A new Dramione romance/thriller that has been bouncing around in my head for a long time now.


oooo

Fire.

She felt the heat of it on her face, felt the sweat at her temples.

Pain.

She ignored the blinding pain of her broken ankle, hobbling along as fast as she could. There was blood on her sleeve.

Death.

She ran past the crumpled figure in Death Eater robes, not stopping to check whom it was. She didn't have time. They had to get to the emergency portkeys.

Nothing had stopped. Voldemort was dead, they had triumphed – and then the Death Eaters were attacking with renewed frenzy, and Harry was unconscious, and it was a nightmare.

In front of her, Ron stumbled, barely avoiding falling forward onto his face. He was bleeding heavily from his side, and he gallantly carried the body of their unconscious best friend across his wide shoulders. He stopped momentarily, and she stopped as well, her eyes flickering around the forest, looking for threats. It was empty, but a fire raged close by, and she could hear the distant footfalls of their pursuers.

"We have to keep going, Ron," she said breathlessly, her chest heaving with the exertion. "The emergency portkeys are less than a mile away, and – "

"And I'm afraid you won't reach them in time."

Hermione's stomach sank as her wand flew through the air and landed in Lucius Malfoy's outstretched hand. He smirked at her, his cold cerulean eyes glinting maliciously. He was haggard and looked half-mad. "Such a pity."

Hermione and Ron both swallowed. She had been the only one with a wand. Feeling light-headed, she used what little energy she had left to conjure a weak wandless Protego. It flickered briefly, and then died.

Lucius clucked his tongue in amusement. "How adorable. Still. A futile effort, Miss Granger." He lifted his wand, and she saw Ron's eyes flutter closed. She stared at a spot on the ground.

She wondered what death would be like. Would she be with those she loved? Would Remus and Tonks and Moody and Colin be there? Would Snape, and Sirius, and Harry's parents? Dumbledore? Would Voldemort be there? And Bellatrix Lestrange?

Or would she be alone, floating around in the darkness for the rest of eternity? Would she just cease to exist altogether?

"Avada Kedavra."

Hermione saw green flash behind her eyelids. She inhaled –

And felt nothing. Just the steady throb of her swollen ankle and the deep cut on her arm and the dust and sweat that covered every inch of bare skin. She opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was Lucius Malfoy's body, which lay face down in the dirt. The second thing was his strikingly handsome son, who stared down at the body of his father with an unreadable expression.

x

She is coming down from the owlery when she sees him at the bottom of the stairs. He sits on a wide window ledge, staring out at the snow, his aristocratic features illuminated with the moonlight that streams in through the glass. He is holding a thick book. The light shines so that his hair looks like the snow that falls silently outside.

It is the first time she really actively notices just how handsome he has become.

She turns quietly at the bottom of the stairs. She is not in the mood for a fight. She gets two steps before he speaks.

"Granger."

She turns with a wince. "Malfoy," she returns coolly, her tone polite.

He is silent for a few minutes; he doesn't even look at her. She clears her throat and rolls her eyes. "As riveting as this conversation has been, Malfoy, curfew is in twenty minutes and I need to get back to my rooms. You should think about doing the same."

He continues to stare out the window, and she shakes her head and starts to turn.

"Do you think people can change, Granger?"

She turns back to him, heart skipping. Had Draco Malfoy just voluntarily asked her a question? Had he been trying to…initiate conversation? Had he just asked for her opinionon something?

Surely not.

But then he turns his head, and she is hit with the full force of his argentine stare, and she knows it is not a prank, not a joke. He is dead serious.

She is Hermione Granger, and so, predictably, she has to answer; because that's what she is: an academic, an educator, a student. She is hardwired this way.

She clears her throat. "I think people are capable of changing," she answers softly, cocking her head. "Perhaps not their core personality. We are born a certain way – no one can change who they are. But we can change the way we see the world, change our behavior, our actions, put our talent to better use. We never stop growing, Malfoy. We grow until we die."

He nods slowly. His expression does not change. "Do you think I could change?"

She blinks – once, twice. "Yes," she answers slowly, feeling unbalanced. "I think the most important question is: do you want to change?"

He swallows, and she thinks she sees a glimmer of insecurity in the silver discs of his eyes. "I'm…not sure."

She cocks her head. "Then perhaps you need to figure that part out, first."

He does not respond, and she turns away again and heads back to Gryffindor Tower. He lets her go this time. When she begins to dress for bed, tuning out the inane chatter of the silly girls she shares a dorm with, she freezes, and thinks back to the book he'd held. It had unmistakably been The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. She has read it several times. It is the fact that it is a Muggle book that has her mind whirring.

