"You've been following me again, haven't you, Granger?!" Draco shouted at her.

"I have not, Malfoy! Now get off of me!" Hermione shouted back. She tried shrugging him away from her, but it was useless. The stealthy creeper that he was, he'd pulled her into an empty classroom like he'd done the year before. She was pinned against the wall, his overbearing stature looming over her and his hands gasping her upper arms tightly.

"You're lying."

"Why would I lie? Especially since it's obvious you're off your rocker?"

Draco's eyes turned to slits. "Don't call me crazy."

Hermione huffed. "Stop acting like it then."

Draco was at a cross between wanting to let her go and keeping her pressed between him and the wall behind her. He could just imagine what this looked like. A crazed fellow, hair tousled, clothes askew… Either he was viciously accosting the young woman before him or he was engaging in promiscuity with her. With a sigh, he let up. One hand dropped to his side while the other ran through his hair. Hermione massaged her arms as she removed herself from the wall. Draco was standing in the middle of the classroom now, his wide eyes scanning everything around him.

"What's wrong with you?"

Draco snorted. "With everything Potter's been saying you honestly don't know?"

Hermione blinked rapidly. "I just… I guess I just never thought of it affecting you so directly."

"Humph, brightest witch my arse." He grumbled as he turned to face her. "It does. The Dark Lord's return has affected me in more ways than you could ever imagine, Granger. And you want to know what's the worst of it? There's absolutely nothing that I can do about it. So, go on. Run to your precious Potter and Weasel and be ready to fight. Just know that your lives are a hell of a lot better than mine because at least you don't have to see the devil straight in the face."

Hermione didn't know what shocked her the most. After taking a second to think about it, it should've been the fact that Draco had actually seen Voldemort. But no, what surprised her out of everything was the fact that he had opened up to her of all people. Hermione didn't know what to do now. Did she say something? Did she just leave? Did she move forward to put a comforting hand on his shoulder?

In a last minute decision Hermione went with the last option. She curled her hand onto Draco's shoulder and his shock was palpable. "You won't have to deal with You-Know-Who forever. My friends and I won't let that happen."

"I don't need saving, Granger." Draco huffed, shrugging her hand off in the process. "Least of all from you."

Hermione frowned. She crossed her arms over her chest walked around to face him despite the fact he was actively avoiding her gaze. "We're not going to do it to save just you. The world needs our help now. You just so happen to be in it." A sigh escaped her then at the realization that what she said sounded a little meaner than intended. She reached out a hand to his face to force him to look at her. He wasn't even mad when she did. "It'll be okay."

"Sure it will." He replied unconvincingly. "Until your lot sees me as the bad guy."

"They won't." Hermione reassured. "So long as you don't give us a reason to."

Hermione woke up with a start. She was drenched in sweat and her chest was heaving. She expected a warm, protective hand to curve around her body and to hear a voice asking her what was wrong, but neither happened. Ron wasn't in bed. She looked to the night table on her right to find a note written in a messy hand. Apparently he hadn't wanted to wake her so he made breakfast, left some for her, and took Hugo with him to Harry's.

Normally there wasn't a day that Ron didn't wake her in the morning, but she knew why he didn't this time. Last night she was ill. Her head was filled with nothing but thoughts of Draco and it had made her weak at the knees, chest, back, everything. She hadn't felt so distraught about him since the last time she'd seen him. How one wordless encounter at a distance could make her feel so incredibly…feeble, she didn't know.

And now her dreams were back.

Dreams of their talks and times together had been a frequent occurrence after their breakup, but Ron always thought that they were memories of the war. She had those as well, but the ones with Draco were always far worse for her. At least she wouldn't have to explain her current condition to her husband.

Hermione slowly removed herself from her tangled bedsheets and recalled parts of her dream that she remembered –which was all of it. That moment was a cross between a normal dream and a nightmare for her. She considered it a pivotal turning point in her relationship with Draco because in some way he'd trusted her then. She had become his way of escape; a way to ensure that the dark deeds that plagued his home wouldn't plague his life. And from that moment he'd become an asset to the fight although her friends had no idea.

That's what made it a nightmare.

Hermione had felt guilty and still did. There Harry was, dealing with Voldemort slithering his way into his head every chance that he got, and she had a way of finding out exactly where the devil was. Not that it would've been a good idea to go after him right then and there, of course. They hadn't known about the Horcruxes then, and knowing now what they'd find out later, she knew that they would've been dead. But from then until now she felt like she should've said something. How could she have been more loyal to Draco than to her own friends? To the Order?

It made her ill all over again just thinking about it. She groaned internally and made her way back to her bed where she intended to spend the rest of her time until Ron and Hugo came back. She never made it back to bed, however, because an owl was pecking at her window. The bird was unrecognizable, but she let it inside anyway. The majestic brown owl perched itself on the back of the chair set before her vanity mirror and Hermione went over to detach the letter from him. If she hadn't been sick before, she certainly was now.

