A/N: Formerly called 'Continuous Fall from Grace', this fic has been completely revamped to its new state. The old plot was going absolutely nowhere. I had no new ideas for it, and as such, I have created something new. Some things in this fic will remain the same, but most of it is changed.
Dusk settled over the grounds of Hogwarts, casting dark shadows across lawn and lake. Curfew had been instated some time ago, all students were now tucked into their common rooms, doing homework or other such activities. Professors stalked the halls, as did prefects and the Head Boy and Girl, waiting to catch those unlucky students who had decided not to heed the curfew.
The aforementioned Head Girl sat in the Astronomy Tower, clothed in a white gauze dress. Fabric settled about her, fanning out over her thin arms and gently surrounding her ample breasts. The cloth was tucked just under her swollen belly, pale hands resting atop it, gently caressing. Her cinnamon hair flew about her, uncut for almost a year. Her gaze was set forward, overlooking the ward-protected grounds from her stone perch and with sad smile 'cross her face. A cool September wind touched her rosy face, blowing curls over her ear. It had been not more than five months since she had last sat here, watching the sun slowly set. She had been wrapped in a pair of arms then, warm and comforting, and had been far thinner than she was now. Her lover had held her, rocked her in his arms and kissed her hair in one of the few shows of affection he bestowed upon her during their affair. However, though their relationship had not been made public, a mutual agreement between both parties involved, Hermione Granger felt that it was one of the only bright spots during the entire year.
The Dark Lord of the wizarding world, Lord Voldemort, had gathered his forces more quickly than even Albus Dumbledore had anticipated. Old alliances were reborn, new ones forged and every loyal Death Eater had quickly come to him to continue their servitude. His attack on the Ministry of Magic the previous June had been but a taste of what was to come as plans for battle were quickly conceived. Captives were taken and housed in the now empty Azkaban prison, tortured and questioned relentlessly. None who had been taken had returned.
As this occurred, the Ministry had instituted numerous new bylaws and regulations for the protection and safety of the community. A curfew was passed, Aurors patrolled the streets of major wizarding communities such as Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley and any suspicious parties were taken in for questioning. Large public gatherings were strictly monitored, as well as anything that the Ministry deemed vulnerable to attack. However, despite their best efforts to prepare for the oncoming war, it came with a force no one knew existed.
Diagon Alley had been peaceful that afternoon, which seemed so long ago, as was expected. People walked in and out of shops, bags clutched in their hands, students strolled around happily with their friends, smiling parents in tow, and a few Hogwarts' professors sat in Florene Fortescue's, eating ice cream contentedly. Quite suddenly, despite the clarity of the day, a harsh wind blew through the streets and the sky began to darken with oncoming clouds.
One by one, dark figures, stark white masks covering their faces, apparated into the street, wands grasped tightly in their hands. Parents grabbed hold of children and cowered in corners, professors rose from their seats and drew their wands from pockets while numerous others ran for shelter in the darkened shops. With the raise of a single wand, red light tossed Silvia Sinistra off her feet, and the battle began with vehemence.
Death Eaters murdered anyone who got in their way as they marched up the streets. Those who tried to stop them using charms or other weak spells were either killed or maimed. It wasn't until they had nearly made it to their destination, Ollivander's Wand Shop, that reinforcements arrived.
The Order of the Phoenix, led by Kingsly Shaklebolt, charged as soon as they arrived. Each engaged one or more of the black-clad enemy, spells and hexes flying faster than the naked eye could see. Buildings were hit and rubble fell about the members of the Order. Screams of frightened children echoed throughout the street. The insane laughes of Death Eaters cackled with high, sickening glee as they destroyed the opposing force, bodies dropping lifeless around them.
As soon as it had begun, however, it stopped.
Ollivander was dragged screaming from his shop, arms bound behind him, eyes wide and frightened.
Death Eaters apparated away, dozens of cracks sounding in the street as they fled.
Members of the Order fell to their knees, wands rolling out of their hands, dirt and dust smearing their faces.
Footsteps and panic-filled voices sounded in the distance as Healers rushed to the scene.
Children screamed, clawing at their stunned parents and people slipped from dilapidated buildings.
The Order of the Phoenix apparated away, back to headquarters to be mended and to recount what had just happened.
