Hermione Granger was a strong woman. Years of participating in violent, cold war had taught her to be so lest she fall victim to the abysmal darkness that seemed to envelop the entire wizarding world.
So when unmasked Death Eaters passed by her cell every hour for the five days she'd been captured to cackle gleefully and grin in feral amazement that the Hermione Granger was indeed at their mercy, she didn't falter. Her shoulders were set proudly, her eyes hard and resolute, her face the perfect presentation of strength and obstinacy. She didn't flinch when they called her retched names and laughed at the mudblood filth that had now found its perfect place on their dirty dungeon floors. She didn't cringe when they sneered at her tattered jeans, the torn elbows of her blue sweater, the tangled mess of brown curls on her head. She showed no weakness.
But she felt it. With every crazed, murderous face she recognized, her blood curled a little in her veins, her heart dropped a little further into her stomach. Death weaved like air throughout the large expanse of the dungeons, got tangled in her chocolate locks, seeped into her bones through the cold stones, sat like acid on her tongue. She gagged on it.
She understood that she was bait, that they would keep her alive, if only barely, so Harry would come sweeping in to rescue her and they could descend upon him in a furious cacophony of hatred and curses.
A foolish plan for it would never work.
So she would wait and fight and survive until they found her, until they saved her from evil's paradise. And she would think of home, and she would think of him every day, every second until she could feel his heartbeat against hers again.
The soles of her shoes clicked loudly against the stone floors as she blearily made her way back to the Gryffindor tower. She was tired, so damn tired that her bones practically ached from it. For hours she had been holed up in the library, looking for any damn clue that would help them find the next Horcrux. Her frustration was at an all-time high, the fear and weariness of the war propelling her to work harder, longer, faster for anything, anything at all, but she was coming up short. Frustrated tears sprung into her eyes as she thought about her lack of progress.
The dark flash of a shadow suddenly caught her eye, and she straightened abruptly, suddenly very aware of the eeriness of Hogwarts' halls at night. There was a soft rustling of fabric behind her, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, a chill snaking down her back.
Not pausing or turning around to peer over her shoulder, she began to reach for her wand hidden in her robe pockets. As soon as she made the movement, a large body crashed into hers, shoving her brutally into the wall, which the side of her head met with a crack. Instant pain seared through her skull, and she scrambled to regain control of her fumbled mind as the body pressed harder into hers from behind.
She gasped for air as her body was crushed, throwing up an elbow and catching her assailant in the nose. He howled in pain, stepping away from her slightly and providing her with enough room to remove herself from his grasp. But as she attempted to flee, a large hand bunched in her robes, yanking on them viciously, so she toppled to the floor heavily. She heard her wand clatter off to the side somewhere.
"Stupid mudblood bitch," Theodore Nott hissed menacingly as blood dribbled from his nose. His dark eyes were narrowed and crazed with anger, and Hermione was still trying to clear the stars from her eyes at the way her check had smacked into the floor.
She shouted when his hand shot out to yank at her long chocolate hair as she attempted to spring toward her wand. Still holding onto her curls, he pressed her front against the cool wall, his wand digging into her ribs as he pulled her head back so he could whisper darkly into her ear.
"Glad I finally caught up to you, Granger. I've been trying-"
"Stupefy!"
Nott was abruptly ripped away from her, the bright red light knocking him to the ground none too gently. The brunette eyed his fallen form with a heaving chest, attempting to regain some semblance of control, then gasped as she noticed her savior.
"Malfoy?"
The blonde lowered his wand and glared at her with striking silver eyes. "We're in the middle of a war, Granger. Why the fuck would you be wandering the corridors at night? I thought you were supposed to be smart!" he snapped at her, and her mouth fell open in indignant shock.
"Well I was…I…he just came out of nowhere and I…ugh," she trailed off her stuttering when she became aware of the pounding in her head. Her hands were shaking, and her knees felt weak.
"Merlin, Granger," Malfoy said as Hermione stumbled forward, steadying her with his hands on her slim forearms. "Don't pass out on me. I'm not carrying your to your dorms so that Saint Potter and Weasel will think I've attacked you."
She shook her head gently and breathed in deep, frowning when she saw Malfoy's hands on her arms. He released her when she appeared steady, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest.
"Why did you help me?" Her question was abrupt, and Malfoy's lips turned up slightly in a smirk at her confusion.
"Don't think about it too much, Granger," he said as he tossed her her wand, smirk deepening when she fumbled for a second before catching it.
Her eyebrows drew together. "But you're a-." She stopped.
"A Malfoy? A Slytherin? Oh you mean a Death Eater," he sneered, his grey eyes suddenly hardening. "That I am, Granger. How very observant of you."
Hermione was thrown by his suddenly biting tone and couldn't help the rush of guilt zipping through her body. Malfoy had turned away from her, eyeing Nott's body with disdain for a moment before he began to make his way down the hall and away from her, hands in buried deep in the pockets of his black pants.
"And for the record, Granger," he began, pausing for a moment to turn and look at her again. "I really don't know why I helped you."
Hermione eyed him silently for a second, confused by his answer, before swallowing thickly. "Thank you," she whispered, but the sincerity behind her words was unmistakable.
Malfoy's indifferent expression faltered for a second, something unidentifiable flashing across his handsome face, before being replaced. He nodded at her slightly, lips still pursed but eyes less hard, before continuing on his way. Hermione stared after him until she could no longer see him and then scurried on her own way, moving quickly but carefully as a result of her throbbing headache. It wasn't until she reached the portrait of the Fat Lady that she realized she hadn't once felt an ounce of fear in Malfoy's presence.
Crucio. Crucio. Crucio. Crucio.
It was the only thing anyone said to her anymore. And then her skin would burn with a fire straight from hell, every single cell in her body feeling like they were seizing and collapsing on themselves. Her body would writhe grotesquely on the unyielding dungeon floor, twisting and thrashing and breaking, and she would scream, scream, scream until her throat was burned raw and even her voice had fled her to escape the pain.
Sometimes they would ask questions, but most of the time they only came to her cell because they were bored, and after ten days of captivity and several torture sessions, her pain riddled brain could no longer keep track of the days. They would leave her only after the use of their own magic had made them grow weary and weak, and she was left trembling and practically catatonic on the filthy floor, the small grains of dirt that dug into her cheek sharply the only indication that anything existed outside her torment.
Her body was being destroyed by the torture, and her mind was being destroyed by herself. She wasn't sure anymore, just wasn't sure of what to feel or believe or think. There were days she had to force herself to hope that she would be rescued, and there were days she just didn't have the energy for it. Hope was a hard plant to uproot, but in this place of evil she found that it was easily killed when there was nothing left to water it.
A tear slipped from her eye, only one of thousands to have already been spilled, tracking a clean path through the filth that covered her face and splashing forlornly onto the floor.
In the highest point in the corner of her prison, a rectangular stone was missing from its place, a small window to the world outside that offered Hermione a big view. It was dark, so dark, but as she waited she caught the faintest streaks of light beginning to slant across her cell, orange, yellow, gold, pink.
Her lips twitched upwards minutely. Sunrise.
Hermione grumbled angrily to herself as she stepped around the castle to make her way toward the lake. It was late, probably near half after midnight, and as Head Girl it was her duty to patrol the grounds on Monday nights. She just wanted to sleep and keep out of the February cold, but she had responsibilities to attend to.
Pulling her cloak tighter about her, she cast another warming charm on herself, sighing contentedly as a gentle flow of heat began to sweep through her body. She raised her head to continue on her path and paused. There was a figure ahead, leaning against a tree by the lake, making no noise and silhouetted sharply by the light of the moon. Chewing on her lip nervously, the young Gryffindor debated whether or not she should approach, having grown wary of the things and people who may be lurking around Hogwarts in the night.
But the person's figure looked vaguely familiar and curiosity was gnawing in her stomach, so she clutched her wand tighter and cautiously stepped closer. The gleam of the moon caught the silvery blonde hair of the person, and instant recognition hit her.
"Malfoy," she called softly, questioningly. He snapped up from the tree, whipping his wand from his robes to point it at her, and she raised hers to match.
From this closer position, she could see that he was sweating faintly, something she found quite odd in this particular weather, and his face was pointed in a pained expression, his eyes unfocused and cloudy. Quite curious. Confused and concerned (though she would never admit it to herself or anyone else for that matter) she lowered her wand. Malfoy looked confused for a second, his perfect brows drawing together, before slowly imitating her action.
"What are you doing out here, Malfoy? It's freezing and it's late." Hermione paused, eyeing him again. "You look ill."
"None of your business, Granger," he snapped. "Have you learned nothing from the last time you were wandering around at night? Now run along like a good little Gryffindor and continue your rounds." He resumed his position against the tree trunk, clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly.
Hermione eyed the motion, feeling a flare of annoyance rise at his dismissive behavior toward her, but snapped her mouth shut when she saw something on his forearm.
"The mark," she said softly, mostly to herself, and Malfoy's steel eyes slid over to her.
"Don't act so surprised, Princess," he said with a sneer, pulling his sleeve back down to cover the black design. An involuntary shiver trickled down her back.
"I just never thought that you would actually..." she trailed off when Malfoy laughed derisively. She tucked a strand of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail behind her ear unsurely.