It wasn't signed, but she could recognize that handwriting anywhere. It was a short letter, but it held so much meaning for her that no one could truly understand.

Tea? At noon?

Please?

Hermione sighed. Even in a letter, she could never resist when Draco said please.

"It's not like I had my ear pressed against the door, Granger." Draco rolled his eyes. "All I know is that the Dark Lord wants something. That and he's going to make Potter get it for him."

Hermione bit at her nails. She and all the students had recently come back from the Christmas holiday. Just before that Harry had woke with a fright, claiming that Mr. Weasley had been attacked. He had indeed been and that night Harry had begun learning Occlumency from Snape. Hermione had wanted to pick Draco's brain about it ever since that awful night, but she hadn't gotten the chance until now.

"I don't understand how though." Hermione pouted. She sat down atop a desk across from Draco who had been doing the same the moment they had met up. Empty classrooms… It seemed like such a natural habit for them now that it was the first place either of them thought to meet. "It must be some kind of spell. The Imperious Curse perhaps? Harry would never give Voldemort anything. He'd fight to death before letting something like that happen."

Draco shrugged. "I'm sure if Potter died in the process the Dark Lord wouldn't mind."

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "That's not funny!"

"It wasn't meant to be."

Silence fell over them. Hermione was back to biting her nails again while Draco kept his gaze low. Nothing was heard for a while except for the occasional creaks and moans from the old castle.

"Is she in on it?" Hermione suddenly asked. "Umbridge, I mean."

"Not that I know of, no." Draco shook his head. "But with the way I hear her detentions go, she's the perfect candidate to be. I even hear talk she wants to form this little squad to keep tabs on the ins and outs of the school. First order of business to probably tag you and your lot."

Hermione's ears perked up. "Has she started recruiting for it?"

"Dunno," a smirk crossed his lips as he looked up at her. "Why? Interested in joining?"

"Merlin, no. But…I think you should."

"I beg your pardon?" Draco sputtered.

"It's the best way to keep tabs on her." Hermione explained. "You know, finding out what she's up to."

Draco huffed. "And what makes you think that's something I'm willing to do? We may be on neutral terms at the moment considering our circumstances, but that doesn't make me your puppet, Granger."

"I never said you were. It just seemed like you wanted to put an end to this war before it truly began just as much as I do."

"…Nice guilt trip."

"I do my best."

Astoria had a schedule that Draco knew by heart. As it was Wednesday, she would have breakfast, head to their bedroom to find an afternoon outfit to wear, meet up with a few girlfriends of hers, be back home before dinner, eat said dinner, and then enjoy the company of her husband either by conversation, reading, or, most likely, intimacy. It seemed fitting that the day she spent most of her time away from home would fall on one where Draco was yearning to see Hermione more than he'd ever wanted.

He didn't have to mention in the letter where to meet for tea. To be seen together in public, even now, would raise too many questions to prying eyes. Rita Skeeter came to mind. Although she wasn't as active as she used to be, every now and again her antics would be up in full force and that was the last thing he or Hermione needed. No, they would meet in an old, abandoned teashop that still held a workable stovetop down below the ground floor. Yes, after all these years the place was still abandoned. Draco knew this because he would sometimes take a stroll around the area (an equally abandoned little town) when he missed Hermione or felt the need for some type of comfort he couldn't find at home. Most recently he'd been there the week before.

And so, Draco embodied the habits of his wife as he tried on, threw off, modeled, scowled, and threw off again various articles of clothing until he felt satisfied with a simple pair of black pants, shoes, light jacket, and a dark navy blue button-up shirt on the inside. He sighed as he slipped on a watch and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked older with the appearance of crows' feet at the corner of his eyes. They were faint and "barely noticeable" as his wife often said when he griped about them, but regardless they were still there. Hermione on the other hand had looked as youthful and as shapely as ever.

With a sigh Draco left home. It was a quick two-second apparation and he found himself outside the teashop where many happy (and some not so happy) memories were shared despite its appearance. He stood before it for several moments before he noticed movement inside. He could recognize Hermione anywhere and slowly made his way beyond the door.

Hermione turned to the sound of the front door opening. Draco stood at a distance from her, admiring her slender form as she wrung her hands nervously together. She'd taken great care in how she'd dressed for him; he could tell. For one thing she was wearing makeup. Secondly she was wearing earrings that he'd bought her. He couldn't help but wonder what lie she'd told to Weasley about where she'd gotten them from.

"You haven't aged a day." Hermione said to him.

Draco smiled as he drew closer. "After all this time you're still much too kind."

Hermione chuckled. They were standing directly in front of each other now and Draco's heart was racing. Everything he knew he felt for the woman before him had always been in his head like a long-lasting memory. Now that he had her in his presence he felt happy and guilty at the same time. Happy because his recurring daydream had finally come true. Guilty because he was having thoughts that no married man should.

