Evermore

II.

ONE YEAR AGO...

The night had turned chilly once more.  Even the blazing fire of the oversized fireplace in his study could not chase away the freezing cold.  He looked out the window and saw the frosted ground swirling with freshly fallen snow while the wind howled with fury.  There's going to be a blizzard, he thought.  Good thing the house elves had already stocked up for the winter.  There wouldn't be much produce from the village in a few weeks.  And since he could not go into the city...

He stalked away from the window and threw himself on the couch, his fingers unconsciously tracing the angry scars marring his once handsome face.  Thinking of the city always awakened feelings of despair and he didn't want to dwell on them right now.  He had already destroyed nearly half the manor during his rages and he was getting tired of chanting  'Reparo' at least three times a day.  There was nothing he could do anyway, so there's no point in raging against his condition.

It's been two years since the 'accident' and he bore the scars from it, both in body and soul.  Apparently, he was sleeping when a fire broke out inside his London flat.  What he could not understand was how he could've slept through it all.  He wasn't drunk, of that he was sure.  He'd only had two glasses of mild, red wine during dinner and he had a very high tolerance for alcohol so he wasn't even tipsy when he left his date and went home.  The last thing he remembered was apparating to his flat.  He could not even figure out how he got into bed. However, as he later learned from one of the Muggle policemen who came to the hospital and questioned him about the fire, that was how the firemen had found him - passed out in bed and nearly engulfed by flames.

Unfortunately, that turned out to be the least of his worries.  After consulting with Healers at St. Mungo's right after he was discharged from the Muggle hospital where he was taken by his rescuers, he was told that there was nothing to be done about the scars which covered three-quarters of his face and the entire left side of his body.  They said that the fire wasn't an accident and his burns were caused by a Dark spell.  And since it left no identifiable traces, they could not perform the necessary counter-curse. The fire was definitely conjured through dark magic, but it wasn't Fiendfyre either.  All in all, his condition was hopeless. And that was why he retreated to the family Manor.  He couldn't parade his deformed mien out in public now, could he?  The controversy alone would kill him.  Better propagate the rumor that he was tending to business abroad.  He was, in spite of his family's involvement in the war, still the most eligible bachelor of Wizarding Britain, after all. His parents had made sure that no one would bother him in the country, encasing the entire estate in protective spells and enchantments that rivaled even those around Hogwarts. No one ever came near the mysterious Manor where inhuman screams could be heard every now and then, especially during the night.

Which was why he was completely caught by surprise when four of his house elves came rushing inside carrying what appeared to be an unconscious female in their tiny hands.

"What is the meaning of this, Mimsy?" he roared at the house elf nearest him.

The poor creature cowered in fear as she stepped back, her head bowed low.

"W-we's found h-her...s-sleeping n-near t-the r-roses, m-master," she squeaked.

"Sleeping? Sleeping out in the grounds? In this weather?" he growled.  Only a fool would go out to brave an oncoming blizzard.  Perhaps this girl was insane, he thought.

"No, master.  She is felled by the roses, me thinks, Master.  Look," Tinder, a wizened and ancient-looking elf said as he lifted the girl's hand towards his master.  Tinder was probably the oldest of all their house elves, but he was also the smartest.

Cursing beneath his breath, he leaned down and looked at the thorns still embedded in the soft skin, blood slowly dripping from the cuts on her fingers. The rose bushes were inside the garden, very near the gate, but still within the heavily warded grounds of the Manor. How could she have entered the estate without triggering the wards?

"Tinder, are the wards still up?"

"Yes, Master.  Tinder always check it.  The gate opened for her.  Tinder saw it," he replied.

"What? Why would it do such a thing? Did you see her cast a spell?"

"No, Master.  Tinder saw her walking and shaking.  Then, she touched the gate and it opened.  She only touched, no spell. Then, she walked in and touched the roses," Tinder said, his bald head bobbing up and down.

Shaking? She must've been shivering from the cold.  But why in Merlin's name did she have to touch the roses? And what was she doing out there in the middle of an approaching snow storm?

He looked down at the girl again and noticed that she wore no gloves and her shoes did not have thick soles, therefore not meant for hiking.  She was also wearing Muggle clothes - a pair of dark jeans, a pale pink jumper and a tan leather jacket with a fur-lined hood, which was partially covering her face.  Something about her reminded him of someone from his distant past...a girl who had the ability to fascinate and frustrate him all at the same time.  But it couldn't be her, could it? It's been five years since he last saw her during his family's final 'assessment' in London...two years after the war...one year after his probation cum rehabilitation and his father's stint in Azkaban.  What would she be doing here?

His curiosity got the better of him, so despite his better judgment, he flipped the hood away from her face.  Air was literally knocked out of his chest when he finally laid eyes upon the face that had once tormented him even in slumber.

"Granger," he breathed.

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A/N: Thanks for reading! Please don't forget to leave a comment and a vote :)