"Now why would you make any assumptions about me, Granger?" he asked, approaching her almost menacingly. His hair fell forward into his eyes, his silver eyes that were both angry and condescendingly mocking. "You've been watching me. Ever since the Nott incident. I've seen you." He was still stepping toward her, and she took a wary step back before snapping herself back into her usual stubbornness and glaring at him head on. "I've seen that stupid little thoughtful look you get on your face, like you're confused by something, like you're trying to study something new. Best to get that curiosity out of your system because you will find nothing, Granger. You're looking for something that's not there, and we are not fucking alike at all. So stop trying to understand me. Stop acting like we're both-"
"Just two teenagers caught in the middle of a goddamn war," she cut off his impassioned spiel sharply, irritated by his condescending tone and the fact that her recent observations of him had been so apparent.
Her interruption quieted him instantly, but he continued to glare down into her soft brown eyes. "What do you really know about war, Granger?" he sighed, stepping back from her smaller form to turn and glare out across the expanse of the silvery water of the lake. "You've been sheltered and protected your entire life. What do you know about war?"
Hermione swallowed, her throat suddenly feeling strangely tight. "I know," she began with a deep breath. "That war isn't always black and white, and sometimes we have to make difficult decisions because they're the right ones. And I know that I don't want to be caught up in the middle of it, but it's not like I have a damn choice."
Malfoy turned his head slightly, eyeing her from his peripherals over his shoulder, but said nothing. Hermione shivered when a gust of wind blew threw her clothing, her warming charm having slightly worn off. She licked her lips nervously. The conflict was so apparent in Malfoy's eyes, when he walked the corridors, when he sat amongst his fellow Slytherins in the Great Hall, when he accidently caught her eye from across the room. This sudden interest in Malfoy was strange but compelling, and she knew in her gut that there was something more to him, something…different.
"It's not too late to change your mind, Malfoy," she said softly, afraid her words would anger him again. "But this war is only just getting started, and you don't want to be stuck on the wrong side of it when it's happening or when it's over."
The tall young man now turned fully to face her, his broad shoulders bent slightly from the discomfort of the mark. He didn't say anything, but eyed her with something even Hermione's perceptive eyes couldn't determine. They stared silently for a long moment. Grey and brown. Light and dark.
"You're shivering, Granger," he finally said slowly. "You should go back inside now."
Hermione's eyebrows lifted in surprised when he concluded that statement by facing his back toward her once again. She wanted to say more, unsure if her words were well received or even heard, but she instead just turned and began the trek to the castle. She paused once more, flicking her wand toward him as she turned slightly.
He turned to face her, surprised. "What was that?"
"A calming charm. It should relax your muscles and make it a little less uncomfortable," she answered simply, hugging her arms around herself before turning slowly to keep walking.
"Granger!" he called when she was quite a distance away. "Thank you." She smiled faintly.
She was falling asleep, stuck in that weary, weary place between consciousness and temporary escape when she heard the heavy door to the dungeons bang open and rapid footsteps thunder along the dungeon hall.
Her heart jumped into her throat, and thin, grimy fingers pushed wildly against the cold floor, trying to push herself away, away, away into her little corner, trying to push her skinny little body so hard into the bleak grey stones that she would just melt into them and be unseen. They couldn't be coming for her again. They'd just been here the day before yesterday, and they'd slapped and Crucio'd and thrown her around until she'd whimpered and begged oh god please just stop, please. The pain was everywhere: behind her eyes, at the roots of her hair, in the arches of her feet, and it just lingered over, around, and in her every moment of every day. It was a part of her now.
The footsteps stopped before her cell, and her world was suddenly toppling over because she knew that shade of silver, those blonde locks, that beautiful face.
"Oh my god," she gasped, crawling forward on her hands and knees, wheezing sobs being ripped from her throat. "Oh god. Oh god."
Draco Malfoy had fallen to his knees before her cell, his eyes horrified and haunted, looking devastating and deadly and so beautiful in his black Death Eater robes. His hands shot through the cell bars, desperately grasping at her face while she clenched her small fists in his robes. Real. He was real.
"I didn't know," he gasped as the tears slicked down her face. "I've been in Germany for over two months. Oh god, Hermione, I didn't know they had you."
She couldn't speak for a moment, her throat suddenly so dry, her disbelief so vast. "I've missed you," she gasped absently. His hands were running over every inch of her, the pain and the horror seeping from his fingertips. She let the feel of him overwhelm her, let his smell assault her senses, let his mesmerizing eyes sink into her soul.
"I'm going to get you out," he said suddenly, determined. "You can't be here anymore." Her heart was weeping, screaming and sobbing and shuddering violently. "We just need three more Horcruxes. The war is almost over. I'm going to take you away from all of this, all this horror and death, and when you're healed the war will be over."
The world spun to a screeching halt. Silence thundered in her ears, and the sick feel of realization and understanding suddenly boiled in her gut. She couldn't breathe. Draco continued to speak, but she couldn't hear, couldn't do anything.
Hermione leaned forward to press her head against the bars, let her fingers curl around them so tightly her knuckled turned white. A torn, quivering breath blew passed her lips as the tears turned caustic against her skin.
"You can't get me out, Draco," she whispered, and he froze. "You have to leave me here."
His muscular form froze instantly, confusion etched in every line of his face. "Granger, I'm not leaving you here. Look what they've done to you. They're killing you."
"Draco," she whispered, and he cringed at the desolate resignation in her eyes. "Harry needs you. The Order needs you. There are three horcruxes left, and the only reason we were able to get to the others was because of your spying. Without you to pass on Death Eater information, the Order is running blind. And once you break me out of here, your cover is blown. You need to leave me here."
She recognized the turmoil on his face, the absolute fear and revulsion at the prospect of letting her remain captive. But he understood. She could practically see her words running through his brain, making sense and making pain. Oh god, it hurt. It hurt so fucking bad.
For a while, the sound of her breaking both their hearts was the only thing that hung about them. But finally he spoke with an uncharacteristic sheen in his eye, telling her he was going to watch over her, that he would asked to be stationed here at the Lestrange Manor instead of all across Europe because even if he couldn't free her he couldn't leave her. And he shouted and spilled his fury and frustration into the stone walls with his fists and pulled at his hair and hurt, hurt, hurt. And she wailed and sobbed and let him press his lips roughly to hers because there was suddenly a gaping hole in her heart and in her hope.
She had never wanted anything more in her life than to leave this place, to not play the self-sacrificing heroine and to return to safety and warmth and love…but she couldn't. There was something- something heavy and suffocating and horrible- that sat in her chest and made the idea of freedom as painful as the idea of captivity.
The Order was weaker now, no longer strong in numbers as they used to be. She couldn't destroy the one saving grace they had found in this fight. With a shattered heart, she suddenly became aware of the fact that she had never really understood war until now.
Hermione walked nervously down one of the many halls of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, wringing her simple white t-shirt in her hands. Five days ago, a serious faced Draco Malfoy had walked willingly into the hands of four Order members claiming his allegiance had never truly been with Voldemort and his followers and he now wished to use his skill for the Light. The entire Order went into an uproar. Malfoy was immediately detained, and the debate began.
Harry, Ron, and the majority of the Order members were immediately against the idea of Malfoy joining their ranks, too suspicious and filled with past dislike to be open to the idea. But Hermione knew the instant she had heard the news that Malfoy was doing it, finally taking his stand. For four days, the former Slytherin was interrogated, given Veritaserum, subject to Harry's legilimency, and eyed suspiciously. He had passed every test. And his proposal to be the Order's spy was very valuable to them at this point in the war. Opinion began to sway slightly in Malfoy's favor, though a cloud of suspicion still hung over their heads. So Hermione had proposed a way to take the risk out of the decision by way of the Unbreakable Vow. With herself as the second party.
Naturally, Harry and Ron had objected, claiming it was unsafe and it would put increased danger upon her. After much discussion with the others, however, it was determined that the Unbreakable Vow would be used and Hermione would be the perfect candidate as her magic and familiarity with Malfoy were quite a deal stronger than the others.
So, here she was, making her way to the room Malfoy was confined in to inform him of the news. A year and seven months. It had been that long since she'd last seen Malfoy at their graduation from Hogwarts.
Taking in a deep breath, she waved off the wizards guarding Malfoy's door and pushed it open with a drawn out creak. The room was dimly lit and bare except for a small cot, a small table, and a chair. Malfoy was seated in the chair, one of his hands magically bound to a table leg.
His head lifted lazily from his free hand when he noticed her enter. He looked older now, every feature of his face more matured and sharper. But there was something deep in his silver eyes, a sliver of darkness that was neither evil or menacingly, simply tainted.
"Granger," he greeted with his customary smirk, straightening slightly as she stepped in further. "Mind cutting me loose for a bit?"
Hermione waved her wand, and the blue colored strands evaporated into mist. Malfoy looked slightly surprised that she had released him without hesitation, but, nonetheless, flexed his fingers happily.
"Sure has been a while hasn't it, Princess?" Malfoy said with a half grin. His eyes roved over her body slowly, from her loose waves down the light denim of her pants. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?"
Hermione tried to fight the blush rising on her neck, but by the amused lilt of his mouth she knew she had failed. "I'm here, Malfoy, because the Order has decided to…accept your offer."
