Chapter two – Today I gathered up my failures

Hermione stretched out in bed, rolling over and brushing pieces of hair from Remus's face. He was having nightmares again, she knew. She pursed her lips together gently as she watched him. Her fair skinned man, tossing about and whimpering like a little boy. She reached out and gently shook his shoulder, "Remus, wake up, please. It's just a dream."

Hermione was now an adult, no longer the gangly know it all teen that she'd been for so many years. She was battle worn and weary, 21 and 40 all at once. She pushed hairs out of his face as Remus slowly opened his eyes, looking at her warily. He was always like this when it got close to his moon time. Hermione enjoyed teasing him about that. It was worse than her period, she knew, but they both could complain of moon times and have a few moments of happiness, perhaps. If they were lucky. A few moments where neither had to admit that they were sleeping with the wrong person. Hermione leaned over and gave him a quick, chaste kiss before sitting up and pulling her robe over her shoulders.

She had observed an almost lemming like attitude with what was left of the Order. She'd hooked up with Remus, though they both knew they were replacements. He was her Harry, and she was his Tonks. Ginny and Oliver had gotten together, and Neville and Cho, a rather unlikely pair, but one that seemed to work decently for the time being. It was as though they all needed someone who would miss them, just in case they did die on their next outing, mission, grocery stop. It was all a chance these days. They all knew it. It'd been getting worse. They all knew that, too. Hermione stepped into the shower turning the water on hot as she stood under it, the early sunlight peeking its fingers through the grimy window of the bathroom. She sighed and mulled over her plans for the day. Her fingers idly touched her collar bone, her other arm crossed over her chest as she closed her eyes for a moment. Remus had bitten her hard last night. So hard there was now a significant mark showing, and she could even point out which teeth were where. The idea of a werewolf biting her had freaked her out at first, but she'd eventually gotten past that. He wasn't in his moon time, and so he wouldn't actually do anything to her. She sighed and started washing her hair, her eyes closed as she did it all by heart now.

Today though, there would be something new for her. There was the ball. They needed information, and Hermione had volunteered to go in. She could pull it off. She wanted to. Was it the danger? The adrenaline rush? Maybe. She wasn't about to deny it. She really wanted to do it. She wanted to get the information, to do something useful. And Arthur would just tell her that she was doing something useful. She could repeat his lecture by heart these days, and often did whilst he was giving it, before stomping off to sulk. She was tired of being cooped up in this damn creepy house with only the same people month after month, year after year. She'd watched them all leave and come back, sometimes. Then there were ones who didn't come back. Who she never saw again; those ones who they were never sure what happened to them, because they couldn't go around asking people. Hermione felt a lot more pity for Sirius when he'd been stuck in this house as well. She could relate, very well. They'd kept her in the house for years now. Because she was the only one who'd survived out of the trio.

She shut the water off and stepped out, grabbing a towel and drying herself off. She heard Remus open the door, but didn't react. She just kept drying, pretending not to have noticed. When he saw the mark on her collar bone, he stopped her, his fingers tracing over it as he hugged her and apologized silently. He had bit her after he'd stopped crying – when they'd both tumbled into bed and just fucked to get it out of their system. She'd scratched holes into his back, and he'd bitten bruises into her chest. And this, the next morning… they apologized, they touched, they tried to pretend it wouldn't happen again.

But then someone wouldn't come home.

Hermione pushed him away and continued getting dressed, putting on a cheery face, even though it was obviously faked. She had to try, sometimes, at least. "What do you want for breakfast? We could have omelets; Ginny went out to get some eggs yesterday." Remus smiled at her, his smile much weaker and with more sadness in it.

"Omelets would be lovely, dear." He kissed her cheek as she slinked out of the bathroom and continued getting dressed. Remus turned on the water, stripping and standing in the stream as he stared hazily at the shower wall.

