Disclaimer: I do not claim any rights to J. K. Rowling's intellectual property.
Author Note: This was written for last year's DM/HG fic exchange. Hermione and Draco are about 20-21 years old in this story. Not HBP/DH compliant.
Beta Readers: Nomeci and Dormiensa
Rays of light flashed in all directions as the fighters cast hexes and spells in a steady flow. People were running back and forth through the rooms of the building, duelling and chasing each other. Draco moved swiftly through the corridor, alternating protective charms and deadly curses without stopping to think. They had thought it would be an easy win. They outnumbered their enemies by half, and they were in a much better shape than them, those few wizards and witches still resisting the Dark Lord after months of hunt and hiding. Yet they were fighting relentlessly, with much more energy than he would have thought possible, and he needed every ounce of his attention to avoid being hit by a spell. A tall man - an Auror, from what he remembered - leaped in front of him before he could ward him off, and Draco just barely dodged his ray of red light by abruptly throwing himself backwards. The motion sent him stumbling through an open door, and the man followed, his wand raised, ready to strike again. Draco's Diffindo was so poorly aimed it bounced off the wall and hit the wooden floor, but the resulting explosion sent the Auror flying back out of the room. A door slammed behind him and Draco spun on his feet to face his next opponent. Before he could complete the move, however, his wand flew out of his hand. Cold panic flooded him, and he let out a belated, startled cry as he watched it land several feet away, out of his reach. Then he raised his head and met the eyes of the person who had just Disarmed him. And everything seemed to freeze.
The room was empty except for the two of them. Sounds of the battle still came from the corridor, but they seemed distant now, as if the fight had suddenly been removed further away. In fact, it was silent enough that he could hear his own heart beating in his chest. Or maybe it was simply that his heartbeat was drowning out everything else. And time had slowed down, so much that each beat seemed to last forever as he stared into the deep brown eyes that did not leave his. Hermione Granger had her wand pointed directly at his chest, and she seemed ready to use it at any moment. She did not, though, and he stood there, not daring to move, unable to take his eyes off her face. Unable to take his mind off the memories.
Lub-dub.
He cornered her in an empty section of the library, and her startled jolt as he blocked her from taking the book she was reaching for satisfied him deeply. He loved nothing more than throwing her off balance. She had not heard him approaching. Her surprise quickly turned into defiance, and she crossed her arms, glaring at him.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" she whispered forcefully.
He sighed. She said the exact same thing every time.
"You should know it by now, Granger," he replied just as low—he did not want the librarian to interrupt them. "I make it my personal hobby to piss you off."
He took the old textbook she had been aiming for and started leafing through the pages lazily, leaning against the bookshelf. It was titled Legends and truths of elemental magic.
"I think I would very much like to borrow this book. It sounds quite interesting."
He saw her pale, and he chuckled inwardly.
"You can't do that, Malfoy!" she protested angrily. He gave her his most obsequious smile.
'Why not? It's a library book. I have every right to borrow it if I want to read it. You can have it when I'm done."
She clenched her fists. She was visibly trying not to raise her voice.
"I don't want it when you're done. I need it for my Charms project due next week!"
He shrugged.
"You should have reserved it if you thought it was so important."
He made to put the volume in his bag, and she violently grabbed his arm.
"I need this book, Malfoy," she said through gritted teeth. "Give it to me."
He found it highly amusing that she did not try to wrestle the book out of his hands. She was too scared of damaging it. She did, however, have an unexpectedly strong grip. It was starting to hurt.
"Fine," he sighed, affecting to give up. "I don't want your stupid book anyway. Let go of my arm, and I'll give it to you. Under one condition."
Her eyebrows rose, but she did not loosen her grip.
"Now you want to pose conditions, huh? And what would that be?"
He, too, was starting to lose his cool.
"I said let go first."
"No."
He brutally yanked away his arm, making her stumble, and seized her wrist with his other hand to force himself free. She lost her balance and nearly fell. She would have if he had not grabbed her by the waist, keeping her from hitting her head on the shelves. And suddenly they were standing way too close, and he was looking straight into her eyes. Time slowed so much it almost stopped.
Lub-dub.
"So, you're fighting now," she said.
She had not moved, and was still threatening him with her wand, though not using it. He let out a short, raspy laugh.
"Who isn't?"
The corners of her lips twitched, and she almost smiled.
"Too few people," she replied seriously. "Much less than is right."