Only Gringott's Wizarding Bank remained untouched, its powerful wards and seals keeping it safe in the midst battle.
The first battle was over, the Light side had lost and the Dark Lord had gotten what he had wanted. St Mungo's admitted many patients for treatment and several homes in their morgue were opened for the unfortunate souls who had perished during the battle. Shops in Diagon Alley were closed for repair, and for weeks the streets were deserted. The approaching school year was no different.
There were many more attacks during the course of the year, killing people of all wizarding heritages. St Mungo's was soon overflowing with casualties; staff working around the clock to care for all of them. The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was soon realized to be in over his head with each horrible attack, as more and more lives were lost to the tyranny of Voldemort. As time passed, it seemed that none were safe. After all, none were sure why the people Voldemort captured were targeted, what purpose they served, it seemed anyone with magical blood flowing through their veins could be next. Anyone's home could be ransacked and their lives destroyed all for the Dark Lord's lust for information.
While Voldemort collected allies and information, strategize and briefed on the war for control over the magical world, he also concentrated on his greatest enemy, Harry Potter, the teenager who had thwarted him countless times in his quest for dominance. He pondered the many ways to drag him out of hiding, since during the summer months he hadn't a clue as to where the boy was. He thought of numerous plans to send the gangly teen to him, wand raised so that he, the Dark Lord, could destroy him. After all, it was written that Harry could destroy him, unless the boy was killed first. As such, measures were taken to make sure that Voldemort got the chance to finish what he had started fifteen years ago.
To drag Harry out, the boy had to become angry, vengeful, and foolhardy. The Only way to make that happen was to make him see those he loved in pain. It hadn't taken long for Voldemort to come to the conclusion that what would hurt the boy most, would be to see his friends in pain. Not just physical pain, but emotional pain. Thus, on one snowy November morning, three of his best Death Eaters were dispatched to the Granger home. After a short scuffle in which the two muggles were powerless to defend themselves, there were two flashes of green light and the Dark Mark loomed over the two-story abode. The bodies were left, lying on the floor, faces frozen in fear, for the Aurors to find. A letter was written and sent to Hogwarts, where Hermione Granger suddenly fled the Great Hall, tears streaming down her face.
For once, however, Harry paid heed to the words of his elders and remained safe in the walls of Hogwarts.
After the row with his family, Percy Weasley had taken up residence in a small London flat in a muggle neighborhood, living off his substantial Ministry salary. Having had nothing to do with his family for the past year, it came as quite a shock when Death Eaters had broken down his bedroom door and forced him roughly out of bed, wands pointed directly between his eyes. He had pleaded, begged, told them that he knew not where the rest of his family resided, but that did little to sedate the fierce men in front of him. Even though they had quarreled, even though they had not spoken for more than a year, Molly Weasley found herself wrapped in her husbands arms, weeping over the death of her son. Her children, two of which had been held back because of their escape from school the previous year, held each other in the Gryffindor common room, arms around a violently shaking Ginny.
Once again, no matter how hot his blood boiled, not matter how many tears streamed down his face and the faces of his friends, Harry did not rush into battle. He remained, dealing out comfort to his friends. He held them, rocked with them, cried with them and whispered words of solace to them. He never strayed far, opened up his bed to them so that they could be with each other in sleep, and held their hands and helped them to overcome their grief. Thus passed the two terms of their sixth year, filled with grief and heartache, though it was not all caused by the Dark Lord.
During her time lamenting the death of her parents, Hermione unconsciously attracted the attention of someone who she did not expect. They had never been on good terms during their five years of schooling, fighting whenever they got the chance, yet when she had escaped to the Prefect's bathroom to unload her grief in a corner of the large tiled facility, he had tentatively put his arm around her and rubbed his hand up and down her side. He had given her comfort, even though he knew once she had raised her head from her knees she would undoubtedly push him away. They had sat there for some time, until Hermione's cries had finally ceased, and they lapsed into quiet and surprisingly civil conversation. Such began their affair, as they met whenever they could to talk and escape the horrors of the second war.
