15. Chapter 15

Hello everyone! I'm glad you guys liked the last chapter, it was one of my favourites to write. This next chapter is more of an inbetween preparation chapter. Trust me, a lot is on it's way.

Thanks for reviewing, I got the most reviews for last chapter than any other chapter.

Thanks to my amazing beta. You are fantastic.

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

After the speakers had finished, since there was no real body to bury, each person at the funeral began to simply grieve with the others. Everyone walked around, gave condolences to one another, spoke of their favourite Hermione stories, and so on. Draco walked through the crowd, searching for Potter. He had lost sight of the boy who lived, and needed to find him. As soon as possible.

As Draco zipped through the crowd, he was approached by many. The majority of them wanted to tell him that he had made a beautiful speech. Apparently Draco's innermost thoughts were considered beautiful. Who knew?

He had a brief conversation with Slughorn regarding his current work and such, after the old potions master had told him how moving his speech had been. He was momentarily sought out by Mcgonagall. The headmistress had told him, with a tear in her eye, that she had always known. What that meant, Draco could only guess. Longbottom had shaken his hand, and then had walked away like nothing had happened. Lovegood had sent him a smile, which warmed his heart mightily, and gave him strength. After turning away from Lovegood, Draco continued through the crowd with his eye looking out for the saviour of the wizarding world.

He searched everywhere, throughout the hundreds of people. It seemed as though the boy who lived had disappeared from the funeral completely. Draco was certain he hadn't. Potter would never walk out of his best friend's funeral.

Draco did another lap around the crowd. No Potter. Where was the insufferable hero? He had almost given up, when he spotted a flash of black hair sitting under an old oak right next to the lake. Jackpot, Draco thought, and he headed over. Thank you, Merlin.

The boy who lived was leaning against the oak, staring blankly out across the shimmering surface of the lake. His eyes were brimming with tears once more. The Weaslette, Dinny, or Ginny, yeah Ginny, was holding him with her head on his shoulder. Her red hair was showering down her back, a flame against the black dress she was wearing. Potter didn't seem to notice the woman grasping him possessively. He seemed immersed in his own world. The Weasel sat a few feet away, his tear stained face slightly hidden in the shadow of the tree. It was a scene from a funeral alright. As Draco approached them, he heard Harry speak.

"It's never going to go away, is it? The pain, I mean."

Weaslette looked sat up and looked at him. A little sharply, she spoke.

"You have got to move on, Harry. You need to."

"I don't think I can," Potter replied softly.

The Weasel shot a glare towards his best friend.

Potter continued, not noticing Weasel's glare.

"I never even got to say goodbye. Now, I never will."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," Draco drawled, sauntering into view.

All three sets of eyes shot to him. The Weaslette's eyes were narrowed, and strangely tearless; the Weasel's were enraged, though somewhat less intimidating given that his face was streaked with tears. Draco hardly noticed though, he was too busy staring blankly at Potter.

His eyes were dead; there was no other way to explain it. They were emotionless, and empty, as if they had been tortured into insanity and had just given up. Draco stood there staring at the boy who lived for several moments, before he remembered his purpose.

"I need to talk to Pott- all of you," Draco changed his sentence swiftly. They all deserved to know. They all loved Hermione, every single one. They all needed this news.

"What do you want, ferret?" The Weasel snapped, averting his eyes to the ground. His eyes were now following the trail of an ant as it climbed up a twig.

"That ant's pretty fascinating, eh?" Draco chuckled. The Weasel glared at him through his hair. Draco felt the tension in the air rise. He better talk quick before he got punched in the face.

"What is it, Malfoy?" Potter muttered. His voice was weak, and purposeless.

Draco sighed. "I have some information I believe all of you should know." Congratulations, Draco, you sound like a secret agent. Objective achieved.

"What, Malfoy?" the Weaslette said snarkily. What a little firecracker this one was.