Her voice sounded as it always had but harsher, as if the war had taken away some of its softness. Her face was harder, too, and her whole appearance, from her messy hair to her crumpled robes, had a battered look and also a stiffness that she didn't have before.
"You've changed," he said, before he could stop himself.
She really did smile this time. A small smile, gone as fast as it came, and yet it made her eyes twinkle slightly, just like they used to.
"So have you," she said. "We all have."
She lowered her wand slightly and took a step towards him.
Lub-dub.
He grabbed her as she turned the corner and pulled her towards him, silencing her with a hand over her mouth as he took her through a nearby doorway. She let out an indignant cry as he released her to close it behind them.
"A broom closet? Really, Malfoy?"
If she had intended to say anything else, he cut it short with a fierce kiss. Ah, shutting up Hermione Granger. So deeply satisfying. She made mild attempts to resist at first but quickly gave in and started kissing him back. He let his hand run up her body while he pressed her against the wall, dislodging a few things in the process, though not stopping to see what they were. She grabbed his head, running her fingers through his hair, and he groaned in pleasure and deepened the kiss. The taste of her lips was intoxicating. He slid his hand under her skirt, and she slapped it, hard.
"Are you crazy?" he exclaimed, jumping back. He massaged his hand. It really did hurt.
"We already agreed upon this," she replied coolly. If she had been passionate before, she was now completely business-like. And not in the least sorry. Only her heated cheeks hinted at her high emotions a few seconds before. "We are not going there."
Draco shook his head, still angry at her for hitting him.
"It was just a touch! It's not like I tried to rape you. Stop being such a prude!"
She scrutinized him coldly.
"That's not the point. It's a question of principle. If you can't understand what was wrong about it, then I don't see why I should waste my time with you."
She walked out of the closet with her head held high, and he was suddenly acutely aware of the beating of his heart.
Lub-dub.
Hermione took another step closer, inspecting him closely. What she had said was right. He had changed. He looked skinnier, for one, and even paler than before, if that was possible. She tried to remember how long it had been since she had last seen him this close up. Two years? No, more. Maybe two and a half. Or three. It was a little scary to admit, but she was starting to lose track of time. When was this war going to end? She shook off that thought. Thinking about it would not help.
She noticed that Draco was standing in a strange way.
"Do you have a limp?" she asked, surprised.
He shifted his weight on his feet, suddenly looking embarrassed.
"It's not much," he said dismissively. "An old thing."
She frowned.
"Why didn't you get it fixed then? It's probably too late now."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You do know that Death Eaters are not selected for their talent as Healers, don't you?"
Again, she smiled despite herself. He always managed to make her smile, even when she was determined not to. She took another step towards him. She was almost close enough to touch him, now. Close enough to clearly see his light grey eyes. Time always seemed to stop when she looked into those eyes.
Lub-dub.
She was waiting for him in a dark corner of the dungeons, where she had told him to meet her. Nobody ever came here, not even the Slytherins. She had discovered it in her second year, when she had been searching for a place to hide the cauldron containing the Polyjuice potion, but she had dismissed it because she feared somebody would for sure notice a Gryffindor going down to the dungeons every day. Besides, nobody went there for a reason: it was far to walk.
He finally arrived, fashionably late, and looked around with obvious astonishment.
"How do you even know about this place?"
"Long story," she replied curtly, "and beside the point."
She walked up to him with her arms crossed and took a deep breath, forcing herself to look him in the eyes. He looked back warily. He seemed to have noticed that something was off.
"I can't do this anymore, Malfoy," she stated. "It's too complicated. Too dangerous. It doesn't even make sense!"
His grey gaze darkened.
"You don't really mean it."
She gave a sad smile. How many times had she told him that it was over, that she would not see him anymore, only to walk back into his arms sooner or later? This time, though, it was different. It was going to stop. It had to.
"I do," she replied. "We can't keep going on like this, not with everything that is happening out there. You know what I'm talking about. Voldemort. War. War will start sooner or later, and we both know we won't be on the same side. There's no need to make it hurt even more."
He abruptly started to laugh, a derisive, contemptuous laugh. It resonated off the stone walls.
"Make it hurt? How exactly do you think it's going to hurt? Things can only hurt if you care about them, Granger. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I certainly don't care."
He spat those last words in a harsh and aggressive voice and turned to walk away. Her vision suddenly blurred. Hermione quickly rushed past him, refusing to give him the chance to walk out on her. As she sped through the corridor, she could feel a searing pain erupting in her chest, tearing through her with every beat of her heart.