While she would have been quite content for their relationship to remain completely platonic, devoid of any commanding emotion save sadness, it was not so. One evening, during one of her bouts of weeping, she had unintentionally brushed her lips against his. Her head had strayed from the crook of his neck, her tears spilling out all over his robes and falling down his own cheeks. He had been shocked to say the least, looking at her with crossed eyes as she broke away from him. He had left without a word, too shocked and confused to stay in the same room with her. He had regretted it immediately, meeting her the next evening to apologize to her quietly in his own awkward tone. He was not used to apologizing to anyone.
That had been the first of many kisses, starting out shy and unsure until the need to be loved, to feel loved and experience something other than friendship took over. She wanted to have someone desire her, to give her the affection of a lover, and he wanted to know what it felt like to be loved by someone rather than hated. Their passion for each other grew, fueled by their sadness and desire, and eventually their late-night meetings grew to more heated rendezvous on the floors of empty classrooms, bathroom stalls and in the small room of the ever clichéd Astronomy Tower. As their affair continued, Hermione began to try to make sense of the tumult of emotions coursing through her, going over everything she felt when she was with him. She didn't know what they were, for their relationship was secret, but they had never shown their emotions in words. He was as unreadable as blank parchment, and at times, lying together in silence, she had to admit that it unsettled her.
"What are we?" she had asked one evening as she and her lover lay on the floor of a classroom, bathed in moonlight.
"I'm not sure," he said, furrowing his brow, "Lovers I guess,"
"Don't you have to be in love to be lovers?" she asked, looking up at him, trying in vain to read his face.
"Does it really matter?" he asked gruffly.
"I suppose not," she said, setting her head back down with a heavy sigh. "How long will this last?" she asked softly.
"I don't know. Until we can't stand each other, like usual. Until school is over, until we no longer want each other," he said.
Hermione buried her face in his chest, her shoulders slumping sadly, "I'll always want you," she whispered.
"No you won't," he said matter-of-factly. "In a few weeks, maybe even a few months, you'll get sick of me. You won't want to do this anymore, and you'll move on,"
"Do you really think me so fickle?" she asked, brow creased in annoyance.
"Hermione, I don't even know you," he said.
"You know me better than anyone else," she said.
He was silent, head having shifted to the side away from her. His grip on her tightened, tucking her body firmly into his own. Hermione wrapped her arm around his torso, running a hand along the length of his body. It was minutes before either spoke, just lying together covered in black robes.
"Do you think you could ever love me?" she asked, not knowing if he did, or would ever be capable of loving an orphaned muggleborn.
"I don't know," he said after a moment.
Hermione sighed, throwing a leg across his own. She bit her lip, not sure if she should say anything to him. She had never had any romantic feelings bordering love before. What she had previously shared with Victor during the course of her fifth year had never been love, at least on her part. As such, she had little to base her feelings on. In a moment of uncharacteristic cowardliness she stayed silent, opting instead for burying her face in his bare chest.
She had gotten her answer to her previous question two months later. He had ceased coming to see her, had refrained from leaving notes in her bag and rarely verbally spared with her during class discussions as he had been previously prone to do. The relationship had ended and she would never know if a love had existed between them; if more than longing had been present during their times together. Hermione was once again saddened, all the pain she had shared with him once again coming to rest on her thin shoulders. Even though she did not have her time with him, no affair to keep her mind off the suffering of the rest of the world, she resumed her normal routine. She studied for exams, spent her nights with Harry and Ron in quiet companionship and occupied so much of her time that she paid little attention to what was occurring within her.
Sickness gripped her after a few weeks of Hermione's ending affair. She found herself often in the bathroom, face pressed against the toilet bowl, brow slicked with sweat. Her stomach turned most mornings, and at times during the evenings. As the weeks passed, her back began to ache and exhaustion set in, causing her to sleep away her weekends wrapped securely in rich crimson covers. It took much coaxing on the part of her friends to get her to visit the school matron, Madame Pomfry, as Hermione detested being hauled up in the hospital wing for days on end when she had nothing but a simple cold. She went to make them happy, to show them that there was nothing wrong with her save the dregs of a spring-time cold. To her utter horror, she was wrong.
They had stood with her as she sat on the hospital bed, thin form covered in a hospital gown as they waited for the aging matron to return from the back of the room. Unconsciously their hands gripped her own, fingers intertwining. As Madame Pomfry walked over to them, face grave and a look of deepest sympathy in her eyes, Hermione felt her once confident countenance falter. The matron had fumbled in her words, her usual clam and business-like demeanor gone, as she told the trio her diagnosis.
