Draco didn't know how long it had been, but his former professor was a third of the way through the book he had been reading. He could see the night sky outside of the small window, it was dark enough to suggest an hour well into the evening but without any visible stars. There was a tension in the room, an unspoken battle of wills. He knew that the shabbily dressed old man was simply biding his time, waiting for him to say something; to ask about Granger, or the Order, or that damned book of his. It was the way he was holding the book, the distinct way he was very pointedly not looking at him, Draco could just feel it- and he would not give him the satisfaction.
Refusing to lose the competition he hadn't even agreed to partake in, he began to count the wide, wooden planks which made up the floor- of which there were twenty-seven (and a half, really, as one had been cut to meet the wall). Then he turned his attention to his own nails, scraping every bit of dirt out. When they were acceptably tended to, he studied the quilt on the bed, picking at a frayed seam until the threads were even looser than before. After that he tried to count the tiny blue flowers that formed stripes along the fading wallpaper, but gave up around two hundred and thirteen. He tried anything to keep from engaging with Lupin. He even briefly attempted to recall of his mother's face. He tried to remember what it looked like when she smiled, how the corners of her eyes crinkled and her cheeks turned a faint pink, but it had been so long since she'd smiled and the struggle to remember her only drove him further into his mind, which was a grey and fogged place he most definitely didn't want to be.
There was nothing left to count, nothing left to pick at, nothing to continue to distract him, and he was struggling to keep his eyes open. Finally he sighed through his nose. "Alright then, what's the book about?" he asked, as though Lupin had been begging him to ask for hours and he was finally giving in if only to do him a favor. But instead of smiling, or gloating over the win, Lupin jumped, startled by Draco's voice. It was a genuine reaction, almost as if Lupin had actually forgotten where he was or what he was supposed to be doing.
Lupin cleared his throat. "Oh," he said, his voice rough and dry from inactivity. He tilted the book foward, looking at the black and red cover, his brow furrowing with thought for a quick moment. Then, he gave out a quick, faint smile; a small victory for finding the right words. "It's just about this muggle leader who sought absolute power, who manipulated his people with the idea of purification to get that power, the atrocities he committed in trying to do so, and how it ultimately all came crashing down around him." He shrugged, a small movement with a much bigger meaning. "You know, nothing too unfamiliar."
Draco's chest felt hollow, and his lungs suddenly emptied of air as Granger's words filled his head.
He's manipulating you, he's manipulating all of you! All he cares about - the only thing he's ever cared about - is absolute power!
A litany of questions rushed to his mouth but nothing came out. He tried to force them but it was useless, there were so many vying for attention that he couldn't even pick one out. He saw Lupin eyeing him carefully, gauging his reaction, and he didn't like it. Not knowing how else to react, he rolled his eyes.
"Brilliant," he mumbled sarcastically, shoving all of those questions and emotions back down his throat. He shifted in the bed until he was laying under the covers with his back toward Lupin. He'd only intended to feign sleep, but with minutes he found himself drifting off.
It was the smell of frying bacon that woke Hermione the next morning. She'd never been very big on bacon, or pork in general for that matter, as her mother liked to keep kosher. And while her father, who was very much not Jewish, usually happily humored her mother, he would also sometimes take Hermione out for breakfast and the two of them would indulge in pancakes slathered in sweet, sticky syrup and mounds and mounds of crisp bacon.
The room was bright, with the sun streaming in through the sheer curtains that hung over the window, and outside she heard the seagulls calling. She moved to stretch, but found a mass closer to her than she expected. Looking over, she saw that not only had Harry slept on the bed throughout the night, but Ginny had joined him as well, and the two of them were curled around each other on top of the covers.
She smiled, for a moment things were normal. She was just at the Burrow, spending the end of the summer with the Weasley's, excited about her final year of school. Everything that had happened to her felt almost like a horrible nightmare that she was just waking from, but just as she let out a breath and settled further into the warm blankets, a door slammed downstairs and she had a flash of Bellatrix's boots stomping toward her. She flinched and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself before sliding out from under the covers and quietly waking to the bathroom.
Turning both of the taps on, she ran warm water and splashed her face, trying her best to keep herself grounded. Her heart She reached for her toothbrush, her heart fluttering as her fingers wrapped around the wooden handle. She'd already brushed her teeth a handful a times in the nine or so hours she'd been there, but it still wasn't enough. As she returned the brush the cup and shut off the water, she heard rustling in the bedroom. Harry and Ginny were awake.
