Thursday, December 5, 1996

Draco received another letter at breakfast.

It rested in front of his plate, mocking him. Reality was calling. It pounded in his head, crushed his chest, sped his heart. His father was never more than an owl away. At some age that might have brought comfort. Now it pumped fear and resentment through his veins.

He reached out, unsealing the parchment.

The greeting was perfunctory and cold. Lucius hadn't provided much context, only writing enough to make the message clear.

Mr. Nott's situation is about to become more permanent. Prepare for a quickening of our timeline.

Draco's stomach dropped. It sat prone on the cold stone floor below him. The words swam before his eyes. Quickening of our timeline. It rang in his ears. It pounded in his skull. It didn't stop. It thudded within his mind, repeating on a loop.

The other students disappeared around him. They didn't matter. Essays and exams and Hogsmeade weekends. Why did they care? Didn't they see there was something else going on? Couldn't they tell?

A student was missing. Another had been cursed. Someone was plotting against the Headmaster.

Eyes locked on the letter, he looked straight through it.

How quick?

Even in his mind, the question felt desperate. Spring had seemed distant enough, almost like another life. He'd had months before facing his death, a whole other term. Any time spent thinking on his future left Draco restless at night, limp with fear. His father's words had ripped the rug from under him. His task was slamming into him like a speeding train. Draco felt tied to the tracks, immovable.

He was stuck. There was no way out. Months had passed since September, but the vanishing cabinet was still hopelessly broken. He'd either succeed as planned, just to be killed by another professor – or he'd fail and face an even more certain end.

The air around him laid heavy upon his skin. It was suffocating. It clogged his throat, caking his lungs.

Quickening.

His death was coming faster than he'd ever considered.

Lucius wouldn't have sent this by owl if they could have waited until the holidays. And yet, here it was, burning the skin of his hands. He might have to do it before the holidays came. That was mere weeks from now. Not even a month.

Shamefully, his eyes flicked up the table to his anticipated victim. Dumbledore. He was real. Flesh and blood and crooked glasses. Draco's gaze fell quickly, unable to cope with the sight.

The letter sat motionless on the table. It looked deceptively light. In Draco's hands, it was the heaviest thing he'd ever held.

Thoughts swirled through Draco's mind again. He was swimming in fear, eyes locked on the letter. In his hand, his wand felt cold. The usual thrum of magic that welcomed him was buzzing defensively. It was cold water splashing upon him, waking him from the shock. With a flick, the letter was gone.

Other students glanced nervously at the pile of ashes resting by Draco's plate.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't think about this. He needed a distraction. He needed to see her.

"Draco – oh," Hermione moaned. Air left her lungs in choppy gasps. He felt the heat on his shoulder where she muffled a high keen. Blunt teeth pressed against his skin.

The classroom had been silenced with all manner of charms and repellents, but neither wanted to push their luck.

His hands slipped over her soft skin, taking in every inch he could feel, grounding himself with the solidarity of her body. Their heavy breathing echoed in the air around them. Draco mindlessly pulled Hermione flush against himself. All he could focus on was the feel of her against him. His entire being was being poured into her, spilling from his chest and onto her skin.

"Draco," Hermione moaned, head falling back. Her bared back was rested against a wide table, long since charmed warm. One of her legs curled around Draco's thigh, embracing him where he laid over her.

For a fleeting second, Draco wished for a blanket to wrap around them. He wanted to trap her warmth before it could escape into the cold air.

"Wait – wait, Draco," her words pierced through the fog of his mind, stilling his hands. Arousal still weighed her voice, but hesitance had crept in.

"Hermione," he whispered into her neck, his voice raw.

"I can't let you do this – you're avoiding something." Hermione pulled her face back, trying to meet his eyes. "You can't just ignore what's going on around us. You can talk to me, you know?"

Her hair pooled on the table below, fanning around her neck and shoulders in a mass of brown curls. In the dim dungeon lighting, her eyes seemed larger than normal. They peered within his own, searching for answers he wasn't ready to give.

"Hermione."

She whispered his name in return, reaching an arm around his shoulders. The sound of her voice sliced into him. It slipped past his ribs, cracking open his heart.