"Miss Granger, I am so very sorry," she had said, voice quavering as she looked upon the bright witch. "You're pregnant,"
Her face had fallen, tears pouring unchecked from her eyes as Harry wrapped his arms around her and Ron began to silently fume. Despite how many times they asked, she never told them who the father was, only shook her head as she wept into her friends arms. The matron had left them alone, leaving to inform the Headmaster. Later, Hermione had been called into his office, finding herself swiftly embraced by Professor McGonagall before the discussion had begun. Her schedule for the next year had been changed to accommodate her new-found condition, classes such as Advanced Potions and Care of Magical Creatures being replaced with ones that would not harm herself or her unborn child. It was a small price to pay for still being allowed to attend the school.
She had been placed in the care of the Weasley's at Number Twelve, Grimmald Place, for the summer, having no other place to go. She spent her two month summer holiday cleaning the dilapidated residence, reading up on pregnancy and going through some of Mrs Weasley's old maternity clothes, adjusting them to fit her lithe form. She and her friends spent their time reading and sitting in comfortable silence, caring for those members of the Order who had been wounded during recent battles. They didn't pry into Order meetings, preferring to remain as ignorant as they could of the ongoing war that raged outside their door. Thus passed her summer, which brought her to where she was today.
The sun had set, stars twinkled overhead and the air carried a slight chill with the absence of the sun. She used her status as the newly-appointed Head Girl to her advantage, slipping quietly out of her quarters after curfew. She had not spoken with her former lover since she had accidentally bumped into him on the train, receiving an utterly fright-filled look before she was dragged off to the back compartment by Harry and Ron. It had been quite a feat, not speaking to him, as he was Head Boy, but somehow she had managed.
Classes had resumed as usual, she no longer had to endure the nature of Professor Snape's potion's class, nor had to march around the grounds to Hagrid's hut. Students didn't give her any trouble, much to her surprise. However, the blatant lack of students had something to do with it. The amount of students admitted to Hogwarts this, and last year was significantly lower than usual. The war was taking lives everywhere and already some of Hermione's friends and acquaintances from other houses had been lost to its many battles.
"What are you doing here?" asked a voice from behind her.
Hermione turned her gaze away from the dark landscape to the entrance to the tower, finding herself facing her former lover.
"Watching the sun set," she said simply.
"Shouldn't you be inside, what with…" he stuttered, pointing to the swell of her stomach.
"I needed some air," she said.
They were silent for some time, Hermione turning her gaze back to the grounds. He sifted nervously, moving his weight from foot to foot. After a time, he spoke.
"It's mine, isn't it?" he said, more of a statement than a question.
"Yes," Hermione said softly.
"How long?"
"Five months," she said.
He nodded, licking his dry lips.
"You don't have to do anything you know. I can manage fine on my own. I have Harry and Ron, and the rest of the Weasley's to look after me. You don't have to take this responsibility," she said, watching him as he fidgeted.
"You know I can't Hermione. Even if I wanted to," he said, eyes pleading for her to understand.
"I'm not asking for an explanation. I understand your reasons," she said, smiling sadly.
Slowly, she rose, padding over to the door he stood before with slippered feet. As she reached it, she paused, placing a hand on her stomach. She didn't look at him, but rather stroked the bump gently with a cold hand.
"I'm not even sure what I felt for you, I'm really not. After all, what can a seventeen year old girl like me know what love is, but there was a possibility, that I may have loved you," she said. "I just wanted you to know,"
She pushed passed him and out the door, leaving him alone in the cool night air. His fists were clenched tightly at his side, grey eyes closed in frustration. The one person who could have loved him, who might have shown him something other than the cruel world he had known for so long, had just walked out of his life. Just breezed past him with his child growing inside her. All thoughts of what could have been filtered through his mind, thoughts of laughing children, sunny days and smiling faces. It was then that he knew he could not let her get away. Hermione Granger would not slip through his fingers that easily. After all, Malfoy's always got what they wanted, they never settled for less.
And Draco Malfoy was no different.
A/N: Well, there's the first chapter. I hope you like this new version better than the previous one. I know I do. Please read and review! Thank you!