"Are you coming down for breakfast?" Ginny asked as Hermione re-entered the room. Hermione glanced from Ginny to Harry, the both of them looked so hopeful and happy to see her that she felt a small surge of inspiration and smiled.
"Yeah, I think I will."
"I'll go first," Harry said, and turned to Ginny. "So your mum doesn't… ya know." Ginny chuckled and playfully pushed him towards the door.
"Are you sure you're up for this?" Ginny asked, rubbing the top of Hermione's arm and giving her a sympathetic look.
Hermione's stomach twisted. Was this what it was going to be like now? Raised eyebrows and tight smiles, everyone walking on eggshells around her and treating her as some fragile porcelain doll? She bit her tongue and patted Ginny's hand. She knew she meant well, but she couldn't help thinking that Ginny wouldn't have been half as tentative if it were Harry or Ron she was talking to.
"I'm sure I'll be fine," Hermione reassured. Ginny led the way out of the room and down the hall. The closer they got to the stairs, the louder the voices and noises grew. Everything sounded as though it were happening both right next to her and no where near her at the same time; dishes clanging, Dean asking if there was more coffee, a chair sliding across the floor, a door opening, shutting, Ron greeting everyone. Hermione's heart jumped and she stopped just at Ginny hit the first step.
"Hermione?"
Her mouth went dry. "I have to use the loo," she said, "you go on." Ginny frowned but didn't argue. Ginny nodded and Hermione watched her retreat down the stairs before turning back towards the hall. The already narrow space seemed to be closing in on her and she stopped to rub her eyes, to tell herself that the room wasn't moving. After a few deep breaths she realized she was in front of the room that Draco was being held in. She stared at the door, wondering who was in there with him, what he was doing. I bet he wouldn't treat me like I was seconds away from shattering, she thought, much to her surprise. She shook the disconcerting thought from her head and hurried to the bathroom, lest the walls start breathing again.
The edges of the mirror above the sink were starting to oxidize, probably from all the salty sea air rushing in the through the small leaded window above the tub, which Fleur perpetually kept open. She felt like the mirror, which was once shiny and new and perfectly functioning, but was now tarnished and raw and exposed to the elements. Only the all mirror had gotten was the salt and the air and the oxygen; she'd gotten the brunt of war and the worst of humanity.
She touched the flaking edges of the mirror, then the bruise on her face. Her fingers ran over her cheekbone, but it didn't feel real. It didn't feel like it was her fingers, or her skin. Her fingers bent and she dug her nails into her flesh, pressing hard until she finally felt something, then gasped and pulled away. There were four little white crescent moons shining on her brown, freckled cheek.
"What's the matter with you?" her reflection asked, glaring at her with disgust. "You're stronger than this! Stop hiding in the bathroom!" For a moment she hated herself and how weak she was, but she took a few deep breaths and pushed through it. She paused at the top of the stairs to gather her breath and her courage. She was halfway down when she heard Ginny's voice.
"You're honestly just going to barge in, eat your fill, and not even offer to help with the dishes?"
"I didn't think it was a big deal!" Ron responded. "People are still eating!"
"You are unbelievable, you know that? You're a complete and total ass!"
Seconds later the back door slammed then came Bill's voice. "Just let it go," he urged.
"Whatever," she barely heard Ron respond.
"Oi!" Bill's had voice changed from placating to commanding. "You don't get to do this anymore. She's back, she's safe, and you need to stop acting like we're the enemy."
"'Course you're not the enemy. The enemy's right up there, snuggling up under one of Nan's quilts! And here you lot sit, gathered around the table, eating breakfast like you're on holiday."
"Enough."
"What happens when he gets whatever he came for and triggers the taboo, bringing you-know-who right to our doorstep."
"Our doorstep? I'm sorry, I wasn't aware this house was left to you."
"That's not the point. I-"
"The point is that this house belongs to Fleur and I, and if you think we haven't discussed this at length then you're a proper idiot. This house is warded up and down by all manner of great Aurors much more powerful than you. Should he trigger the taboo we'd be out of here faster than that no-nose bastard could blink; should try to harm anyone of us he'd be rendered immobile in an instant; should he break free and run back to his mummy he'd have one hell of a time trying find us again with his memories gone. The point is that this is bigger than you, brother, and you need to get over yourself."
Hermione didn't want to hear anymore. She was tearing two brothers apart and she couldn't just sit on the stairs and listen. She wiped her cheeks and rushed down the rest of the stairs, using the bannister at the bottom as a pivot point to turn and head for the front door.
