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Reach of the Night	By : distinctlyME Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 2563 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor it's characters, and I make no profit from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Reach of the Night
- 1
Chapter One
Author's Note: Well I sincerely hope you enjoy the first chapter of this story. I'm really excited to be back to writing, it has been an intensely long time. So if you are feeling super generous, leave me a review and tell me what you think!!
xo,
dM

Chapter One: Flashes


  It was as if she were under water, left suspended in a world without sound and hazy images. A body lay just before her, another was draped over it, and she could see their shoulders shaking, could feel the anguish radiating from them in waves. No sound, however, reached her. She felt separate from the world at that moment as she gazed down at the dead body of Fred Weasley.
She seemed to be moving through fog as she reached out and grabbed Ginny’s hand in a tight embrace. Her mind seemed hazy and her vision was blurred. Her world felt fragmented and as she looked up hoping to find some form of understanding, her eyes caught sight of the rest of the ruin that surrounded her.
Bodies lay littered across the floor of the Great Hall, taunting her each time she recognized someone she had known. Her heart stuttered at the sight of Remus and Tonks lying side by side, their hands reaching for one another even in death, their faces eerily peaceful. Her stomach plummeted through her body at the sight of Colin Creevey’s small lifeless body being lowered onto the ground, and her blood ran cold as she watched Lavender Brown take her last shuddering breath.
Tearing her eyes from the devastation that surrounded her. she caught sight of Ron clinging to his brother Bill, and with a start Hermione realized Harry was nowhere to be seen.
Sound crashed down upon her then. The sorrowful sounds that echoed through the Great Hall almost deafening. Ron looked over at her, his expression wrinkled with dread when he too realized Harry wasn’t there. It told her everything she had feared.
He had gone. Harry had gone to Voldemort.
She turned, ready to race after him, hoping she could reach him, knowing she couldn’t lose him too. Before she could move, a cold clear voice rose above the noise of the surrounding heartache, and Hermione felt her world shatter completely.
“Harry Potter is dead.”


   Hermione sat staring out the window, the bleak scenery whizzing past as rain fell in torrents against the pane. The train rattled softly, and she began to feel drowsy. Lightning flashed across the sky, briefly startling Hermione from her trailing thoughts.

  Hermione stood in the midst of battle, unsure of where to turn first, of where to raise her wand, who to fight. Colors streamed in and out of her vision, nearly blinding her with their ferocity. Cloaks and limbs whirled about her in an almost artistic fashion. Voices screamed, bodies fell, and Hermione stood watching it all as she looked for her loved ones, too stunned by the chaos to move. It was then she felt a curse so vicious whizz past her ear that she was forced to. She whipped around in the direction in which the sickly green killing curse had come from, only to find herself staring at the cackling face of Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione felt her heart plummet at the sight of Luna, prostrate on the floor in front of Bellatrix’s feet, wand raised in a last ditch effort to shield herself from what she knew was coming.
A body threw her to the side, and Hermione witnessed a vibrant strand of red hair fly past her. Ginny’s scream echoed in her ears, and it was only then that Hermione truly jumped into action. With a vicious sense of determination, she threw herself into battle beside Ginny and Luna, and watched with a vengeful triumph when Bellatrix faltered slightly at their onslaught.

  Hermione turned at a disturbance to her right to see Luna enter the compartment. She watched distantly as the blonde seated herself beside Ginny and took out an old copy of the Quibbler she’d taken to carrying around with her after the war. Hermione let out a soft sigh and turned back toward the window and the rain, letting more memories wash over her.

