There was grime under Hermione's fingernails, scabs on her knuckles and blood crept out of the ones she picked at as she sat on her cot. She was fiddling with everything, one of the many scabs on her thumb, her unreasonably itchy shirt, and the coin that pressed cool on her chest. It was smooth as she ran her fingers over it and she rubbed at it roughly, as if to make it even smoother against her calloused skin. It was charmed, a sign to tell her when the others were ready, and it had been telling her for the past few minutes that Victor was all set to go. The other coins that fashioned her necklace lay warm, waiting for her signal to the others.
This was it. After two days of planning and making sure everything was in order for the attacks, Hermione was going to lead an assault on the enemy. And as her eyes roamed over her room and landed on the corner of her bed, her stomach dropped.
Her nerves were still rattled, her nostrils still filled with Malfoy's breath, and she still felt the overwhelming weight of his stare on her back as she'd discussed procedures with the others. No one appeared to notice how she kept balling her hands into fists to hide the sudden shivers that made her fingers rattle. No one really was bothered when she rushed out of the tent after wrapping up the meeting, and no one questioned her retreat to her own personal sanctuary.
And so, she'd plopped down on her cot and lay there, momentarily paralyzed with relief at finally getting away from the ominous shadow that had stalked her. She had too many things to think about, to do, and she had to keep her focus as it zigzagged, swerved away from her.
There was way too much at stake, to be thinking of a man of all things. And it wasn't even Victor who was occupying her mind.
His personal letters lay heavy in her pocket.
She had closed her eyes, trying to sleep away the ebbing headache that had now become a part of her life, when that familiar scent of nostalgia entered her tent. Maybe, just maybe, it was her mind playing tricks on her again. Or, at least, she wished this to be so.
"Sleeping on the job, are we?"
She needed to wish for things much harder, it seemed.
Suppressing a groan and holding back every eager nerve that was just waiting to jump ship, Hermione opened her eyes and jolted. Malfoy had somehow managed to reach her bedside without making a peep, and he was making to sit on her cot. Instantly, her legs shot out to take up the space he was eyeing.
A small grin tilted his inviting lips and he shook his head at her immature display.
"What do you want?" She asked, clearing her throat to grab his attention away from her bare feet. He ran his gaze up the length of her lying body, searing through her clothes no doubt, until it reached her face, which by then was burning with a fiery heat that had her lightheaded. She squirmed and began to sit up, as if that would deter him from continuing the stream of thoughts she could almost see forming in his eyes.
Whatever he wanted, she sensed she didn't want to know anymore.
"To sit, for one," he answered coolly, glancing back at the corner of her makeshift bed before brushing her feet away with a stern hand and sinking into the spot meant for those feet now left awkwardly angled. She pulled them up to her, not wanting a single part of her to be within miles of him, but settling on a few feet.
"And?" She prodded, wanting this to end fast.
He pursed his lips and, without consent, her eyes hovered over them and the gleam they took under the flickering light of her lamp.
His lips were now moving.
"I was hoping to keep this new operation as hush-hush as possible," Malfoy replied, and her eyes snapped up to his own. They sparked with amusement, and she flushed hard at being caught. Thankfully, he spared her a comment on her newest fascination.
"Of course," Hermione commented with agitation. "But we can only keep it so quiet. We need people to actually carry out the attacks, but the lower levels think we're going out to gather supplies."
"I meant," Malfoy started, sighed, and his lips vanished under his teeth for a moment. "Maybe we shouldn't let Kingsley know."
Hermione was taken aback, suspicious. "Why not?"
"Well, his condition for one. You know he'll want to accompany us and I think he would be a nuisance," Malfoy confessed without a bit of sensitivity.
"You're kidding."
"As much as I love to toss a high-brow joke above your bushy head, no I am not. I think we'd be better off not having to worry about whether or not he's okay."
Hermione tried not to snarl at his consistent sarcasm. "Malfoy, you do know he's going to be our Minister once this is all over, right?"
"More the reason to keep him here, where he can get better, don't you think?"
She paused, not wanting to agree. Her mouth was agape, ready to argue, but she couldn't really find one that would top his. Hermione wanted Kingsley to be as safe as possible. But she didn't like keeping things from him, not when he was one of the few people she trusted wholly.
"I get it. You don't trust me," Malfoy muttered, frustration plain on his face as he shifted on her bed, jiggling her out of her thoughts.
Hermione frowned, pulling her legs closer to herself. "No," she stopped, bit her lip. She could feel his gaze, waiting and she could feel herself waiting. Her mind reeling, reminding her of who she owed her life to. Her throat was tight against the words and her hands curled around her calves to keep them from roaming towards him as they craved to.
"No, it's not that. It's not that."
