Harry looked up irritatedly from his table to see who was knocking in such an ill-mannered at the door.

"Ron?" he raised his eyebrows.

Ron barged in and threw a newspaper on his face.

"What is this rubbish?" he snarled.

Harry glanced at the paper.

The front page had a large picture of Hermione and Ron, standing in a dingy corner of what looked like a bar Knockturn Alley, engaged in a heated kiss. The headline read in big, bold letters: Power Couple Back Together Again?

He skimmed through the article before tossing the paper aside. Throwing a withering glare at a Ron, he stood and made his way to the door. Of course, he knew Ron may have no hand in this at all, but it was a large possibility. Harry couldn't bring himself to forgive Ron, no matter what the circumstances. Ron angrily made to follow him, but Harry turned around abruptly at the door, causing Ron to walk right into him.

"Listen," Harry said, looking him straight in the eye with his face devoid of any expression, "I hope now you know that all these lies are being spread for a reason. Hermione was pulled into this. As if she would risk being out in the open now, with oy of all people. It's all bullshit. And, believe me or not, Malfoy isn't guilty either. They are both part of something we don't know about, and I'm going to help them, whether you like it or not."

Ron stood and glared for a few seconds. Harry noticed the tips of his ears turning as red as his hair as his fists balled themselves.

"I don't want lies about me to spread," Ron said, pointing a finger between Harry's eyes, "I'm doing it for myself, not her."

"Lie to yourself all you want, I don't care," Harry turned and left, leaving Ron sputtering and furious in his office. It probably want such a good idea, but he didn't care.

Now he was very sure that someone at the Prophet was deliberately making these lies. And someone was impersonating people. Pansy's death had turned up on the front page as well, with a photograph, even though Theodore said he hadn't told anyone else. Things were finally falling into place, and although glad, he didn't like the way they were going.

It seemed as though someone was trying to get revenge. As usual, it was the sole purpose of the impersonator. He or she wanted revenge.

To be completely honest, he knew why. Many had died in the war, and while few had respected their departed loved ones and the cause, some hadn't been so subtle. There were still many out there who were bitter towards him for even existing. After all, if not for him, the Battle wouldn't have happened.

He laughed mirthlessly. The easiest solution to this seemed to plain as day: just die.

On the other hand, he knew that just because it was easy didn't mean it was the right thing to do.

He ran a hand through his hair in his frustration.

He'd get to the bottom of this if it was the last thing he did.

---------

Hermione had gone off somewhere the previous evening, after they had returned from Podmore's, saying she had some work. She had returned a little before dinner, saying that there were things they needed to discuss in the morning. Draco had been unsuspecting and had, of course, agreed.

But now, as he read the Prophet, his blood boiled. The larger than necessary picture looked very real. His bunched fists crumpled the paper. By the time he was done, he had managed to make his face a cold mask of indifference.

Hermione returned from her shower, dressed in fresh clothes. She was dabbing at her damp hair with a towel while a soft smile played at her lips. It almost made him forget why he was angry.

"If you're up for it, we can start discussing after breakfast," she said, drying her towel off with a quick spell.

Draco clenched his jaw and only nodded.

He was very well aware that the Prophet was spewing lies about them and Potter. But they weren't lying about Weasley, they were supporting him. There was no way in the whole world that the picture was fake. It was far too real and far too heated. It had to be the truth.

The realisation washed over him like a wave of cold abandonment. He felt strangely betrayed, and alone.

She noticed something was off, but kept to herself for the time being.

Draco couldn't keep it in anymore.

"Had fun yesterday evening?" he said, his tone wounded. He glanced at her.

"I'd hardly call it fun," she said, still oblivious to his mood, "I had to walk a lot, but otherwise it was-"

She stopped abruptly. He could feel her gaze burning holes at the side of his head.

"What's wrong?" she asked tentatively.

"Oh, nothing," he says, sarcasm dropping from his voice like acid, "nothing at all."

"You can just tell me if something's bothering you," Hermione said, a hint of snappishness in her voice.

"You could have just told me," his upper lip curled involuntarily, but she didn't shrink back.

"Tell you what?" she placed her hands on her hips.

"Pathetic," he muttered, "Gryffindor my ass. You don't even have enough courage to admit that you've done it."

"Just tell me what you're on about," she said exaggeratedly. He could tell that she was rapidly losing her patience.

"Tell me, who snogged you better," he said, looking her straight in the eyes, "me or Weasley?"