"Please? Just talk to me." Her other hand raised to his face, angling him to meet her eyes directly. "Tell me what's wrong. I know what you're doing." Eyes boring into his, she refused to back down. He was locked right there against her, held within her embrace.

Draco studied the amber of her eyes. He traced the line where brown met white with his gaze, trailing from one iris to the next. Sincerity and concern radiated unmistakably from her face.

"Later, okay?" He kept his voice low, not wanting to admit his own weakness. "I just – I don't want to deal with it right now. I just want to be here," he whispered the words against her neck, "with you."

Hermione acquiesced, nodding and pulling them closer once again.

Feeling deflated, Draco hesitated to move again. He'd been pulled back from oblivion, shocked by the solid ground below him. Reality rested heavy upon his shoulders.

"Well come on, then," she giggled softly against his shoulder before pushing her hips invitingly up against his. "I quite liked what you had going before."

He mustered up some teasing words before moving his hands once again.

Hermione's soft sighs picked up again, filling the air around them. Draco's hips jolted at the sound, and he pushed himself down against her. With the grip of her thighs and snap of his hips, Draco found himself falling into oblivion once more.

Time passed beyond measure, swimming around them. For just those fleeting moments, nothing outside of that room mattered anymore. He could just forget. He could be young, and reckless, and in the arms of a pretty witch. He could be Draco.

Later, sated and silent, they laid beside one another. The table's width was unsuitable for just one, so they kept close. He could feel her damp skin where it pressed warm against his own. The dungeon air was otherwise chilled, enveloping them in subterranean stillness.

"Why do you do this, Draco?" Her quiet words cut the silence, almost echoing in the empty room.

He glanced over to her, waiting for an explanation.

"Why do you write me when you're upset, and then just pretend everything's fine? I know that not everything is fine. Sex isn't going to solve everything. Why do you call on me every time, just to keep me in the dark?"

Draco struggled to find an answer. Words rested on his lips, but he hesitated. The truth was there, but it crossed an unspoken line. They'd danced close before, but neither had crossed. If he admitted it now, there wouldn't be any return. It felt as though he was committing himself to something unknown, chaining himself to some invisible force.

But the words fell anyway.

"Because I like you, Hermione."

Because they were true. He'd made this commitment months ago, and was just finally realizing it. He'd been following this path of no return for too long to just turn around. A decision had been made in the library that first night, and he hadn't even known. Draco had tied himself to Hermione Granger at the start of this term, and there was no going back.

Hermione didn't respond.

When he looked to her, she seemed to be studying every detail of his face, searching for something. Her lips were pinched down, mirroring some thought within. Draco allowed her this time, deciding not to push. He could understand her hesitance.

"I kind of like you too, Draco."

The words washed over him, coating his skin thickly. It was warm honey, smelling sweet and feminine and familiar. He leaned closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. A childish grin swept over his face as he leaned into her shoulder.

"So which of us should tell the Free Press? I'm sure our adoring fans are going to love the sequel."

Hermione groaned at the thought, hiding her amused smile.

"Shocking Twist in Sordid Hogwarts Romance," she faked, pushing her nose up in exaggeration.

"Our journalists bring you a Free Press exclusive with one half of the famed pair, Ms. Hermione Granger herself." Draco played along, cozying up to Hermione as an inquiring reporter. "Ms. Granger, how does it feel to be so thoroughly shagged within an inch of your life by such a specimen?"

Hermione burst into giggles at the question, clutching Draco tighter. She pressed a kiss against his lips, and Draco swore for a moment that her smile was contagious. He held her in return, reveling in the unbound joy she extolled.

"Well if the fans must know," Hermione grinned playfully, meeting his eye, "it's horribly rotten."

"Is it, now?"

"Oh yes," she nodded. "And – Mr. Free Press journalist, I have another scoop for you too." Draco could hear the teasing falter in Hermione's voice, and knew a segue was forthcoming.

"You do, do you?" Draco remained reserved, watching her with narrowed eyes and a wilting smile. "And what would that be?"

"I, half of said secret romance, want to try persuading a similar half of another secret romance to come forward." All amusement had dropped from her words.

"One more time?"

"I think it's time for Lisa to come forward about her and Blaise."

Draco nearly groaned at the abrupt change in subject. He pulled from their locked embrace to meet Hermione's eye fully.

