LIES, LOYALTY, & HERMIONE GRANGER
By NeuroticMuse413

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. Duh.

SUMMARY: Werewolf!Draco. Werewolf!Hermione. It's December and the fight against the rising army of werewolves has taken its latest victim. When the adults around them refuse to help, the newly united Hogwarts takes up arms against Voldemort's influence. Hermione and Draco must now choose between the relationship they've built and the lies that threaten to pull them apart.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the continuation to Love, Lust, and Draco Malfoy, not necessarily the sequel, so PLEASE read that first. I promise I won't make this horribly serious like I did for SpellMaster's Revenge after QMG. Also, I wrote this chapter while watching The Princess Bride and have decided that Westley the Farm Boy would make the most perfect Draco ever, minus the spiffy mustache. Yes, above Boyd Holbrook. I said it. You may dream of him as I do while you read. Lol.

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CHAPTER ONE: Monotony Has Its Perks

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December was Draco's favorite time of the year. Well, it was now. The weather was so horrid outside their beloved Hogwarts that Hermione only ever wanted to stay indoors anymore. Though the Order insisted on keeping the status of their hunt for Voldemort a secret from them all – probably at the behest of Narcissa Malfoy – they had managed to learn that Blaise had publicly joined the ranks of Voldemort. And, that made Draco jumpy at the tiniest ghostly shuffle in the distance.

He and Hermione had fallen into a pretty comfortable routine since September's melee, instigated by him but wholeheartedly accepted by her. They would wake up together and Draco would walk her to her first class. She had no idea how he was never late to his own classes. He had the uncanny ability to be able to navigate the castle with zero difficulty. After seeing Malfoy Manor's maze-like corridors, she was not surprised.

Then, just as she exited her class, there he was again to walk her. He never carried her books or something silly like that. She was more than capable of carrying her own things as she'd done for years before. But he was always there, always smiling and always with some story to tell about Finnegan's eyebrows or the state of Quidditch around the world.

She'd follow him to the field where he and Draco and sometimes Ron would practice. Though he was no longer on the team, Draco just enjoyed the flight. When they first began, students would gather around them as they chased each other through the air, fighting for the Snitch as Ron chucked Bludgers at them a bit too enthusiastically. Harry's game had greatly improved since they began but Draco was in it for the competition.

Now, two months later, nobody but Hermione and Ginny came to watch. They chatted on the stands until the boys tired, usually just before sunset. Hermione and Draco would veer off the path back to the castle, his arm draped over her shoulders protectively, and they'd shower together. That was her favorite part of the day: stripping him of his Quidditch armor. He did not need to wear them. He could avoid the Bludgers better than anyone on the team, but he wore them just for her. He saw the glint in her eyes when she saw him in uniform, walking towards her from the field, covered in sweat.

After their shower, they'd head straight to dinner. He and Hermione always ate together, side by side, in the Great Hall. They only ever stayed inside for dinner if Hermione was caught up in a lengthy homework paper and needed the extra time. He didn't care. He just picked up a book and did his own or found something to read. He liked being in her presence, no matter the activity.

He watched her now from the chair beside his window. It was snowing frightfully outside and the boys had to cancel their Quidditch practice. She lied on her stomach atop his rug, her ankles crossed in the air, her nose buried deep in her book. She scribbled on the margins quickly, trying to get it over with as soon as possible, as always.

He smirked at her, running his hands over the pages of his book. He'd been on page 529 for the past hour, too distracted by the hem of her skirt and the way it grazed the back of her thighs as she absentmindedly moved her legs about. She smiled, feeling his lustful eyes on her.

"Draco," she called in a sing-song voice, her eyes fixed on her quill's speedy motion. "Do I have to take your eyes out and put them in a jar again?"

He cleared his throat and lowered his eyes down to the book on his lap. He suddenly realized it was the third volume of Warts, Acne, and Bodily Fungi by Rosmerta Babbit and grimaced, throwing it onto the bed, horribly disillusioned. He took to staring out the window instead.

The castle towers could be seen in the distance, enveloped in snow and dripping ice. The Quidditch field was beyond that, barely visible, just a gray blob with flags on the horizon. The lake, however, was beautifully frozen and the students had taken to ice skating atop it, rather stupidly. From time to time, they would break through to ice and the Giant Squid would have to pull them out. At one point, it got very annoyed and tried to swallow one as a warning, though the girl was quickly spit out.