   It seemed to end too abruptly. Watching Voldemort’s body fall felt surreal to her. She could only distantly feel the war’s triumph surging through the crowd, and she could only vaguely understand the safety which now lingered over her and her friends. It didn’t feel real. Wasn’t sitting right. Though people were still grieving, the sense of victory and celebration which circulated throughout the Great Hall felt butchered and misguided.
Now as Hermione sat at her old house table looking out upon the survivors of the war, misery, and loss and an uncertainty crashed down upon her. How was this victory? How was this relief? How was this it?
Neville’s clear strong voice could be heard amongst those halfway down the table, and Hermione turned to look at her friend. She watched as he sat beside his grandmother war torn and beaten, but hearty and cheerful, the sword of Gryffindor before him on the table and a proud smile upon his features as he recanted his story of the past year. She grimaced at his enthusiasm and turned away.
The Weasleys sat just beside her: Ginny with her head upon her mother’s shoulder, a small smile on her face as she followed the story her father quietly shared to aid in the spirits of his family. Ron with his hand resting on her thigh, his gaze glued to that of his mother’s small chuckle as his eyes sparkled in the aftermath of victory. Hermione moved her gaze beyond the Weasleys, too sick with weariness to join in their desperate cleave to peace.
It was, then, she noticed Luna sat huddled in front of her, clutching her wand to her chest protectively, eyes downcast, and body shaking. Her hands were bathed in cuts, and her lip looked to be split. There was a great amount of dried blood collecting at her hairline and her waves glistened with pieces of broken glass. Hermione found herself reaching over the table and wrapping her hands around the other girl. Luna looked up at her. and Hermione saw a kindred spirit in that moment. This wasn’t the Luna she had met during her fifth year, so sure and secure in herself and her place in the world. This was a broken dejected girl, unsure of what the world now held. A girl who had seen too much too fast and who felt she had yet to see it all. She knew the instant their eyes met that Luna felt it too. Felt that this wasn’t the end. That the war and their fight wasn’t quite over.

   Hermione’s shoulder shook, and she gazed up into the warm brown eyes of Ginny Weasley. “We’re here ‘Mione. We’ve reached the station.” Ginny pushed Hermione’s small beaded bag into her hand and turned to wake a sleeping Luna.
When all three had quietly gathered their belongings, they made their way off the train and toward the small building off to their left. Each of the girls looked about the foggy area, taking in the small station nestled between a thicket of woods. It reminded them of Hogsmeade, and they fell into an uneasy silence as they started for the doors leading into the small waiting area inside.
“Charlie said they would meet us here. We’re a little early, so they may not be here for anot-“
“-Gin, over here!” All three girls turned at the sound of the eldest Weasley’s voice. A small smile lit Ginny’s face as she took in the sight of her big brother, and before either of the girls could move or speak, Charlie had glided over to them, wrapping Ginny and Luna in one big hug. Hermione stood there, smiling slightly at the scene, warmed by the way Charlie ruffled Luna’s hair and made her smile, and how Ginny clung just a little bit longer to her brother. It was odd when these moments occurred, and in the months following Voldemort’s downfall, they felt few and far between for Hermione. When she experienced them she felt a part of her old self reawaken and shift. It was both reassuring and uncomfortable.
As Hermione immersed herself in her musings and self-evaluations, two strong arms encircled her waist, and a woodsy scent enveloped her in its familiar and healing fragrance. “Glad to see you’re here Hermione. Wasn’t so sure you’d be coming.” The deep baritone of Charlie’s voice reverberated about her, and Hermione soaked it in thankful for the reassurance it seemed to give her.
“I know,” she replied quietly, looking up into his twinkling eyes.
He pulled away slowly and patted her on the shoulder. Looking to his sister. he raised a slight eyebrow, “Not much luggage between the three of you. Here I was expecting to be put to work.”
Ginny laughed lightly and swung her arm through the crook of Charlie’s elbow, steering him towards the doors leading to a small parking lot. “We’re witches, Charlie. We don’t need to carry a whole lot of luggage if we don’t wish to. Is George not here with you? I thought he would come by to pick us up.”
“McGonagall had Shacklebolt pull some strings and got us a Ministry car. George is out waiting in it.” Charlie pointed ahead, and Hermione could see the slight outline of George sitting in the front seat of an old Ford Anglia.
The sight of the vehicle made Hermione smile slightly. It was the exact same model her two best friends drove to Hogwarts in their second year, creating a great deal of chaos in the process. It was an adventure she had not participated in but one she remembered fondly as her boys’ mischief. The smile faltered quickly however as she remembered what that car must have meant for George, and she wondered how he was handling being faced with yet another memory of his deceased twin.
The small group unloaded the few bags they had on them into the boot of the car, and the three of them quickly clambered into the rather spacious backseat as Charlie settled into the front with George.
“McGonagall won’t be arriving until tomorrow, and she plans to hold the meeting that evening. In the meantime, she’s rented us rooms at a muggle Inn the next town over. It’s very remote, the perfect place, really, to host this. The owner is a squib that McGonagall knows, so we won’t have to worry about any eccentricities we might exhibit while we’re there. Good thing too, some of the people who’ll be there have not spent much time with muggles. I’d be afraid of someone mucking something up because of it. At least now if anyone should, there won’t be a need to explain it away or Obliviate anyone...” Charlie continued to prattle on as he turned out of the parking lot and onto a dimly lit road.
Hermione listened half-heartedly as she watched the darkened scenery pass her by. Charlie’s comment to her back in the train station was swimming around her head, and she wondered. for what probably wouldn’t be her last time, whether or not her coming had been the wisest choice. She hadn’t wanted to when she was first approached about the project.
In fact, she ignored all of the missives Kingsley Shacklebolt had sent her regarding it. It had been a letter from her beloved Professor and onetime Head of House that had changed her mind in the long run.

