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"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you."
~Maya Angelou
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"Will that be all?"

Hermione nodded and smiled at the moustached and pot bellied man behind the counter. He shook open a large brown paper bag and placed all of Hermione's purchases inside.

To take her mind off the spirit numbing thoughts that constantly flitted in and out of her head, Hermione had decided to step outside. She realised that she needed a new lot of soil enrichers and fertilisers for her plants, so she wasn't entirely unpurposeful either.

There was a nursery near the park which she, Harry, Ron and Ginny frequented. Hermione bought all her gardening supplies from this particular nursery. Earlier, before Luna had invested all her time into the Sanctuary, she used to accompany Hermione on her nursery trips.

Hermione quickly paid the amount, put the big under her arm and left the comfortably warm nursery. Outside, a bitter wind whipped her hair around her face and shoulders. It was the kind of wind that made people want to rush back inside the warmth of their homes.

But Hermione wasn't ready to go home yet.

Her frequent visits to the Burrow had dwindled down to once a week, because she couldn't bring herself to go there and be melancholy when everyone else was already feeling down in the dumps. Molly understood, of course, for Hermione had told her about her parents, and sent Hermione off with packages of delicious food after every visit. Occasionally, George would come to visit Hermione at her flat. His visits helped lighten her heavy heart.

Looking on both sides, Hermione crossed the road to get to the park. There were fewer people than usual, but she didn't mind. After catching her breath from running across the road, she began walking down the path. There was no particular reason for her doing so, except the fact that when outside, she couldn't succumb to her own thoughts.

There was a small lake on the other side of the park, surrounded by shady oak trees and benches. Usually, when she came with the others, they didn't visit that side of the park.

Wanting some change in landscape, Hermione took the left path the next time she reached a fork.

There were more people. Hermione kept her head held up even though she really wanted to curl up on a bench or under a tree. She became acutely aware of how heavy the bag under her arm really was. She hitched it up to adjust her grip.

The lake came into view. It wasn't too large, but it was still picturesque. The pale moonlight cast weak rays on the water, so that it looked like a dark, shimmery carpet. The leaves on the trees rustled and swayed steadily, their sound accompanying that of the insects' buzzing. Someone laughed somewhere, and the noise shot across the water and through the air. A few children were playing in the small playground close by.

Hermione sighed and walked to the edge of the lake, where the benches were. A few geese which had been sleeping with their heads tucked under their wings startled and honked loudly when Hermione walked past. One flapped its wings threateningly.

Not wanting to be attacked by a bunch of geese, Hermione quickly moved away.

There was an empty bench a little away from the edge of the water, and Hermione sat down there, under the branches of a vast oak. The cool bench made her shiver, and she pulled her woolly cap low over her ears.

She and Ron had come here once before, and had sat on this very bench. It had been Memorial day, and after spending the morning in Hogsmeade where the mausoleums were, Ron had asked Hermione to be with him in silence for some time, and Hermione had suggested that they come here. He had cried a little, and so had Hermione. Harry had joined them some time later, with a set jaw but sad eyes.

Staring across the water now, Hermione thought about how much better it was to be there with friends. Her original plans of directing her mind away from the pain had failed, for sitting alone with nothing to do, her thoughts went haywire again.

The day after Hermione and Draco had returned to London, Hermione had spent the day writing to Ron, Harry and Ginny, explaining everything. Three days later, she had received their two page long answers full of empathy and kind words and promises. Hermione had been so overwhelmed by their letters that she had placed them in her letter journal. Ginny had also apologised profusely for having been cross about nothing, and for not having written to Hermione on her birthday. Hermione hadn't written back yet because she just couldn't find the energy or will to do so, but she would answer her soon.

Hermione's parents had left their house and all their possessions to a local charity fund in Australia. Troy had said that the neighbors thought the Wilkins "shady", because sometimes they would freeze mid sentence and stare into space for minutes together. That was the aftereffect of the memory spell, and learning about it had made Hermione's insides squirm with guilt.

Troy had given Hermione permission to retrieve all the photographs and some other trinkets from the house before the people from the charity had arrived. There was no point, really. The pictures had no trace of her whatsoever. Her mother's violin, her father's cardigan, the gardening supplies Hermione and her dad had gifted her mum one birthday. All commonplace things with indefinable value.

It had been horrible. Entering her parents' house under a Disillusionment charm was far beyond all the other heartbreaking things Hermione had been through.

Hermione sniffled.

She turned her head away from the water to her right.

Concealed by the shadows of three trees and some bushes, Hermione spotted someone seated on a bench.

Her hand went to her pocket, where a mirror with 'Bucktooth' written across it was tucked away safely.

Without completely planning to, Hermione stood with her package under her arm and began walking towards the shady bench. His head was turned the other way, so he couldn't see her as she walked toward him.

Hermione couldn't even begin to express how grateful she was to Draco. He had gone with her to Australia and been with her all the time. When she had watched the funeral from afar, when she had collected all the small memoirs, he had been with her. He had spoken very less, but the constant presence of his hand on her arm had been a better gesture then any words would have been. He had tried to cheer her up every day since. Subtly. Carefully. He never pushed it too far.

Her footsteps crunching on the cold grass finally alerted him, and he turned her way ever so slightly. On seeing her, he first smiled, then scowled.

"Hello," Hermione said, a little breathless from the walk.

Draco nodded, but said nothing.

His lips were closed firmly together, and his hands clenched tight. His tie looked like it had been loosened in a hurry, and his whole appearance gave off the air of someone who didn't want to be bothered. In his hand, Hermione noticed a bottle of what she knew to be firewhiskey.