Perplexed, she shakes her head and climbs into bed. Sleep is hard to come by. She stares at the ceiling for what feels like hours; finally pure exhaustion pushes her into slumber, and she sleeps heavily, untroubled by dreams.

x

"Malfoy," Ron croaked, his cornflower blue eyes wide with surprise. "But your father –"

"Stopped being a father a long time ago, Weasley," Draco returned quietly. He continued to stare at Lucius. "You three better keep going," he said, crouching down to retrieve both her wand and the wand of his dad, the latter of which he tossed to Ron, who caught it midair. He walked over to Hermione, and she took her wand from his hand, unable to speak. His eyes were a soft dove grey; the eyes of his mother. Not the cruel sharp blue of his father.

Ron stuttered. "But – I –You killed your father, Malfoy."

"Yes," the blonde hissed in return, his eyes flashing. "I'm aware, but thanks ever so for reminding me." He rolled his eyes. "Go, Weasley," he snarled, the emotion on his face raw and exposed. "I'll buy you some time." It was the most expressive she'd ever seen him be – with one exception.

x

She stumbles upon him again the week after they return from Christmas break. She is on prefect duty, and she thinks she hears something in one of the classrooms on the sixth floor – she goes to investigate.

As soon as she opens the door, the noise level heightens. She stops abruptly in the doorway, watching with wide eyes as Draco Malfoy blasts a desk to smithereens. He turns around and punches a wall; she hears his fingers crunch, and winces. This is when he notices her presence.

"What the hell are you doing, Granger?" he snarls, his cheeks tearstained and his eyes nearly opalescent with fury. She has never before seen Malfoy as a threat, until tonight. Tonight, she sees him clearly, and knows that he is dangerous – so much more dangerous than she'd ever thought. Regardless, she stands her ground and raises an imperious eyebrow.

"Apparently watching you destroy school property and break your own bones," she says dryly, crossing her arms. "Dare I ask?"

He turns sharply and paces the room, looking like a caged tiger. "No."

She sighs and rolls her eyes. "Fine. Far be it from me to be your personal confidant, anyway," she says, unable to help the upwards quirk of her lips at the ludicrous idea. "I won't write you up," she hedges, "if you let me heal your hand, and go back to your dorm. Quietly."

His hot glare cools a little bit, and he holds out his left hand to her in a hesitant gesture of trust. She notices that it is shaking. She also notices that he has lovely hands, bruised and battered as they are.

She takes his broken fingers in her own, and they both tense – it is the first time they have ever made skin-to-skin contact. Before it had been only glancing shoves with a shoulder in the halls or the accidental brushing of robes.

He swallows as she runs her wand over his hand, muttering spells under her breath as the bone and skin knit back together. He grunts quietly when the last bone snaps into place, and then yanks his hand from hers and shakes it out. He does not thank her; she does not expect him to. He just looks at her, and then turns to leave.

He pauses in the doorway and pins her with a cool stare. "If you – "

"Not a word," she interrupts. "This stays here."

"It better," he hisses.

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms across her chest – perhaps she notices that his gaze momentarily flickers there, but it happens so fast, and it is easier to disregard such an odd complication. "You know," she says slowly, "if you ever need anyone to – "

"To talk to?" he says incredulously, his lips curving up in a half-smile, half-sneer. "Really Granger?"

She narrows her eyes. "I didn't actually expect you to say yes," she says acidly, "but I thought I'd offer anyway. No need to be rude."

He steps closer to her, and she resists the urge to back away. His eyes are angry again. "We're not friends, Mudblood," he says hotly, crowding into her personal space and staring down at her.

"Don't I know it," she mutters lowly. She raises an eyebrow, but the slur no longer affects her like it used to. Besides – he doesn't mean it. She does not know how she knows this, exactly, but the word sounds hollow in his mouth, lingering limply in the air around them before it dissipates.

"Then you should know that this," he says hatefully, gesturing to the small space between them, "means nothing, Granger. Nothing."

She cannot help the smile that curls on her face. "Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" she goads, amused. "Believe me when I say I have no delusions about your character or our hostile relationship with one another. I've lived it for the past six years. So who, exactly, are you addressing?"

His nostrils flare, and his eyes flicker across her face. "You're a stupid bint, Granger."

She smiles again at his expense. "Out of all the insults you could have used Malfoy, you happened to pick the one thing that we both know has no truth to it." She throws her head back and laughs. "I am many things, Draco Malfoy, but stupid isn't one of them."