   A warm breeze swayed in the trees above her as Hermione sat nestled upon the grass, a cold glass of lemonade in her hand, and a worn book upon her lap. She had spent many moments just like this throughout her years here. Usually she would be watching the Weasleys and Harry play a game of Quidditch, while Missus Weasley sat in her favorite lawn chair, humming a Celestina Warbeck song, and knitting one of her many jumpers. Love and laughter would ring throughout the Burrow, cocooning everyone in its drowsy happy embrace and bringing about a sort of peace one couldn’t seem to find anywhere else.
But as Hermione sat sipping her drink, the distinct lack of these feelings made her wonder if those days had been but a long distant dream. George sat beside her looking off into the distance, silent as ever, even months after Fred’s death. Molly and Ginny were working in the garden. Molly had broken from the haze of peace and fallen apart only days after the war, and it fell upon Ginny to take on the reigns of the household Molly once held. Most days Molly could be found sitting in her rocker, holding on to Fred’s old baby blanket, weeping silently as she rocked back and forth. On rare occasions, Ginny could convince her mother to keep herself busy, to move forward in her life after the war. Today seemed to be one of those days. It was sad to see Molly this way, and Hermione wasn’t sure which hurt her more to be around: Molly mourning the loss of her child or Molly pretending to be the Molly she once was. Both were equally heartbreaking to witness.
Hermione tore her eyes away from the two women and toward the hill that separated the Weasley property from the town of Ottery St. Catchpole. Mister Weasley stood there, staring off into the village, a sad little smile on his face as he looked down upon Fred’s gravestone.
A spot just beyond the silhouette of the Weasley patriarch caught Hermione’s attention, and she watched as a tawny owl made its way towards her. A letter was dropped upon her lap, and the owl left, quickly sweeping off into the distance once more. Hermione found herself surprised by the neat and familiar handwriting adorning the front of the envelope. Tearing into it carefully, Hermione pulled the letter from its casing:

August 5th, 1998
Hermione,
      Kingsley Shacklebolt has informed me you have yet to respond to his letters regarding Hogwarts. I write to you to ask of your assistance myself. Your magical ability and giving heart would greatly benefit all in the rebuilding of the school.
I know that after everything you have done for the wizarding world this is asking quite a lot of you, and I understand your great hesitance in lending your help in this endeavor. No one would think less of you if you wished to say no.
You have lost much, Hermione. More than anyone your age should have. You deserve your life to yourself, to heal and to move on. However, Hogwarts is in great distress, along with the rest of our world. The war has stripped much from us, and I hope to return some of what we’ve lost to our future generations. I, however, have found myself with very few to turn to for aid in this.
Please consider helping me to rebuild Hogwarts, a school that means so much to me, that could mean so much to future witches and wizards, and once meant so much to you.