Malfoy's grin slipped, and his face grew serious, but Hermione could see the weighty relief sink into his eyes. "Under what conditions?"
"Under the condition that you perform the Unbreakable Vow," Hermione answered, pushing her long mane gently over her shoulder. "With me."
Malfoy eyed her curiously, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees. "You know," he began. "From what I've overheard from my two buffoonish guards, you put in quite the argument on my behalf."
Hermione shifted her weight onto her other foot. "I did," she responded softly. "So I really hope your intentions are true."
"You know they are, Granger," Malfoy whispered, eyeing her through his bangs. "You knew since Hogwarts that I would never be able to fully align with them."
Hermione swallowed thickly, moved by his honesty. "What took you so long?"
Malfoy chuckled dryly, humorlessly. "I decided a long time ago, Granger. But first it took some courage to make the move and a year to find you lot since you hide yourselves so damn well."
Hermione's lips twitched upwards into a small smile. "Well, I'm glad, Malfoy."
A knock caught both their attention, and a head of curly black hair popped in. "They're ready for you downstairs, Hermione."
The brunette breathed in deeply. "Thank you, Crowley," she told the gangly man with a soft smile then turned to Malfoy. "You ready?"
Malfoy nodded and stood, towering over her small form by more than a head. "You're about to be bonded to me for life, Granger," he said as they began to meander through the halls side by side. "Even when there's no longer need for the Vow. Are you sure you can handle that?"
She glanced up at him, meeting his gaze unfalteringly. "I think I can handle it," she said with a confident smirk, and he mirrored it.
So they stood in the middle of the large sitting room, surrounded by awed, curious, hopeful Order members, grasping each other by the forearm. Lupin stepped forward as their Bonder, pressing his wand to their joined hands and saying firmly the carefully worded incantation. Then the magic began to fill her, and she could feel the warm tingling flowing from Malfoy's body into hers and vice versa, creating a spark so vibrant within her it was felt within the very core of her magic. The silvery white whips began to slink from Lupin's wand and around their joined hands, a beautiful magic that mesmerized her.
When she looked up at Malfoy, he was already staring at her, but something was different about his gaze. It wasn't annoyed or amused or curious as it usually was. It was…deeper. And she couldn't look away.
There was an emptiness inside her so deep she felt if she were to look within herself for just a moment, she would fall into a black abyss. The emptiness was so vast it hurt, a ringing hurt that echoed around in her empty shell endlessly. Draco came as often as he could and he helped in the smallest ways that made the biggest difference. He charmed her clothes back together after they had turned to rags on her body, Scourgify'd her so she didn't feel as disgustingly filthy, and snuck in extra food and forced her to eat it in hopes that her bones would no longer be so easily visible through the sickly pallor of her skin. He came so often that visits from other Death Eaters were slightly lessened because they believed he was doing his job, breaking her, hurting her. And it helped. But everything still hurt. All the time.
She missed her friends -her family- and their warmth, their smiles, their caring hands, oh god their love. She missed the heavenly taste of Mrs. Weasley's fresh baked bread and the soothing warmth of hot tea on cold nights. She missed the feel of magic coursing through her blood, ached for it so badly her fingers would twitch and her muscles would clench at the thought of it. She missed her favorite wool blanket and the smell of old books. But she couldn't remember what any of it felt like anymore. The memory was there, lingering on the tips of her fingers and the edge of her tongue, but she couldn't quite reel it in to fully remember.
Draco told her it was October 11. She was taken on July 16. She couldn't count how long she'd been there, but it felt like eternities. She didn't have the energy to do the math.
So she lay in her twisted position on the floor, with her cheek pressing into the now colder stones, tears dripping, dripping, dripping. Draco was sitting inside her cell today, one knee raised with an arm slung across it, watching her closely.
"Would you kill me, Draco, if I asked you to?" she asked absently, her voice quivering dangerously, dirty fingernails scratching absently at the floor, eyes blank and unseeing. "Do you love me enough to set me free?"
There was deathly silence. Malfoy blinked once, twice, before his face contorted into an expression of pure rage, absolute agony, striking fear. He lunged for her, straddling her legs and grabbing onto her upper arms tightly, shaking her, eyes wild.
"Don't you ever say that to me. Do you hear me?" he seethed through gritted teeth, his face only centimeters away from hers. His angry, heavy pants were hitting her in the face, and she choked on her tears. "We're going to win this fucking war, and you're going to live. Not just be alive but really live. So get your shit together, Granger. Don't fucking give up. You're better than that. I need you to be a fighter, and I need you to live." She was sobbing full on now, but through her tears, she could see that Malfoy's eyes were wet. "You need to live because I need you. Everyone back home needs you. So hold on for me, love. Because if you let go then I have to let go too. There is no me without you." By the end of his rant, his voice was breaking on unrestrained emotions, wavering in a very un-Malfoy way.
Hermione cried harder, grasping desperately at the collar of his shirt as he yanked her up into his arms fiercely, pressing her close, close, close. She wrapped her arms around his neck while his nose pressed deep into her hair. God, he was so warm, so alive.
"Ginny found out she was pregnant last week," he said softly into her ear, and her heart pounded mercilessly. "Three months along already. But she cries every day because she misses you, and she says she can't have her first baby without her best friend. Potter asks about you every second he's around me. He wants to know everything. And sometimes he yells at me, screams so loud it wakes up the entire house because he wants me to bring you back, war be damned. Then he'll cry, right there in front of me, because he knows what you're sacrificing and he knows that you're right, but it still fucking hurts. And I saw Luna in your room the other day, just sitting on your bed and staring at the wall. She says that if she concentrates hard enough she can feel the remnants of your aura hanging around the room and it helps her sleep at night. Mrs. Weasley goes into these moods where she sits around blankly, mumbling about how she's just lost another child, and Neville steals your books sometimes and just holds them, like they're you or something. Everyone hurts all the time. So you need to fight because they're all waiting for you. Love is waiting for you on the outside."
By the time he was done she was clinging to him with severely shaking arms, so drained, so moved, so everything by his words that she could barely even breathe. Her emptiness felt so full now, so nostalgically full that she felt, for a fleeting moment, like the woman she was before she came into this hell.
"I will," she croaked with her torn, hoarse voice after several long minutes of whimper filled silence. "I'll fight for them. And I'll fight for you. I'll fight for you, Draco."
He nuzzled her neck, and she felt his own brokenness on her skin in the unsteadiness of his breaths. Her heartbeat fell in sync with his.
"Granger!" Malfoy shouted warningly as he battled ruthlessly with a burly Death Eater.
Whipping her body around, she barely managed to miss the curse an advancing opponent had shot her way. Breathing heavily, she managed to incapacitate him and shoot Malfoy a look of gratitude. He nodded back at her, the blue eyes of his polyjuiced form darting back to the veil of oncoming Death Eaters. Hermione glanced around the battlefield hopelessly. They were in the streets of muggle London, six order members attempting to fight off at least a dozen Death Eaters in the dark hours of the early morning. It had been an ambush, and they were completely blindsided by it.
A bright green light whizzed by her ear, missing her by mere inches, and collided with the corner of the building behind her, imploding in a hail of dust and brick instantly. The force of the explosion hit her body like a battering ram, knocking her to the ground as if she were nothing more than a rag doll. Her ears rung fiercely, and the prickling of pain in her head quickly morphed into a thundering. She blinked, attempting to clear the stunned tears and sparks behind her eyelids. From her position on the ground, she could see two Death Eaters approaching her, and she scrambled for her wand.
Her fingers wrapped around the sleek piece of wood, but, before she could raise it, a tall figure stepped before her protectively, instantly, aiming furious curses at her assailants. Malfoy. It had been seven months, nearly eight, since he'd joined the Order, and once they trusted him to participate in the field (under guise of a polyjuice potion to preserve his identity) he had been continuously paired with Hermione. Neither of them minded. In fact, they preferred it, though neither would admit that aloud. They were friends now, something Hermione found quite bizarre though not unwelcome. She couldn't explain why, but she had the utmost trust and faith in him, and he in her. It went without the need for acknowledgment. It simply just was.
"Come on, Granger. On your feet," Malfoy said, hauling her up by the arm. She leaned against him heavily as a wave of nausea unsteadied her, and he slung an arm around her waist.
"Fall back!" Ron shouted as he brought another Death Eater to the ground. "We need to get out of here!"
Another wave of Death Eaters was falling upon them suddenly, like a wild tempest upon an unsuspecting town. They could not win. The only remaining option was to escape. The three other Order members, two seriously wounded, followed instruction immediately, activating their emergency portkeys to take them to a safe point near headquarters. Hermione hesitated. Ron was being bombarded, curse after curse after curse. He wouldn't be able to reach the enchanted coin in his boot.
"Ron!" Hermione cried, wrenching herself from Malfoy's hands and stumbling toward her friend. Malfoy frantically grabbed at her. "Ron!"
"Hermione, go!" Ron screamed back. His cerulean eyes met hers with determination, not even an ounce of fear in their depths. But he knew. She could see the resignation in his face. "Go! Get out of here! Now!" His eyes turned to Malfoy's, telling him to run, telling him to save her and take care of her and help the Light win this goddamned war.
Malfoy's arms wrapped around her like iron, and she kicked and screamed and fought because that was her best friend out there! But Malfoy kept pulling her back, pulling her away from the swarms, away from Ron.