The cool air was a shock, the breeze nearly carried her breath away, and the bright sun reflecting off of the light sand hurt her eyes but she didn't stop. She wanted to find the ocean, needed to reach the shore, even if, in her heightened state, she didn't know which way to go. If she just circled the house, she was bound to get there.
What she found was much more sobering.
Her breath turned to lead in her lungs and her blood ran ice cold. Her knees buckled and she fell into the sand, hand over her mouth, a strangled cry fighting to get out.
Clamoring to her feet, she stumbled across the beach only to trip over one of the smaller rocks outlining the grave. Sand stuck to her wet cheeks, to her hands and clothes. She crawled up to the headstone, and her hands moved seeming without any input from her brain. Her fingers grazed the stone, tracing over her crudely carved name and her birthday, gasping at the apparent date of her death. They'd thought she was dead nearly the whole time. How, then, had they known to come looking for her?
She wiped her nose with the back of her wrist, the sand scratching at her lips. She heard a gasp, carried to her on the wind, and then a string of indecipherable French muttering began to grow closer.
"Oh 'ermione," Fleur said softly, laying a delicate hand on her shoulder and kneeling beside her. "I am so sorry." Fleur stroked the back of her head and Hermione let her pull her in closer, let her hold her as she cried. "We were so 'appy you were alive, we forgot to take it down."
After a few more minutes of sobbing Hermione finally tried to regulate her breathing. When she felt more in control of herself she pulled away. "How did you know?" she asked, voice still raw. She pulled at the collar of her shirt, using the sand-free inside to wipe her face. "How did you know I was still alive?"
Fleur looked the smallest bit confused. "You activated your coin, did you not?"
No, she had not. She didn't answer, instead she looked back at the stone, her hand reaching out on its own again. Rarely does one get to touch their own death. She couldn't help but wonder how it had all happened. Surely there wasn't a lot of fanfare involved, not in the middle of a war, not at a safe house that was so heavily warded. But then, someone had obviously put a lot of effort into carving this; they had to have for if it had been done with magic then the letters would have been uniform; even and straight.
She turned back to Fleur, her hair whipping behind her. "Who-" she started, but Fleur's face told Hermione what she already knew. Her heart sunk. She took a deep, shuddering breath.
"'e wouldn't let anyone else help," Fleur said softly. She looked like she was picking her next words carefully. "I am not trying to excuse his behavior. 'e was childish and rude and entirely insensitive 'owever..." She took a small breath. "'e is my brother now, and so on 'is behalf I must ask zat you give 'im time, just time. 'e loves you dearly, even if 'e does not know 'ow to show it."
Hermione wiped her face again, not knowing what to say.
"You know Phlegm, if you'd have only meddled like that in front of mum she'd have never had a problem with you."
They both looked up to see Ginny standing above them, the sun radiating behind her. Hermione surprised them all with a small laugh. She took a deep breath and pushed her hair back, leaving her face towards the sky.
"Oh," she sighed, still trying to regain herself. "How am I still so tired?"
Ginny held out a hand. "Come on, there's a surprise for you inside."
She shook her head as the let Ginny pull her up. "I don't think I can take a surprise right now."
"You're going to love this one."
Together the three young women trudged through the sand and back into the house. It was emptier, and much more quiet. Save for one tiny human babbling in the living room.
Hermione gasped and Ginny and Fleur exchanged a smile.
"Oh my god," Hermione all but squeaked, reaching into the pale yellow bassinet. The baby smiled at her and just like that all of the stress and sadness she'd been carrying melted away. She knew it would all come back, and soon, but she didn't care. She looked back at Fleur and Ginny. "Is this-"
"Edward Remus Lupin," came a deep, slightly sleepy, voice. Remus stepped off of the last stair, a soft smile on his face. "But we just call him Teddy."
Draco was lost in a maze of endless darkened hallways and off-kilter rooms, calling out words he couldn't understand, running and running, looking for something, someone, he didn't know. The walls were breathing, the doors screaming. He thought he heard his mother crying out for him but he couldn't find her. He came to a glowing door at the end of a hall and it blew open before he could touch it. Sitting in the center of the room, on a dark red rug, playing with small wooden blocks, was a small boy; a tiny little boy in corduroy dungarees with shaggy blonde hair hanging over his ears. The boy stopped playing and turned to look at him. He smiled and the rug turned into a vat of blood that swallowed him up whole.
"No!" Draco startled himself away, nearly falling off of the tiny bed. He panicked, forgetting where he was for a moment.