Dating an ex student… what would Tonks have said, he wondered as he scrubbed his shoulders with an almost nervous air. He didn't know. All those years he thought he'd known her, and in all reality, he'd known nothing. But he failed to see this until she was dead and gone. Remus swallowed hard and looked at his arm – why was it hurting so much? Then he realized that he'd been squeezing it. Hard enough to bruise, most likely. Four little finger prints and a thumb wrapping around… he felt like his entire body was bruised these days. There was no end for it that he could see. Remus had long ago lost hope.

Hermione, what a woman… she was always creating new spells, coming up with new defensive measures, helping the Order in so many ways. There were only a few of the old timers left, from before. Before they'd gotten Harry. He tuned the water to a hotter setting and hissed slightly as the heat seared along his back. The Order was basically run by Harry's classmates, by Hermione's friends… Cho Chang, the Weasley twins, Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, Oliver Wood… all of them had turned out to be fine aurors. They'd make all of their parents proud.

They'd lost Molly a few years back. It'd been hard on the Weasley family. Remus really felt for them. Aruthur, the twins, Bill, Charlie and Ginny were trying to make the best of it. Percy was dead, though Remus couldn't say he was all too sad about that. He had turned on them, eventually. Maybe that's why Molly had been so careless? Who knew. Remus sure didn't.

There was a running list of the lost on the wall in the front hall. You had to sign in and out, to make sure that you were kept track of. It was the only way they could tell if people were dead or not, these days. Did they sign back in? If it'd been a few days, well, it wasn't best to get your hopes up. Hagrid had been out for weeks now; no one had seen him in ages, it seemed. Hermione was still stressing over it. Remus could tell by the way she scowled sometimes and bit at her bottom lip and stared at the ground and looked like she'd lost something and had just thought of another place to look for it.

He stepped out of the shower and grabbed the towel, his pale skin red in places from the heat of the water still. He hadn't meant to end up sleeping with Hermione. If there was anything in this world he had never once thought of, it'd been having any sort of relationship with Hermione other than strictly student and teacher. But he'd found her crying one night… just crying. And it had led to things. Remus always felt like he was taking advantage of her. Hermione still wouldn't admit she'd been a virgin, but she'd bled a little. And it wasn't because he was being rough, either.

He shook his head, as if to shake the thoughts and memories from his head, and started getting dressed. He could smell the omelets.


Hermione flipped the last omelet onto the plate and started cleaning up. With all her extra time, she'd finally learned to cook. The Order appreciated it, since few of the members really could. Though Bill was rather adept at it, he was hardly around. Neville was horrible, and wasn't allowed near the cooking utensils, and Ginny had no patience. She always tried to cook on higher settings than needed, and would burn the food.

Hermione liked the muggle way of cooking. She'd grown up cooking like this. Her mother baking cookies for special occasions… her hiding in a cabinet with the door cracked, watching as her mother busied herself, waiting for her to leave the cookie dough so she could 'sneak' in and her mother could catch her. She sighed, sitting down in front of the table. Oliver was absorbed in the latest report from Moody and trying to magic his fork to feed him at the same time. It wasn't going well, and after a few moments, the fork finally got his eye. Yelping and cursing, Oliver pushed the food away from him, and continued to read, not sparing Hermione a glance the whole while.

She pushed her food around on her plate, knowing she should eat. Later her and Ginny were going to fashion her outfit for the evening. She was going as a cougar, because the twins insisted that she'd never be able to be a tiger, or even a white one, because of her hair. She'd finally gotten them out of the room, but Ginny had agreed that a regal looking cat would be fine, no matter the colouing. 'Anything with that much air will fit in just fine,' she'd told her

Hermione didn't like the way Ginny looked at her. She looked at her like she was a ghost. The two girls had become even closer over the years, getting to know each other. Ginny had mourned with Hermione, and Hermione had talked with her, and they had just grown close without even trying. But that happened a lot these days with the Order members. Hermione forced down a few bites in a rush as she heard Remus coming down the stairs. She didn't need a lecture right now. In some ways, he was more a father than a lover. A keeper, that's what he was. Her keeper. She sighed again, but looked up with a smile to Remus as he complimented her food. "It looks wonderful, dear." He shoved a bite into his mouth a little mechanically and tried to swallow quietly, even if Hermione could see him gagging a bit on it. Poor Remus, she thought to herself, staring at her food. She wished silently that he wasn't so sad, but she knew that would never change until something bigger was taken care of.