"Ron! Ron! Please!" her voice was hysterical now, tears burning down her cheeks, hair falling wildly about her face like a crazed halo.
There was a flash of gold in the corner of her eye. Malfoy had his portkey. He muttered the incantation, and she began to feel the pull in her stomach, the magic beginning to whir. She screamed for Ron again, and he turned to glance at her with a sad smile, a glint of stubbornness in his eye, and then he was engulfed by green light. A horrified 'No!' burst from her lips, but she was being pulled away, yanked and dragged and snapped from the battle as his body hit the ground.
She and Malfoy landed in a quiet alleyway a few blocks away from Grimmauld Place, the heavy silence of the night interrupted by her wails.
"No!" she cried, pushing Malfoy away from her and staggering. "We have to go back. We have to help him!"
Malfoy approached her, the short black hair of his disguise glinting in the moonlight. "Granger! Granger!" he shouted, placing large hands on her shoulders and shaking her out of her frenzied state. Wide, doe eyes stared up at him, surprised by the raised voice. "He's gone. We can't help him anymore. It's over." He pushed several loose tendrils from her face gently, thumbs rubbing away a trail of tears.
Hermione's face contorted into rage, and with all her might she pushed him away, so hard that his back smacked roughly against a building wall. "Why did you take me away!" she shouted. "Why did you make me leave! He's my best friend, and you just took me away!" She continued to push him as he regained his balance, shoving her small hands repeatedly into his chest. "Why! Why would you do that! Why!"
She was punching him now, closed fists striking his chest and tears gushed from her eyes. He grit his teeth and let her, let her cry, let her scream, let her take out her animosity for this war on him. When his chest began to grow tender, he shot out and grasped both her wrists, and she collapsed into him.
Her body grew completely lax, and he released her wrists to wrap his arms around her, letting them both sink down to the grimy street, pants growing damp from the recently rained on cement. She grasped his shoulders while her choked sobs buried in his black t-shirt. The way her small body shook against his hurt him somewhere deep in his chest.
"I'm tired of watching people die," she whispered through tears. "I don't know how much of this I'll be able to survive. How many more times will I lose people that I love?" Beneath her fingertips, she felt his chest changing shape, his arms growing more defined, his shoulders broadening. The potion was wearing off.
Hermione raised her head from his chest to see the familiar grey of his eyes, sharp and soft and perfect.
"You'll be the one to survive it all, Granger," he said, stroking her cheek gently. "I'll make sure of it."
A scream tore through the silent dungeons, echoing and rebounding off the walls for several long moments before dying out slowly. The Death Eater standing over Hermione laughed cruelly as he released the curse, and she curled into a protective ball. She forgot his name. It was something ugly, a name that curled like poison on her tongue and made her stomach retch.
"She certainly doesn't look like much, does she Malfoy?" the torturer said in a grisly voice, dripping with sick amusement. "Not at all powerful now."
Draco grunted his agreement but offered no words. Despite the icy fingers of pain still swiping at her mind, Hermione knew he was struggling to keep in character. When he'd first walked in behind another Death Eater, his face had been schooled into indifference but he was so pale, and his eyes met hers desperately, scared and apologetic. Then he was forced to watch as his thin, hideous companion bombarded her with Crucio after Crucio, laughing and sneering when the Death Eater attempted to cruelly joke with him. She screamed and sobbed and raked her fingernails along the frigid stone floor until her fingers were scraped and bloody, but she would not beg.
Her little cell was so cold now, so cold it almost made her body numb and the Cruciatus curse unfelt. It must be winter now.
"Crucio!"
A million searing needles tore through her flesh, burning, burning, burning. The screams being torn from her throat couldn't be stopped. She didn't want him to feel the satisfaction, didn't want him to see her weak, but she couldn't contain them. She wanted to crawl out of her own skin and hide in the smallest, darkest corner where no one could see her.
The curse lifted, and Hermione drew in a wheezing breath, her raw throat burning at the rush of cool air and her deprived lungs rejoicing. The Death Eater cackled relentlessly, and Draco's forced dry chuckles could be heard as well. Hermione's eyes lifted to her little window as she lay broken, broken, broken. It was still daylight, a soft golden hue pouring in. Wait…what was that?
Something of a glittering, pure white substance floated in from the window, gracefully twirling and dancing in the golden light of her window. It continued to fall until it touched the floor and dispersed. Hermione was awed. Snow. Tears burst into the corners of her eyes. She loved the snow, and if she thought hard enough she could almost remember the way it felt to dance in the winter's first snowfall.
The Death Eater was saying something to Draco, but all the words in her ears were mush. Oh, Draco. He was listening to his companion but eyeing her intently.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
She could see it in his eyes, the fear that she was angry with him for this, that by standing by and doing nothing he was hurting her just as badly as her torturer. His hands were clenched in stony fists, and his jaw was set so rigidly it looked painful. He was disgusted with himself, with his companion, with the situation. Hermione felt earth shattering pain for him deep in her being, so deep she didn't even know that part existed. When would this be enough? When would this war stop robbing them of what little spirit they had left?
"Care for a go, Malfoy?" the man asked, sneering down at Hermione's unresponsive form.
"No," Draco said resolutely. "I've grown bored with the Mudblood today."
He raised his wand to Hermione, and her grimy skin was suddenly cleared and clean. She tried not to appear shocked that he'd done this in front of another Death Eater.
"What the fuck are you playing at, Malfoy?" the shocked Death Eater growled, and Malfoy turned his gaze to him uninterestingly.
"We're to keep the filth alive. If she is to die from something as foolish as an infection, I will be quick to tell the Dark Lord of your failure," he responded with a sneer, and his companion turned pale.
"Of course. Of course."
They removed themselves from her cell, and Hermione watched them go, Draco stealing one last, sorrowful glance at her. She suddenly felt a warmth rise into her body, and the hard floor became pillows beneath her. Charms.
"Thank you," you whispered brokenly into the air, the merciful hands of sleep claiming her.
"That was incredibly stupid," Malfoy snarled as the pair stalked through the halls of Order headquarters.
Hermione was stomping toward her room, and Malfoy was relentlessly following her, unwilling to let her actions on their recent escapade go so easily. To go charging into a crowd of Death Eaters without waiting for backup was fucking ridiculous! It was stupid! Ugh!
People moved quickly out of their way when they saw them coming but otherwise paid them no extra attention. The entire Order had grown accustomed to the occasional argument between the two.
"Granger. I'm talking to you!"
"Shove off, Malfoy!" she hissed over her shoulder, and irritation boiled in his stomach like lava. Ginny smirked as they passed her. He scowled at her. She smirked wider.
After climbing two flights of stairs, Hermione finally reached her room, tossed the door open and slammed it closed…only for it to be stopped abruptly by Malfoy's hand. He stepped in and angrily slammed it shut behind him.
"Really, Malfoy," Hermione huffed exasperatedly, throwing her hands up in the air. "What do you want?"
"Well, Granger," he seethed, stomping closer to her. Startled by the heat of his anger, she stumbled back. "I want you to stop making such stupid fucking decisions. I want you to stop trying to get yourself killed. I want you to let me be your partner." The back of her thighs hit her desk.
"I don't make stupid decisions!" she cried indignantly. "And I'm certainly not trying to get myself killed. Honestly Malfoy-"
He leaned forward, placing both of his palms flat on the desk behind her so that his face was a whisper away from hers, trapping her and effectively cutting her off. She shuddered at the way his silver eyes gazed heatedly down at her through the blonde wisps of his bangs.
"I want you to stop trying to sacrifice yourself," he continued passionately. "I want you to stop pushing away from me. I want you to…" He trailed off suddenly when he felt her chest rising and falling quickly against his, noticed the way her cherry lips were parted slightly, noticed her breathlessness and heat. "I want…I want. Fuck!"
He cut off his own speech by slamming his lips against hers, pressing his body flush against hers, and burying a hand deep in those curls. Hermione responded instantly, and oh my god she had wanted this for so long. His lips were furious against hers, tongue exploring her mouth like it was already familiar territory. And then his hot mouth was on her throat, and she was suddenly wild against him, running her fingers through those gorgeous locks, raking her nails down his beautiful chest, whimpering and moaning and loving it. His body was hard and strong against hers, and nothing had ever felt better than this.
Then she was on top of the desk, legs wrapped around his waist like a vice, and both their shirts had been torn from their bodies, and her pants were missing. His fingers worked deftly at her bra strap, and his hot, hot mouth was on her as soon as it fell to the floor. Every nerve ending was on fire, every part of her drawn to him in an inhuman way. His teeth grazed her sensitive nipple, and a sound came from deep within her throat that she'd never even heard before. It was so hot between them, over a year of pent up chemistry combusting and sizzling.
Her hands tugged on his zipper, pulling it down quickly and shoving her hand inside. She bit her lip when she felt the coarse hairs there and groaned when her fingers wrapped around his stiff member. His head dropped onto her shoulder, and he gasped and groaned and moaned, and god those sounds were delicious. She began to work her fist up and down on him furiously, the silky skin so pleasant to the touch that a wild shudder ran down her spine. His ear was sucked into her mouth, teeth and tongue tracing the lobe so seductively, and he unconsciously bucked harder into her hand.