"Steady there" came a raspy voice. Draco came too and blinked a few times, trying to let his eyes adjust to the light. When they did, they focused on not Remus Lupin, but on an olive skinned girl with short, lavender hair and amber coloured eyes. She had on a obviously hand-knitted grey jumper that looked two sizes too big with a yellow 'L' taking up most of the front. "You alright?" she asked, leaning forward.
"Fine," he huffed, throwing the covers off of himself and setting his feet on the floor. "Can I go to the lavatory on my own, or have you lot got to hold my hand there, too?"
He flinched when she let out an unexpected laugh. "They've transfigured the closet," she said, pointing to a small door in the corner of the room. He stood and glared at her, but she still found something amusing.
When he came out of the makeshift restroom, there was an extra chair in the room and a plate of food on the little table. It was breakfast of eggs, sliced tomatoes, toast, orange juice and a cup of tea. The girl motioned at the chair, then leaned back in her own, hands clasped behind her head.
"Thought you might like a proper seat," she said, tilting the chair back on two legs. "Didn't know how you take your tea, figured black was the safest bet."
Draco stared at the food. His aunt had sent down week old bread for Granger's first meal, and here they were, laying out a feast. As he pulled out the new chair to sit, a flurry of movement happened on the other side of the table and he snapped his head up. She had almost fallen backwards, and now had wide eyes and small smile on her face.
"Thought that was the end there for a mo," she said, still breathing a little quicker than normal. In the shock of her near-fall, her hair had changed to a light brown, her eyes darkened, and her nose shifted its shape from small and rounded into something more aristocratic. It struck him then.
"You're Nymphadora," he said, more to himself than anything. He regretted it instantly, as her eyes snapped to him and her hair flared a fiery red and orange.
"It's Tonks," she said, leaving no room for argument. Her hair faded to a barely there pink. "But yes, yes I am," she said, instantly calmer. "At least if you ask my mother," she mumbled. "Nice to meet you, cuzzo."
The weight of generations' worth of animosity and hatred settled in between his shoulder blades and he wondered if she felt it too. He glanced at her and saw she was gnawing on the nail of her thumb, and took that as a reluctant yes. He picked at his toast.
"There's orange marmalade," she muttered, pointing with her pinky finger, thumb still at her mouth.
He didn't want the jam, but he took the jar anyway and spread a little on the toast. Glancing at her again he saw the 'L' and more pieces started falling together. The baby blanket with the initials ERL, the too-big sweater...she'd had the baby, and with Professor Lupin. Probably. Logically, anyway, what with all those 'L's.
The longer they sat there in silence the more the questions built up on his tongue. Why have a baby in the middle of war? Was it a boy or a girl? What was their name? Was he part werewolf - was that even hereditary? Did the baby have her powers instead? How did she grow up? How much of her mother's purebred upbringing trickled down? How much did her muggle father's? Did her mother every speak of his mother ever speak of his? Of their grandparents? Did she have stories he didn't? They echoed in his head, fighting for attention, until he couldn't hold it in any longer.
"What is your mother like?"
"What's your mum like?"
Her voice seemed just as strained as his, like she too had been trying to hold back and just couldn't anymore. They stared at each other for a moment before she laughed and he couldn't help but let out a tentative smile. He felt like he was carefully stepping out onto the frozen lake behind the manor, testing to see if it was solid and discovering that yes, this spot at least, would hold. For now.
Tonks stood and flipped the chair around, crossing her arms over the back of it. "Seeing as how I'll probably never meet your mum, you go first."
"You think I'll meet yours?"
"It's a distinct possibility," she shrugged.
He took another nibble off of his toast then wiped his hands. "My mum can chill you to the bone with a look," he started. "But she also knew just what to say when my favourite peacock died."
She gave a snort of a laugh.
"I was six," he defended. She held a hand up but was still smiling. "She's smart, and witty, and graceful under pressure." He missed her. He missed his father too, but not nearly in the same way. His father had always had a presence in his life, but his mother was a pillar in it. He could feel Tonks staring at him.
"Your turn," he mumbled, dropping the crust of his toast to the plate next to the cold eggs.
She took a breath, her cheeks billowing out on the exhale. "Um, well, I can say almost all of the same things. 'Cept for the peacocks, of course." She gave him a teasing look, but sighed when he simply scowled at her. "Oh lighten up, will you?" He took the scowl from his face, but that was it. "My mum speaks through her teeth when she gets angry, in a low and steady voice. Which is somehow worse than yelling. But, her laugh is about one of the best things in this world, and every once in awhile she'll get to laughing so hard she just can't stop."