Also, I would like to thank Zvezdana, my beta, for her wonderful editing.
Dusk settled over the grounds of Hogwarts, casting dark shadows across lawn and lake. Curfew had been instated some time ago, all students were now tucked into their common rooms, doing homework or other such activities. Professors stalked the halls, as did prefects and the Head Boy and Girl, waiting to catch those unlucky students who had decided not to heed the curfew.
The aforementioned Head Girl sat in the Astronomy Tower, clothed in a white gauze dress. Fabric settled about her, fanning out over her thin arms and gently surrounding her ample breasts. The cloth was tucked just under her swollen belly, pale hands resting atop it, gently caressing. Her cinnamon hair flew about her, uncut for almost a year. Her gaze was set forward, overlooking the ward-protected grounds from her stone perch and with sad smile 'cross her face. A cool September wind touched her rosy face, blowing curls over her ear. It had been not more than five months since she had last sat here, watching the sun slowly set. She had been wrapped in a pair of arms then, warm and comforting, and had been far thinner than she was now. Her lover had held her, rocked her in his arms and kissed her hair in one of the few shows of affection he bestowed upon her during their affair. However, though their relationship had not been made public, a mutual agreement between both parties involved, Hermione Granger felt that it was one of the only bright spots during the entire year.
The Dark Lord of the wizarding world, Lord Voldemort, had gathered his forces more quickly than even Albus Dumbledore had anticipated. Old alliances were reborn, new ones forged and every loyal Death Eater had quickly come to him to continue their servitude. His attack on the Ministry of Magic the previous June had been but a taste of what was to come as plans for battle were quickly conceived. Captives were taken and housed in the now empty Azkaban prison, tortured and questioned relentlessly. None who had been taken had returned.
As this occurred, the Ministry had instituted numerous new bylaws and regulations for the protection and safety of the community. A curfew was passed, Aurors patrolled the streets of major wizarding communities such as Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley and any suspicious parties were taken in for questioning. Large public gatherings were strictly monitored, as well as anything that the Ministry deemed vulnerable to attack. However, despite their best efforts to prepare for the oncoming war, it came with a force no one knew existed.
Diagon Alley had been peaceful that afternoon, which seemed so long ago, as was expected. People walked in and out of shops, bags clutched in their hands, students strolled around happily with their friends, smiling parents in tow, and a few Hogwarts' professors sat in Florene Fortescue's, eating ice cream contentedly. Quite suddenly, despite the clarity of the day, a harsh wind blew through the streets and the sky began to darken with oncoming clouds.
One by one, dark figures, stark white masks covering their faces, apparated into the street, wands grasped tightly in their hands. Parents grabbed hold of children and cowered in corners, professors rose from their seats and drew their wands from pockets while numerous others ran for shelter in the darkened shops. With the raise of a single wand, red light tossed Silvia Sinistra off her feet, and the battle began with vehemence.
Death Eaters murdered anyone who got in their way as they marched up the streets. Those who tried to stop them using charms or other weak spells were either killed or maimed. It wasn't until they had nearly made it to their destination, Ollivander's Wand Shop, that reinforcements arrived.
The Order of the Phoenix, led by Kingsly Shaklebolt, charged as soon as they arrived. Each engaged one or more of the black-clad enemy, spells and hexes flying faster than the naked eye could see. Buildings were hit and rubble fell about the members of the Order. Screams of frightened children echoed throughout the street. The insane laughes of Death Eaters cackled with high, sickening glee as they destroyed the opposing force, bodies dropping lifeless around them.
As soon as it had begun, however, it stopped.
Ollivander was dragged screaming from his shop, arms bound behind him, eyes wide and frightened.
Death Eaters apparated away, dozens of cracks sounding in the street as they fled.
Members of the Order fell to their knees, wands rolling out of their hands, dirt and dust smearing their faces.
Footsteps and panic-filled voices sounded in the distance as Healers rushed to the scene.
Children screamed, clawing at their stunned parents and people slipped from dilapidated buildings.
The Order of the Phoenix apparated away, back to headquarters to be mended and to recount what had just happened.
Only Gringott's Wizarding Bank remained untouched, its powerful wards and seals keeping it safe in the midst battle.