A red, puffy face flashed in his vision, wet with still-flowing tears.

"I seem to recall her being avidly against that idea," he responded with a measured tone.

"Think of how much her testimony would help in Theo's case! She can tell everyone that Blaise was anti-purism, and facing pressure from Theo and –"

"And about all the other big bad Slytherins with scary skulls on their arms?" He allowed his voice to fall flat, expressing his displeasure with the idea. The damage would be unimaginable, Draco didn't even want to consider what would happen if Lisa started telling that story publicly.

Hermione pursed her lips at him. As unamused as she may have been with his answer, they both knew his point was valid.

"That'll just be conjecture. Without having truly seen them, there won't be enough real evidence to investigate!"

Draco's stomach rolled at the idea. He didn't know anymore if that would be enough to investigate with. Now that his father's sway at the Ministry had seemingly disappeared, that inquiry seemed a lot more plausible.

He noticed as her lips began to twitch with the anticipation of another argument, and Draco spoke quickly to change the subject.

"Setting that aside for now, Lisa was also dead set on believing that Blaise just ran away. If you truly want her to come forward and testify against Theo, she might end up helping him instead."

Draco was then assaulted by thrashing locks of Hermione's hair as she shook her head in response.

"No – because what evidence is there of that?"

"He told Lisa he wanted to leave – are you not calling that evidence?"

Hermione's lips twisted before forming a response.

"Well, yes, that's evidence. But – how would he actually run away? He would need to sneak out of the castle without disapparating and without being caught, without taking nearly anything with him, and telling anyone what he was planning."

"So if you needed to get out of the castle right now, and just had to stand up and leave, you couldn't do it without being caught?"

Hermione's jaw tensed under her skin, her eyes locked flatly on Draco's own. He waited in silence, resting his palm on her hip to keep close.

"For one – I am not Blaise. And for two – why are you so avidly against Lisa coming forward?"

Draco sighed, deciding to be honest.

"I really just think it's a bad idea, Hermione. It's a lot of risk, for me especially, and you can't even be sure it'll pay off. Do we think Theo did it? Do we think Blaise ran away? Do we think – what was it – "

A hazy image floated in Draco's mind of an irate Hermione, all pointed fingers and risen nose. She'd been scolding him, as she was wont to do, but he couldn't be sure over what now. He could picture the shadows of his bed curtains around them, cloaking her scorn and pinked cheeks.

"Ah – yes, Snape snapped him in half and buried him in the Black Lake?" Hermione cocked her head in an odd gesture of confusion, but he continued. "Because I can say for sure I don't know what happened to Blaise – and I'm not ready to openly help the MLE feed him to Azkaban just for the headlines."

"Draco I'm not pushing to get Theo locked up, I just think the aurors should have all the information before he goes to trial!"

He tried jumping in to question her assumption on the MLE's competency, but Hermione ignored him.

"And Lisa has quite a bit of information on both Blaise and Theo – whether we like that information or not."

"It's not that –" he tried, only to be silenced again. In the resounding continuance of Hermione's voice, he grit his teeth.

"And also, where would Blaise even go? I don't think he speaks any foreign languages. Do you know if he has any foreign homes? I really don't think it would have been that easy."

Draco pursed his lips, eyeing Hermione in simmering annoyance. He wanted to hedge his bets before being railroaded once again. When her jaw remained resting, he finally responded.

"Well, he's got a pretty good grasp of German and French. I think he even speaks a bit of Italian, if I remember correctly. Does he have any properties, though … " Draco trailed off in thought, trying to recall the list exactly.

Blaise and he had only held a loose friendship over the years. His memories of Blaise's holdings were limited and fraying with age.

"I believe his mother resides in a small manor near Oxford. He's mentioned a few times summering in France. I know they have a few properties there – Paris, Vichy, Lyon. There's certainly some in Germany, but I can't be sure where, or how many." Chewing his lip in the pause, he tried to grasp any other ideas. "I think there was one in Werlte?"

His mind ran the gamut, trying to remember any other properties. Southern Germany, maybe? Eventually though, he realized Hermione's stream of chatter had become wholly silent. Draco glanced over to her, and realized she seemed to be deep in thought as well.

