Wanderer

Of Fire and Ashes

AN: Hiya, me again. Thank you for all your lovely reviews already. You've really cheered me up in this crazy patch of darkness we're going through at the moment. To answer a review I got about why Hermione decided to go find her parents now, I guess she lacked a bit of direction with it all, she didn't know where to start, what to do, how to do it, and so in trying to get a handle on her own life (since the Hogwarts gig was sprung on her last minute by McGonagall), she put her parents on the backseat, knowing in her heart that they were safe, even if it hurt to delay finding them for a year or so, or couple months if she found a lead during the Christmas hols. But Draco, with his connections (or should I say, his mum's connections) and his (usual) cool reason, gave her that direction and a bit of a stepping stone into looking for them.

I really love to see people comment/message me about the psychology of this fic, about the post-war angle, because that is the most important element, I think. This world is still very broken, it's still healing, and it's still a bit haphazard. Sure, the Dramione is a bonus, it gives us something to root for, but ultimately, it's about a broken world trying to heal itself, and two people within that world trying to heal themselves in the only way they know how: loving someone who deserves to be loved in the bid to hopefully, one day, love themselves.

Chapter Thirty Four – Of Fire and Ashes

Draco read the letter and smiled, taking a bite of his toast, as his eyes followed the strict cursive of Hermione's handwriting. Though she had found her parents in Australia, she had not yet found a way to restore their memories, and had decided to take a little while longer off work to help them settle back into life in England. It was strange not seeing her around the castle, strange to have breakfast alone at the high table, and not have her visits to look forward to when he knew she had a free period. The routine of his class timetable helped keep him occupied, and though he missed her in the little details, in the lemon curd that would magically replace the jam next to his plate in a morning, and the rhythmic knock she did at his classroom door, Draco couldn't help but share in her relief, tangible as it was through her letters, of having found her parents.

He took his napkin and dabbed at his mouth when he finished eating, letter placed beside his plate. As he reached for his goblet, he caught the eye of the new Transfiguration teacher, Professor Clearwater. Although he hadn't remembered her, he did recall Hermione telling him on the train that she had been a few years older than them when they were in school, a Ravenclaw who had dated Percy Weasley for a while. Draco smiled warmly, dipping his head in a nod. She hastily looked away, lips pursed. He dropped his eyes to Hermione's letter.

Pushing himself away from the table, he rose, folding and tucking the letter into his pocket. He walked behind the table, and caught only snatches here and there of the other professors' conversations. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, burning, and when he turned back, just before leaving, Draco met the searing gaze of the Defence professor, whose head was ducked with Professor Clearwater's. The man didn't look away. Clearwater pretended to be interested in her fork handle.

Draco took a deep breath. He turned on his heel and left the Great Hall, rolling his shoulders as he walked, cracking his neck.

He couldn't think about that, for now. He had about half an hour before his first class, and he needed to check on something. Heading straight for the dungeons, Draco slipped into an empty classroom before his office, pausing to unlock the door and remove the wards.

The air was thick and heavy with magic when he entered, making his shirt stick to his back. He swallowed thickly, waving his wand to procure some light so that he could peer into the cauldron in the centre of the room.

"Well, I'll be damned, Granger," murmured Draco, stirring it six times clockwise and once counter-clockwise and watching as the potion shimmered and shed its colour like a snake shedding its skin, become translucent. "Murtlap was an inspired addition. Where did you get that one from?"