The first battle was over, the Light side had lost and the Dark Lord had gotten what he had wanted. St Mungo's admitted many patients for treatment and several homes in their morgue were opened for the unfortunate souls who had perished during the battle. Shops in Diagon Alley were closed for repair, and for weeks the streets were deserted. The approaching school year was no different.
There were many more attacks during the course of the year, killing people of all wizarding heritages. St Mungo's was soon overflowing with casualties; staff working around the clock to care for all of them. The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was soon realized to be in over his head with each horrible attack, as more and more lives were lost to the tyranny of Voldemort. As time passed, it seemed that none were safe. After all, none were sure why the people Voldemort captured were targeted, what purpose they served, it seemed anyone with magical blood flowing through their veins could be next. Anyone's home could be ransacked and their lives destroyed all for the Dark Lord's lust for information.
While Voldemort collected allies and information, strategize and briefed on the war for control over the magical world, he also concentrated on his greatest enemy, Harry Potter, the teenager who had thwarted him countless times in his quest for dominance. He pondered the many ways to drag him out of hiding, since during the summer months he hadn't a clue as to where the boy was. He thought of numerous plans to send the gangly teen to him, wand raised so that he, the Dark Lord, could destroy him. After all, it was written that Harry could destroy him, unless the boy was killed first. As such, measures were taken to make sure that Voldemort got the chance to finish what he had started fifteen years ago.
To drag Harry out, the boy had to become angry, vengeful, and foolhardy. The Only way to make that happen was to make him see those he loved in pain. It hadn't taken long for Voldemort to come to the conclusion that what would hurt the boy most, would be to see his friends in pain. Not just physical pain, but emotional pain. Thus, on one snowy November morning, three of his best Death Eaters were dispatched to the Granger home. After a short scuffle in which the two muggles were powerless to defend themselves, there were two flashes of green light and the Dark Mark loomed over the two-story abode. The bodies were left, lying on the floor, faces frozen in fear, for the Aurors to find. A letter was written and sent to Hogwarts, where Hermione Granger suddenly fled the Great Hall, tears streaming down her face.
For once, however, Harry paid heed to the words of his elders and remained safe in the walls of Hogwarts.
After the row with his family, Percy Weasley had taken up residence in a small London flat in a muggle neighborhood, living off his substantial Ministry salary. Having had nothing to do with his family for the past year, it came as quite a shock when Death Eaters had broken down his bedroom door and forced him roughly out of bed, wands pointed directly between his eyes. He had pleaded, begged, told them that he knew not where the rest of his family resided, but that did little to sedate the fierce men in front of him. Even though they had quarreled, even though they had not spoken for more than a year, Molly Weasley found herself wrapped in her husbands arms, weeping over the death of her son. Her children, two of which had been held back because of their escape from school the previous year, held each other in the Gryffindor common room, arms around a violently shaking Ginny.
Once again, no matter how hot his blood boiled, not matter how many tears streamed down his face and the faces of his friends, Harry did not rush into battle. He remained, dealing out comfort to his friends. He held them, rocked with them, cried with them and whispered words of solace to them. He never strayed far, opened up his bed to them so that they could be with each other in sleep, and held their hands and helped them to overcome their grief. Thus passed the two terms of their sixth year, filled with grief and heartache, though it was not all caused by the Dark Lord.
During her time lamenting the death of her parents, Hermione unconsciously attracted the attention of someone who she did not expect. They had never been on good terms during their five years of schooling, fighting whenever they got the chance, yet when she had escaped to the Prefect's bathroom to unload her grief in a corner of the large tiled facility, he had tentatively put his arm around her and rubbed his hand up and down her side. He had given her comfort, even though he knew once she had raised her head from her knees she would undoubtedly push him away. They had sat there for some time, until Hermione's cries had finally ceased, and they lapsed into quiet and surprisingly civil conversation. Such began their affair, as they met whenever they could to talk and escape the horrors of the second war.
While she would have been quite content for their relationship to remain completely platonic, devoid of any commanding emotion save sadness, it was not so. One evening, during one of her bouts of weeping, she had unintentionally brushed her lips against his. Her head had strayed from the crook of his neck, her tears spilling out all over his robes and falling down his own cheeks. He had been shocked to say the least, looking at her with crossed eyes as she broke away from him. He had left without a word, too shocked and confused to stay in the same room with her. He had regretted it immediately, meeting her the next evening to apologize to her quietly in his own awkward tone. He was not used to apologizing to anyone.