It reminded Draco of the lake behind Malfoy Manor, of skating with his mother when he was ten and his father was away. As soon as Lucius left on business, he and his mother would leave the stuffy house and read out in the gardens. They had picnics and she watched him swerve on his broom between the trees like a sugar fly.

"Bored?" Hermione asked sweetly, her book closed before her. He turned back into the room and shot her a sad smile. She got up off the floor and sat down on his lap, laying tender kisses all down his neck. "What are you thinking about?"

"Home."

She stopped her kisses and their eyes met. She seemed to be searching for the answer in the gray mist in their minds. She could never quite hear words, only emotions. He was… nostalgic or just disheartened? She understood that he had said goodbye to Malfoy Manor that day he woke up at Grimmauld Place but she didn't like it one bit. She didn't like that he had given his whole life for her, his past and future, his beliefs… What had she given up? A single night a month? She thought of this often but hated being reminded of it as she tried to excite him.

"The Manor?"

He nodded and continued to stare out at the frozen lake. "We leave on Christmas vacation in a week. I'm sure the Ministry—"

"Yea…" he whispered, interrupting her thoughts. "I'm sure they'll be done ransacking it by then. But it won't be the same."

It seemed he was still in that other world he often drifted off to without her, the little place where his memories came alive again. She caressed across his cheek, tilting her head to the side. "Why not? Is it your father? Tell me."

He scoffed at the mention of his father. "You won't be there, 'Mione. I might as well spend Christmas in a cupboard with Potter."

She laughed. "I'm not letting you sleep in a cupboard, you jerk. It's just two weeks! Stop being dramatic."

He still didn't look her in the eye. He didn't want her to see his worry. He wasn't a romantic sap. He could stand to be away from her. He just couldn't stand her being out there with Muggles, unprotected, in the open. He'd already begun plans to follow her, put some sort of warning system on her… she didn't have to know. Potter and Weasley seemed more than happy to let her go out on her own. Were they crazy or did they know something he didn't? His ego refused to believe the latter.

"You could always come with me to my parents," she suggested shyly for the fourth time since the first snowfall.

I'd rather teach a hippogriff how to ballroom dance, he thought miserably.

He shifted her legs so she'd be straddling his lap more comfortably. "Mother insisted I spend it with her at Grimmauld. You know that."

She shook her head. "What if we can't get back together before Christmas Eve? It's a full moon this year, Draco. You'd have to change alone in that retched place."

"Don't be silly," he said with his usual charming smile. "I hear Mother's taken to decorating."

Hermione laughed. "I'm sure she's got the dust bunnies marching in single file by now, probably scared them into submission with a single icy glare."

He pursed his lips and feigned annoyance. "That's my mother you're talking about there, love. Watch it. And I'm sure it would have taken at least three icy glares. Those dust bunnies are seriously cheeky bastards."

He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and slid her off, his mind elsewhere. He gathered all his books together on the bed, as he did every night. She watched him curiously from his seat by the window. He'd cut his hair a month ago because he was starting to look like a hippie and that was hardly fear-inspiring. She'd once mentioned she preferred it long so he kept what might be described as girlish bangs just for her. Of course when Ron brought this up, Draco very quickly corrected – through gritted teeth – that on him, they worked as manly tufts of hair strategically covering his eyes and thus, his emotions from his enemies. Hermione and Ginny laughed for some time after that and didn't quite catch the end but Draco had apparently started making arguments based on wind dynamics.

A few moments passed and he'd just finished gathering his books. She smiled as she admired the way he moved, so graceful for such a gangly boy. He sat on the bed and started to tie his shoes when suddenly, he spoke and it broke her concentration.

"'Mione, you're staring again," he said to his feet, his brow furrowed. He was so meticulous about something as silly as shoelaces.

She smirked and answered, "Yes. Creepy, isn't it? Now you know how I feel every other night."

They both froze, realizing what she'd let slip. He snapped to her. "What do you mean?"

She gave a casual shrug. "I know you can't always sleep still so you stay up and watch me. It's alright."