"So you do trust me?" He prodded. Her averted eyes, keen on the wrinkles in her sheets, dared a glance up at him. The light made the gray of his eyes turn pure silver, a gleaming liquid that funneled into her and scooped out the words he needed, she needed to hear.
"I have to, don't I?"
As she watched, that molten silver hardened and she felt more than saw Malfoy's weight lift off her bed as he roughly stood up. Yet, the cot felt heavier than ever without him.
"No, you don't. I just want you to," Malfoy answered remotely. He took one last look at Hermione, at the unsure curve of her brow and the chaos that swirled in the brown of her iris.
"Just consider what I said, Granger," were his parting words. And even after he'd left, Hermione couldn't bother to move her legs back into the place he'd occupied.
There was a rush of air as the tent flaps opened and interrupted Hermione's thoughts once more.
Without a second thought against it, a name flew out. "Malfoy?" she asked, her head snapping up to catch a puzzled Neville standing at the entrance to her quarters.
"No?" was his unsure reply. "Um, 'Mione, isn't it about time we started going, it's already six. Didn't Victor give the heads up yet?"
Hermione's embarrassment was evident in the speed in which she hopped off her bed and the stutter in her voice as she gathered her wand. "Of course, sorry. Yes. He did, we're good to go. Off, then," she muttered as she brushed past Neville and into the open. She didn't want to be alone with him any more than need be with the look he was giving her.
The air was stagnant and bitter against her face, slapping away any distractions that were swimming in her mind. It was time to leave, and the others who'd been assigned stood in wait for her. She made sure to avoid eye contact with Malfoy, who stood awkwardly detached from the main, usual group of Neville, Luna, George, and three other recruits Hermione had deemed trustworthy for the mission.
Without another word, just a simple nod on her part to assure everyone was there and ready, they apparated into the center of Sydney.
A distinct, muted pop was all that announced their arrival in a sliver of an alleyway. They were all quiet as Hermione mapped out in her mind their exact location, their routes already predetermined. They were just waiting for her to give the all clear.
And it never failed to disturb her how empty the streets now were. Her eyes swept over the area, a street that was meant to be swarming with human life now dismal and dead. The stores themselves that lined up against the road all informed Hermione that they were closed, with no promise of when they would open. The pubs were silent, no more slurred arguments or boasts of laughter. The sidewalks only company was a wandering crumpled piece of paper that drifted with the distant breeze.
Sydney was a corpse of a city, just another cemetery that the deatheaters kept heavy watch on.
Every once in a while, she would catch a glimpse of a moving curtain from the homes above the surrounding shops. Pale figures, distant from the sun, quickly hid behind the safety of that heavy cloth, not wanting to be seen or known to even exist. Some of these curtains blew in the wind, windows blasted open by intruders.
Magic, or no magic, these people were not leaving their houses in fear of their lives. And even the security of their homes would not save them.
Momentarily, Hermione's mind wandered. Her parents could easily be hidden behind those fluttering curtains. They could easily be just yards away from her.
"Everything alright?" Someone whispered behind her, making her skin tingle under the wave of breath that fell on her back. She blinked, focused, and decided not to look back at Malfoy.
"Yes. Tell the others to move."
"Like they'll listen to me," he muttered, sour, but even then he went about doing what she asked. The distant sound of retreating feet let her know her groups of three had dispersed. No one else had wanted to deal with Malfoy, so she'd agreed to take him. Apparently, she was the only one who felt any kind of "trust" besides Luna, who also remained.
This was it.
Her fingers finally grazed the surface of the other coins on her necklace, and they quickly chilled under her touch. The others would know to get ready now. When she came to Victor's, a distinctly bronze coin, it burned against her thumb.
They were on the move, which meant she needed to do the same.
"Let's go," she ordered quietly. Glancing back down the alley, she watched as Luna and Malfoy readied their wands and all three cast a disillusionment charm on themselves. The brevity of their invisibility had them racing as quietly as possible across the street to the targeted building: City Hall.
It was an unsuspecting establishment, camouflaged by its mundane cubic shape and plain shades of white that covered it. The only thing to notify strangers to its importance was the board stating "CITY HALL" plastered above the doorway. No doubt it was large in both height and width and administrative in nature, but it could have easily passed for a business.
Except, there were a few black figures sweeping back and forth in front of its steps, as if in guard: the first obstacle.
But they wouldn't be for long. There was a quiet whisper of two voices, the deatheaters' ears twitched and their bodies went rigid, and as they began to collapse, invisible arms grabbed and pulled them away. The first group had taken their prisoners.
This was Hermione's opening and she burst forth, knowing the other two in her group followed close behind. She went for the large doors and without caring to check if they were even locked, she demanded them to open under the point of her wand. It was either already unlocked, or they had relied too heavily on their guards, because it quickly submitted to her.