Yours Most Truly,
Minerva McGonagall

   It was the understanding that made Hermione pause. Kingsley simply wanted her for her heroine status. He wanted a poster child, a symbol. Something to show the world that Hogwarts wasn’t tainted from the battle. If a war heroine, who once fought and watched people die there, could return to the school, then anyone could. It was safe once again. McGonagall, on the other hand, understood. It didn’t matter if the school was safe again, it held memories that weren’t. It held heartbreak and devastation and the loss of her childhood in its broken walls. And yet, Hermione knew, it also held hope - hope for the future. And that’s all McGonagall wanted to give the castle. To give her, and the future generations, hope again. How could she walk away from that? Selfishly, she needed it. She needed that hope.
It was in this realization that Hermione wrote back to Headmistress McGonagall. She would help rebuild Hogwarts, but her name would be left out of it. She would not be used as the Ministry’s poster child. She would help to restore the castle to what it once was and what she needed it to be again: a beacon of hope.

   Hermione sighed as the Ford Anglia turned into a dusty and winding driveway. Charlie was right. This was the perfect place to hold their gathering. The Inn was set far back, hidden by rows and rows of trees. The town it was situated in was at least a kilometre back down the main road, and no other buildings or homes seemed to surround the area.
As the group pulled to a stop, they looked upon the old Victorian home in interest. It stood at three stories and held the most fascinating air about it. It was cozy but not quite quaint, and there seemed to be a lack of homey-ness to it. Its pristine appearance gave it a coldness that didn’t seem to belong, and gazing upon it, Hermione was hit with the feeling that it didn’t hold much happiness inside it either.
Hermione followed Charlie in and to the front desk, listening quietly as he introduced them to the elderly woman who stood behind it. She smiled politely and shook each of the girl’s hands before she began to check them in. Hermione concentrated on the woman as she explained the features of the Inn, and where each of their rooms were.
As the woman told her and Ginny that they’d be sharing a room, Hermione caught a flash of white out of the corner of her eye and froze.
Her heart hammered in her chest, and she slowly turned towards the source, terrified of what she would find standing there. To her immense surprise nothing greeted her sight, and Hermione found herself rather unsettled. Looking about the rest of the foyer, she began to wonder if she had just been seeing things. A trick of the light, or a flash of a lamp. Surely it must have been something of the sort. It couldn’t be what she had thought it was anyway. It couldn’t be who she thought it was…
“Here you go, dear, your room key. Dinner has already been had, but the kitchen is just through the dining room if you get hungry, and if you’d like I could always bring you up a tray. Just let me know if you should need anything. You can usually find me right here behind this desk.” Hermione smiled tightly at the woman and responded with a small “Thank you” before turning and following Ginny up the stairs.
She was almost positive she had seen what she had. Perhaps it would be best if she just took her room key and went to bed. She must be exhausted if her eyes were playing those kinds of tricks on her.

   Hermione tossed and turned before checking the bedside clock for what must have been the tenth time that hour and let out another huff of frustration. It seemed that sleep would elude her, yet again. Throwing back the covers and sliding into her slippers, Hermione quietly made her way across the room she shared with Ginny and snuck out the door.
Perhaps if she curled up by the fire in the little den she saw just off the foyer she could find a good book and read until sleep decided to find her.
Quickly and quietly, Hermione tip-toed down the stairs, trying her best not to cause the old house to creak and wake any of the other guests. Smiling slightly when she reached the landing, Hermione made her way around the corner and into the dimly lit den only to stop short at the sight which greeted her.
There, sitting in the exact chair she had been picturing herself curling up in, lay fast asleep the flash of light she had convinced herself she imagined earlier that evening. Panic sliced through her veins, and Hermione took a step back, trying to get out of the room as quickly as possible.
She froze a second later as her foot landed on the floorboard behind her, and a loud groan echoed about the room, startling the young man in the arm chair.
She heard him stand and watched as his familiar shadow danced across the room. Taking a deep breath she slowly looked up through her curtain of hair and met the startled grey eyes dead on.
“Malfoy…”
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Reach of the Night