Lub-dub.
She suddenly realized he was staring at her with a worried look. How much of her emotions had she let show? She quickly donned an impassive expression. Before she could do anything to stop him, though, he had taken the last step that still separated them and held up his hand to touch her cheek. She shivered. She almost closed her eyes but then remembered that she had to stay on her guard.
"I still have my wand," she reminded him.
"Are you going to use it?" he asked, stroking her skin lightly with his thumb.
His touch was wonderful. She certainly did not want it to stop.
"Not if I don't have to."
"Good."
And suddenly he was kissing her, and she was seventeen again, her mind soaring as she felt his lips against hers, his tongue teasing her, his hand holding her. Time stopped and rolled back, and a single moment seemed to last forever.
Lub-dub.
He caught up with her as she was walking out of the castle with all the students heading home for Christmas.
"Granger!"
She turned around, frowning. What did he want with her? He did not move from where he was standing, a few feet away, obviously expecting her to join him. She let out an exasperated sigh and told Harry and Ron that she would follow them in a minute. She then walked towards him, her stomach gnawing uncomfortably, no matter how much she wished it would not.
"What?" she asked.
He hesitated.
"Can we talk elsewhere?"
She sighed and nodded. She had come this far. She might as well find out what he wanted to tell her.
She followed him up the stairs and into an empty classroom. He sat down on a table, and she did the same. He cleared his throat.
"I won't be coming back after Christmas," he stated.
She was a little taken aback, but she refused to let it show.
"I see."
He looked at her as if he expected something else, but she was determined not to ask any questions.
"You were right," he continued in a low voice. "War will start soon. That's why I'm leaving—it will start here."
This time, Hermione's eyes opened wide, and she could not hide her surprise.
"What . . . do you mean that Voldemort will attack Hogwarts?" she exclaimed, shocked.
He hushed her and quickly looked around.
"Don't say it so loud! I'll get killed if anyone finds out I told you."
She looked at him curiously.
"Then why are you telling me?"
He avoided her eyes.
"Don't ask too many questions. As long as you don't tell anyone it was me who said it, they won't find out. It won't even cross their minds."
He got up and left the room, leaving Hermione to ponder. She then realized most of the students must have left: the castle was almost completely silent. So silent she could hear her heart, and seconds stretched into eternity as she tried to understand what had just happened.
Lub-dub.
A loud sound broke the silence: something seemed to have exploded nearby, making Draco jump. He quickly pulled away and saw Hermione walking back several steps, her wand fully raised again. Sounds of battle were reaching his ears, and time resumed its fast pace. Somebody yelled, Hermione's eyes widened in fear, and a ray of light emerged from her wand, knocking him off his feet and shoving him away. As his back violently hit the wall, the ceiling crumbled down in large blocks of concrete, falling on the spot he had just vacated and dividing the room into two sections. Somebody burst in, and he looked up. He recognized his father, whose face took on an expression of relief mixed with worry upon seeing him.
"We're leaving, Draco."
He blinked, surprised.
"Why? I thought we were winning."
"Not anymore," Lucius Malfoy replied curtly. "Can you get up?"
Draco scrambled to his feet with his father's help, and they started for the door. Suddenly, an object lying on the floor caught his eye. His wand. He picked it up hurriedly, almost not believing his luck, and quickly followed his father out of the room.
Hermione had raised her left arm to protect her face as small pieces of concrete flew towards her, cutting through her skin. She had not had time to both move Draco out of the way and cast a protective spell over herself. She coughed as the dust settled and tried to look for him. The remnants of the ceiling, and seemingly of most the floor above, effectively blocked the other half of the room from her sight. She wondered how long this whole encounter had lasted. A few minutes, probably, even though they had seemed like hours. It had been one of those fleeting moments during which she got a glimpse of what her life could have been, had some things been different. A glimpse of what she wanted her life to be. But things were the way they were, and there was nothing she could do to change it. She heard people yelling and running. She quickly made her way out through the second door of the room.
"It was a diversion! They're running away!" somebody shouted at her while speeding down the corridor.
Tightening her grasp on her wand, she started running, too. Running after the Death Eaters she had been fighting for the past three years. Running to catch them and take them down, each and every one of them. Because this was war, and there was no room for anything else. Not for longer than a heartbeat.