He growls in irritation and steps forward, coming even closer. "Just stay out of it, Granger," he says hotly. He is so close that his breath puffs out onto her cheek. It smells like the green apples he is so fond of. The smile falls from her face, and she is unable to move, caught in his furious stare. "Stay out of my business. Stay away from me." He pulls back abruptly, and uncertainty flickers across his features so briefly that she almost thinks she imagines it. "You're too nosy for your own good," he continues, stepping back through the doorway. "Make sure you don't stick your nose where you might get hurt, Granger. It's not safe."

Then he turns and leaves, and she is left reeling in the abandoned classroom amongst the mangled remains of several desks. She pushes a sliver of wood with her toe, and exhales through her nose, trying to remove the scents of pine and sandalwood and whisky and rain from her nostrils. It doesn't work.

It is only when she gets back to her dorm that she thinks about his parting words. It's not safe.

What isn't safe? What had he been talking about?

She doesn't know, exactly, but she does know one thing:

Draco Malfoy has given her a warning.

x

For the first time, she spoke, her voice hoarse with smoke inhalation. "What do you mean 'buy us some time'?" she asked suspiciously.

"I mean," he said impatiently, pointing his wand in the direction from whence they came, "that there are more than a few rogue Death Eaters who are still chasing you, and who knows what else." His eyes narrowed. He nodded to Harry's limp form. "You won't get very far. I can slow them down, give you a chance."

She put a hand on her hip. "Come with us, Draco," she commanded, narrowing her eyes. "We can get you out of here."

He snorted, and then stepped away from them, raising his wand. Drawing on the fire nearby, he sent a barrage of flames in a long line between them in a beautiful display of magic that would have had both Dumbledore and Voldemort nodding in appreciation. She lunged towards it, but was pulled back by Ron. When she tried to dampen it, it wouldn't budge.

"Don't do this, Malfoy," she said desperately, panicking as she saw shapes materialize through the trees. "You can't just give up like this. Please."

He curled his lip at her and rolled his eyes. "You're so dramatic," he drawled. "I'm not giving up, Granger. I'm picking a side. That line we once spoke of is a bit clearer, now."

She swallowed, and tears gathered in her eyes.

x

This time it is he that stumbles upon her, and neither of them walks away.

Hermione paces on the shore of the lake where she'd been reading, her arms crossed and her brow furrowed. He lounges against a boulder and idly draws in the sand with a stick.

"Because it's what's right," she finally says. "I'm doing the right thing, the good thing."

He snorts and looks up at the sky, a sardonic smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "Right and good?" he asks, a clear note of skepticism ringing in his voice. "Right and good to who, Granger?" He pauses when she frowns. "Right and good to you? To me? What about my father? My crazy aunt? They're doing what's right and good to them. Their morals are not the same as yours, if they have any at all. So how, exactly, do you define what 'right' and 'good' are?"

She licks her lips and wrings her hands. "I don't know," she responds slowly, feeling somewhat stupid for not having a better answer. "It's the standard, I suppose – the societal norm. Most people just know, Draco," she says, impassioned enough that she does not realize that she has used his first name. "There's a line. It's not always clear, but it's clear enough."

He stands. "That's the difference between you and me, Granger," he says coolly, scuffing his shoe along the ground. "I don't see that line clearly enough. I don't feel comfortable making choices – choosing a side, if you like – when I'm not a hundred percent sure where that line is." He squints up at the sky, bright and blue and full of fluffy clouds. "I may have already crossed it," he finishes. He looks her in the eyes one last time, his face unreadable, and walks away, hands in his pockets.

She stares after him. For some reason, she feels like she has failed.

x

She swiped angrily at her tears. "You can't just choose a side now – not when everything is over. Not when it's all said and done. Voldemort's gone, and you can come with us and be free of this – "

She saw him smile fully across the sweltering flame, and was struck with how gorgeous he looked when he grinned – she had never seen him smile so recklessly, toothy and unfettered.

"I don't think I was ever meant to survive this, Granger," he said, his features crinkling with something that looked suspiciously like relief. "I think I always knew that. I'm ready. And if I'm able to give my life doing something worthwhile for once, then that's all right with me." He shrugged. "I've made my peace."

"No!" she said angrily. "I won't let you do this. I won't have you just sacrifice yourself –"

"Listen, Granger, I'd really love to chat about this," he interrupted teasingly, "but I've been following you this entire time, trying to keep you safe, and if you ruin all my hard work, I'm going to make your life a living hell when we get to the afterlife." He smiled cheekily. "Now please, let me be my badass self, and get going. Shoo."

She screamed in frustration, furious at his nonchalance. "Malfoy, please – "

Draco's face hardened. He looked at Ron, who was looking more than a little dazed. "Go, Weasley," he said quietly. "Get her and the bloody Chosen One out of here, yeah? I think you three have done enough for the world, and the rest of us are kind of tired of trying to live up to it, if we're being honest here."