His mother, warm as she was with him, had never really laughed like that. "Does she…" he swallowed, "does she have any pictures?"
He felt her staring again, analyzing him and trying to figure him out. He got the feeling she knew what she was doing, like she'd done this before. "Yeah," she finally answered. "Yeah she does. Most of the ones on display are of us, she, my dad, and I, and some of them are of friends but… Well, she has an old album that she keeps tucked away, with pictures of when she was younger. I haven't really seen much of it, though."
There was a beat, a small pause of awkward silence. "She has this one, of Sirius," she started, eyeing him to see his reaction, "he can't have be any older than seventeen. He's got this long, shining hair and these big bottomed jeans that were apparently all the rage at the time, and he's wearing this long sleeved, floral top that's tied at the bottom and doesn't even cover his navel and Mum's just barely in the frame, hiding her face and shaking with laughter and-" She starts laughing and Draco wonders if she looks anything like her mom. She sighs and shakes her head. "I guess you just have to see it."
"I guess," he mumbled, unamused. He couldn't help but wonder, though, about Sirius. He known he'd been burned off the family tapestry, but he hadn't known when. If he'd been with Andromeda at seventeen then it must have even been before that. Draco pictured the two families, his and Tonks', side by side in his mind.
On his side were his mother and father, in their best, most elaborate robes, standing next to each other with perfect posture. He was in front of them, just as stiff and formal, and they each had hand on his shoulder. His mother had a trace of a smile on her face, but that was it. When they moved, it was slowly and with purpose. His father bowed to his mother, and kissed her hand, and when they walked she very gently hooked her hand in the crook of his elbow, leaving a generous gap between them. They spoke in clipped tones and double meanings, never lying to each other but always to everyone else.
On the other side was Tonks and her family. He didn't know what her parents looked like, but he imagined them laughing and wrapping their arms around each other, imagined them watching their daughter run around and play. There was a comfortable nature between them all, they kept each other close and maybe her parents even kissed in public. They were playful, and always had other people around; friends, friends who were treated like family. They were kind and honest and when they got angry they yelled and fought and let it all go.
"Oi, earth to Draco." It was hearing his given name that brought him out of his head, he hadn't heard it since he left home. Tonks had a hand up, like she'd just been waving it in front of his face.
"Earth to me? Pardon?"
Her eyes widened a little. "Oh, um. It's a muggle thing. Like, the people on earth are communicating with the people in the space ship."
Draco heard her, but it was almost as if she was speaking another language. Ships belonged on the water, not in the sky. "Space ship?"
"You know, like a rocket?" She bit her lip and scrunched her face. "You know, I don't think I'm the right person to explain this. Are you going to eat anymore?"
He shook his head, pushing the plate slightly away. He didn't have much of an appetite.
The house was dark and quiet.
Outside the ocean crashed against the shore, advancing and retreating in a way that felt like a mother humming her child to sleep. The walls of the small room seemed to ebb and flow with the sound as the moon cast a silvery glow over everything. This should have been everything she needed to fall into a deep, peaceful sleep. Instead she was laying in a tiny bed, tucked away in the small dormer of the room where Ginny and Luna had been sleeping.
That afternoon she'd decided that Bill and Fleur needed their own room back; more than needed, they deserved it. After all, they'd already given up the rest of their home to The Order and Hermione didn't really need a big bed and a room all to herself. So she transfigured a chair into a bed, smaller than even a single bed, and took up with her friends.
Only now she was so worried about keeping them awake with her nightmares that she couldn't fall asleep. Sure, Fleur had given her a potion to help, but she didn't want to become reliant on them.
She turned over on her side, her feet fidgeting with the bottom of the blanket. Ginny's red hair splayed all over the pillows and her light, rhythmic snoring was the only sign of life on that side of the room. She rolled to the other side, where she expected to see Luna with her head at the foot of the bed, or sleeping standing up, or something just a quirky. But Luna's bed was empty, with the down blanket thrown back and the pillow halfway off of the bed.
Hermione sat up and looked around, thinking maybe Luna had somehow made it to the floor or something, but she was gone. When had she left? And more importantly, how had she left without Hermione even realizing?
Carefully, she pushed back her own blanket and put her feet on the floor, then crept quietly out of the room and pull the door shut behind her. She looked down one end of the hall, where a cracked window let in a small ocean breeze, fluttering the curtains on either side of it; then down the other, where she saw the dull blonde top of Luna's head coming up the stairs.