That had been the first of many kisses, starting out shy and unsure until the need to be loved, to feel loved and experience something other than friendship took over. She wanted to have someone desire her, to give her the affection of a lover, and he wanted to know what it felt like to be loved by someone rather than hated. Their passion for each other grew, fueled by their sadness and desire, and eventually their late-night meetings grew to more heated rendezvous on the floors of empty classrooms, bathroom stalls and in the small room of the ever clichéd Astronomy Tower. As their affair continued, Hermione began to try to make sense of the tumult of emotions coursing through her, going over everything she felt when she was with him. She didn't know what they were, for their relationship was secret, but they had never shown their emotions in words. He was as unreadable as blank parchment, and at times, lying together in silence, she had to admit that it unsettled her.
"What are we?" she had asked one evening as she and her lover lay on the floor of a classroom, bathed in moonlight.
"I'm not sure," he said, furrowing his brow, "Lovers I guess,"
"Don't you have to be in love to be lovers?" she asked, looking up at him, trying in vain to read his face.
"Does it really matter?" he asked gruffly.
"I suppose not," she said, setting her head back down with a heavy sigh. "How long will this last?" she asked softly.
"I don't know. Until we can't stand each other, like usual. Until school is over, until we no longer want each other," he said.
Hermione buried her face in his chest, her shoulders slumping sadly, "I'll always want you," she whispered.
"No you won't," he said matter-of-factly. "In a few weeks, maybe even a few months, you'll get sick of me. You won't want to do this anymore, and you'll move on,"
"Do you really think me so fickle?" she asked, brow creased in annoyance.
"Hermione, I don't even know you," he said.
"You know me better than anyone else," she said.
He was silent, head having shifted to the side away from her. His grip on her tightened, tucking her body firmly into his own. Hermione wrapped her arm around his torso, running a hand along the length of his body. It was minutes before either spoke, just lying together covered in black robes.
"Do you think you could ever love me?" she asked, not knowing if he did, or would ever be capable of loving an orphaned muggleborn.
"I don't know," he said after a moment.
Hermione sighed, throwing a leg across his own. She bit her lip, not sure if she should say anything to him. She had never had any romantic feelings bordering love before. What she had previously shared with Victor during the course of her fifth year had never been love, at least on her part. As such, she had little to base her feelings on. In a moment of uncharacteristic cowardliness she stayed silent, opting instead for burying her face in his bare chest.
She had gotten her answer to her previous question two months later. He had ceased coming to see her, had refrained from leaving notes in her bag and rarely verbally spared with her during class discussions as he had been previously prone to do. The relationship had ended and she would never know if a love had existed between them; if more than longing had been present during their times together. Hermione was once again saddened, all the pain she had shared with him once again coming to rest on her thin shoulders. Even though she did not have her time with him, no affair to keep her mind off the suffering of the rest of the world, she resumed her normal routine. She studied for exams, spent her nights with Harry and Ron in quiet companionship and occupied so much of her time that she paid little attention to what was occurring within her.
Sickness gripped her after a few weeks of Hermione's ending affair. She found herself often in the bathroom, face pressed against the toilet bowl, brow slicked with sweat. Her stomach turned most mornings, and at times during the evenings. As the weeks passed, her back began to ache and exhaustion set in, causing her to sleep away her weekends wrapped securely in rich crimson covers. It took much coaxing on the part of her friends to get her to visit the school matron, Madame Pomfry, as Hermione detested being hauled up in the hospital wing for days on end when she had nothing but a simple cold. She went to make them happy, to show them that there was nothing wrong with her save the dregs of a spring-time cold. To her utter horror, she was wrong.
They had stood with her as she sat on the hospital bed, thin form covered in a hospital gown as they waited for the aging matron to return from the back of the room. Unconsciously their hands gripped her own, fingers intertwining. As Madame Pomfry walked over to them, face grave and a look of deepest sympathy in her eyes, Hermione felt her once confident countenance falter. The matron had fumbled in her words, her usual clam and business-like demeanor gone, as she told the trio her diagnosis.