She paled, in rage or apprehension he couldn't tell. His vision was blurred by anger, as was his thought process.

"You're speaking rubbish," she said.

"Nothing new, I suppose," he bit back.

"Why won't you just tell me?" she was struggling to keep her voice low, that much was visible.

Draco tossed the newspaper at her. She caught it deftly and glared at him before turning her gaze on the front page. She was positively furious, and she couldn't even bring herself to read the rest of the article.

"Too mad everyone else caught up in your secret date?" he had walked up to her, and was speaking with his face lowered so that it was level with hers, "Worried about what I'm going to do now? Thinking you should have told me in the beginning and spared me the lies?"

"You know this isn't true," she said with defiance, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

"Do I?" he said.

"Draco, I would never-"

"But you did," he interrupted, "you lied to me and made me think you actually-"

He broke off, he couldn't say it.

"You're taking the word of a lousy reporter over mine?" she said, "I didn't lie to you. We ended two years ago, and this isn't real. Someone had done this on purpose to berate us."

"You were out yesterday evening," he said irrelevantly.

"Do you really think I would go gallivanting around when I'm a wanted witch?," she said, her voice icy, "And I do not require your permission to go out."

"Then I don't either, yea?" Draco said, looking bitterly at her. He stormed to the door.

"You haven't cast the spells yet."

"Don't touch me," he gritted out, and Hermione dropped her hand from where she had been reaching out to grab his arm. Tears pooled her eyes, and he knew she was hurt. The more logical part of him asked him to listen to an explanation, but a horrible and more selfish part triumphed at having brought her to tears.

Somehow, he convinced himself to listen to the logical side of himself.

"I can't believe your stupidity," Hermione said, hot, angry tears splashing on her cheeks, "I can't- how could you think this?"

"I saw a bloody large picture of it," he snarled back.

"I'm telling you it's not true!" her voice was several octaves higher, "I went to the apothecary yesterday to check something, and I got what I needed, but you seem interested only in fake news and rumors."

"Why won't you just tell me what this is?" He shook the newspaper in front of her face.

"It's a lie," she said sternly, "believe what you will, I have no control over that."

His nostrils flared and he sat on the bed, throwing his shoes on. He ripped the newspaper in half.

"Anyways, I don't bloody care about who you snog," he muttered angrily, "just tell me what you found."

"Stop being such a twat first," she cried, anger and misery mixing, "you don't even trust me enough to believe what I'm saying! Don't expect me to submit to your ridiculous accusations, because I know bloody damn well that they aren't true."

"Clearly, we don't exactly," he struggled for the word, "sync."

It was a lie. They synced very well and he knew that. It was the reason he liked her. But they were both stubborn, both defiant, and got into arguments more often than not.

"Move," he shoved past her and out the door, uncaring that he hadn't cast the spells on himself. He stormed down the stairs and out of The Frog On a Bike, walking down the street with such a menacing stride that other pedestrians moved out of his way to give him clear passage.

He didn't even know why he was so angry. 

The image of her and Weasley wrapped in each other's arms invaded his mind again, and he remembered why. He couldn't bring himself to see logic and think rationally.

He had wandered into a dingy alley with pubs and bars even worse than The Frog On a Bike. A drink or two ought to take his mind off Hermione. Maybe he'd find someone to snog as well.

He cast the spells on himself. They worked with much more ease and strength than before.

A resounding crack sounded ahead of him.

Draco glanced down at his wand in horror. It was his own wand, and not the stolen one. They had tracked him. Then, several things happened at once.

He only faintly heard the cry of "Incarcerous" before ropes cut into his wrists and arms, tightening around his neck leaving just enough width to heave in choking breaths.

His vision blurred and blackened.

All of a sudden, the ropes vanished and he gratefully drew in a full breath of sweet air and allowed it to fill his lungs.

A figure stormed past him, shooting spells and fighting three people off at the same time. Draco noticed Ministry badges glinting on all three of their chests. Seconds later, they disapparated with loud cracks.

"You're a bloody idiot," Hermione ground out. She grabbed his shoulder and apparated them back to their room, letting go of him as soon as they're feet touched the door.

"You're welcome," she said bitterly, throwing her wand on the bed, "irresponsible twat, can't even keep your anger in check. Why can't you be a little more rational? You could have bene captured, they may have taken you away, what would have happened then?"

"Stop pretending you care," he didn't exactly know why he said it. It was the more childish part of him speaking.

"I'm not pretending!" she shouted, and threw a pillow at his face, "You're just too much of a bloody arsehole to see things the way they are."

