A/N: I am sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up. Some of you may know that I'm a professional ballet dancer. February's are pretty crazy for us. We have performances practically every weekend! I have also been recovering from an injury and desperately needed to focus on my own mental self care a bit. Thank you all for your patience!

As always, I am so overwhelmed by all of your support! I read each and every review and I really consider all suggestions you guys give me. I have actually added a few elements to the story based on suggestions from my wonderful readers! So keep 'em coming! I love hearing your thoughts, predictions, and favorite moments. Thank you so much! Y'all are the best! Don't forget to follow me on Tumblr: HGinny25

This chapter is pretty short, but there is more to come soon!

Hermione awoke one morning in late April to hear Draco muttering angrily. She sat up, clutching the blankets against her chest.

Draco was sitting by the window, shaking his wand in frustration. He murmured a spell and producing a few feeble yellow sparks before cursing under his breath. After a few more pathetic attempts at spell work, he fell back in the chair with a huff.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice hoarse with sleep.

His eyes sought her, as if surprised to see her there. He shook his head. "Something's wrong with my wand. Ever since I got it back from Potter, it hasn't worked right. It's almost like…" he trailed off, looking at his wand as if it had betrayed him.

"Like what?" she asked.

His eyes met hers. "Like I'm trying to use someone else's wand."

Hermione stood up, pulling on a large sweater. "Mr. Ollivander is here. Maybe he could help," she suggested gently. She donned the rest of her clothes

"Yeah, maybe," Draco mumbled, eyeing his wand miserably.

"Come on, let's get some breakfast and then we can see about your wand, yeah?" Grabbed her own wand and headed for the door.

With a sigh, he stood and pocketed his wand, following her out the door and down the stairs.

"What have you done to my wand, Potter?" Draco accused as they settled at the table.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked defensively.

"It isn't working for me ever since you had it."

"Well I didn't do anything," argued Harry, pushing his eggs around on his plate. "It worked just fine for me."

"You were using it?" Draco seethed.

"I didn't know it was yours," insisted Harry. "I had a whole pocket full of wands. I tried the lot and just started using the one that worked best for me."

"Well, you broke it." Draco snapped.

"You're being dramatic," Hermione rolled her eyes. "I told you, we'll go talk to Ollivander about it after breakfast. I'm sure it's just psychological."

"Oh, so there's something wrong with my brain now?"

Hermione glared. "I never said that. Don't take your frustrations out on me." He was surly and childish when things didn't work out for him. She didn't blame him for his sour mood. She was sure she would be moody as well if her wand weren't working for her.

Draco just sneered and tucked into his meal.

Mr. Ollivander, while still choosing to stay secluded in his bedroom, had regained much of his strength. His imprisonment at Malfoy Manor had taken a severe toll on his health, but he was doing much better than he had been a month ago, and Bill had mentioned that they would soon move him to Aunt Muriel's house until the end of the war. When Hermione, with both Draco and Harry in tow, knocked hesitantly on his bedroom door after breakfast, the aged wizard opened the door with a smile.

"Please, come in," he offered, standing back so that the three could enter the room.

Hermione sat quietly while Draco explained his troubles with his wand. He told Ollivander how Harry had disarmed him and had worked for Harry, but wouldn't work properly for Draco now that Harry had given it back.

When Draco had finished speaking, Ollivander asked to see the wand. Draco handed it over and Ollivander examined it carefully, even holding it up to his ear as if he were listening to its whispers.

After a moment, Ollivander eyed Draco apprehensively. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, it seems that your wand has changed allegiances."

Draco stared at the wizard for several seconds. "What do you mean?"

"Wands can be fickle. When Mr. Potter disarmed you that night, it seems that your wand chose a new master."

Draco's jaw clenched, his face turned red. "What?" he seethed through his teeth.

Ollivander held up the wand. "This wand has decided that it is now Mr. Potter's."

"Decided?" echoed Draco incredulously.

"The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Malfoy. You can keep this wand and try to make it yield to you once more, but I would suggest trying your hand with a different wand. You may find a new one much more responsive."