He lifted his wand right as an acromantula came scuttling out of the trees. He blasted it away from him, but another took its place. He blasted that one too, and turned to them one last time. "GO, damn it – go now!"

She sobbed as Ron grabbed her arm, grunting as he tried to pull her away. She struggled, watching in horror as two masked figures came out of the trees and cast at Draco – he deflected them easily, killing one and stunning the other, but more acromantulas poured out from the trees, and, stuck behind a wall of fire, attacked the only live prey that was left.

"Draco!" she screamed, desperately trying to lunge out of Ron's iron grip. "Draco, no, Draco – Ron, please, we can't just leave him!"

Ron looked sad for her. As much as he had hated Malfoy, his grudge was cast aside quickly in the face of the Slytherin's impending death. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, hoisting Harry further up on his shoulder. "It's too late. He made his choice." He tugged on her arm again, and she realized how pale he was, how weak. "Don't dishonor his last wishes. We need to go."

She wept, looking through the fire one last time. The boy – man – in question was still fighting, and he was joined by a few more Death Eaters – at this point, the acromantulas were indiscriminate about their prey, and many of them were distracted with the prospect of fresh meat. Still, Draco was set upon by five or six of them, and she sobbed when she saw him finally fall, blasting the rest of the spiders away from him with a powerful burst of magic that managed to take out a few Death Eaters as well. Then he was hidden from her sight behind the flames, and she closed her eyes.

She sniffed, and then turned toward Ron. Wordlessly, she grabbed his hand, and they took off through the trees towards their destination. There weren't many Death Eaters left – most of them had disappeared upon Voldemort's demise, and the few that were remaining were being dealt with by the acromantulas or the rest of the Order that still remained behind, fighting. But for now, the three of them needed to get back to the Burrow; they were wounded, and still primary targets for any living Death Eaters, and there was really nothing more that they could do to help. Draco had been right: they had done enough. More than enough.

And now he had, too. She continued to cry as they reached the warded group of portkeys, and even still as they whirled through space clutching an old hat. When they arrived, she tended to Harry and Ron's medical needs before her own, and then they sat in silence, waiting.

She wondered who would come back home.

x

It is a warm Monday evening, and she is walking through the halls when a dry hand claps over her mouth and another wraps around her waist and pulls her into a shadowy alcove that sits hidden behind a tapestry. She is about to drive her heel into the toe of her assailant when she is abruptly let go. She draws her wand, and twirls.

Draco Malfoy stares down at her, looking troubled. "Granger – "

"Listen, Malfoy, you can't just go around accosting women in the halls, perhaps you could have asked politely if you'd wanted – "

"Hush." The simple word is soft and heavy and has her mouth clacking closed. There is something in his eyes that gives him away.

She looks at him and swallows, her eyes wide. "What have you done?" she asks lowly, the hot feel of betrayal settling like an anchor in her stomach. Dread curls around her spine. "Malfoy, what have you done?"

He exhales heavily through his nose, and his nostrils flare. "Something terrible," he says, his voice wavering. "You need to go get Potter and Weasley and the Weaselette – "

"Don't call her that, her name is Ginny – "

"Listen to me!" he says harshly, his mouth curled into a snarl that is less threatening than it is heartbreaking. He takes her by the shoulders and grips her tightly with his fingers. "Go get your friends," he orders sharply. "And get out of the castle."

She brings her hands up to wrap around his wrists. "Why? What's wrong, Draco?"

His eyes flicker with something unfamiliar when she uses his first name. "Just…trust me."

She shakes her head. "I don't. Perhaps I would if you would just tell me what is going on – "

"I don't have time to explain!" he says through clenched teeth, sounding desperate. He runs his hands up her neck and around her jaw to cup her cheeks. Her eyes widen. "Death Eaters, Granger – including my crazy aunt – are about to be in the castle tonight."

She sucks in a breath. She wants to ask him how, ask him why, ask him how could you?; but her rational brain takes over, and she exhales shakily, looking at him determinedly. "How much time?"

He seems relieved. "Twenty minutes. Maybe."

She nods, and jerks when he swipes his thumb across her cheek. "Maybe…" He swallows, trailing off.

"Maybe in another life," she offers with a tight smile. "I think I would have liked being friends with you, you know."

"Yeah," he says breathily, letting his hands drop from her face. "Maybe." He turns, and looks back at her as he pushes aside the tapestry. His face is unreadable, his eyes a cold grey. "See you around, Granger," he whispers.

