In a world where Voldemort has wreaked havoc by controlling the undead, Hermione struggles on her own. That is, until she runs into Draco.
Traveling alone, Hermione tries to find her way back to something she knows - hoping she won't go crazy first...
She couldn't remember much these days, let alone how long it had been since the last time she'd seen another human being. She clung to what she could remember with desperation everyday. She remembered her friends (most of them, she liked to think), and repeated their names in her head quite often (Harry, Ron, Harry, Ron, Harry, Ron, Luna, Luna, Luna, Ginny).
She no longer remembered where it was that she had met them all, though. She thought it was probably at a school, but couldn't remember what it was called.
Not that it was important.
But here was a living person in front of her, an incredulous expression on his dirty face, and his hair in complete disarray. His clothing was just as ragged as her own, and he seemed to be unable to say anything. None of the names she remembered matched his face in her head, and she struggled with her memories, frustrated.
It wasn't until she processed the colour of his hair that it clicked for her. Who else had such light hair? Despite it's unusual messiness (to be expected in this world), the original colour shone through and reminded her of simpler days.
Hesitantly, her voice tumbled out softly and hoarsely, "Draco Malfoy?"
"Yes," he breathed, shoulders relaxing, "that's right."
They stared at each other, not knowing what else to say (what could you say in this situation?). Hermione's wand had been reflexively pointed at him, and she kept it there defensively. She didn't know how long it was before the boy (man?) in front of her spoke again.
"Why are you here?" his voice was a mere whisper, as if afraid the undead would find them.
Hermione continued to stare blankly, not understanding his question. In their world, why was anyone anywhere? Everyone was just trying to survive at this point.
"Alone," he corrected himself, "Why are you alone?"
Suddenly, she was overwhelmed with too many emotions and thoughts to keep track of. Her hand reached out towards him slowly (was he real?). He stayed still as she crawled forward and put her hand on his.
He was real.
Draco winced when she tightened her grip on his wrist, and when she let out a single, lonely sob, he was sure she hadn't even been aware of it. He knelt down as he took in her state. She was so obviously exhausted and drained of life; how had she made it this far? She looked like a child who had just lost their parents -
And where were Potter and Weasley? It was unsettling to see her without them; they were an inseparable trio. He couldn't help but wonder if they'd met an untimely death somewhere (after all, what else could you assume in this world?), and if that was why the girl in front of him was in her current state of - hysteria? depression? insanity?
She choked out quietly, "You're real."
"And you are, too," he said. He noticed that both of their voices had been left unused for so long, they didn't seem to know how to work properly anymore. He wondered how long it had been since Potter and Weasley had disappeared from her life.
He didn't want to ask - she seemed too unstable to answer him.
He shifted his body to get into a less straining position, and she must have thought he was getting up because her grip tightened even more and she whimpered, "No. Don't - please - stay."
He paused in his movement and said to her, "Granger. I'm not going anywhere."
The girl stared at him for another moment and he waited patiently. Gradually, she loosened her grip (he could feel again) and he moved slowly, not wanting to startle her.
When they both sat back against the cupboards, Hermione shifted so that their shoulders touched. She wanted to be sure that he wasn't a figment of her imagination (although how could he be when she could barely remember him?).
The human contact made her relax (slightly); it had been far too long since she'd been near people.
And until the sky lightened up, the two lost souls sat side by side, wide awake and silent.
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Draco wasn't sure what had happened when he suddenly found himself pushed to the ground in the early hours of the morning.
All of a sudden, he was staring up at Hermione Granger; she stood over him, wand pointed at his chest as her eyes glared at him angrily.
"What do you want from me?" the girl spat at him.
Definitely unstable, he thought to himself.
"What do you mean?" he asked instead, not sure what answer she was expecting from him.
"What do you want?" she hissed, and he was glad that she seemed to understand that screaming at him would attract the undead to their location.
He explained unsurely, "I came here looking for supplies. I didn't expect to find anyone here - let alone you."
He felt like some kind of switch had been flipped; why had the damn girl suddenly turned on him? They had never been friends before, but - maybe because you were a Death Eater, his mind said.
Draco suddenly didn't blame her for turning on him. He probably deserved it, even in this new, broken world.
She didn't say anything, so he continued, "I thought I'd have a better chance running into some cannibalistic Muggles instead of you."
"Muggles?" she frowned, "Why would any Muggles be around?"
Draco gave her a strange look and told her, "We're in Muggle London."
There was a pause as she took in the information. Hermione tried to remember how she got here, but came up empty.
Why can't I remember anything?
Maybe the frustration was clear on her face; Draco broke into her thoughts with a new question, "Where were you when everything went to hell?"
Hermione latched onto that question because it was something she could answer. She couldn't remember a lot, but she would probably never forget that day. She told him, "Fighting of course. A lot of us were. I'm sure you knew that though."
