A Safe Place

CHAPTER ONE

Somewhere In Wales

The Vulnero curse had glanced off her ribs, leaving behind a half-inch wide gash that began just beneath her left breast and wrapped around her torso. The healing spells had taken care of it, but the skin was taut and any movement stretched the wound uncomfortably. A dull ache was now spreading throughout her extremities and no amount of firewhiskey seemed to lessen the pain.

Neville had built a fire in the hearth and the flames made shadows dance merrily across the walls of the small kitchen. Hermione dug the palms of her hands into her eye sockets, willing herself to stay awake. Sleep was never pleasant, these days. Too many dreams.

Seamus and Neville sat across the table from her, talking energetically about some Quidditch match in France they had been able to pick up on the wireless earlier in the evening. The sound of their voices and the heat from the fire made her head pound, which was exactly what she needed at this moment, wasn't it? Oh Merlin, could she never catch a break?

The door from the main portion of the house swung open and Malfoy walked in, his silver-white hair hanging lankly in his eyes. Hermione thought she detected a slight limp in his stride, but she was so used to seeing injuries that she immediately forgot it. All she could think about now was the slow seething hatred that was always there when he entered her realm of vision. Perfect. Her injury hurt, she was exhausted, her head was pounding and now she was burning up with having to share air with that insufferable git.

She sat her teacup down on the table with more force than was needed. This caused the two men across the table from her to look up. On seeing Malfoy in the room, Seamus grimaced. Neville glanced from Hermione to the man standing at the sink and then back, rising slightly from his chair.

"Hermione -"

"Kill any Muggles lately, Malfoy?"

Draco did not turn around. He reached across the counter and grabbed a clean waterglass. Hermione seethed.

"I asked you a question, ferret."

Neville fluttered his hands in the air nervously, trying to catch her eye. She ignored him, levering herself off her chair so that she stood beside the table. Her hands clutched at the edge. She was trembling.

"And I heard you, Granger. I just decided that you didn't deserve an answer."

His voice was flat. The t-shirt he wore stretched tight across his stiff shoulders.

"Well then, answer this one. What are you doing here?"

Draco sighed, sat the glass back on the counter, and turned to face her. His gray eyes were rimmed in red and there were dark bruises beneath them, marring his porcelain skin. He looked like shit. Didn't they all, Hermione thought wryly.

"What am I doing here? I'm getting a fucking glass of water, Granger."

Hermione smirked as she rounded the table, stalking towards the taller man.

"What are you doing here? This isn't your fight. In fact, if I remember correctly, you're supposed to be somewhere else right now. Did you lose your way, Malfoy? Or did you completely forget about this?"

As she spoke she closed the distance between them. She grabbed his left arm and turned the inside up into the light, exposing the Dark Mark where it sat black against his skin.

Draco yanked his arm from her grasp, unconsciously pressing his arm against his side. He glared at her.

"In case you haven't noticed, Granger, I'm on your side now."

He rolled his shoulders, as if trying to stretch the taut muscles, and sighed.

"As you bloody well know, I've proved myself time and again. I saved your precious Potter's ass on numerous occasions, so don't get all high and mighty with me. I'm not in the mood."

Hermione ignored him, her eyes flashing. The blood was pounding in her ears now and she couldn't feel the pain in her side or the pain in her head. The anger surged through her, burning away the exhaustion - making her feel more alive than she had in weeks. She had always been more herself when she had a mission. When out fighting or working for The Order she never thought about anything but her task, everything else faded into the background where she didn't have to think about it. She could blindly focus all her energies on the mission at hand. And right now, at this moment, her mission was to make Draco Malfoy admit that he didn't fucking belong here.

"What's the matter, Malfoy? Couldn't hack it as a Death Eater? I'm sure your situation wasn't too desirable after your botched attempt at murdering our headmaster. I'm sure The Dark Lord wasn't too happy with his Slytherin Princeling after that debacle. Not to mention your father. Must have been rough when Lucius chose The Dark Lord over your mother and you. Is that it? Is your appearance on The Order's doorstep to be chalked up to daddy issues?"