Before she could even realize what was happening, her underwear were torn right off her body, and he plunged two fingers into her silken heat. She gasped, the pleasure striking her body from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair.
"Merlin, Granger," he panted into her ear as he pumped. "You're so wet."
She whimpered. "Draco, I need…I need." She can't even speak. She's so breathless and hot and delirious.
"What?" he whispered huskily. "What do you need? Tell me, Granger. Tell me."
"I need you!" she cried out, head tossed back, hair wild, chest heaving, skin sweaty.
His fingers were removed from her abruptly, and she cried out at the loss, but then his pants were being shoved down to the floor, and he tossed her onto the bed. And he was inside her, and she could feel every glorious inch of him. Cinnamon eyes rolled back in delirious pleasure. His hips were snapping against hers furiously, sweaty bodies pressed flush together. She clung to him, dragging her nails down his back, as he pounded into her relentlessly. They fit together like perfection. His mouth was everywhere. His hands were everywhere. He was everywhere.
Then the knot in her stomach was uncoiling, tightening to the point of pain, and his thrusts were unsteady and wild. So close. So close.
Their eyes collided. Oh. Oh. Oh! And then bliss.
She dreamt of rolling fields so wide and endless and green that she could climb the highest tree and see nothing but velvet emerald for miles. The tall blades of grass felt like cool silk beneath her fingertips, and the naked sky above her head was so blue she wished she could dive into it and be lost forever. The breeze stroked her face with gentle fingers, and the air she sucked deep into her lungs was fresh and sharp and glorious. And she ran, ran with giddy squeals and peals of laughter and a light heart. She was free, free, free. Her bare feet carried her swiftly, arms spread wide as if to capture the beautiful world around her. Up ahead, she could see where the solid earth met the deep blue of the ocean, could smell the salt water in the air. She was almost there, almost there. But her foot caught on something, and she was falling, fast and heavy and hard and-
Hermione awoke with a jolt against the hard floor, a horrified gasp sticking in her throat when her eyes opened to the dark dinginess of her cell. The blitheness that was floating around in her chest dissipated as the black sorrow infected it. The frigidity of the cell encased her body like an icy cocoon, and she gurgled on a sob. The taste of freedom still clung to the tip of her tongue.
Picking up her aching body from the floor slowly, she clenched her teeth at the feel of pure hatred and agony flooding her system. She felt robbed, so incredibly robbed. The door to the dungeons banged open, causing her to startle tremendously, and suddenly Draco was standing before her cell, face exceedingly pale and drawn, eyes petrified.
He unlocked the cell with a flick of his wand, and Hermione was confusedly pulled into his arms. She stood against him silently, feeling the wild beat of his heart against her own chest, relishing in the comfort of him but wanting answers.
"Draco?" she questioned softly as he shook against her. He was holding her so tightly her frail bones were beginning to ache.
There was a long pause before he spoke against her hair. "They want to bring you before Voldemort in two days," he whispered hauntingly. "He's grown restless and impatient. His blood lust for Potter has peaked. He demanded you be brought before him for questioning."
The blood in her veins ran cold, and her mouth was so dry. She felt like she was choking.
"And they want me to question you." Hermione stepped out of Draco's arms and eyed him with a horrified expression, her eyes wide and mouth open in a small 'o.' The unruly curls that tumbled over her shoulders were tossed slightly as a burst of chilled wind seeped through her little window.
His head hung down, shoulders slumped dejectedly, fists clenched by his sides. He was the picture of a broken man. Hermione swallowed roughly, trying to find a breath in the cold fear that had filled the room.
How could this be happening? Was fate so cruel to break her and the man she loved and then shatter them even further? Had life no mercy for her?
Fury erupted in her stomach suddenly, resentment so hard and unyielding that she had to clench her teeth against the scream that threatened to break. She felt hot everywhere, the heat of her anger consuming her.
"Do it," she said resolutely, and Draco's head snapped up.
"Hermione, I can't," he gasped brokenly, breathless at her statement. "I can't hurt you like that. I can't."
"Draco," she said softly, stepping forward to place a hand one of his tightened fists. Her eyes found his and held them. "There's one Horcrux left now, Draco. One. That's all that stands between Harry and Voldemort now. Harry just needs to figure out what it is first. And for that he needs time. You told me the Death Eaters are coming closer and closer to discovering our headquarters. I can lead them astray. I know where they can find evidence of our magic, and it'll send them on a chase to a dead end, but it'll buy some time."
"Hermione, no," Draco said desperately, pushing away from her to pace along the cell. "You don't know what you're asking of me. Voldemort's temper is volatile. If anything goes wrong for even a second, he'll kill you. And I can't-I won't watch you die."
"He won't kill me," she responded confidently, watching the blonde as he paced erratically. "With every dead end they come to, he'll come asking me for more details. He's desperate, and I'm his best chance at this point now that I'm no longer sufficient bait."
"You'll be giving yourself a modified time frame to live, Granger," Draco seethed, abruptly ceasing his brisk movements to face her.
She blinked away tears, but more came in their place. "This is a war, Draco," she whispered. "People die all the time. This is about more than just me. And I'm willing to die for the people that I love." She stopped to take a deep breath when she could feel the hysterics rising. "It's all about to come to an end, Draco. I can feel it in my bones."
Draco cupped her face in his strong hands, such strong hands, wiping away the tears that managed to escape her eyes. His forehead pressed to hers, and the deep breath he released brushed across her face.
"Don't let me break you," he said through clenched teeth, anguish written so clearly in the lines of his face. "Don't let me destroy what's left of you."
Hermione smiled tearfully at him, pressing her lips against his and kissing him hard, hard, hard. He responded with equal vigor, desperation and affection and dread flavoring his lips.
"You won't die here, Hermione. This will be your last stand in this shit hole and my last task as a Death Eater. Then, I'm getting us both out of here before hell even has a chance to break."
"Watch out!" Hermione screamed as she and Malfoy thundered through the uneven terrain of the woodsy area.
Malfoy swerved slightly and successfully dodged a curse one of the Death Eaters had shot his way, cursing at its close proximity. Hermione's lungs were burning, legs pumping as fast as she could make them to avoid being caught by the three Death Eaters chasing them. A locket, the third Horcrux they had discovered, was gripped tightly in one hand, swinging wildly as she ran, her wand clenched in the other.
She didn't know what had gone wrong. They had concocted an elaborate plan to steal the locket from its safe place, and all had been going smoothly until a group of Death Eaters stumbled across them. A chase ensued, and now she and Draco were frantically traipsing through muggle woods in broad daylight after being separated from the rest of their group. Luckily, she had the locket and Draco had Godric Gryffindor's sword securely in his grip.
The locket made her feel sick, a churning in her stomach, a headache at the base of her skull, a heaviness in her heart. It was poison, and she wanted to be rid of it.
"Malfoy," she hissed breathlessly as they both leaped across a fallen tree trunk. "The potion!"
Malfoy's eyes widened as a blonde lock of hair fell forward into his eyes. Hermione felt an intense dread in her stomach as blue orbs shifted to gray. His cover was about to be exposed. Merlin. Now they couldn't escape these Death Eaters without wiping their memories clean first.
"Time to take a stand, Granger," he shouted, and Hermione's heart jumped into her throat.
Malfoy suddenly ceased running to whip around, wand raised and face hardened in determination and concentration. Hermione followed suit.
"Stupefy!" he shouted instantly, managing to catch one of the Death Eaters in the chest. The black cloaked body fell with a thud.
"Malfoy!" one of them shouted, infuriated. "Fucking traitor!"
With a renewed vigor, the Death Eaters began to battle with the two Order members, and Hermione was stunned by their aggressiveness. She blocked every curse but was beginning to buckle under their intensity. Her chest was heaving, and the chill of the February air beginning to make her fingers stiff. A sharp, dark red spell flew from her opponent's wand, missing her just barely but slicing through the loose material of her dark blue shirt. Hermione felt a small sting as the curse caused a small cut to blossom on her side, and the locket flew from her grasp.
"Bombarda!" Hermione shouted, purposely missing the Death Eater and instead hitting the ground near his feet.
A cloud of leaves and dirt sprung upward at the explosion, and the Death Eater cried out as the dirt stung his eyes. Hermione used her diversion to stun him, and his body crumpled to the forest floor. Blood thundering in her ears, she stood over his body and Obliviated him, watching intently as the tip of her wand glowed a bright white.
"Granger, the locket!" Malfoy shouted over his dueling, tossing the sword her way.
The weapon fell at her feet, and she snatched it up, running toward the fallen locket and sliding across the leaf ridden ground as she dove for it. She ripped it open and was engulfed by a mist of black. Stunned and terrified, she froze, unsure of what was going on. She didn't want to breathe, afraid the mist was some kind of poison, but was so out of breath from her duel she didn't have a choice. Then, a voice filled her head. It screamed horrible things at her, and she covered her ears in attempt to silence it. It told her that Ron had died because of her own failure, that her parents had died without even knowing who she was, that Harry resented her for her inability to save his friend. It cackled that Malfoy was a spy for Voldemort, feeding Order secrets to him when he had to return to Death Eater headquarters, that he had no feelings for her and had simply used her for his own pleasure. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe.