"I'm sorry," he hadn't meant to say this either, but it was the right thing to say.

A cold sense of realisationf about what had just happened doused him. Before she could retort, he took his wand between his fingers and handed it to her, "You can hex me."

She stood gawking at him with her wand held loosely between her fingers, "Are you mad?"

"I don't know?" he said apologetically, he ran a hand over his face, "Look, I- I'm sorry. I saw that picture and it looked so real and everything, and the you in the picture looked so happy and I just couldn't take it. It's not that I don't trust you, I do, I really do. I just got really insecure or something and it fuelled my irrational anger and I'm sorry I said all those things."

He stopped speaking and looked intently at her, hoping he looked remorseful enough. She was looking at him with her lips pursed and her eyebrows knitted.

"Fine," she said at last.

"Fine?" he scoffed, "I just gave you a whole speech and you say fine?"

"You can't expect me to just get over it," she said calmly, "ask Harry, I remain mad at people for impossibly long periods of time."

He scowled at her.

"You did the same thing Ronald did," she said quietly, "got angry before I could even give you an explanation. I thought...I thought you were different. I thought I could trust you to trust me."

Her eyes fell, and he didn't miss the few tears that leaked out.

He felt like he had just been crucioed in the heart.

"Pack up, we have to leave," she said over her shoulder, "they know where we are, they'll be here soon."

She didn't say a word to him while they packed. He deserved it, yes, but it still made him feel bitter towards everything around him. Even his shoes, which were otherwise completely perfect. Once they'd packed all their belongings without leaving any trace of their being there, they cast the spells, and apparated.

She dropped his hand as soon as they were steady.

He looked around himself, and noticed that they were on a street lined with shops and a pub, and a church with stained glass windows. The headstones of the graveyard could be seen beyond it, and he involuntarily shivered.

"Where are we?" he asked no one in particular.

"Godric's Hollow," she said, still not looking at him, "Harry and Ginny are here, they'll help."

"Are you sure it's a good idea?" he asked, keeping his nervousness at bay.

"Yes," she sent a withering glare his way, and he shut his mouth.

She walked confidently, with long strides and her head held high. Their walk lasted about five minutes, until they had reached a house at the corner of two streets.

Hermione quickly removed the charms from over herself, then did the same to Draco.

"Be nice," she said, "we need them to help us."

"If Potter is," he muttered. They climbed the front steps and she knocked on the door. He heard footsteps approach the door, and then the lock clicking.

He couldn't even comprehend what was happening when Potter launched himself at Hermione, only just managing to pull them both into the house. Draco turned and shut the door, giving them some time.

"You scared the living shit out of me!" Potter was yelling, waving his hands about, "Do you even know how worried we were? Ginny's on the search squad and they wouldn't allow me, and I didn't know anything because you refused to tell me."

Hermione stood with her head bowed, ashamed, "I swear I would have, Harry."

"Malfoy," he only just seemed to notice Draco standing behind Hermione, "I hope you aren't guilty of anything, or I will personally kill you for pulling Hermione into this."

"Good to see you too, Potter," he snapped as an answer, sounding just as sarcastic as he wanted to.

"Wish I could say the same," Potter turned away from him, "Ginny will be thrilled. Well, she may want to kill you at first, but she'll be thrilled nonetheless."

"Gee, thanks," Hermione muttered, before moving to hug him again, "I'm really sorry, Harry."

"It's okay," he mumbled into her hair, "but don't ever do that again."

"I won't," she said.

"Theodore's here by the way," Harry added as an afterthought.

Draco's heart stilled.

Potter led him and Hermione to the kitchen at the end of the hallway. It wasn't grand or large, but it had a certain homely feel about it that made Draco feel very welcome. It was warm but not stifling, and seemed comfortable. Nothing like the Manor's kitchen at all.

Seated on one of the chairs, reading a book, was Theodore Nott.

"Who is..." he looked up from his reading and his eyes fell upon Draco. He snapped the book shut in an instant, was across the room in three strides, and had pinned Draco against the wall. Hermione let out a scream and drew her wand. Potter had his own wand raised, but remained still. 

[ Yes, I am back.

  *evil aughter*

Turns out, writing fanfiction was what was keeping me sane. So that extra long break didn't work out. And boy oh boy is it great to be back.

I'll be updating every other day, I think. Sorry for the long wait, i hope the upcoming chapters make up for it. 

Love you all,

Dylan

]