Draco's face was turning a violent shade of red as he stepped forwards menacingly. Hermione stood her ground, oblivious to the strangled noise Neville made behind her. All she could see was Draco, those white-hot gray eyes and his burning cheeks. He was standing so close, the length of his body inches from her own.

"You leave my parents out of this, Mudblood."

The instant the word left his mouth the world stopped. It had been so long since anyone outside of the battlefield had used it towards her that Hermione was momentarily stunned. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears as she stared up at Malfoy. He stared back, the color having drained almost instantaneously from his face. Hermione thought distractedly that it was strange how his face could go from crimson to colorless in under a second. And then she drew her arm back and punched him in the eye.

The world exploded back into her consciousness as Neville and Seamus leapt from their chairs. There was yelling. She could hear yelling. It took a moment to realize that some of it was coming from her, as Neville pinned her arms to her side and bodily lifted her into the air. Seamus had thrown himself against Malfoy, knocking him into the wall before he could move towards her. Hermione screamed obscenities, kicking her legs futily against the air as Neville dragged her from the room. The last thing she saw before the door swung shut was Malfoy's face as he stared murderously after her.

Hermione's room in this particular safe house was almost exactly the same as every other room she used in every other safe house. Bare floor, bed and small table. Sometimes there would be a moldy print hanging on the wall or a threadbare chairl. But they all were shabby and damp and cold.

She often thought longingly of her room at home or of the dorms of Hogwarts. Of plush carpets and thick blankets, dark wood paneling and colorful portraits on the walls. And then she would berate herself, because thoughts like that led down dark paths. It was why she hated to sleep.

They had been at this safe house for only a night. Somewhere in the wilds of Wales - often they didn't even know exactly where they were, portkeys were thrown at them in the heat of battle and off they went. She hadn't been to this particular one for a long time, months perhaps. It all ran together.

Before coming here, the four of them had been out on guerrilla missions for The Order. Snatch and grab missions, Harry called them. Apparating somewhere, causing a lot of fuss, maybe killing a few Death Eaters and then moving on to the next target. It was exhausting work, constantly on the move. Hermione had been doing guerrilla work for the better part of a year, stopping every three or four weeks at a safe house for a bit to regroup. She couldn't remember how many bedrooms just like this one she had stayed in since the war began in earnest just under two years ago. It was too many.

After Neville had dragged her from the kitchen and deposited her none-too-gently onto the parlor floor, Hermione had fled upstairs. She stormed into the bathroom they all shared and stuck her head under the bathtub faucet, letting the icy water soak her face and hair. Once she had cooled down she had escaped to her room, shutting the door and locking it. She could hear the others moving around downstairs, someone came upstairs and opened and shut a door down the hall. The shower came on, a dull rushing sound accompanied by the creaking of old pipes in the walls.

She lay fully clothed on top of her blankets, her body sinking into the worn mattress. Her side was hurting again. And her head. She closed her eyes, squeezing them so tight that little bursts of light bloomed behind her eyelids. Malfoy. It had been months since the last time she'd seen him. He had been with another group, doing similar work to what she'd been doing in another part of the country. It was sheer bad luck that they'd ended up portkeying to the same safe house.

The last time they'd had to stay under the same roof, Harry had tried to talk her down out of the hysteria of anger that always enveloped her whenever Malfoy was around. But it did no good. She couldn't reconcile herself to this new Malfoy. This redeemed Malfoy. She snorted. She couldn't believe it. And she couldn't see how everyone else did.

When she felt herself drifting off she sat up, pressing her back against the wall at the head of her bed. She picked up the book on the table next to her and opened to her last place. It was late, but she couldn't let herself sleep. Not until she absolutely had to.