She opened one discreetly, the ice of her charmed bracelet telling her the second group had verified the first room to be empty- at least from what they saw through the windows. And it seemed they were right. She peered in, and was greeted with vacant entrance chairs and a cluster of dead flowers cowering over a vase on a glass table. There weren't any human forms, but she could hear in the distance the murmur of gathered deatheaters.
When she looked back to check behind her, the jarring features of Draco Malfoy's face overwhelmed her. And so, the charm had worn off, much to her shock.
He seemed to be smiling at the flustered state of her cheeks.
Toying with her even more, he put a finger to his lips before sliding past her in the doorway. Luna's visible form soon followed, acknowledging Hermione's red face with curiosity but thankfully keeping quiet about it.
She shook her head, trying to get everything in order before she entered the room. This was no time to think about Malfoy's cheekbones or the annoying strut of confidence in his step as he passed her.
No time at all.
Her bracelet was warm. They were ready. She needed to be ready.
Her hand strained tight against her wand as she closed the door behind her, creeping to where Luna was, opposite Malfoy at the doorway to the second room. The sound of people talking grew louder and, from the stern look on Malfoy's face, Hermione knew they were close.
She followed his gaze inside and in the shadows of the darkened meeting room, she saw the black wisps of cloaks move about. One in particular was pacing, and as her eyes rose to meet the face, her spine curled. Dolohov, skin pale as death and a deformed scowl that was permanent on his face, stormed about the room as the Carrow siblings watched in front of a group of followers. They seemed to be waiting for him to speak, and he wouldn't disappoint.
"The Dark Lord is impatient," he muttered harshly, snapping a dark look at Amycus as the other deatheater opened his cracked lips to speak. He quickly shut them.
"He's not even around anymore," Amycus's sister, Alecto, interrupted anyway; her shrill voice grating on Hermione's ears.
"Is it true, that the wand is-"
"SHUT IT," Dolohov hissed, glaring once more at the Carrows, who snarled right back at him even as their bodies cowered away. "Have you not learned? You do not doubt your master. Whispers spread, my comrades. And when he does return, my head will not be served on a platter because of your insolence."
There was a brush of blonde out of the corner of her eye and Hermione caught Malfoy trying to signal her, the scowl of failure on his face vanishing once she'd noticed him. He jut his chin past the targets, to the window behind them, and as if reading his mind, her bracelet heated even more so than usual.
In a haze of a moment, there was a loud clash and the back window behind the meeting blasted glass everywhere. Deatheaters began to run for the exit, wands aimed at a redheaded George as he came barreling through the opened window, followed by those in his and Neville's group. Those that tried for the doorway met Malfoy, Hermione, and Luna as they sprung up from their spots to attack.
There was a rain of green, flashes of red and purple stinging her eyes as she moved to take down members that tried to get away, or attack. She lost track of who was where, her attention honed on finding Dolohov, who'd disappeared from view the second of the blast.
Hermione hopped over a body, stumbling over an arm that lay limp against the concrete floor. There was the distinct smell of burnt hair and flesh, but she refused to look for the source as she rushed through the clusters, the small outbreaks of fights that surrounded her. She was turning into other rooms, where more soldiers clashed heads, and finally in one she spotted the dark, stringy strands of Antonin Dolohov.
He still made her skin crawl, the sneer that consumed his face reminded her too clearly of the attack at the Department of Mystery, the attack at the café. Both times, he'd aimed to kill her and without an ounce of regret. But, of course, who was to expect regret from a deatheater?
She swallowed the acidic taste of hatred that filled her throat, watching as Dolohov fought against one of her own. A flicker of blonde was all it took to realize who it was. And since the hair was far too short to be Luna's, and reflexes far too aggressive, it had to be Malfoy. And the fight was tense, a sharp angle to both of their features as they shot and dodged each other's curses. Again, Hermione found herself confused, at odds with her feelings as she watched a man she'd taught herself to hate fight to protect and preserve the rebellion, and her, ideals.
Hermione Granger was finding herself speechless, once again with Malfoy as the cause.
There was a distracting thud beside her and she hopped away from the deatheater- a Carrow- falling to the ground. Neville was standing above the body, his wand still poised in case the witch wasn't completely paralyzed. It turned out, Alecto's curse had rebounded.
She was dead.
Neville showed no hesitation before sprinting off to help the others, leaving Hermione to deal with the few other, less confident deatheaters that filled the room. It didn't take long for her to take them down, some paralyzed from her shots, some dead from their own. Leaving less and less in the way of her and the main target.
She was just finishing off a lower rank when she noticed a movement in the shadows. There was a small boy, frail and for all the world looking like he belonged in the security of Hogwarts. Not here in the midst of a battle. But his sleeves cropped short showed the marking of a deatheater, a cursed tattoo of a skull that should have scared him witless. And he did look unnerved, the hand that held his wand shaking erratically as he rose it. He was pointing it at someone, though he didn't look at all ready to shoot.