Oliver finished reading the report and put it back on the table, pulling his food towards him. After a few bites, he looked to Hermione. "Oh, good." He chewed quickly, and gulped down his mouth full of food after a moment. "Just the person I wanted to see." Hermione cringed a little, and pushed her plate away from her, not even bothering to pretend to eat anymore. Remus turned and watched Oliver as he nibbled on some of the bacon. "I'll be escorting you tonight. You know who your main target will be, yes?"

Hermione nodded, feeling her stomach drop out from under her. Oh yes, she knew who her main target was.

Draco Malfoy.


Draco gritted his teeth together and bowed to the woman who was curtsying to him. "Miss Anifèe Dubell," the man who was announcing their names as he entered droned on. One after another, woman, after girl, after woman – dear lord, was that a woman? Draco closed his eyes. He was hot, his mask was messing up his hair, and his cape was heavy enough to make his back ache a little. Ha. It was only made to look weightless, he thought cynically to himself. "Miss Loreena Sinclair."

Finally, a break. After miss Loreena curtisied and batted her lashes at him, and returned to the gaggle of girls off to the side, Draco made his way out and away. He found Blaise, about neck deep in whiskey by this time, feeling up one of the escorts. "Blaise." At the sound of Draco's voice, the escort quickly scurried away, looking slightly bewildered and lost. Draco glared at Blaise and took his cup from him, downing the rest of it and tossing it. He stood on the balcony next to Blaise, looking out over it with his sour attitude building by the second.

"Draco, lovely to see you. My, aren't you pretty tonight?" Blaise leaned onto Draco a little heavily, and Draco consequently pushed him away in agitation.

"Stop it, Blaise. Take those damn savior pills already." Savior pills were their little nickname for medicine that would quickly lower one's alcohol levels. Draco had enjoyed as a kid selling them to muggles and watching the fun. Blaise muttered to himself and sighed as he fumbled in his pocket.

"You're no fun." He looked longingly over to where the escort had run, the boy's red hair making him easily distinguishable from the crowd. "He was a good kisser." Blaise did feel a little guilty for what he'd done. But it's not like him and Draco were dating, or ever had been. He knew how possessive he could be sometimes, though. Especially when it came to him. Blaise swallowed the pills and leaned his back against the balcony's railing, his eyes closed. He could feel his senses clearing as he breathed in and exhaled slowly a few times. The only bad thing about the savior pills was the slight disorientation afterwards. After the effect was full, or close enough, Blaise turned to Draco. "Find anyone?" His voice was a little slurred, and would've sounded sensitive, were it not for the stupidity of those damn pills.

"No. Mother likes Nerina Tique." His mother was going on and on about 'Nerina, what a pretty girl – Draco, isn't she just darling?' He was going to puke if she mentioned once more what a wonderful family Nerina had, or all that land Nerina's uncle owned, or what about that brewery that her grandfather on her father's side had started? Draco ground his teeth a bit and glanced to Blaise. "Any luck for you?" Nerina was also a redhead. He couldn't stand redheads.

"No. But there's a lot of pretty men here." Blaise cast Draco a side-long glance, smiling faintly. There was, of course. Blaise was too busy noticing the men, and not the women he was supposed to be. He'd danced with a few, not nearly as many as Draco had, but enough to look like he was doing something and actually trying. Blaise was just happy that Voldemort hadn't shown up. He was just… creepy.

Draco turned slowly around. His mother was waving at him frantically, almost jumping up and down. The feathers of her swan outfit were flaying about wildly with her movement. Oh yes, he was going to puke. She was standing next to a woman and talking to her excitedly, still motioning for him to come over as they talked. She didn't seem enthralled by his mother either, and she looked uncomfortable in her settings. Great. Some younger daughter of some rich, stupid, low-life, but pureblood, family. Like the Weasley's, but with money. He bared his teeth and hissed at Blaise as he turned to him before walking to his mother, "Save me." He put on a very obviously fake and forced grin as he approached.

