intimately that she felt her heart sprout and flutter wings. "Careful, Granger," he whispered into her ear, making delicious shivers race up her spine.
She could've grabbed his face and kissed him senseless then and there if the chatter of the public had not invaded her ears.
A smirk on his face, one that clearly revealed that he knew of her desire, Draco released his hold on her. Hermione cleared her throat, glaring at him and his unintentional, seductive powers, and then turned to Harry as he helped the person she'd crashed into off the ground.
"I'm terribly sorry," Hermione said to the young, blonde woman. "I should've watched where I was going. I hope you are not hurt."
The woman waved it off, smiling at her as she dust off her navy robes. "Don't worry about it. Have a lovely day, Miss Granger."
Hermione nodded and returned the smile. "Merlin, I swear I'm a menace to the—" She stopped in her tracks, halting the rush she and the boys had recommenced to get to the Ministry.
The woman's face entered Hermione's mind, processing it, and picking it out of her memory. She had seen her before. That woman had been on a photograph, she remembered that. Was it off a fugitive poster? A missing person? A witness? A magazine?
"Hey!" Spinning on her heels, Hermione pulled out her wand and crouched into a fighting stance.
She remembered the face, the face of the woman she'd just bump into. She'd seen her on a photograph; it was the one Ron was waving about the night before when he was infuriated that their Metamorphmagus murderer had even been a woman in his past schemes.
Before Draco or Harry knew exactly what was going on, the blonde woman turned and had her wand out at the ready. To Hermione's displeasure, the woman was quick to send the first spell. A jet of light rushed its way to Hermione, but her time in war had sharpened her reflexes; she rebounded the hex and the jet shattered the window of a floral shop.
Hell broke loose.
People ran and screamed, dodging the surrounding jets of light that were taking up the narrow street. It was impossible to catch the woman, she was gone, but the curses were still being thrown at Hermione, Harry and Draco. The suspect was of course a bloody Metamorphmagus, so he changed throughout the chaotic mess.
As Harry dived in to protect a little boy from the shattering of a brick wall, Draco knocked down a man who pointed his wand at them. But when they'd fallen to the ground, Hermione turned right on time to deflect a curse away from Draco. The stream of light had been green, the type of green that no one as an Auror, no one who'd lived to see Voldemort's wrath, forgot. It was the Killing Curse. And an intense fear had plagued Hermione's mind and soul when she saw it headed for Malfoy.
In that small moment of distraction, in that small moment that Draco's wide, silver eyes stared back at her and she was relieved that she managed to save him from death, her defenses dropped. A light wrapped around her, burning her from within, and then the world went black.