Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise. That belongs to Jo.
"You can't slow down, we've got to keep going!" Harry grabbed her arm and desperately pulled her along.
Hermione lurched back into a dead run as Harry's momentum carried her along. "In case you haven't noticed, Harry, I'm going as fast as I can!" Hermione snipped back heatedly. They raced around another corner, entering another countless dusty corridor of the Riddle House. Ron came stumbling into the hallway right behind them, his face red and twisted with fear.
"Whoever thought it was a good idea to come to the Riddle House to look for Horcruxes, I'm gonna to bloody kill them!" Ron hollered as he almost ran over an errant coatrack.
Hermione almost mentioned to Ron that it had been his idea, but then another sound distracted her. "They're coming!" Hermione breathed. Even through Ron's shouting, she could hear the sound of footsteps echoing above them. "Ron, shut up! They're following the sounds of our voices!"
Ron immediately stopped yelling, but he let out a string of vile curses under his breath.
"Quick! Down here!" Harry ripped Hermione around a sharp corner. She almost shrieked as she felt herself fall. The drop was only a few feet, thank Merlin. And somehow, through divine intervention most likely, Hermione was able to land on her feet. She staggered upon the landing, but she hadn't broken anything.
"Harry! What the h—" Hermione turned to her dark-haired comrade, ready to shoot off on a tirade. He clamped a sweaty hand over her mouth.
"Seriously Hermione?" Harry grumbled. "Shut up, they'll hear us."
"Sorry," She mumbled when he removed his hand.
Harry and Hermione were just taking some time to look around the small room in which they found themselves when Ron let out a guttural scream. The pair whipped back to face the redhead and found him crumpled on the ground.
"Ron!" Hermione crouched by his side. "Ron what's wrong?!"
"Could have told me it was a trapdoor, you wankers." Ron grunted and propped himself up on his elbows.
"Ron, does anything hurt?" Hermione snapped her fingers in his face.
Ron turned his icy glare from Harry to Hermione and winced. "My ankle," he gritted out. "Oh Merlin, my ankle."
Hermione jumped into action. "Harry, grab his other arm, we've got to get him a splint or something."
Harry and Hermione dragged Ron over to a decrepit chair in a corner and Hermione pulled out her wand.
"Hermione, in case you haven't noticed," Harry began hesitantly, "you're no Madame Pomfrey—"
"Shut up Harry, I know what I'm doing." Hermione snapped. She rolled up the leg of Ron's jeans and began looking at his ankle. It was swollen already, and Hermione could see dark spots forming around the ankle bone. She cast a quick cooling charm on his sock and pulled it up to cover the sprain.
"I know I'm no medical professional," Hermione took a moment to scowl at Harry, "but I think it's just a sprain. When we get back to camp, I can make you a brace and it'll heal in no time."
Ron nodded and whimpered pitifully. "Do you think I can make it back to camp?"
Hermione tried to sound reassuring, but she wasn't positive herself. "Harry and I will have to support you, but we'll make it back just fine."
"Yeah, don't sound so sure of yourself," Harry muttered, looking at the ceiling. "They're getting closer."
The three of them listened with baited breath. Harry was right. The footsteps were closing in on them. After another tense moment, Harry and Hermione began looking frantically around the room. Hermione noticed that a moth-eaten child's bed huddled in the opposite corner, and some old empty bookshelves lined three of the four walls. A mobile hung from the ceiling and moonlight glinted off a broken mirror that lay shattered on the floor.
Moonlight. Hermione shot up from the ground and raced over to the far wall. A small window perched near the ceiling. The aperture was framed with crown moulding and tattered curtains. Dust danced in the moonbeams that streamed through the hole in the curtains, and the smell of hard earth filtered in on a midnight breeze to overpower the stench of rotting wood and decay. The window led out into the gardens. That was their escape.
Harry had noticed her sudden motion and he too moved over to the window. "It's pretty high up, isn't it?" He commented, looking over at Ron, who was still sitting in the squalor around the chair.
"You'll have to boost him up and have him pull you out." Hermione decreed and moved to help Ron over to the window.
"And what about you?" Harry demanded, sceptical.
"I'll find a way up to the window. I'm not strong enough to help Ron run away from the here." Hermione heard the sound of footsteps getting closer, and she continued in a quieter, more anguished tone. "We don't have time to argue Harry. You and Ron need a head start."