Outside Of Leeds

Hermione threw down her cards, a triumphant grin stretching across her face.

"Beat that you miscreants!"

Everyone groaned, placing their own hands face up across the table. They watched dejectedly as she shoveled the chips from the center of the table into a pile in front of her seat. Who knew she'd be so good at poker? When the Muggle-born Auror had taught them during a particularly dreary safe house sojourn last year, she had scoffed slightly at the game. But she'd found she was a bit of a natural.

She was sitting in the parlor of yet another safe house, after yet another few weeks out in the field snatching and grabbing. The wound to her side didn't bother her anymore, and she'd been lucky this go - no injuries. Her bad luck had stuck around in the form of a certain silver-haired prat, but he had appeared that afternoon and gone straight upstairs. He hadn't been down since.

The rain was pounding against the windows, but inside it was warm. Neville had built another fire and Hermione was enjoying the company of old friends. Other than Seamus and Neville, Hermione was happy to find Hannah Abbott and Parvati Patil in residence. The five of them spent most nights in the parlor, playing games of chance or listening to the wireless when they could get it to pick up international stations.

Seamus was shuffling the cards, letting them fall from one hand to the other.

"Oh shit, I forgot to mention what happened on mission yesterday," he said.

They all waited expectantly as he began to deal. After laying down the correct number of cards in front of everyone, he sat the remainder down on the table and looked up.

"We got Lucius."

No one spoke. Hermione cocked her head to the side.

"What?"

"We got Lucius. Killed him. Some green Auror, young kid - not much older than us. Lucius threw a Killing Curse and he was able to dodge and threw one right back. Hit him square in the chest. Beautiful!"

Hermione was gratified to see that hers was not the only mouth hanging open in surprise.

"Lucius Malfoy?!" Parvati asked, her voice rising into a shriek.

"Yeah, Lucius Malfoy. Who do you think I meant?"

Seamus rolled his eyes.

Neville let out a soft whistle, his eyes rising to the ceiling.

"Does he know?"

Seamus grunted and shifted in his seat.

"Yeah, I'd say he does. He was brought out to identify the body. You know, to make it formal and all before they sent the corpse to the Isle."

The Ministry of Magic had decamped to the Isle of Wight, a shadow of its former splendor but still active in a limited capacity. All Death Eaters, alive or dead, were taken there.

Hermione felt a flash of something like pity. As much as she hated Malfoy, the idea of him standing over his own father's body made her uncomfortable.

"How was he?" she asked quietly.

Seamus shrugged.

"Cold as stone. Took one look at him and said 'Yes, that is Lucius Malfoy' and then turned away. Bit hardhearted if you ask me - the bastard was still his dad."

Hannah and Parvati were making sympathetic noises, their eyes trained to the ceiling. Neville and Seamus began talking about what on earth it was that the Ministry was doing with Death Eater corpses. Hermione sat there, staring at her cards. Despite there being several rooms and an entire floor between them, she was profoundly aware of Malfoy's presence overhead.

She was coming out of the bathroom, blotting her wet curls with a towel, when she heard it. Everyone else was still downstairs - sounded like someone had brought out the firewhiskey - and above the noise of their laughter she could hear it. Someone was crying. No, not crying - sobbing. It was such a wild sound, as if each sob was being physically torn from the person and the pain was unbearable. Guttural, primitive.

Hermione found herself moving down the hall towards the noise, until she was standing in front of a door. She brought her hand up and pressed the palm against the wood. She knew who it was - how could she not? - but it was so strange. So strange to hear him, to hear those sounds coming from him. What was she doing here?

She almost pulled her hand away and retreated to her room. She almost left him there. But he was choking now, his sobs coming harder and faster. He sounded as if it hurt so much, and Hermione knew. She knew what this felt like. She had wanted to cry like this so many times in the last two years. After every death, after every time she cast the Killing Curse on another human being and watched the life drain from their eyes. To let it all go. To pull her hair and sob. And now, listening to him, she was fascinated. What would it feel like? Oh Merlin, she needed to see.