He shook his head and quietly gulped, standing slowly to face her. He seemed genuinely afraid to ask so it took him a moment to gather his courage. "How do you know?"

She crossed the room and rested her hands on his chest. "Because I can see myself through your eyes," she whispered lovingly. "At first I thought it was a dream but it isn't, is it?"

He tucked a strand of loose hair back behind her ear. "And what do you see?" he replied in his husky voice, her favorite. No matter what he said or where he said it, it made her feel like she was the only person in the world. "Through my eyes. How do you see yourself?"

She blushed and looked down at the floor. "You allow yourself to be persuaded by awe, Mr. Malfoy. I am nowhere near as beautiful as you make me out to be."

"Then you don't just see. You feel."

The soft blush turned into a burning sensation, spread through her blood. "I'm sorry. I've invaded your mind."

He laughed sharply and bent down to kiss her neck, placing a soft bite at her favorite spot. Her body went limp in response and her mind turned foggy. Damn him. Damn him and his nimble trickery.

"It's alright," he answered, letting her escape his grasp if she so wished. "I've invaded your bed, most unceremoniously too. I think we're even."

She took a step back, trying to clear her head. She cleared her throat and walked over to her own shoes by the side of the bed, slipping into them quickly. She needed to get away from him, just for a little bit. "I'll… uh, meet you at dinner. Okay?" she mumbled, rushing for the door. He stretched an arm out to stop her but she was already gone.

He sighed and decided to head down to the Great Hall, as planned. Dinner had already begun so the halls were mostly clear. There rarely came down on time but there was always a pair of seats waiting for them between Ron and Harry. He sat down with a soft plop which made Ron jump, spilling his pumpkin juice.

"What's wrong with you? Are you trying to give a man a fright?" he complained, pushing Draco off towards Harry.

Draco merely laughed. "What man? I see no man. The only people who ever get 'frights' are little six-year-old girls, you twat."

Harry chuckled and looked around the hall. "Where's Hermione?" he asked Draco, who'd begun serving himself some turkey tetrazzini with apple juice. He shrugged. "Don't you do two, like, have your steps coordinated and synchronized and catalogued according to puddle sizes?"

Draco shot him a look. He didn't like having his relationship judged, especially not by them who did not understand the dangers they'd gone through. "It's true," agreed Neville. "I don't know how you can even breathe. You're all over each other all the time."

Draco gave Neville a big grin, looking him over through his eyelashes. This wasn't what Neville had intended to say, merely that they were always seen together, but it was too hard to ignore the invitation for trouble. "It's my animal magnetism, Longbottom. You should know something about that now that you're getting your socks off with Pansy."

Ron choked on his spaghetti. "What?" he squawked.

"Oh yes," added Draco, reveling in his own tantalizing knowledge. "Hermione and I saw you two yesterday---How would Weasley put it? Getting it on?"

"We were not! She's just… really friendly," corrected Neville lamely. "She has a very keen interest in herbology."

Ron was shooting him deathly looks. "Traitor," he mumbled into his fork.

"You're not jealous, are you, Weasley?" taunted Draco. Ron drove the fork into his knee beneath the table, causing Draco to yelp out into his fist. "You bastard! I could have your head for this."

"Pfft. As if you won't be fine in the morning. Get over it, you drama queen," said Ron, reaching over for Draco's fork.

Draco growled loudly from low in his throat, glaring at Ron. He went to pull the fork out but Harry stopped him. "I've heard you're supposed to leave those things in."

"That's if you have a piece of glass lodged in your throat or a knife to the chest, not a measly little fork to the thigh. Besides, Weasley stabs like—"

"A girl. We get it," the others said all at once. Draco rolled his eyes, pulled out the fork, and jabbed it into Ron's plate in retaliation. He whispered something in Ron's ear, which made the poor boy turn instantly pale, and limped out the door, trying not to get blood on the floor.