Harry sense her urgency and nodded briefly. Distress etched onto his face as boosted Ron out of the broken window. As Ron's trainers disappeared outside, Harry turned to Hermione. "If I don't see you back at camp in fifteen minutes, I'm finding you come hell or high water."
Hermione nodded and helped boost Harry up to reach Ron's outstretched hands. As both boys disappeared from the window, she heard their voice drift off into the night.
"But—Hermione—" Ron floundered.
"She'll catch up. She's smart, she find her way back too. Now we've got to get you out of here before anyone else finds us." Hermione strained her ears to hear the rest of Harry sentence, but right as she caught the rest of his words, someone else's voice seized her attention. A voice much too close for her liking.
"You check down that trapdoor." A gruff voice ordered. "We'll move on to the upper rooms. That boy and his Mudblood can't have gotten far."
Hermione's blood ran cold and she looked for a place to hide. She contemplated jumping to reach the window, but what would happen if she missed? With little time left, she tried to melt into the shadows that congregated in a far corner.
A black cloaked figure landed like a cat in the centre of the room. The moonlight cast an ethereal, almost otherworldly, aura on the figure as it straightened and pulled out its wand. The moonbeams gleamed off a silver Death Eater mask.
Hermione raised her wand and cast a well-placed jinx on the figure's face. The Death Eater swore and raised its wand further as its mask flew off its face and landed in Hermione's hands.
"Lumos!" The Death Eater breathed and waved their wand at Hermione's corner. Hermione made no move to escape—she was frozen in shock. Standing in front of her was Draco Malfoy.
"Granger?" He muttered, his face hardening.
For once, Hermione was lost for words. Of course the Death Eaters would be chasing them! Her, Harry and Ron must have set off some sort of alarm, why wouldn't the Death Eaters come? This was their property, was it not? There was a reason why she, Harry, and Ron couldn't apparate off the premises. Voldemort's followers must have laced the Riddle House with all sorts of charms. And why wouldn't Malfoy be with them? Wasn't he one of them after all?
"Are you going to answer me, Granger?" Malfoy asked. He took a menacing step toward her, and before she knew what had happened, she was disarmed.
"Too easy," Malfoy commented, an all-too-familiar smirk on his face as he pocketed her wand.
Hermione wanted to hurl back a snarky jab, but she decided it would be better to cooperate. She had snapped out of her original shock, and now she was hoping that if she could play her cards right, she could get out of this. It was only Malfoy, after all.
Faster than her eyes could follow, Malfoy moved towards her and grabbed her by the shoulders. He pulled her away from the wall and snatched both of her forearms. He wrenched her hands behind her back, and Hermione felt ropes cinch around her wrists. She struggled futilely. Malfoy had ropes, and his slender fingers, wrapped around her wrists. From behind her, she felt his breath on the back of her neck. She tried to ignore how it smelt like Listerine.
"Not so bright, now are we?" He muttered into her ear and then stopped abruptly.
He had never been this close to Hermione, and she didn't know what to think. She could hear her pulse pounding and she could hear footsteps above her, but more than that, she could hear his laboured breathing.
"You smell nice for having been on the run for a few months now," He remarked, almost casually.
Hermione was too blindsided to even think, so she replied just as nonchalantly. "I invented a cleaning charm in fifth year that smells like lemon dish soap."
"Lemon dish soap, eh?" He asked, and turned her to face him. "Well, seeing as we've gotten the persiflage out of the way, I might as well ask you how you do it."
"How I do what?" She asked, confusedly staring into his eyes.
"Perform the charm, you ninny." He sniffed. "I rather like the smell of it."
Frightened by the ridiculous turn of events, Hermione complied. What else could she do? At least this would bide her some time before she had to make her escape. What did it matter if Malfoy was strangely curious about how she smelled?
She mumbled the incantation and watched him say it under his breath. He removed one of his hands from her bound wrists and then waved his wand at the mirror fragments on the ground. They brightened immediately, the dust and grime evaporated and left shimmering pieces of glass. Hermione gazed into the mirror at their feet and met Malfoy's eyes through one of the shards. His stormy eyes hardened, then softened as he held her gaze. She felt his hand loose around her wrists.
"As long as we're sharing secrets," he whispered, "you might as well know how ardently I've wanted to kiss you for the last few years."