"Wait," said Harry. "I thought you had to kill a wizard in order to become their master's wand."

Ollivander's voice shook a bit as he answered. "No…that is not necessary. It need only be won."

"This is ridiculous!" declared Draco. "Witches and wizards are disarmed all the time! Their wands don't change allegiances every time it happens."

"No," agreed Ollivander. "But it does happen occasionally. Especially in cases where the claimed wand is used by the disarmer after being won. It doesn't always happen, but it's possible."

Draco ran is hands through his hair in frustration.

Hermione tried to intervene to help. "Perhaps, after the war, you could get a new wand from Mr. Ollivander. I'm sure it will work just as well as your old one."

Draco took his wand back from Ollivander and paced around the room for a moment, holding his useless wand in his hand. Finally, he tossed his wand in Harry's direction with a sneer.

"Take it then. Harry Potter always gets everything. Why should my wand be any different?" Then, like a wounded animal, he slinked away. After a moment Hermione heard their bedroom door close with a snap.

Hermione gave Draco an hour to cool down before tentatively entering the room. She reached into her bag and pulled out all of the extra wands they had gotten when they escaped from Malfoy Manor.

She approached him tentatively and laid the wands out on the bed before him.

"I'm really sorry about your wand," she offered timidly. "I thought you could try these and see if any of them work for you. I'm sure it won't be the same as your old one, but…"

Draco frowned, but he sat up straighter to examine the wands. He reached for one of them and picked it up.

"This is my mother's wand," he said quietly.

There was something in his eyes, a pain that he hadn't had the chance to process until this moment. Hermione recalled Narcissa at the Manor. She'd been thin and frail with dark circles under her tired eyes. She had clearly spent many of her days under the influence of the Imperious curse. Hermione couldn't imagine the horrors Narcissa had endured since Draco ran away; and she couldn't imagine the horror of watching your only child tortured in your home.

She thought of her own parents and how heartbreaking it had been for her to erase their memories and send them away. It was the hardest thing she had ever had to do, but at least they wouldn't have to be a part of this war. In many ways Draco had it worse. Having to watch what his parents had been reduced to…she couldn't imagine how difficult it must be for him.

His eyes were glassy as he looked at the wand. He closed them tightly for a few seconds, and when he opened them, his jaw was set and his eyes were cold again. He waved the wand, producing a healthy amount of blue sparks. He tilted his head briefly and nodded. "It'll be fine for now," he said.

"Okay," Hermione breathed, wanting to talk to him about his parents but not having the slightest idea what to say.

Draco never talked about his parents. She couldn't even begin to guess what kind of relationship he had with them. Perhaps their relationship was complicated, or perhaps it was simply too painful to speak of them after he had abandoned them. She didn't know, and right now she was too cowardly to ask.

"Harry wants to have a meeting later today with Griphook about the plan. You'll join us, right?" she asked.

Draco nodded absently before trying a couple more spells with the new wand.

Hermione stood and shuffled her feet awkwardly for a moment. "I'm going downstairs. See you later?"

He nodded and she turned to leave.

"Wait," he called, reaching out to catch her wrist.

She turned back and he pulled her over. He sat up to catch her lips with his, his hand drawing her in by the nape of her neck. He kissed her for a moment before pulling away, his thumb rubbing over her cheek affectionately. "Thank you," he breathed before kissing her again.

She smiled before turning and making her way downstairs.

She approached Harry in the kitchen. "He'll be alright; he just needs to cool down," she told him.

He nodded absently at her, craning his neck to peer into the living room.

"What?" she asked, following his gaze.

"Shush," he urged pulling her back out of sight.

"What?" she whispered.

Harry put his hand over her mouth and leaned over to look into the living room. After a second he turned back to her with a grin. "Ron's in there with Luna," he breathed.

"And?"

Harry just raised his eyebrows at her.