Over the noise of the locket, she heard Malfoy's muffled shouts begging her to destroy it and to hurry. Using all of her remaining strength, she lifted the sword high above her head and sent the blade crashing down upon the evil infested piece of jewelry. There was a scream, a wild whipping of air, and then nothing.
When she opened her eyes, the locket was lying broken upon the brown dirt. A tidal wave of relief and accomplishment slammed into her. She turned to see Malfoy obliviating his now fallen opponent and then moving to the third Death Eater that had fallen previously. The brunette stood shakily, trying to calm her rapid breathing in the sudden silence of the woods.
Crunching leaves caught her attention. Malfoy was striding toward her quickly, a stern look on his face. She stepped back unsurely, but his hand caught the back of her head, pulling her lips to his roughly. There was only slight hesitation on her part, but then she was kissing him back, letting him push his expert tongue into her mouth and pull her flush to him by an arm around her waist. Her body grew warm, and her heart began to beat erratically for reasons other than fear. They remained that way for several long minutes, until her cheeks were flushed and his lips were slightly swollen.
"Stop avoiding me," he whispered, nose still touching her and hand still resting on the back of her neck.
She opened her mouth, prepared to deny it, but then snapped it shut. It was true. She had been avoiding him for three weeks since they slept together. It had been amazing, even more than amazing, but she couldn't help the fear and trepidation that had hit her the morning after. They were in the middle of a war. A relationship would complicate things, would make it harder to let him leave back to those people whenever he had to go. Especially when her feelings were as strong as they were.
"I'm sorry," she finally said, looking down at her hands clutching the front of his grey shirt.
Gently, he eased her head back up with a finger under her chin, prompting her to look at him. His eyes were serious but gentle. "I get it, Granger. You're scared. But we might die in this fucking war, and I'll be damned if I don't get to have you until then. And Merlin, Granger, I've never wanted anything as bad as I've wanted you. And don't tell me you don't feel the same."
Hermione stared up at him wide eyed and swallowed heavily, surprised by his confession. His hands were still stroking her face lightly, and she shivered at the heat in his gaze. She could deny his words for both their safety, could reject the beautiful idea of them together with just a few words.
Instead, she stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him again.
"Tell me where Potter hides, mudblood," Draco demanded viciously as he lifted the Cruciatus curse.
Hermione violently shivered on the marble floors of the Lestrange's extravagant ballroom, spitting blood onto the pristine white floors from where she had bit her lip too hard. Her wild curls fell forward to frame her face, and her arms shook in attempt to hold herself into a semi-raised position. Dozens of Death Eaters surrounded her, watching and sneering and laughing at her pathetic pitifulness. They lined the walls like statues, black robes and black grins and black hearts. She was in the middle of the giant room, Draco standing over her with cold eyes and a face smoothed into stoic indifference, his lip curling up slightly in disgust. He looked like the perfect Death Eater, and, for a single fleeting moment while he tortured her mercilessly, a fear so severe and poignant ran down her spine that it made her back bow. But it left her quickly because she could see, just barely, that his lips were quivering, his Adams apple bobbing relentlessly, the shadow in his eye.
When Hermione failed to meet his demand, the pain began again and again and again. It felt like her chest was collapsing, like all of her bones had suddenly shattered into shards beneath her skin. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.
"Enough of this play," Bellatrix snapped suddenly, stepping away from Voldemort's right side and stalking toward the middle of the room. Everyone in the room sucked in a breath, sick excitement making them gnash their teeth eagerly and their eyes sparkle with a feral glint. Even Voldemort leaned forward interestedly in the chair he sat in at the head of the room.
Hermione wanted to run, crawl, shrink away from the horrible creature approaching her. She couldn't even call her a woman because she wasn't even human.
Malfoy stepped back slightly to let his aunt take action, but Hermione could feel him lingering. Bellatrix dropped to her knees beside Hermione's quivering form, the tip of her wand glowing a blood red. Then she was pressing it to the fallen brunette's forearm and started to write, cackling and screeching and demanding, and Hermione was screaming, screaming, screaming.
Oh god, the pain was horrible. Her flesh was burning, and the dark magic stung with the force of five Cruciatus curses, and she cried until the tears running down her face were practically choking her.
"Tell us where Potter is, filth, and the pain will stop." Draco's voice cut through her screams like knives, and for a second the words 'Grimmauld Place' were prepared to launch off the tip of her tongue.
"The Forest of Dean!" Hermione sob-screams. "The Order's set up camp there!"
Voldemort's delighted cackle split the air, and Hermione's ears practically bled at the horrible sound. Her head rolled to the side as she lay fragmented on the floor. Cinnamon eyes bled crystalline tears onto the floor. Mudblood. It's written in jagged, deep gashes across her forearm, violent red against pale skin, a horrific reminder of her inadequacy.
"Wonderful," Voldemort said as he stood, a twisted sneer stretching the leather skin of his face. "Potter betrayed by his most faithful companion."
But then Hermione's slowly blurring eyes caught something, something odd. Bellatrix triumphantly approacheed Voldemort but steps too close to his dear pet Nagini. The snake hissed at her and slithered into a protective ball at his master's feet while Voldemort shot a scathing glare in her direction that had her cowering.
Oh god. That's what it's been all along. How couldn't they have known? Why didn't they realize after all this time?
A dry, delirious laugh bubbled up from her throat, causing her chest to move painfully and a thin trail of blood to slip down her chin from her lip. Draco's head snapped to hers.
"All this time," she said hoarsely with her delirious smile. "You've hidden the last one in plain sight this entire time."
Draco's eyes moved from her face to Nagini and then back to hers. Realization exploded like a bomb in his eyes, face losing its indifferent structure for a fleeting second at the ground breaking discovery. She could see his breath quickening.
Voldemort appeared to not have heard her mumbled words. "Return Ms. Granger to her cell. We are not done with her yet."
Two Death Eaters stepped forward to grip each of her arms and began to drag her limp body across the floor. She saw Draco suddenly whisk away in a flare of black robes and silver, and her heart beat an erratic, powerful rhythm. This was it. The Second Wizarding War was about to come to its glorious, bloody end.
Her vision blurred fiercely, and she blacked out.
Hermione winced as the floorboard her foot landed on creaked noisily, ricocheting off the walls in the silence of the night. Cinnamon eyes glanced around worriedly to see if anyone would come investigate the sudden sound, but all remained still. She grinned to herself at her paranoia and continued down the hall quickly.
She rounded a corner enthusiastically and collided into someone's body with an 'oomph.'
"Hermione?" Harry questioned, fixing his glasses that had shifted slightly in the collision.
"Oh, Harry," she said, trying to suppress her surprise. Her hands began to fidget with the pale blue sweater she wore over her black pajama pants. "What are you doing up so late?"
He eyed her with a twinkle of amusement in his emerald eyes. "I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing up here? Your room isn't even on this floor."
"Oh, um, well…" Her cheeks began to grow warm as she stumbled over her words. Her usually sharp mind was failing to come up with a plausible excuse. "I was just going to…"
Harry laughed and smiled softly at her. "Hermione, I know."
"What?" she asked him, wide eyed.
"I know you're going to see, Malfoy," Harry continued unabashed, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest with a smug smile.
"What?" she spluttered, a dainty hand pressing to her chest. "That's-that's absurd! I was just-"
"Hermione," he interrupted, pressing his hands gently to her shoulders. "You don't have to lie to me. I understand you were both trying to keep it a secret-which you have been doing quite poorly might I add since you're both a little loud with your activities-but you don't have to keep it from me."
Hermione tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat as she was suddenly overcome with emotion. The soft, knowing smile on Harry's face made her feel so many things and she wasn't even sure why. This thing with Malfoy had been going on for years, if she was honest with herself, and it had been exhilarating and interesting and confusing and breathtaking, and it had become part of her without her even realizing it.
Harry must have seen the emotion fluttering in her eyes because he moved to grasp her hands in his larger ones, gazing down into her eyes with adoration.
"Life hasn't been easy for any of us, Mione," he said softly. "And it's not going to get any easier until the war is over. So I'm glad you've found your silver lining in this war. Malfoy's a good man, and I'm happy you've chosen him if that's what makes you happy. If Ron-" He stopped to swallow the lump in his throat. "If Ron was here, I know he'd be just as happy for you."
Pained, grateful tears sprung to Hermione's eyes, and she leaped forward to hug Harry tightly. His arms tightened around her, and they clung to each other. His strong arms felt like home, like family.
"I don't think you realize how much I love you, Harry Potter," she whispered into his chest, and he chuckled.
"Not nearly as much as I adore you, Hermione Granger," he responded as she stepped back from his embrace. "You should go. I know Malfoy's not much of a patient person."
Pressing an affectionate kiss to her forehead, he bid her goodnight, and she bounded the rest of the way to Draco's room. He was sitting in his chair, feet propped up onto a small desk as he read from a worn old book, and started slightly when she rushed in.
"Merlin, Granger," he said in slight exasperation before setting aside his book. "What took so damn long?" He eyed her silently for a moment, concerned. "Have you been crying?"
She said nothing and simply walked into his arms, sighing in content at the way her soft body fit into his hard one. Although confused, he pulled her closer, resting his cheek against her soft, silky hair.
"What's wrong, Granger?" he asked after a moment of pregnant silence.
"Harry knows," she answered softly, and Draco froze.
"And he made you cry because of it?" He sounded angry, and Hermione smiled against his chest at the protectiveness in his voice.