Hermione, blindsided once more, moved her gaze from his reflected eyes to his real ones. "Have you gone mad as a March hare?" She choked out.
"If I'm being honest with myself, I've always found you a bit peng," He smirked at her. "I've always wanted to find out…"
Hermione cocked her head and let her brain fill in the rest of his sentence. What it would be like to kiss you.
Hermione had never been one to trick someone, but the perfect cards were practically falling into her hands. She took a moment to gather her thoughts before finding a perfect way to phrase her words. "If I give you a few answers, will you give me a head start?"
Now it was Malfoy's turn to be gobsmacked. "A head start?"
Hermione nodded.
He smiled slowly, slyly. "For…answers?"
Hermione nodded, this time a little less sure of herself.
"Done," Malfoy said as his lips collided with hers.
Hermione didn't know how long it lasted. Seconds, minutes, hours, eternities—she didn't care. Before she knew it, though, it was over. Her hands, which had mysteriously lost their binding, were threaded in his hair and his hands were placed lightly on her shoulders. The kiss had been sweet and gentle, and yet desperate, and not unpleasant if Hermione was being honest with herself.
Malfoy gazed into her eyes and shook his head. "Wow," he muttered and stepped away. As if suddenly embarrassed, he looked away and licked his lips self-consciously.
Hermione's hands fell helplessly to her sides. "Good enough?" She tried to sound all-business, but she was bit startled as well.
He met her eyes and opened his mouth, but they were roughly jolted out of their shared reverie.
"Malfoy, you useless rat, how long does it take to check one room?" A rough voice echoed down the hallway above them.
Malfoy cleared his throat. "Sorry, sir. I'll be up there in a minute."
"You had better, boy. What was down there?"
Malfoy gave Hermione one last searching, guarded look, before vaulting into the air to catch the edge of the trapdoor. Hermione watched, mesmerised as he swung himself out of the trapdoor with all the cat-like grace he had possessed upon his entrance.
Hermione saw the tips of his boots disappear as he replied. "Nothing I couldn't handle."
Left alone in the trapdoor room once more, Hermione looked around with new eyes. She laughed mirthlessly when she spied Malfoy's Death Eater mask laying forgotten in a dusty corner. When had she dropped that? She patted her clothes for her wand and then swore. The evil git had taken it with him. So much for the perfect escape plan.
At a loss, she picked up the gleaming sheet of silver and steel. She blew the dust off gently. He had her wand, but she had his mask. And though she had no idea what it was worth, it had to be worth something. She slipped the ornate mask into her coat pocket and looked toward the window. She wasn't safe yet.
She took the bed in the corner by the headboard and dragged it across the floor until it was beneath the window. She climbed on top of the manky mattress and gave it a few experimental jumps before springing herself up the edge of the windowsill.
She didn't have nearly the elegance that Malfoy had with such tricks, but she was able to get herself out of the window nonetheless. She rolled on top of a few smothered pumpkin vines as she exited. With all the speed she could muster, she made her way through the overgrown garden and down the hill toward Little Hangleton. She ran through the little village, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Just as she passed the infamous Gaunt shack, a black figure loomed out of the darkness.
Hermione's heart stopped. She didn't have a wand, she didn't have any sort of weapon! All she had was a stupid Death Eater mask! What was she going to—
"Hermione!" A voice cried out in relief. Harry gathered her in a brotherly hug that almost strangled her. "Where in Merlin's name were you?" Harry scolded. "I thought you had gotten yourself killed!"
"Harry! Harry, I'm fine!" Hermione laughed.
"What happened in there?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle," Hermione replied, almost absentmindedly. "Well," she hesitated, "not something I could handle all the way." She grimaced and clasped her hands. "I don't have a wand anymore, so you'll have to apparate us back to camp."
"You lost your wand?!" Harry screeched.
"Harry," Hermione soothed, "I'll explain everything in a minute, just get us back to camp."
Harry gave her a hard look before nodding and pulling out his wand. "Okay. But you're telling me everything."
Hermione nodded and fingered the mask in her pocket. Well, she thought, maybe not everything.