Her mouth dropped open. "Ron and Luna? Are you serious?" she asked craning her neck to look into the living room. Ron and Luna were sitting on the couch facing each other in conversation. It seemed innocent enough, but there was something about Ron's eyes, some kind of starry glossiness that she recognized.

She turned back to Harry. "How long has this been going on?" she whispered.

He held his finger to his lips and beckoned her to the porch. She followed him and they settled on the porch swing.

"Umm…like a week or two?" Harry responded thoughtfully.

"He likes her? She's so…eccentric." She tilted her head slightly with the word.

Harry just shrugged. "She's kind of brilliant though—in her own way."

"How did this happen?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know. How do any of these things happen? They talked a few times and then…I mean who knows?"

Hermione thought for a few moments. She didn't understand it. Not one bit. She realized that she might never fully understand what had transpired between Ron and Luna, just like he would never understand what happened between her and Draco. Just because she hadn't witnessed the beginning of their story didn't mean it was any less lovely.

She realized that no one would ever understand what had happened between her and Draco. That didn't make it any less real or any less beautiful. She vowed to give Ron and Luna a chance.

The last evening of April was one of their worst in weeks. It was their last night of safety for the foreseeable future. Tomorrow morning they would be leaving for Gringotts before sunrise. The plan was set, Bill and Fleur were alerted that they were leaving, and there was a cauldron of Polyjuice Potion bubbling in the corner, ready for use. Next to their bed were two vials, each containing one long hair. Draco stared at the vial containing one curly black hair.

Tomorrow morning Hermione would add that hair to a glass of the rancid potion and turn into her. Draco's stomach rolled at the thought. He wondered if she was worrying about it too. As if reading his thoughts, she rolled over in bed to stare at the ceiling, her eyes teary and fearful. "I don't want to do it," she breathed.

"You don't have to," Draco assured her quietly. "We can think of another plan."

She shook her head. "No we can't. This is the only way. I have to do it. I just…I can't stand the thought of being her…even for a moment." Tears were rolling down her face now. She brought the heels of her hands to her brows and pressed hard as her face screwed up. She took a deep, shuddering breath and then she was sobbing.

She curled onto her side, her fingers clutching desperately into her hair. Her sobs ripped from her throat with a force that surprised him. He tried to pull her into his chest to soothe her, but suddenly she was throwing her head back, gasping for breath, clutching at her neck as if trying to remove an invisible noose. Her breaths were fast and shallow, her sobs growing stronger.

Draco's heart was pounding. There had been bad nights in the past month, yes, but this was something else. This was panic. Every fiber of her was raging against the mission ahead. He wished he could tell her that she needn't do it. That they could get into Bellatrix's vault another way. But there was no other way. She had told them all that she would rather be the one to take Bellatrix's form, rather than have to look at her if someone else had taken her form. And they needed Bellatrix in order to obtain access to the Lestrange vault.

Still, she was sobbing and wheezing uncontrollably, and he had no idea how to help her.

He wanted to pull her in, but she was clearly having trouble breathing, so he just pulled her arms away from her head and placed his hands on her cheeks gently. "Look at me," he said gently.

Her eyes squeezed tighter shut for a second. She was trembling violently, her breaths shallow and terrifyingly quick. She shook her head against his hands, as if the idea of even opening her eyes would take all of her strength.

"It's okay," he promised. "Look at me."

Her eyes fluttered open and met his.

"I need you to breathe with me," he told her. "Okay?"

She nodded, her breaths still shuddering. He took a few deep, slow breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Her eyes were still filled with fear, but slowly, over several minutes her breaths eased to match his.

After a few moments she inched closer and buried her face in his chest. He held her close, his hands smoothing over her hair gently.

It took several more minutes before the tears stopped and her breaths were smooth and even.

"You don't have to do this. Say the word and I'll go tell Potter to think of a new plan. But if you do this," he began gently. "Her life gets a little worse. If you do this, she suffers."

She didn't speak again that night, but the following morning, just before she downed the potion, he watched her eyes close briefly. When they opened again, they were cold, determined, hard.

The warrior lived.