She only seemed to come back once he'd interrupted, asking where she'd gone. Hermione had then glanced up to meet him, a bundle of thick curls falling behind her bare shoulder.

"France – there was something in that note Blaise had written to Lisa! He'd called her something – do you remember?"

The connection sparkled in her eyes, but Draco was drawing a blank. He grimaced in response, trying to grasp the memory of Blaise's love note in his mind.

"He called her something?" he clarified. "Like he gave her a nickname other than honeysuckle?" Draco dug the depths of his own French vocabulary, trying to make anything fit. "Was it something like chéri, maybe mon coeur?"

"No, no, it was like a phrase." She glanced around them, searching emptily in the dark. "If only I still had that letter in my bag – no, it was multiple words. You are my personal – something. Don't you remember that?"

Draco repeated the phrase in his mind. You are my personal – something. It rattled emptily, finding no connections for a moment. You are my –

"Oh – yeah!" Draco shook his head, finally recalling the phrase. "He said my own personal fête des lumières. Merlin, I remember that line. They must have been quite," he floundered for a word, grimacing at the idea, "serious."

"Yes, yes," she replied from close to the floor, contorting her torso to reach for something. "But what does that mean? Fête des lumières?"

Draco mulled the words, translating each individually in his rusty French. "Festival of Lights, I believe. Quite the odd pet name." He frowned at the thought.

The idea of calling Hermione his festival seemed a bit uncomfortable, if not unnecessary.

"That's because it's not a pet name – you miscreant!" Hermione jumped suddenly, sweater between them, eyes wide, grasping Draco's shoulders with both hands. He tensed immediately in response, reaching to support her. "It's a reference to Lyon! They have this great muggle festival of lights there every December, he's talking about Lyon!"

Ah, he thought, a muggle reference.

"Lyon," Draco repeated, rolling the word over his lips. He looked off in thought, trying to catch some small memory before it disappeared. Something was floating right there, within reach, but he couldn't grasp it. There was something about Lyon, what was he forgetting?

"Yes – Lyon! And with French fluency and homes – Draco, he might have run away." Her fingers gripped into his shoulder, kneading under the skin in her growing excitement. "He might still be alive!"

As the smile spread on Hermione's face, a pit sunk within Draco's stomach. It all seemed too – easy.

Why would Blaise just pick up and disappear? Certainly if he feared Theo's meddling, there would have been a less painful recourse than leaving his life and love behind. He would have been right to fear Theo's meddling, even. Theo's goals were largely intertwined into a single, demanding task – keep the Slytherins in line. It didn't seem far fetched that he would have punished Blaise for such serious insubordination.

If Blaise just wanted to handle Theo, there would have been easier, more clever ways than vanishing from Hogwarts and into the night.

He watched as she slipped the collected sweater over her skin, drowning her chest in wool.

"I don't – I don't know," Draco shrugged, looking to mitigate the hope lighting Hermione's eyes. "It's kind of a weak connection, and Theo's about to be arrested anyways. We would do best to stay out of it all together."

Hermione's hands loosened grip on his shoulders, but she kept herself hovering over him. She studied his face with now curious eyes, glinting with suspicion.

"What have you heard?"

The words were hedged and careful, and he appreciated the effort. His defiance of his father's confidence and his family's safety in divulging this information still dried his throat. It was best not to think of the issue directly.

"The Ministry has learned that Theo's somewhat accomplished in Occlumency."

A stone weighed in his chest, halting him. It felt heavy, daunting. Draco knew he should never have revealed the letters from his father. What was he doing? He had endangered more people than just Hermione with that foolish slip.

"But you said he wasn't that good, that it wouldn't matter?"

"There isn't a way for them to really know how practiced he is, if they even care." He shrugged, hoping to shake off the lingering doubts plaguing his mind. "His testimony, under veritaserum and all, has now been declared meaningless. If anything, he looks guiltier than before."

His father had made a vague reference to something else, but Draco couldn't be sure what was being discussed. From what he gathered, his father wasn't even sure what had happened. It surely didn't sound good, whatever they discovered.

"Do you know what's going to happen, then?" Her voice was smaller than before. Draco noted the stillness between them, and laid himself back down fully as she rested beside him.