"Are you-"

"Don't," he gritted out, looking suddenly fierce. He ran a hand over his face and sighed harshly.

Hermione, although a little hurt, masked it well, "I was about to ask if..." she trailed off. There was no way to change her would-be statement.

Draco 'tched' and shook his head. Hermione looked at him cautiously, and noticed that his nose was red from the cold, and his lips were slowly turning paler.

"How long have you been out here?" Hermione asked while readjusting her grip on the bag of gardening supplies.

"Not too long," he said with a careless shrug.

"You're lying," Hermione said without hesitance.

He scowled at her again, then huffed, "So what if I am?"

"Maybe you'll die of pneumonia if you stay here any longer," Hermione said, using his own words against him.

For a second, she thought he was going to smile.

Moving to the end of the bench, he patted the other end, asking her to sit if she wanted.

Hermione accepted the offer and sat down. The length of the entire bench stretched between herself and Draco.

"Why are you carrying that?" Draco asked, pointing to her bag.

"Oh," Hermione took a second to comprehend his words, for she had been trying to catch a glimpse of the bottle to see how far gone he was, "They're gardening supplies. Fertilisers and whatnot..."

"Oh," he said. He looked away from her to the water, and crossed his legs at the ankles.

At a loss for what else to say, Hermione settled for discreetly using her wand to shrink the bag. Since they were so well shielded by the trees and bushes, no muggles could really see them.

"Granger," Draco said suddenly, and turned to her with a very serious look on his face, "Do you drink?"

Taken aback and rather affronted, Hermione tried not to look offended, "No."

He paused and seemed to consider, "Are you sure?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously, "Yes, I am. And I will not allow you to wheedle me into getting drunk."

"Why not, though?" He questioned, "Wouldn't it be nice to pass out for a few hours, preferably until morning?"

"Not at all," Hermione said firmly, "You and I both know that we have work tomorrow."

Draco pulled a petulant expression and sat back, "Fine."

Something about the way he said 'Fine' made Hermione think that he was about to carry out his preposterous plans.

"You're not going to actually go and get drunk, are you?" Hermione asked slowly.

He blinked at her for a few moments, then said, "No, no, of course not. Why would I do that?"

Hermione didn't believe him in the slightest, but she hoped that he had enough sense to not drink before a work day.

"You've got some brambles in your hair," Hermione said, noticing them for the first time. Perhaps he had walked under a low hanging branch. She felt the urge to laugh, but tamped it down presently by clearing her throat.

"What?" He reached up to grope around his head, and when he felt them, be shook his hair out with his hand. The bench and Hermione were showered with the brambles.

"Stop it!" Hermione said, moving away. She had forgotten that she was at the very end of the bench.

She caught a brief glimpse of Draco's panicked expression as he reached out to grab her out of reflex before she landed flat on her back on the cold, damp grass.

Her cheeks aflush with embarrassment, Hermione was upright in a matter of milliseconds and dusting herself off. She avoided Draco's gaze, and ignored the sharp pain in her back.

Draco's arm was still stretched out, but he was looking at her with mild amusement on his face.

Hermione finally met his gaze with a glare, "Not a word to anyone or I will hex you."

Draco looked at her, visibly trying to control his laughter, while Hermione continued to glare at him. He let out a short laugh. Then another. He constantly tried not to, but in the end he ended up shaking his head while he laughed.

"Shut it," Hermione said even as she started cracking up.

She plopped back down on the bench and picked up the shrunken bag, and Draco continued laughing. Not much later, Hermione was laughing too.

It was the first time she had laughed in days.

When their laughter died out, Draco quickly went back to a somewhat sulky mood. Hermione really couldn't understand his mood swings. Why was he so...hormonal?

They kept small talk going so that the silences wouldn't drag out and become awkward. Talking was good, because whenever they were silent, Hermione felt his gaze burning holes into the side of her head, as if he was studying her. It made her a tad bit self conscious.

After what seemed like only a few minutes but which was actually nearly an hour and a half, Hermione stood to leave.

"Don't get drunk," Hermione said, looking at him with what she hoped was a serious enough expression.

"I'll think about it," he said, also standing up.

"You're leaving as well?" Hermione asked, stepping out from under the tree's shadow.

"Do you expect me to stay here all night?" Draco asked sardonically.

Hermione snorted ungracefully, and he glanced at her.

Although they walked together, there was a lot of unnecessary space between them. When they reached the main path that went all around the park, a large, grey cat sauntered over to Draco and rubbed its head against his legs.

"Do all cats like you this much?" Hermione asked disbelievingly. She secretly hoped that the cat would come to her as well, but to her dismay, it looked at her with its slit like pupils narrowed as much as possible, bared its teeth in a silent hiss, then went on its way.

"He doesn't like you," Draco said triumphantly.

"Just because he spends too much time with you," Hermione grumbled.

They reached the end of the path by the main road, and Hermione looked at the apartment building on the other side.

Hermione wasn't completely comfortable with the idea of leaving Draco alone when he was in one of his impulsive moods, especially when his impulse was to get drunk.

But she said nothing because she thought he would feel like she was meddling.

"Good night," Hermione said, giving him a small smile. In the time that it took for him to respond, Hermione scanned the surrounding side streets leading off the main road as far as her eyes could reach. To her relief, none looked like they had pubs.

"Good night," Draco said, and turned and began walking down the footpath.

Hermione furrowed her brows. She had been under the impression that he lived across the street.

Shaking her head, she walked across to find a shady part of an alley to apparate.