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Hermione followed her feet through the castle, only to find herself back at Gryffindor Tower, as always. She didn't want to get away from Draco. She simply had an idea, one that excluded him. If she stayed, he would have figured it out. What terrified her most was the possibility that he could read her mind the way she saw into his, the way she was beginning to see. She looked for a piece of parchment and a quill lying about the common room and scribbled down a quick letter. It read:

Dear Narcissa,

I hope you're doing well. I'm sorry I didn't respond to your last letter sooner but I've been caught up with homework, as you can understand. Yes, Draco finally cut his blasted hair and he does continue to look pompously handsome. His ego is, as always, a nuisance. I'm considering chopping off the hair while he sleeps and selling it back to him but I know he'd only get back at me in some horrid, public way again. If you can think of some soft-spot I can exploit, do let me know. You'll be happy to know he's forgiven you for telling me about that teddy bear he used to have. Mr. Frodo and his companion, Mr. Sparkles? Ron couldn't stop laughing for a whole hour. He was late for Potions.

Draco has also told me about your renovations to your new home and would love a chance to see for myself. I was hoping to visit my parents for Christmas but I think I may have devised a plan to have us all together after all. That is, if you wouldn't mind throwing one of your infamous dinner parties. Let me know if it sounds agreeable and I will run it by the others here. Maybe Alastor will finally draw up some courage and ask the big question. I can't wait to surprise Draco, though.

Much love,

Hermione.

She looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearly time for dinner and she couldn't reach the owls on the other side of the castle, not in this weather. Though everyone was mostly at dinner, she managed to catch Ginny still getting ready by the foot of her bed. She was so slow these days.

"Hey, Gin!" Hermione called, swerving between the beds towards the cage with Pig. He slept with Ginny ever since Ron decided his parents would only get him a new one if his current one got eaten by… well, anything. "I'm just using Pig really quick."

Ginny nodded and made sure the way was clear when Hermione ran back out. "Wait!" she called just as Hermione reached the door to the stairs. "Can I talk to you about something?"

Hermione sighed and nodded, playing the good friend. She sat down on the foot of the bed beside Ginny, her empty hands limp in her lap, and said, "Go on."

"I think Harry's hiding something from me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's probably just your Christmas present. He could barely shop for himself, let alone a girlfriend. He's probably freaking out."

Ginny shook her head and Hermione realized then that her eyes were puffy and then as though she'd been crying. "He's been meeting with Dumbledore a lot," she confessed. "In secret. And he always comes back looking so… harried, and he doesn't talk to me for hours after. He just stares off at the wall and yesterday, I caught him with this scary-looking knife. A knife, Hermione!"

Hermione looked again to the path out of the dormitory. She'd been so close. There were no problems between her and Draco and that made her feel like the whole world was at peace. If she'd just kept running and didn't look back, she didn't have to know the troubles of others, of the darkness that crept into their lives even still. Now, Ginny was bringing her back to reality and it hurt. It hurt all over.

She took a deep breath but the pain didn't go away. It was in her heart, spreading off into her arms and legs, cutting off the oxygen to her brain. She doubled over, gasping for breath, and she realized it was not her pain. It was Draco's feral self escaping, calling out to her through the ether in the gray mist. It didn't feel right. She thought she was dying, not falling in love as she usually felt.

"Hermione!" Ginny shouted, bending down to help her off the ground.

"There's something… wrong… with Draco…" she mumbled through gritted teeth, her eyes shut tight as to better navigate the mist for some sort of answer.

"Where is he, 'Mione? Can you hear me? Where's Draco so I can help him?"

Then, as quickly as it began, the pain started to numb itself through her. She sat up on the floor, able to open her eyes for the first time. "We have to find him. Come on," she whispered and jumped to her feet. She didn't wait for Ginny and ran down the stairs towards the halls. She didn't know where to go, merely that she had told him to meet her before the Great Hall and that he would most likely take this route.

Her mind went crazy with chance. Did the Slytherins get him? Did Voldemort? Was he ill? Did he fall down the stairs? Did he have a tummy ache? No, that would only be too easy and she was not that lucky.

She rounded the corner and there was Draco, standing before a body, covered in blood. The body had been mangled. Large slashes ripped it open across the face and torso as though a great beast had straddled him and swung its arms across the boy's flesh. Yes, she saw him clearly now. It was a boy and a small one at that—so fragile and now so broken.

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Don't worry. He didn't do it, sort of. Next chapter, more complications and maybe those flying lessons I promised. And, DON'T FORGET TO ADD US TO YOUR STORY ALERT LIST!

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Reviews are better than Draco's nimble trickery.
Let's give this story a happy send-off, guys! Tell me your favorite part so far.