It was a question that Draco feared more than he could truly articulate. So many things seemed to be convalescing at once, all standing upon some precipice and glancing into the murky future below, Would he kill Dumbledore? Would he be dead this time next month? Would Theo be sent to Azkaban? Would his mother and father survive? Would Hermione care to mourn him?

Did he have any idea?

"No."

Hermione glanced up at Draco's half-lidded eyes. The question had hung in the air between them all evening. She had allowed him to sidestep her earlier, reveling in the sweet words he professed, but she hadn't forgotten. It had swelled finally in her chest, pushing up and clogging her throat, demanding to be let free.

They had been walking the same thin line all term, somehow both ignoring and accepting their past. Both of them still held anger over previous injustices and grudges for words of youthful ignorance – but they'd built this new something on top of that. Because when he wasn't himself – cuddling her in his shadowy four poster; rambling mad theories in dusty dungeon classrooms; shooting knowing looks across a suspicious Great Hall – he was still her childhood antagonist.

Somewhere inside, it felt like the culmination of months' worth of questions. They had built upon one another, swallowing her anger and doubt and fear. Small doubts niggled in her mind, questioning his intentions as he laid entwined with her.

"So," she caught his attention, meeting his gaze directly. "Are we going to talk about what happened today?"

The renewed tension that spread across Draco's body was evident. His palm went heavy where it had calmly laid upon her, his jaw clenched, his eyes thinned.

"Hermione," he started, sighing. "I don't – "

"Draco, I'm not going to do anything. You can just tell me, what's wrong?" Hermione flexed and released her foot, directing all of her annoyance away to somewhere less visible. The obvious brushoff grated her nerves.

"I was displeased to receive that news from my father," he tried. "Let's just forget about it, okay?"

Annoyance simmered under her skin.

"No, Draco, it is important," she stressed her words, leaning a hairsbreadth closer to him. "You reached out to me because you were upset, and I'm here."

At his calculating silence, she gave a heavy sigh.

"I'm tired of half-answers and subject changes, Draco. I'm here for you, but I'm not willing to do this if I keep putting more on the table than you are."

A scoff choked out of his throat. The wide, caught look in his eyes suggested it had surprised him just as much. He didn't speak for a moment, and Hermione found her exasperation rising in the tense silence.

Soon, she just wanted to leave, get away from his arrogant condescension. At her initial movements to extricate herself, his voice finally sounded.

"I'm putting plenty on the table, whether I've told you about it or not."

"Then tell me about it! You know what's happened with me and the boys, and everything I've found about Blaise, and everything with Theo – but you lie to me and keep things from me!"

"I am doing my best, alright? I will not just sit here and repeat my entire day and bare my mind at your beck and call."

Bare my mind – of course, it always seemed to come back to that. More than a month later, and their failures in occlumency were still a sore subject.

"Don't put words in my mouth – Draco. You're keeping things from me and I can't take it!" Her fingers wrapped tightly against her palm. Her blood rushed in her ears. He breath quickened around her rising voice. "What's constantly stressing you? Why did Theo really out us? Why have you been so distant from the other Slytherins all term?" The words hit her tongue and Hermione knew she should swallow them whole. "What does that mark on your arm have to do with it all?"

The words were coming quick, hitting her tongue and slipping past her lips without consent. It had worried her mind for weeks now, planting roots of doubt at every turn.

"Is this all about your apparently secret little plan – using my clout?"

Half of her regretted the words already as they jumped off her tongue. At the sight of growing ire on Draco's face, the other half joined in.

"You've been building up that little portfolio for weeks, then? Just waiting to corner me and hex the answers out?"

"I – l" she choked on the sound, forcing herself to restart. "I won't take half-truths anymore, Draco. That doesn't work for me." Hermione tried forcing her voice flat and resolute, edging her words with a tone of finality and demand. They came out sounding angry and weak even to her own ears.

"I'm not your little lap dog, Hermione." His response was cold, but the anger was rising unmistakably within him. "I will concede the fact that I am putting quite a bit on the table. I'm risking things worse than friendships over this, can't you see that?"

Hermione noticed the tell-tale flick of his eyes downward. She didn't need to follow to understand his reference – the mark.

"I'm dealing with things here that I can't exactly vent about."