"Oh no," she said, pulling back so that she could see Draco's face. "He was actually pleased by it. We kind of just had a moment, you know."
Draco nodded, understanding that the bond between his girlfriend and her best friend was something intense and profound, even more so after the death of Ron.
"Never thought I'd see the day Saint Potter would be happy I was dating his best friend," Draco said with a smirk. "Of course, I never thought I'd be dating his best friend either."
Hermione smiled and pressed her mouth hotly to his. "Aren't you so lucky," she teased. "Can we sleep now?"
Draco's eyes glinted mischievously. "Oh, I'm not even close to being tired yet, Granger."
He tossed her onto his bed where she landed with a laugh and a bounce. His body pressed against hers, mouths dancing exotically, and they burned.
"Hermione, get up. Please, love, get up!"
There were hands on her face, gently tapping at her cheeks in effort to wake her. Oh, she was so tired, pain and exhaustion and lethargy laying thick over her bones. Slowly, oh so slowly, consciousness began to seize her body, and her eyes began to gain focus on Draco's face. His eyes were harried with anxiety, and a large red gash rested on his forehead directly below his hairline, and his hair was mussed and wild. Instantly, she was alert.
"Draco?" she questioned, her voice stressed with worry.
He hauled her up off the floor and onto her feet. "Here. Put this on. Quickly!" A worn black jacket was shoved into her hands, and Draco kneeled, beginning to slip plain white shoes onto her bare feet.
"Draco!" she all but shouted, electric panic striking her at his frenzied appearance. "What the hell is going on?"
Then, through the daze of her impending panic attack, she heard it. Screams. Shouts. Explosions. War. The grimy cell shook with the force of the chaos occurring from the floors above, and Hermione's weak legs wobbled slightly.
"Voldemort didn't have the chance to bring the war to Potter," Draco explained frantically. "Because Potter brought it to him. I left immediately after your interrogation to inform Potter of what you discovered about the last Horcrux. We had a plan of attack formed within hours. And it's happening now."
It was happening now. It was happening now. Her body felt numb, but her heart was pounding so hard, hard, hard. She wanted to throw up, wanted to sit down for a second to process it all, to prepare herself. But could you ever really prepare yourself for war?
A wand was shoved into her hand. It wasn't hers. It was too short and too thin, but it was still magic. It rushed through her veins like a wildfire through a forest, and her entire body was so alive. She moved her awed gaze from the wand to Draco. His gaze was intense and gentle and fiery and frantic.
"I'm getting you out of here, Hermione."
She laughed through a sob, covering her mouth in disbelief as tears streaked down her cheeks. Grabbing hold of her hand, Draco pulled her out of her cell and down the long hallway of the dungeons. He was walking swiftly, and months of torture and lack of movement made her legs feeble, and she was already out of breath when they reached the large wooden door that would lead…out. He stopped to face her.
"Do no stop. Do not fight. Just follow me and run. Our main priority is getting you out of here," he said seriously, and she nodded, lips trembling in fear and apprehension.
They stared at one another for a long moment, thundering hearts sounding loudly in their silence.
"I love you," she whispered through tears because she did. Loving Draco Malfoy had been her oxygen these past months, had been her flicker of light in the dark tunnel, the promise her heart had not lost faith in.
Draco kissed her fiercely, stole her breath straight from her chest and then returned it with something more beautiful, more pure. Then they parted, and he was shoving the door open, and they were running.
It was a blur, a violent blur. They passed by fallen bodies, some broken in ways so grotesque it made her gag, and they passed by friends battling Death Eaters with all their heart. She saw Neville and Luna and Kingsley engaged fiercely in duels, and in the midst of her rush of fearful adrenaline her heart skipped in joy at their beautiful faces. She saw Remus and Tonks, laying on the ground with dead, glazed eyes, and she faltered slightly, but Draco's hand continued to pull her determinedly. She saw Bellatrix fall at the hand of Molly Weasley, and sick satisfaction curled in her gut along with pride for the unbreakable strength of the motherly figure.
And then Draco was pushing open another door, and sunlight exploded in her eyes like glitter. The sharpness of the frigid air stung her lungs, but she only breathed it in more deeply. She was nearly half a calf deep in snow, trudging and stumbling and wheezing as her body struggled to keep up with Draco's pace. Draco veered away from the battle outside, making a beeline for the forest that stood before the Lestrange manor, and she knew-she just knew- that once they broke through those line of trees that she would be safe. She would be free.
A flash of vibrant blue light suddenly struck the ground between her and Draco, and they were thrown apart as the energy radiated off the spell with powerful force. Hermione shrieked and sprung back to her feet, making a dash back to Draco who was already engaged in a vicious duel with a vengeful Death Eater.
She raised her wand, preparing to blast away Draco's opponent, when she was suddenly tackled to the ground with tremendous force, wand landing just out of her reach. The sudden blow knocked the breath forcefully from her body, and she didn't have time to regain it when brutal hands were suddenly around her throat.
"Filthy mudblood bitch!" Lucius Malfoy screamed from above her as his hands tightened around her throat. She gasped and wheezed and clawed at his hands desperately. He had forgotten his wand in his violent rage. "You turned my son into a traitor! My son!"
Bright lights began to blink in her eyes, and her lungs were screaming, screaming for air, please god I can't breathe! Blindly swinging her arms, she caught the elder Malfoy in the nose, and he roared furiously as blood began to pour from it. Using the temporary distraction, she used all the strength in her frail arms to shove him off of her. Then she was scrambling, diving for the wand only inches away and-
"Avada Kedavra!" Lucius Malfoy's body fell into the snow limply, lifeless.
"Hermione!" Draco was desperately calling her name as she dropped the wand, and she could hear the crunch of his hurried footsteps in the snow behind her. He glanced at the man he once called his father with a conflicting expression before turning his attention fully to her.
"We have to keep going. The apparition barrier lifts just beyond the trees!"
He was trying to tug her up, but she wouldn't budge.
"Draco," she whispered hauntingly, clutching her stomach where Lucius' dagger had plunged into moments before she could utter the curse.
Red. Red everywhere. It seeped through her fingers, stained her skin, stained her raggedy jeans, stained the pure snow beneath her. She shook violently. The pain was like fire, and it hurt, hurt, hurt. She couldn't breathe through it.
"No," Draco whispered horrified, dropping to his knees before her and catching her as she fell forward. "Oh fuck, Hermione, oh shit. No no no." The cry of an aguished man. It broke her own heart.
The frigid wetness of the snow sunk through her clothes, but she couldn't even feel it. Why can't she stop shaking?
"I'm bleeding a lot," she said bluntly, gritting her teeth when Draco pressed down on the wound to staunch the blood flow. "I'm not going to make it."
"Don't say that," Malfoy snapped through gritted teeth. He was avoiding her eyes, trying to gage the seriousness of the wound, and she could see the desolation in them. A tear slipped from her eye. She had been so close, so close.
She felt her eyelids growing heavy, and her body felt so weak she could barely suck a breath into her screaming lungs.
"No, don't you dare, Granger," Draco said frantically, patting her cheek to wake her up again. "You're not leaving me now. Not after all this."
Her lips quivered as she tried to speak, but she couldn't. "Remember what you said," he gasped. "Remember what you said to me all those months ago. You said that when the war was over, you were going to spend the rest of your life with me and we were going to fight and cry and laugh and love each other and never get tired of it. You demanded that we get a cat and a house near Weaslette and Potter's and that I help you build a beautiful garden with white roses to remember everyone who's died in this god forsaken war, and I'm going to give you all that, Granger. I'll give you anything you want if you give me the chance so just fight a little longer. I know I've asked a lot of you, love, but a little longer for me. Please."
Through the mush of death, his broken words pained her. More tears slipped through her eyelashes. She felt herself being lifted into his arms, felt him stumble slightly as he attempted to stand, and she whimpered as the movement caused sharp pain to course through her.
As her vision began to fade, she admired the view one last time. The strength in his handsome face was breathtaking, the way the winter sun glinted off his golden hair mesmerizing. And his eyes. They were always so beautiful, so steel and silver and diamonds and striking.
He was too beautiful of a thing to leave behind. And she wanted him so bad, so bad that red hot fury sizzled in her blood at the fact that she wouldn't be able to have him.
But maybe this was the only way, she thought bitterly. Maybe this was the only way to be free.
And she slept.
People scampered quickly out of the way as they saw Hermione come barreling down hallways and up stairs. She was breathless, wild fear portrayed openly in her eyes and face, and she carried with her an overall sense of panic. Curly brown hair was thrown haphazardly into a ponytail, and several strands were beginning to come loose of their confinement as she pounded through Grimmauld Place.
Harry's concerned calls faded behind her as she ran, and some people shot her sympathetic glances as she went, understanding perfectly well what had sent her into such a frenzy.
She finally burst through Draco's bedroom door and then stood still and silent. Highlighted by the pale moonlight was his battered body. He stood quietly, one hand pressed to the window frame as the other clutched at his abdomen, sullen grey eyes staring out into the night. All of his weight seemed to lean forward, as if it hurt to stand, and his chest rose in slow, deliberate breaths that he seemed to be concentrating very hard on. His muscled torso was shirtless, but white bandages were wrapped diagonally across his chest and stomach, and Hermione could see the faint red of blood beneath them. His face was strained, eyes weary and mouth pressed into a thin, pained line, and he looked so damaged, damaged, damaged.