Before she knew what she was doing, she had pushed against the door. Half expecting it to be locked, she almost fell into the room when it swung open. It was a room just like hers, bare and empty. A bed sat centered against the far wall and over the top of it, in the space between the bed and wall, she saw that familiar head of silvery hair.

Draco sat with his knees to his chest, his head resting atop them. His arms covered his head, his fingers clenching and unclenching as the sobs wracked his lean frame. He looked so pitiful, so small. The enormity of what he had seen today hit Hermione like a ton of bricks. He had seen his father's corpse. The man who raised him, who gave him life, lying in the dirt like so much trash. Nevermind who Lucius Malfoy was to the rest of the world, he had been Draco's father. Hermione felt that old part of her, that part who had wanted to see something good in everyone, come bubbling to the surface. It made her take a step forward, and then another, and another, until she was crouched beside him.

She reached out, her hand trembling slightly, and touched his shoulder. He didn't move, didn't stop crying. She touched him again, putting more pressure against his shoulder. Nothing.

"Malfoy."

The sobs were still coming hard and fast, his body spasming against the wall behind his back. She could see the wet stain his tears made on his trousers. He wasn't responding to her, no matter how many times she said his last name or touched his shoulder, his arm, his leg. Finally, the sobs tearing through her heart until she was desperate for him to stop, she reached out and let her palm settle onto his hair.

"Draco."

He choked, a sob stopping suddenly, his whole body going stiff. She pulled her hand back as he raised his head.

He stared at her blankly, no malice, no emotion at all. She sat back on her feet and watched him. Their eyes met and she held his gaze, waiting. She could imagine she could hear the beating of his heart, how fast it must be beating. She imagined what her heart would feel like if she ever allowed herself this sort of release.

His eyes were bloodshot, his skin flushed and raw. Tear tracks stained his cheeks. Hermione felt a pang of guilt when she saw the fading bruise around his right eye where she had punched him weeks before. A florid red line marked where she had broken the skin on his cheekbone.

She didn't even realize she had moved until she saw her hand reaching out towards him. Her fingertips brushed lightly against his cheek, dragging softly across the place where she had hit him.

"I'm sorry."

Her voice was barely a whisper. She didn't know if she was apologizing for hitting him or for what he had been through today. It seemed like she should for both. It seemed right. He stared at her for a moment, his eyes blinking once before he grabbed her hand and dragged her towards him.

"I don't want your pity, Granger."

He hissed the words in her ear. He had pulled her so that their shoulders touched and her right cheek was turned towards him. She could feel him, the warmth of his body against hers. Now her own heart was beating wildly, as she felt his breath coming in short bursts against her ear.

"It's not pity, Malfoy. I truly am sorry."

He grabbed her chin and turned her face towards his, glaring at her. She wondered why she wasn't pulling away from him. This close, she could see the flecks of white in his gray eyes. So that's why they always look like silver, she thought. It was the last cohesive thought she could remember before his lips banged against hers.

He was kissing her. He pulled her body flush against his, so that she could feel the hard planes of his chest pressed into hers. His lips were warm, soft against her own and his breath was coming in short gasps. He said her name, Hermione, against her mouth and the sound of it shot straight through her. She could feel his fingers fisting in her hair, at her hip. Was she kissing him back? Were those her lips, treacherously moving against his? It was all a blur, heat and pressure and the way his eyes stayed locked on hers the entire time.

After a moment he pulled away slightly, his forehead pressed against hers. His breath ghosted over her face as he seemed to fight for composure. Hermione let her hand come up to trace the cut she had given him once again. The moment her fingers touched his skin he closed his eyes. She watched, fascinated, as a few tears squeezed out from beneath his eyelids.

She pushed forward, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him to her. He sighed once, dropping his head onto her shoulder. Hermione stared at the wall, feeling him breathing against her.