Hermione sat in Ginny's room at the Burrow. Snow drifted from the sky and landed softly to pile on the windowsill. The sound of Christmas festivities drifted up the stairs, and wrapping paper lay crinkled at her feet. Ginny's bed was a creaking old thing, the thick blankets didn't cover up the springs that poked out the top of the mattress. It was Christmas Eve, and Hermione didn't know why she wasn't at the party downstairs. For some reason, she just didn't feel up to it.
Like every other solitary moment she had snitched since the summer disaster at the Riddle House, she took out the mask and cradled it in her hands. She had never told Harry or Ron about what had happened between her and Malfoy, she had only said that he had let her go for reasons she didn't understand.
By now she had every detail of the mask memorised. Every bump and imperfection, every swirl and jagged edge. Her fingers ghosted across the eyeholes, tracing the short metal lashes etched into the silver. Her other hand smoothed across the fine vellum on the other side of the mask. She flipped the mask around and felt where his nose would go, where his cheek bones would sit. Her fingers stopped where his mouth would curve. The mask was moulded to fit every swell of his lips, lips set into a straight, fine line. Hermione originally thought it odd that the mask wasn't fit to match his smirk, but now she was beginning to wonder if he was the same boy with which she went to school.
When she had met him again in the trapdoor room, he had certainly seemed different. More open, more…more human, for some reason.
But it was probably just her imagination.
After tracing the mask one more time, she stowed it in the bottom of her trunk and went to join to the holiday party. Mrs. Weasley probably needed help with Christmas dinner. As she walked down the stairs, Harry called her name. "Hey, are you okay?" He looked concerned. "You've seemed a little off lately."
"I'm fine," Hermione smiled as steadily as she could. "Does Molly need any help with dinner?"
Harry smiled. "She won't even let Ginny into the kitchen if that's what you're asking."
She laughed. "I'll take that as a no. Is anyone else here yet?"
"Nah, not yet. Remus and Tonks are supposed to be a quarter after four, and I think Hagrid's coming at six."
Hermione looked at the small table and grimaced. "And we're sure there's room for him?"
Harry laughed and was about to reply when the front door opened. Remus Lupin stepped inside, brushing the snow off his shoulders with a grim frown.
"Remus!" Harry moved forward. "You're here early!"
"Through no fault of my own," Remus muttered. He stepped aside to let a few people past him. Tonks walked past Hermione with a quiet "Wotcher, Hermione," and she was followed by Bill and Fleur Weasley, to whom Hermione gave polite smiles.
"Professor," Hermione finally questioned. "What do you—"
Remus grabbed the last person by the neck of his cloak and pulled him into the entryway. The stranger tripped on the floor mat and landed with a crack on his knees. Hermione winced at the sound and was about to chide her former-professor when the hood of the strangers cloak fell back. It revealed pointed features, a patrician nose, and platinum blond hair. Hermione's words died in her throat. The hood reveal Draco Malfoy.
Harry's wand was instantly pointed at the pureblood, but Tonks lowered it gently.
Remus cleared his throat and pulled two wands out of his pocket. "I found him wandering around Little Whinging, armed with two wands."
Tonks came to stand by her cousin "Surprisingly, he went willingly with us. Told us he had been looking for the Order for quite some time. Said something about wanting to help."
There was a thick, dubious silence in the room. Finally Bill coughed uncomfortably. "Two wands, you say?"
"Yes." Remus handed the two sticks to Bill and he studied them carefully.
"Hawthorn and vinewood," Bill replied.
"Vinewood?" Hermione whispered. Malfoy's eyes snapped to hers for the first time. His gaze bored into hers. That was her wand. Malfoy had brought her wand back. "Can I see that?" Hermione asked.
As the wand was placed in her hands, Hermione smiled with relief. The familiar pulse of magic shot through her fingertips, warming her entire body. Her gaze returned to Malfoy. "You brought my wand back," She said to him, the first time anyone had addressed the Slytherin.
"Hermione, what are you talking about?"
"What do you mean Malfoy brought your wand back?"
Malfoy's mouth turned up at the edges. Hermione found herself staring at his lips. Those lips she had traced over and over for months now: those lips that fit so well into the mask, so well onto her own lips.
"Good enough?" Malfoy asked her, his voice gravelly with misuse. She smiled at his turn of phrase.
Harry shook her shoulder. "Hermione! What's going on?"
She turned to face him and pulled him to the side of the small foyer. "Harry, maybe it's time I told you everything that happened in the trapdoor room at the Riddle House."