Draco looked them all over. The Weasel was barely paying attention anymore, staring at an ant and not caring, tears dripping down his nose. The Weaslette looked exhausted, and had one eye on him but the other carelessly on the lake, blinking slowly, breathing deeply. Her head was once again resting on Potter's shoulder. Then Draco looked at Potter.

The boy who lived was the only one paying Draco full attention. His eyes were still emotionless and dead, but there was something new in them. A spark of emotion was glowing softly deep in the green. Draco recognized the emotion easily. It was the emotion that could build cities, lead armies, and change lives. People needed it to survive, it thrived in the light, was shocking in the dark, and needed in the black. Draco had lived without it for so long, and now, treasured every moment it entered his life.

It was hope, and now, it was Draco's job to make it happiness.

"It's about Hermione," Draco stated simply. That was the magic word.

Weasley's eyes shot up and widened, Weaslette turned away from Potter's shoulder so fast Draco was sure she had gotten a crick in her neck. Potter just stared at him, the little flicker of hope in his eyes augmenting to a burning flame. The hope was blinding.

"Malfoy, don't mess with us…" the Weasel threatened.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Draco muttered.

"Malfoy….." the Weasel threatened once more. But, Draco interrupted. He had to tell them now.

"Hermione's alive!" he exclaimed. He felt suddenly light, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his soul. He glanced at the three people before him. Their reactions were immediate.

The Weasel froze, his face reeling through all the colours of the rainbow in less than a second. The Weaslette jumped up, and continued to trip backwards over a root. Potter sat still, his face glowing with the light of the sun, as if all his dreams had just come true. Probably because they had.

"What?" the Weasel gasped out.

"Hermione Granger, war heroine is alive and kicking," Draco restated, smiling a tad at the opportunity to use an expression he had heard numerous times in Canada.

"How do you know?" the Weaslette whispered.

"Ran into her," Draco shrugged.

"Ran into, ran into her," the Weasel muttered, pacing and running his hand through his hair.

"Yes, that is correct," Draco stated. He sounded like he was at a business meeting.

"Where has she been?" the Weaslette asked, her face white.

"Long story," Draco stated. "Listen, I'll explain everything, but right now, you guys should come with me."

"Where is she?" the Weasel asked, jumping forward.

"Blaises' office. Unconscious."

"Unconscious?" the Weasel continued, rage entering his voice.

Draco sighed. He didn't want to be punched in the face at the moment. "Do you want to see your missing best friend and true love or not?"

The Weasel and Weaslette nodded, but Draco was looking at Potter. The chosen one hadn't said a thing since Draco had told them the news. Potter seemed to be in a trance. He was staring blankly into space, his eyes alit with happiness.

"Potter?" Draco asked, waving his hand in front of the boy wonder's face. "You coming?"

The boy who lived nodded. He stood up. "No question."

"Should we tell someone?" the Weaslette asked. Draco shook his head immediately.

"Why not?"

Draco rolled his eyes, these people never thought rationally sometimes. "Hermione Granger, best friend of the saviour of our world, war heroine, and complete beauty has come back to grace the wizarding world once more after disappearing seven years ago after the second wizarding world. The news would start a riot."

"Oh," the Weaslette muttered.

"Just apparate to Blaise's office, I'll meet you there," Draco said, and apparated away.

As he disappeared, he caught one more look of Potter. His face was filled with so much happiness it could melt all the ice in the world. Draco felt shocked, he didn't know that kind of happiness existed, Draco had never felt it. It was the happiness poets wrote of, and humans searched for all their lives. It was an impossible goal, pure happiness, and here Potter was, his face covered with it. Draco felt envy course through his veins. This was the happiness he had always wanted, but in a few seconds, he would give away the one person who ever made him feel anything close to that. With that thought in mind, he disappeared.

He landed in Blaises' office rather gracefully. He looked around quickly, finding the room exactly as he had left it. Hermione was still unconscious on the table, and Blaise was sitting at his desk, looking over some files. He looked up at Draco, as he raised his eyebrow.