"Dear, dear, you must meet this young lady, she's gorgeous! And she's really intelligent, dear, and I know how you like that—" Draco scowled a bit— "So come now, dance! Here's a new song starting up!" With that his mother quickly placed his hand in hers and ushered them to the dance floor with hasty little movements.

Her hand was sweaty. Was she that nervous? Draco sighed and placed his hand on her waist, feeling her flinch a little, and holding his other up for the slow dance that ensued. Of course. He'd been avoiding the slow dances like the plague, and he gets nailed with one now. Oh well.

She was dressed as some sort of feline, that much he could tell. Her hair was curled and twirled elegantly down her shoulders, and he could see something in it sparkling when she turned a certain way. Her outfit was a slimming black dress that also glittered in the light a little, just enough to catch the eye. She was underdressed for the general crowd, he noted. But not in a bad way. Her eyes were like honey and chocolate mixed together. He was so busy looking over her, studying her, that he didn't even notice the gentle prod at his mind's barrier. His arms moved naturally to wrap around her waist after a moment, the song slowing down more. He could see couples out of the corner of his eye kissing and dancing. He also caught Blaise talking to that redheaded boy again. Bastard, he thought lazily.

Hermione pushed a little more, filtering through recent thoughts and memories. She needed solid information, she knew. They were trying to figure out if Voldemort knew about Grimmauld place or not. This would seem trivial, but the fact of the matter was that they had no where else to go. It was the only place with such protection, and no one wanted to leave it. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Oliver, his mask not covering his hatred, as he watched them dancing. Oliver was there with only one purpose: to slow them down so she could get away if it came to that. Hermione hated thinking of it that way, but that's how it was. She pushed a little more. Flashes of Blaise laughing, his mother, painted red by the irritation in the memory – talking with his father and baring his teeth. Talking to Voldemort. 'You need to get married, Draco.' Hermione pulled back at that thought, looking at him with more interest. They hadn't known what the ball was for – though the Malfoy's were extravagant, they hardly threw balls without a reason of some sort. And that was it. They were trying to have Draco pick up a woman. Hermione flushed a little under her mask.

Draco caught the flush out of the corner of his eye, glancing back to Hermione just in time for the song to end. Well, that had been easy. Draco bowed and she curtsied, awkwardly, when he pulled back. "And your name, miss?" He asked her politely, pale grey eyes dancing a bit. There was something about her, about the way she moved, that was incredibly familiar.

"Miss Ellie Langt, sir." She wasn't looking at him, she was looking at his feet. He couldn't catch her eye again, so he shrugged lightly to himself and bowed again.

"Thank you for the dance, Miss Langt. Have a good evening." And with that he moved away.

Hermione let out a slow exhale of breath, clenching her teeth as she walked back to Oliver, who was currently getting eyed by Blaise from across the hall. He was twitching nervously and wringing his hands together, trying to move to a place where Blaise couldn't see him. "Why they ever let him have alcohol is beyond me," Oliver muttered, moving behind a pillar and looking to Hermione.

"Anything?"

"Yes. I don't think he knows." Draco's most recent thoughts would've shown up, and she was fairly sure Voldemort being that excited, about having found them, would have been something he would've remembered, or at least heard about. All his recent coming and goings were fairly dull rich pompous things.

"Good." Oliver let out a sigh of relief, and looked at her. "So you want to prance around a bit more, and then we can go?" Oliver didn't like feeling like this, like he was so watched and under such close scrutiny.

"Sounds good." Hermione moved back to the main floor with more grace this time. She was relaxed a little more. The hard part was over. She grabbed some punch, and stood to one side, watching Draco as he got dragged into another dance by his mother. She could see him swearing as he swept by her, his fists clenched at his sides.