"Stay safe," she says tremulously, feeling her heart ache when she realizes that she means it.

He gives her a small smile, and then strides away, the sound of his boots fading as he turns a corner. She stands there for another moment, in the dark, with the amazing smell of his aftershave lingering in the air. She closes her eyes, and gives herself a moment to mourn the corruption of a boy with such incredible potential.

And then she flees.

x

Draco stared up at the sky, watching as the oranges and pinks of dusk started to fade to indigo. Smoke curled up into the air in lazy tendrils, and the smell of fire and death clung to the inside of his nostrils. He thought of Hermione Granger, and of how kind she had been to him – even though he'd done a thousand things to hurt her over the years, she had been so forgiving.

She was a remarkable human being. He was glad that he could do her this favor; to repay her for all of her patience and forgiveness. He was happy that she was safe. She, and Potter and Weasley, deserved that more than anyone. They deserved a happy ending. They'd earned it. He was grateful that he had played a part in keeping them alive.

It had been a last ditch effort at honor. He thought he'd done a pretty good job, for someone who had never done anything remotely honorable. It was a good way to die.

He was just waiting. That last acromantula hadn't quite finished the job, and now he was waiting for the venom to reach the rest of his body. It seemed torturously slow. He'd been lying here for almost an hour, now. The spider bite on his left shoulder throbbed with indescribable pain, but luckily the arm had gone numb. The rest of his body was on fire. He could feel his organs start to stutter and fail, and was anxious to get it over with.

He heard an odd noise through the steadily increasing ringing in his ears. Someone was shouting, running towards him – a rogue Death Eater, perhaps, come to finish the job. Or one of the Order, come to watch him die; perhaps they would be merciful and end it for him.

"Draco!" A pause. "Oh, fuck."

He coughed, blinking tears out of his eyes. A pair of familiar bright blue eyes hovered above him. A second pair, hazel in color, joined them. A shock of red hair was bright, even through his blurry vision.

"Blaise," he managed to say. "Weasley." He felt something bubble up in his throat. Blaise swore and turned him on his side, which caused Draco to shout out with unearthly pain. Black-tinged blood dribbled from his lips and soaked into the dirt. He sobbed, unable to keep the tears from streaming down his face. He felt like every molecule in his body was slowly being ripped apart.

"Kill me," he stuttered out. "P-please." He spit out more venom and blood. The taste was bitter and sour on his tongue.

"No can do, mate," the interchangeable Weasley brother said, his voice annoyingly chipper. Draco thought it might be one of the twins. "You see, this whole saving lives thing works both ways. You can't have all the credit, you sneaky Slytherin."

Blaise hissed in irritation. He turned away from Draco's body. "Oi! Weasley! No, not you Charlie, you tosser – I need you to help me lift him. The other one. The pretty one. Yes, you. Run and go grab a healer or a professor. We need to get him to St. Mungo's right away. And Parkinson, send someone over with a stretcher, would you?"

He turned back to Draco and laid the suffering blonde back onto his back. Draco groaned. "No. K-hill me."

Blaise patted him on the chest, which made Draco yell out in pain. "Oops. Sorry mate. Listen, Draco, we're going to get you to the hospital, all right? Everything is going to be all right." The cerulean eyes that Draco grew up with were uncharacteristically warm, and looked worried.

"Don't…get," he managed, "all Hufflepuff on me…now. The way you're…t-talking…" He trailed off, and felt some measure of glee when his old friend scowled at him. "Blaise." He became serious again. "I can't…move. I'm d-dye-hing. Please. K-hill…me."

Blaise looked like he was in pain. "Don't ask me to do that, Draco," he said quietly. Draco felt a hand on his ankle, and he looked down to see Weasley stare at him with annoyingly soft eyes.

Ugh. Bloody Gryffindors.

He breathed out heavily through his nose. Within seconds Blaise and the Weasley twin stood, and he saw two more redheads and the unmistakable form of Pansy Parkinson gather around his stretcher.

He vaguely heard the words that they said as they lifted him onto the stretcher – he could only howl in pain. He faded in and out of consciousness. The last thing he heard was Pansy's teary voice as she stroked his hair.

"Everything's going to be okay, Draco," she whispered quietly. He looked up into her eyes; cobalt blue, blurred with tears. "You're going to be all right."

He closed his eyes, and slipped into slumber.

oooo


I know it isn't much to go on – but review if you feel so inclined. Don't worry; I'm not giving up on She Rises. Trust me. I just needed to start this one to get it out of my mind. It's been scratching away in there for a while.

Anyways, I'm not going to tell you anything about it. That takes the mystery out of it.

Love you guys.

xoxo

Giraffe :)