"What took so long?" Blaise asked.

"I couldn't stop the funeral, so I ended up speaking at it." Blaise jaw dropped, and he snorted.

"You spoke at Hermione's funeral?" he chortled.

"Yes," Draco said, ignoring the laughs erupting from Blaise. "Afterwards, I spoke to Weasel, Weaslette and Potter."

"How'd they take it?" Draco shrugged, not knowing how to describe their reactions.

"Well, where are they?" Blaise asked. The words had just left his mouth when Weasel, Weaslette and Potter all apparated into the office, much more clumsily than Draco had. The three of them caught each other before they fell to the ground. They all looked around, and froze as their eyes settled on Hermione's unconscious form.

"Hermione?" Weasel whispered joyfully. He reached out his hand slowly and tentatively stroked her hair, slowly and carefully.

Draco felt white hot envy course through him. He had to stop himself from launching himself at the Weasel, desperate to rip his throat out.

Calm, Draco, calm, he chanted mentally. Merlin, he needed to get a grip. Draco saw Potter's face go white

"Why didn't she come back?" Potter asked, his eyes glued to his best friend.

Blaise shot Draco a look. "You didn't tell them?" The three Gryffindors looked up, confusion settling into their features.

"Tell us what?" asked Weasel.

Draco sighed. He had been dreading this moment.

"It's a long story," he muttered.

"We've waited seven years, Malfoy," Potter said clearly. "We can handle ten minutes."

There was no way out of it. Draco sighed, and launched into the story.

Approximately ten minutes later, the five of them stood, staring blankly at the unconscious girl on the table.

Potter spoke first. "So she can't remember us?"

"Nope," Draco replied curtly.

"Was she hurt?" Ron whispered, once again stroking Hermione's hairs, his face ashen.

"She said that after her apparent car crash, she was completely covered with cuts and bruises. So yes, she was hurt."

Potter, Weasel and Weaslette winced.

"Do you know who did this?" Potter whispered, deadly.

"Nope," Draco stated. "I only found her a couple weeks ago. I got her here as soon as possible."

"Canada, eh?" Ron asked.

"That's the one," Draco responded. "Muggle Hermione lived in Toronto."

"Why didn't you bring her back sooner?" Weaslette asked, slightly angry.

Draco froze. He had edited the story somewhat. He hadn't told the golden duo and sister about his and Hermione's friendship, or the kiss. He had made it exceptionally vague. For all they knew, he had run into Hermione, talked to her a bit, and a few weeks later brought her back. Blaise had been shooting him covert looks the entire time he was speaking. Whatever, those three didn't need to know about their friendship, it wasn't like they would get to see it close up.

"Umm, I wanted to understand what was happening, so we sort of had some footing when I got her back."

Weasel and Weaslette nodded, satisfied with his answer. Potter didn't seem satisfied though, he seemed to suspect something, and he kept on shooting Draco strange looks. After a couple seconds, Potter's eyes turned back to Hermione.

Potter and Weasel stared down at their best friend. Harry looked up, his face slightly.

"Are you sure she won't recognize us?" he asked, his voice pleading.

"Positive," Draco replied.

"Are you sure it's her?" Potter asked. Weasley and Weaslette immediately started yelling at him, but he held his arms up in protest.

"I just don't want to get my hopes up again," he declared. Draco respected that.

Draco walked up to Hermione, lifted her hair over her shoulders, narrowly avoiding her teeth.

Ron looked at her neck. His eyes widened. "It's her," he nodded, a tear trickling down his cheek.

Harry stood up and walked over, his eyes landing on the thin scar. He smiled.

"Welcome back, Hermione," he said softly, barely louder than a whisper. Everyone smiled at the brunette.

"So, Malfoy, when is she waking up?" Asked the Weasel. Suddenly, as if his words were a trigger, Hermione stirred, her eyes flickering open.

"Right about now," Draco replied.

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