He cleared his throat as he began to rummage the inside of his jacket pocket. "I don't know if your tea preferences have changed." Draco said as he pulled out packet after packet of individually wrapped teabags. "So I've brought a variety."

Hermione let out a real laugh this time. It made Draco weak in the knees. "Ever prepared as always, aren't you? No need to worry though. Jasmine is still my favorite. I guess I'll…get the kettle ready."

She nodded more to herself than to him and led the way towards the back of the teashop. There was a door that led to the basement where all the cooking happened. The place was as dusty as she'd expected, but a quick wave of her wand on her part cleaned up everything nicely. A little rummaging through cupboards allowed her to find where the kettle was, but, to be honest, she hadn't needed to look that hard. She knew the teashop like the back of her hand and so she knew that the kettle they'd always used was in the top right cabinet furthest to the right. She just wanted something, anything to do to keep her gaze away from Draco.

Having him right in front of her was like a dream come to life. Hermione hadn't expected the flood of emotions she was feeling to hit her so hard, so fast, and all at once. Memories were to the forefront of her mind now and she remembered everything as vividly as though she'd lain in his arms last night.

Ugh, those arms… Hermione thought to herself as she filled the kettle with water. She remembered what it felt like to be held by them, to be caressed by his hands, to be pressed against his body when he held her tightly, when he kissed her…

"You should've stopped him from going."

It was the first thing Draco had said and the only thing that had been said between him and Hermione since they entered the north tower of the castle. It had been an agonizing half an hour –him standing at the railing and overlooking the castle grounds, her standing near the entrance with her hands cupped and a dazed expression on her face. What he said wiped the hazy feel over her as she caught on to the anger in his voice.

"I'm not Harry's mother." Hermione said sternly. "What was I supposed to do? Put him in chains so he could stay in the castle-?"

"You should've done something!" Draco shouted at her. He had wrenched himself away from the railing and was staring at her harshly. "My father's in Azkaban because of him! Because of you!"

Hermione's mouth dropped into a tiny "O," before her cheeks flushed with rage. "Oh, so it's my fault that your father decided to steal from the Department of Mysteries? Well, excuse me. I didn't know that I had to hogtie him as well as Harry to prevent that night from happening."

Draco's nostrils flared. "Watch it, Granger."

"Only if you do." She hotly replied. "Your father may be in Azkaban, but at least he's alive. Sirius, on the other hand… He isn't."

That bit of information Draco didn't know. He'd gotten word of what had happened to his father from his mother and demanded to see Hermione as soon as she could sneak away. He hadn't once thought of the other side and what kind of losses they had taken. He looked at her softer then, his frustration with everything draining away when he realized that she was just as emotionally exhausted as he was. The way her big brown eyes were wide and wet at the corners, her bottom lip trembling and occasionally catching between her teeth as she nibbled nervously on it, and the way she tightly held her hands together.

The girl was a wreck.

"Don't cry, Granger." Draco said as he took steps towards her. "You're stronger than that."

Hermione chuckled, wiped away a tear that had escaped and shook her head. "No, I'm really not."

Hermione didn't want to cry, and she especially didn't want to cry in front of Draco. Unfortunately the moment she had mentioned Sirius' name the realization that just the night before he had been killed really hit her. She couldn't help it. She just stood there like a blubbering fool as the blonde before her continued to get closer. Before she knew it a pair of arms had wrapped themselves around her and it only made her cry more. Draco was holding her tightly, his head resting atop of hers as it lay against his chest.

"I'm sorry about Sirius."

"I'm sorry about your father."

Draco snorted. "There's no need to lie."

Hermione raised her head up from his chest. There was a small grin lacing his lips as he stared at her. "I wasn't lying."

A full smile replaced the grin then. "You're two for two, Granger." He told her. Somehow his hands had migrated from holding her around her body and up to her face. He used his thumbs to wipe away her excess tears and then a hand to brush away loose strands of her hair. He looked at her then –really looked at her. Even with the excessive amount of crying she'd done, her eyes still shined brightly.

Draco didn't know why he'd done it. Quite frankly he hadn't even thought about it. It wasn't Hermione Granger that was shaking under his embrace, whose cheeks were wet, and who was staring at him with a quizzical look. It was only a girl. A young woman whom he comforted despite his utter discomfort in the art of consoling.

It had taken him only a second to place a kiss on her forehead. And while she stared at him with a furrowed brow he kissed her on the bridge of her nose. Her cheek came next. Her lips were last. And although they were last, it just so happened to be the kiss that lasted the longest.

Author's note: One of the things I loved about writing this were Hermione and Draco's conversations. Aside from fitting them into a timeline, I really wanted to show frustration on both their parts so I hope it showed.

Thanks for reading!

-WP