"Don't you belittle me, don't make me regret opening up to you." Her narrowed eyes bore into him, swimming with anger and hurt.

"You don't have to hide your issues, Draco – you can vent to me! That's what I'm trying to get you to understand." She shifted up, kneeling beside him and trying to shake the anger from her expression. "I'm here! If whatever you're dealing with will solve all these questions – then tell me. I'm not going anywhere!"

"I have do what I think is best – and that's keeping this to myself, can't you understand that?" Draco forced himself up straight, meeting her at eye level. The stress was written clearly across his face; pinching his brow, darkening his eyes, paling his skin.

"You clearly can't keep this to yourself! You struggle, and you write me, and we have sex, and you push it away," she shook her head in maddening exasperation. "And I'm left in the dark without any way to actually help you or – or even know what you're dealing with."

"Can you blame me for needing some escape, to just pretend nothing is going on? I'm human, Hermione! I'm not infallible!"

"I'm not asking you to be infallible – I'm asking you to trust me!"

"I can't do that! I have to focus on what I can do and what's asked of me – alone. I can't just pick this apart for you and explain it."

What's asked of me, she repeated in her mind. Hermione couldn't help herself from letting her eyes flick downward immediately, finding his forearm for only a split second. It felt as though he had finally told her something worthwhile, shared even an ounce of his struggle.

"What's being asked of you? Draco, please – just tell me. You don't have to do what's asked of you. What happened to doing what's right – or doing what you want?"

"I don't know what I want anymore, do you get that?" He heaved a breath, ragged with the admittance. "I don't know what's right anymore."

Hermione's chest tightened at the admission. This was Draco Malfoy. He was the boy from the right part of Britain, posh enough to push around the Minister. Half of his personality was made of Italian dragonhide leather and that damn signet ring he never took off. The raw struggle in his eyes had hit her hard.

How could he even imagine she would walk away, rather than try helping him out of whatever hole he'd dug? After years of animosity and childish folly – this was real. He was just as much at the center of this war as she was, seemingly with even less choice in the matter.

"Draco," she stopped herself, tired of begging him once again. It felt like wasted breath, only to annoy them both. Neither was budging, just stubborn enough to stand their ground.

"I can't tell you anything about it but – " he heaved a sigh, and it seemed as though he might collapse within himself. "I have to do something before the end of term – something I really don't know if I can do."

She kept silent, shocked at his willingness to tell even that much.

"You can't tell anyone – you understand? Theo and Pansy barely know this much." With a shake of his head, the last of his annoyance seemed to slip away. "I thought I had more time, but Theo's issues with the Ministry have apparently changed that."

That's it, isn't it? Theo being arrested is an issue for Voldemort, and now it's changed Draco's so-called plan. What could Voldemort possibly want him to do? Recruit?

"I have to do this, and I won't be back next term." The final words left a pained grimace on his face. "You'll know eventually – but, Hermione, you need to understand, I have to do this."

Merlin, that sounded worse than recruitment.

"Draco …" she whispered, "you don't."

Even with only her vague understanding, Hermione knew it must be horrible if he wouldn't be returning after the holidays.

"Will you at least accept that, for me?" At the starting shake of his head, she pushed forward once again. "Just tell me that you understand I'm here – and I want to give you another option."

Hermione swallowed her hesitancy, and pulled herself closer to him, nearly sitting on his thighs. Her hand reached up to card through his white hair, having long-since shaken out any styling he'd done. Her palm fell then, bringing Draco's face to turn and meet her own. The curve of his jaw felt sharp under her hand, jutting against his pale skin.

"Will you just tell me you'll think about it – that I'm here, and willing to help, whenever you're ready?"

His eyes held her own for a few silent beats of her heart. It seemed as though all other sounds were gone. This – this, she was getting somewhere with him. Finally, he was opening up. Even mismatched and patchwork as they were – they were a team.

"Hermione," he whispered in response.

His eyes fell to her nose, and she waited patiently for some familiar denial.

"Yes, okay. I'll think about it. I promise."

Author's Note:

Thanks guys! So lovely to hear from you and know you guys are reading and enjoying.

The love note is a reference to Chapter Eight. Snape snapping Blaise in half is a reference to Chapter Four. Hermione's clout is a reference to Chapter Eighteen.