Hermione drew in a shaky breath, relief and horror and pity hitting her at once. Draco turned, as if he had just become aware of her presence, and the somberness in his eyes melted into weary relief.
"Hermione," he said in tired happiness, and she rushed into his arms, tears burning her eyes.
She ran her hands over his chest gently, the soft fabric of the bandages feeling so wrong underneath her fingertips. Then, she touched his face, tracing the edge of his perfect nose, the chiseled angle of his chin, the serious downturn of his lips. He closed his eyes under her ministrations, a soft puff of breath grazing her thin fingers as he sighed.
"I'm so sorry," she stammered, throat closing painfully. "I came as fast as I could. Harry sent me the patronus over two days ago, but it took me a day and a half two travel here because Hogsmeade is so far without apparition. And then Harry didn't even tell me what had happened or if you were alive and oh god I actually thought you had died and I didn't even get to say-"
"Hermione," he said gently, effectively cutting off her borderline hysterical rant with two gentle hands cupping her face. "I'm okay. You're here now, and it's all okay."
"No it's not okay," Hermione suddenly spat angrily, stepping away from his touch. "I thought you were going to die before I even got here, Draco. I thought Fenrir had torn you to pieces and I would never even be able to tell you goodbye." She blinked away tears, and he moved to sit on the edge of his bed, elbows resting forward on his knees, watching her silently. "And the trip over here was so long, and I just started to think of what I was going to do if you were gone. How was I supposed to live if you weren't there with me? How was I supposed to-supposed to keep going without you? And.."- she gasped as tears dribbled down her face- "I didn't have any answers."
Draco was silent for a moment as she gasped softly through tears before grabbing her hand and pulling her toward him so that she could stand between his knees. His arms wrapped around her waist tightly, and he buried his face into her stomach. Her hands immediately moved to his hair, threading the silky strands through her fingers as she attempted to calm herself. They were silent for a long time, simply breathing and living and being together.
Draco finally pulled back to angle his head upward and meet her watery eyes. "I love you too, Granger," he whispered with a soft, crooked smile.
She gasped, her heart tingling with the violent thrill that shot through it. He loved her? He loved her. An elated laugh bubbled from her throat, unstoppable and vibrant. And then she was crying different tears, happy ones, beautiful ones.
Leaning down, she pressed her lips to his fervently, mindful of his wounds. He was having none of it, however, and pulled her down to straddle his lap as he deepened the kiss, tongues tangling and breaths mingling intimately. After several long minutes they parted, Draco wincing slightly at the deep breaths he now had to take. Hermione pressed her forehead to his, smiling, and he stroked her cheek fondly.
"You have to promise not to almost die on me again, Draco Malfoy," she said seriously though her eyes were twinkling. "Because when this war is over, I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you, and we're going to fight a lot and cry a lot but we're going to laugh and love even more and never get tired of it."
Draco kissed her breathless. "Of course, love. Anything you want."
"And I want a cat," she said, smirking at Draco's grimace. "A big fluffy one! And a house near Harry and Ginny's." Draco's grimace widened. "And a garden that I want you to help me build where I can plant a white rose for every soul that dies in this war so that they'll never be forgotten."
Hermione's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and Draco pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. "Anything," he repeated, and then he was kissing her again, fiercer, harder.
She let him attack her mouth, let the passion spill over onto their lips for several long minutes until she felt his excited bulge against her own center.
"Draco, no," she moaned in protest even as he began to unbutton her soft flannel shirt. "We can't. You're hurt-"
"I'm not made of glass, Granger," he growled, clutching her tighter as she struggled against him. She moaned and tossed her head back as his mouth attached to her collarbone, sending excited chills straight through her. "I'm leaving for Germany in less than a week by orders of my father, on the 10th. I'll be stationed there for a while. And I just want you as much as I can have you 'til then. Merlin, I just need to feel you right now, to be inside you."
She couldn't find it in her to deny him, or herself for that matter, and let her clothes be stripped from her body with his persistent hands as she softly tugged down his green cotton pants. He touched her as gently as she touched him, as if could break just as easily as he could. And it was true; she could. Her mouth wandered across his body, grazing his bandaged wounds with lovingly, nipping teasingly at his pulse point, hotly circling his throbbing cock.
He was moaning and groaning and panting like an animal beneath her, and it made her hot, hot, hot in the July warmth surrounding them. His hands slid over her sweat slicked skin expertly, caressing and probing and pleasuring until he finally coerced her to straddle his hips and sink down onto him. His hands tightened possessively around her hips, and she rode him into oblivion, until he was snapping his groin up to meet hers, until they were both keening and moaning and falling together in the most beautiful way possible, until his name was shattering repeatedly on her lips.
Draco. Draco. Draco. Draco.
The cemetery was quiet. It was the only quiet place Draco Malfoy could find at the moment. Voldemort and his Death Eaters had lost the war, and Harry Potter walked off the battlefield alive and well. People were celebrating everywhere, in every street, on every corner, in every way. Some cried until they sunk to their knees. Some laughed and hugged and smiled. Some fainted. And some didn't know what to do, wandering about the ecstatic yet bittersweet masses with thundering hearts and wide eyes.
But Draco was here instead, staring at the tombstone before him with his hands buried deep in his pockets and his face pointed into a rigid, somber expression. The wind blew only faintly around him, and the silence now seemed louder than the chaos he had been experiencing only moments before. But he had to get away from it, had to escape all the joyous celebration before he broke into a million little pieces right there on the streets with dozens to witness it.
He wanted to fall to his knees in the dirty snow and pound his fists against the dark granite of the tombstone, rip his hair out of his head while he screamed his agony to the skies, and tear at the skin of his chest until he could dig out the pain because he felt it inside him so deep, deep, deep.
It took all his strength and all of his willpower to remain on his feet, to remain the dignified Malfoy he was supposed to be, but who would be there to see him fall? And what soul would have the energy left to judge?
He inhaled deeply, letting the frigidness of the air sting his lungs and fill his body with emptiness. Tossing back his head, he grit his teeth, snarling at the skies and the demons and the pain. There was a crack from behind him and the crunching of snow, but he didn't turn, knowing instantly who it was.
"Malfoy." Harry's voice split the silence. "I've been looking for you all over the damn place." Draco didn't respond, and Harry gazed around his still form to the elegant writing on the tombstone. "Your mother was a strong woman."
Silence. "She was," Draco eventually responded with a slightly hoarse voice. "Nearly survived the war. But I don't think she really wanted to."
He finally turned to face Harry, shoulders back and eyes rimmed red, pants and shirt still covered in blood. Harry nearly winced at his disarrayed and wearied state but understood he didn't look much better with his numerous bandages and gashes. He took a deep breath.
"She's pulled through."
Draco blinked and opened his mouth to speak but instead stumbled forward slightly as relief hit him so hard he became breathless. Harry caught him with a hand on his shoulder, and Draco hunched over, hard, uncontrollable breaths bursting from his lips. He blinked rapidly in attempt to push away the moisture in his eyes, uncaring if Potter noticed.
"She's awake and asking for you," Harry continued, and Draco finally straightened to find that his old nemesis was trying to keep his emotions at bay as well. "And Malfoy…thank you."
Draco pressed his hand to Harry's shoulder in a gesture that meant so many things, so many things Potter couldn't possibly understand them all, but he did. And then they were both apparating into the mess outside of St. Mungos, people clustered about them so tightly Draco could hardly breathe in the stale air. He was suddenly desperate, suddenly impatient because he needed to see her now, now, now. She was alive. She was alive, and she was his. And there was nothing in their way this time.
St. Mungos was absolute chaos, medi-witches and wizards rushing around frantically, attempting to manage the sudden influx of patients they were receiving. Some had tears streaming down their faces, obviously overwhelmed by the news of the war's ending, rejoicing with each other as they simultaneously attempted to comfort their patients. Draco paid no mind to any of it, pushing hands off of him as they touched him in concern and running through the halls with tunnel vision.
Hermione. Hermione. Hermione.
He and Harry, who had been only a few feet behind him, finally skidded to a halt outside of her room. The door was open, and he could see that the curtains had been thrown open. Bright, bright sunlight touched every part of the room, danced off every particle in the air, as if the war had never touched this place. Hermione was sitting on the bed, and she was so pale and so thin and so small, but she was smiling the most brilliant smile he had ever seen. Ginny was standing before her, crying and laughing as Hermione's small hands wandered over her rounded belly in awe.
Da dum. Da dum. Da dum.
Draco's heart was pounding in his ears. She was so beautiful, so vibrant despite the fact that she looked beaten and bruised and tired. And he knew the moment his lips touched hers that they would actually be okay; everything would be okay.
Because they had been broken and frayed and damaged, but they weren't unfixable.
A/N: Well, that was a long one! I originally meant for it to be about half that length but then I started writing and things got a little out of control! haha
I really wanted to end it with Hermione not surviving the war, but it was already so dark and depressing that I didn't want to leave any readers unhappy! Plus I'm a sucker for a happy/semi-happy ending. I'm debating writing another one-shot sequel buuut I haven't made up my mind on that one yet!
I hope you all enjoyed! :)