"Hullo Hermione," Luna greeted, her voice light and soft. She was carrying two steaming mugs of tea. "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah," Hermione nodded. "What about you? Why are you up so late?"
"Oh, I'm fine. I was just having a perfectly nice sleepwalk and," she paused, and her eyes focused on the space beside Hermione, squinting a little as if she were trying to remember something. "I think I might have even made it outside because there's sand between my toes." She looked down at her feet as she wiggled her brightly colored toes. She shook her head. "Anyway, when I woke up I was outside of the door," she motioned with one of the mugs at the door to the room Malfoy was being kept in, "and I realized that Bill must still be in there and I thought, well that's not right, he should really be in bed with his wife. They've done so much, you know."
Hermione nodded, trying to keep up with it all.
"So," Luna continued, her face now looking adorably determined, "I went in and I sent him straight to bed! I think he wanted to argue with me, but he looked much too tired. I'm not even sure he made it all the way to his room before he fell asleep."
Luna chuckled and stopped talking as if that was the end of her story, but if it had been, she'd have been in the room and not out in the hall with tea. Hermione rubbed the bridge of her nose, it was really too late to deal with her friend's wandering mind. "And the tea?" she asked, trying to keep her patience.
"Oh! Well, I was sitting in there, looking out of the window - he really has a nice view in that little room - and decided that I'd like some tea. And while I was down I thought it rude to bring tea in the room and not offer him any, so I made him a cup too, in case he wakes up."
She smiled and Hermione held back a sigh. As batty as Luna could be, she really was too good for this world.
Luna yawned, and Hermione's mouth moved before her brain did. "You should go back to sleep, Luna." She started to protest, but Hermione reached for one of the cups in her hand. "I'll take a shift with him. Honestly, I have some questions I'd like to ask, anyway. You go to bed, I'll be fine."
Luna looked at her for a moment, contemplating her answer before smiling and giving one quick nod. "Okay, but you should have this one too." She pushed the second mug into Hermione's hand and skipped past her. Hermione shook her head and sighed. She moved one cup to the other hand, so that she was holding both of them together, and reached for the doorknob.
He was sitting up on the bed when she walked in, on top of the covers, with his feet on the floor and his arms gripping the edge of the mattress. His shoes were still on, but his coat lay draped across the back of one of the chairs and the sleeves of his shirt were undone and shoved up to his elbows. He looked up when she walked in and she saw the surprise in his eyes.
Neither one of them said anything as she shut the door and crossed the room, or when she set the mugs down on the table, ignoring the black and red book that was in the center of it. She pushed one towards him as she sat in the empty chair, and pulled the other one closer to her as she leaned back in it. He took the tea and held it in his both of his hands, gazing down into the murky water as if it were about to reveal a closely-held secret.
Her mind was contorting, doing acrobatics to try and figure out exactly what she was doing, sitting there across from him in a moonlit room well past midnight. Why had she offered to come in here? Why had she followed through with it? Why didn't she change her mind and call Luna back once she realised he was awake?
Why, in Merlin's ancient name, did she feel more comfortable here than anywhere else in the house?
"Granger," he finally said, his voice heavy and gruff. In his short pause she thought of a dozen different things that could follow; an insult, a slur, some sort of wandless curse; a confession or an apology, of some sort; questions about her, the house, the Order.
He looked up, his features intense and cautious, as if he'd been working up to something big. He opened his mouth, closed again with a small breath, and then, nearly defeated, "What's a rocket?"
so at least it's not another four month break in updates? i'd keep apologizing but i'm sure you guys know what you're into by now haha. this story just takes a lot out of me, but that just means that i'm putting a lot into it, right? yeah, sure, we'll go with that ^.^ anywho. some of you were excited about tonks and draco meeting and here it is! in all it's bittersweet glory. i really enjoyed writing that scene (as well as luna, omg that was fun) and i can't wait to right more. i also can't wait to write andromeda (spoiler alert? hah)
as for ch15, i'm planning to get in a lot of draco/hermione one on one time. there's a couple of scenes coming up that i've had in my head forever now and i love them so much i'm just not sure where they fit just yet, so hopefully we can fit at least one of them in soon.
and as always, if you liked it, please please review! they mean the world to me, truly. even if you just bang your head against the keyboard and hit enter, i'd get the notification and be like ! haha. or you could tell me your favorite part of the chapter, or maybe just your favorite line. i honestly live off of feed back so please take a second to even just be like 'cool'. to those of you who keep reviewing, i love you all so much you don't even know. thank you! heart eyes for everyone!