She had to admit he was handsome. She didn't like to, but she would, at least. She adjusted her dress a little and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Draco hadn't been directly responsible for any of the war happenings, but Hermione still held a hell of a grudge against him for his father's involvement. She wasn't one who liked to judge blindly, but the entire Malfoy line was just shit in her opinion. They had no backbones, and it was always them over anyone else. They just didn't care.

Hermione drifted about for the next half hour or so. She noticed that Draco and Blaise were away from the crowd more and more. She saw him drink a little, watched as Draco's feet moved a little more off balance. Wondered if, and hoped secretly, that he would fall over. But to no avail.

Hermione turned back to the punch table for one last drink. Oliver was making puppy dog eyes at her that resembled a dog who very much needed to go to the bathroom and wanted out now.

"Mmm. Miss Langt. You're going to dance with me again." The cocky bastard was looking at her, standing behind her. Hermione looked over her shoulder at him, eyebrows raising. She knew she shouldn't, she knew she should claim feminine problems and run off. But what did she do? She played.

"Oh really?" She was almost coy. About as close to coy as Hermione Granger could get. She wasn't about to pass up the chance for some more information. And now that he was a little tipsy, it was even more likely that she could pull out something useful.

Draco had been watching her, ever since their dance. He'd see a flash of black out of his eye, and look, find her talking to someone idly. See her walking with more poise and decision. God, it was sexy, he had to admit, for a woman. His mother had said she was intelligent… but Draco didn't really want intelligent. He wanted someone stupid enough to believe him when he said he wasn't with Blaise in the least. Someone who wouldn't see it.

But he couldn't stop thinking about her. Her eyes got him the most. Those piercing, almost accusing eyes, coated in honey. Like a fly trap. And Draco didn't like being the fly, generally, but she was so intriguing to him, he couldn't help it. Fly or not, he was going to see what was under all that honey she was heaping on.

"Yes." He took her hand and pulled her out. Slow dance. Again. He was okay with that though, and a little thankful. His mother was jumping up and down almost in her seat, happy as all hell to see him willing pick a girl to dance with. His father was rolling his eyes and talking with some of the gentlemen who's daughters were in attendance. His father, always looking out for a deal where he could make more money at their loss. Draco appreciated his skill, but he still loathed the man in general.

Hermione was trying at his barriers again. With the combination of his sense of security and the alcohol, it was easy to go further into his mind and memories than it had been before.

And that's when she caught it: an evening encounter, biting, scratching, a flash of olive skin and a moan, a heady scent and hands touching at places she hadn't thought about in years, in ways she'd never thought about, really. Blaise's dark, dark eyes staring so hungrily, Draco's heart racing and his hands touching and feeling and his body moving up against Blaise. Blaise on him, in him, touching him --

Hermione gasped loudly, pulling her mind out of Draco's so quickly that she physically stumbled back. Her face was red. Her mask was slightly askew and she fixed it with trembling hands. Draco was gay, her mind told her frantically as she still stood, panting a little and staring at him like a wild horse. She'd felt what Draco had, for a moment there. The intoxicating headiness and the deep breaths and the sweat. She stuttered out finally, "I-I've got to g-g-go." And she was off, running out with Oliver following behind her, a dazed look on his face. What the hell?

Draco was peeling after her the moment she left. She was still thinking about Draco. Gay, gay, gay. She didn't mind gay. But Draco? Really. Maybe he's bi, the other side, the more rational side, of her mind reasoned. But it didn't matter on the specifics. He'd done stuff with Blaise, Blaise for Merlin's sake!

She was running so quickly, she didn't bother to pick up the hair clip and shoe that she lost in her dash. Oliver, tailing behind her, didn't take the time either. If she thought reason for there not to be time left to spare, well, he wasn't going to risk it.

And so Draco found on the ground her abandoned cat mask, a few of the whiskers bent, and a hair clip, sparkling desolately on the ground in the faint moonlight. Langt, he thought to himself. Ellie Langt.

He would find her. He had to. There was something about her. And if he had to marry someone… why not her?

A/N: So, here's chapter two. Enjoy. Chapter three is very long and still WIP. Hopefully I'll get some work done on it today.