"Miss Granger, I am so very sorry," she had said, voice quavering as she looked upon the bright witch. "You're pregnant,"
Her face had fallen, tears pouring unchecked from her eyes as Harry wrapped his arms around her and Ron began to silently fume. Despite how many times they asked, she never told them who the father was, only shook her head as she wept into her friends arms. The matron had left them alone, leaving to inform the Headmaster. Later, Hermione had been called into his office, finding herself swiftly embraced by Professor McGonagall before the discussion had begun. Her schedule for the next year had been changed to accommodate her new-found condition, classes such as Advanced Potions and Care of Magical Creatures being replaced with ones that would not harm herself or her unborn child. It was a small price to pay for still being allowed to attend the school.
She had been placed in the care of the Weasley's at Number Twelve, Grimmald Place, for the summer, having no other place to go. She spent her two month summer holiday cleaning the dilapidated residence, reading up on pregnancy and going through some of Mrs Weasley's old maternity clothes, adjusting them to fit her lithe form. She and her friends spent their time reading and sitting in comfortable silence, caring for those members of the Order who had been wounded during recent battles. They didn't pry into Order meetings, preferring to remain as ignorant as they could of the ongoing war that raged outside their door. Thus passed her summer, which brought her to where she was today.
The sun had set, stars twinkled overhead and the air carried a slight chill with the absence of the sun. She used her status as the newly-appointed Head Girl to her advantage, slipping quietly out of her quarters after curfew. She had not spoken with her former lover since she had accidentally bumped into him on the train, receiving an utterly fright-filled look before she was dragged off to the back compartment by Harry and Ron. It had been quite a feat, not speaking to him, as he was Head Boy, but somehow she had managed.
Classes had resumed as usual, she no longer had to endure the nature of Professor Snape's potion's class, nor had to march around the grounds to Hagrid's hut. Students didn't give her any trouble, much to her surprise. However, the blatant lack of students had something to do with it. The amount of students admitted to Hogwarts this, and last year was significantly lower than usual. The war was taking lives everywhere and already some of Hermione's friends and acquaintances from other houses had been lost to its many battles.
"What are you doing here?" asked a voice from behind her.
Hermione turned her gaze away from the dark landscape to the entrance to the tower, finding herself facing her former lover.
"Watching the sun set," she said simply.
"Shouldn't you be inside, what with…" he stuttered, pointing to the swell of her stomach.
"I needed some air," she said.
They were silent for some time, Hermione turning her gaze back to the grounds. He sifted nervously, moving his weight from foot to foot. After a time, he spoke.
"It's mine, isn't it?" he said, more of a statement than a question.
"Yes," Hermione said softly.
"How long?"
"Five months," she said.
He nodded, licking his dry lips.
"You don't have to do anything you know. I can manage fine on my own. I have Harry and Ron, and the rest of the Weasley's to look after me. You don't have to take this responsibility," she said, watching him as he fidgeted.
"You know I can't Hermione. Even if I wanted to," he said, eyes pleading for her to understand.
"I'm not asking for an explanation. I understand your reasons," she said, smiling sadly.
Slowly, she rose, padding over to the door he stood before with slippered feet. As she reached it, she paused, placing a hand on her stomach. She didn't look at him, but rather stroked the bump gently with a cold hand.
"I'm not even sure what I felt for you, I'm really not. After all, what can a seventeen year old girl like me know what love is, but there was a possibility, that I may have loved you," she said. "I just wanted you to know,"
She pushed passed him and out the door, leaving him alone in the cool night air. His fists were clenched tightly at his side, grey eyes closed in frustration. The one person who could have loved him, who might have shown him something other than the cruel world he had known for so long, had just walked out of his life. Just breezed past him with his child growing inside her. All thoughts of what could have been filtered through his mind, thoughts of laughing children, sunny days and smiling faces. It was then that he knew he could not let her get away. Hermione Granger would not slip through his fingers that easily. After all, Malfoy's always got what they wanted, they never settled for less.
And Draco Malfoy was no different.
A/N: Well, there's the first chapter. I hope you like this new version better than the previous one. I know I do. Please read and review! Thank you!
Also, I would like to thank Zvezdana, my beta, for her wonderful editing.