She followed his unsure, hollowed eyes, and realized with a sinking feeling who he was aiming for.
Malfoy's face was scrunched in concentration, small clusters of his blonde locks stuck to his forehead as he fought off green bolts that came at him.
But she didn't see this face, not really. Her heart was in her throat, screaming there, and her vision went white as his skin and then there he was, so much like he was just then, fighting against someone that she couldn't see. But he was so much younger, and his face so much less composed. He looked near tears. He was that small boy, frail and unsure. Afraid.
"Draco!" She shouted and the man she'd hated turned to look at her, confused as the ray of green came at him from his blindside, slashing him in the chest just as Dolohov gave a blow of his own.
And then he was falling, and she was being pulled with him.
Her blood was pulsing in her ears as she struck her wand harshly through the air, sending both Dolohov and the unknown boy through the air and knocking them into the opposite wall. She was racing through molasses, seeing not with her eyes but with her mind the small boy that had been Draco Malfoy in school.
He was on the floor, bleeding as water rushed all around him. She was screaming his name, and her vision was flooded with tears. Everything shook as she ran towards him, falling beside him and grabbing at him. He wasn't responding to her calls, he had his eyes squeezed shut against the pain, and she was looking helplessly at the trails of gashes all over his body.
She barely realized Snape was standing behind her, demanding her to leave.
"Draco? Draco, please. Look at me. Please," she sobbed, desperate as Snape grabbed her arms and pulled her up and away from his student. His eyes were heavy when they landed on her before turning back to Malfoy, his wand already moving gracefully to heal the wounds her own friend had inflicted.
But she couldn't leave.
She needed to see his eyes open. She needed to see him give her that ridiculous, obnoxious, egotistical smile of his that was always followed with some stupid remark about her face.
But he wouldn't even say her name.
"Malfoy?" She called, heaving as she slide over to the crippled form on the floor, trying hard not to fall into hysterics as she took him in. There was no blood covering his body, no water on the floor, no indications of the bathroom she'd seen so vividly. There was concrete beneath her legs, and his body was clean. His eyes, though, were just as sealed shut.
Her hands hovered for a moment, rattling in the air in fear, before clutching onto his shoulders. Hermione pulled him onto her lap, hands rushing over his chest to check for a heartbeat, anything. She didn't feel anything. She pressed her ear to it, but she couldn't hear anything past her own racing pulse as it howled inside of her. She was having a hard time breathing, unreasonably so. She was drowning again, and that gray dream was threatening to enter her reality and swallow her whole.
"Say something, damn it," she heaved, her voice shaking just as badly as her hands.
It didn't even pass her thoughts that others might be watching.
"…hair," came a distant groan, suppressed under her heavy breathing. She jumped in her skin, looking up to see Malfoy flinch when her hands pressed too roughly against his chest.
"Your hair isn't something I'd like in my mouth, Granger," he coughed heavily and the nervous laugh she'd bottled up inside came flooding out. Without consent, her hands were reaching for his face.
She was doing a lot of things without her own consent. A stranger in her body, Malfoy was a puppeteer, unknowingly conducting her every move.
Malfoy was starting to register everything, and a look of pure confusion came over him as he watched Hermione's relieved face smile down at him.
"You tried to save me," he murmured, almost afraid to say it. Her smile froze as she looked at him, really looked at him. His face was covered in small cuts from the glass he'd fallen on, little dashes of blood bright against the pale complexion of his skin. His eyes were watching her watch him, that same silver gray that appeared behind her eyelids when she fell asleep.
"You deserve to be saved," she replied cautiously, swallowing hard against the sand collecting in her throat as Malfoy's eyes hardened, determined. There was a burning on her hand as his own grabbed at it before it could escape the home it'd made on his cheek, a heaviness on her shoulders as he sat up; too close to her. And then she feared for her life, more than she would if Voldemort himself stood pointing a wand at her head and the kiss of death ready to be delivered. Because she knew now more than ever that the scenes between them that haunted her were not dreams. They were not figments of her poor imagination. They were memories, but from when she didn't know, and she didn't want to know.
It scared her so much, she couldn't find her heart where it should have been in its cage. It had freed itself, and it was running away from her.
And the only warning she was given was the sigh of pleasure from that wild heart as Malfoy's lips imprisoned her own.
A/N: (keep forgetting about these!) So, hope you are enjoying thus far, and I just wanted to report a itty bitty hiccup on my part: George Weasley is the one accompanying Hermione's group in Australia, not Fred. This may seem unimportant but it's my way of saying everyone that died before "The Forest Again" is still dead. So, unfortunately, Fred is no longer with us, and I didn't want a corpse running around in my fanfic.
Anywho! That aside, please let me know what you think! I personally thought this chapter was choppy, and I might go back and fix it a bit... but I might be too lazy. Whoops.
