Author's Note: Next chapter already - a little new year's treat for you all! I hope you enjoy it! :)

Revelation

After two hours, they had finished. The clear potion had the consistency of water and Hermione found the coconut smell to be very pleasant. "We should try it at dinner," she suggested, and Draco nodded, though the scent seemed to be a bit strong for his liking.

As they reached the kitchen, Hermione fell back into her training. "I was thinking pasta tonight," she said over her shoulder. She bustled around the kitchen gathering pots and pans and generally annoyed the two kitchen elves – Topsin and Roney – who were busy chopping vegetables. "Maybe chicken parmesan. That sounds pretty good, and Merlin knows I haven't had a decent-"

The words died on her lips as Draco's hand closed gently around her wrist. She sank from her tiptoes to stand on flat feet and looked up at him. They stayed like that for a long moment, his thumb running over her pulse point. His look was complex, sad and humble, but also proud.

"Don't you ever stop?" he scolded gently. "Let the elves take care of it tonight. You need-"

"Draco, if you say rest, I may throttle you," she warned quietly.

"To sit down," he finished with a smile. He put his hand on the small of her back to steer her away. A shiver raced up her spine. "Let's go to the conservatory. You apply the potion, I'll handle the refreshments." He pressed the vial into her hands and motioned for her to continue without him. She did, as much to escape his touch as to anoint the room. He rejoined her as she finished, bearing a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a tray of warm, cheese-filled pastry.

Considering the history between them, conversation easily could have slipped into the unpleasant. The potion did its job, however, and kept their words jovial and their minds sharp. They bantered and laughed and, in one of the rare silences, Hermione could not help but think how very unlike herself she was being. The more she thought about it the more she disliked it and was about to suggest they leave when Dobby called them for dinner. The chicken parmesan was perfectly cooked and absolutely delicious: by far the best meal Hermione had eaten in six months.

After the plates had been cleared and their glasses emptied, Draco suggested they head to the beach to watch the sunset. "It's beautiful," he said, "and the water is warm enough now to wade in."

Hermione smiled. "I've wanted to do that for a while. But what about the forest?"

His look darkened. "We'll slay that chimera when we come to it."

"Why does it affect me like that?"

Hermione thought she saw the shadow of truth cross Draco's eyes, then it was gone. He frowned. "I don't know."

"Do you feel anything?"

His face suddenly closed to her. "Yes," was his simple answer.

"What's in there?" She asked in full knowledge that she would not receive an answer, so what she was given surprised her.

"Not yet, Hermione," he said quietly. "Not yet." He turned toward the exit before she could question him further.

She caught up with him easily. Though she was unwilling to let the subject drop, she also knew that she had no choice in the matter, so they exited the Keep in terse silence. Almost immediately, Hermione felt the forest's pull. It was stronger than before, more urgent, and by the time she was at its edge, the desire to lose herself in its mystery was almost unbearable. She felt herself give into it, moving as if entranced, until Draco took her hand. He pulled her away and led her, half-dazed, down the overgrown path to the sea.

Her head cleared when they reached the shore. Draco slipped off his socks and shoes and, not bothering to wait for her, made his way into the water. Hermione followed suit. She lingered, rolling the legs of her sweatpants up to her knees and staring at Draco. She could not remember seeing him in anything but robes or trousers, but thought his khaki shorts suited him well. He had beautiful legs for a man: long, lean, and well-defined, covered in blond hair that was a few shades darker than was his trademark. Even the shape of his knees and ankles was strangely pleasing: agile but unmistakably masculine. She felt herself flush.

"Coming, Hermione?" he called back to her. She smiled at him and lifted herself up off the sand, joining him in the surf.

The cool water buried her feet until everything below her ankles was concealed in wet sand. A salty breeze tousled her hair and she swayed as the waves rolled up to her mid-calf, broke upon the shore, and pulled away again. Slowly, the sun descended, painting the sky with molten orange, deep magenta, and dark violet as it met the horizon. Color danced upon the white peaks of cresting waves, making the dark sea shimmer and ripple.

"I wish I could see this every night," she said softly. Draco was silent and still; she snuck a sidelong look at him. The dying light softened his angular features and took the shadows away. He looked peaceful.

"I know what you've done for me," she continued. "The bracelet… It helps take the pain away. How does it work?"

Draco fished beneath the collar of his shirt and brought out a silver chain. On it hung a green stone pendant, around which coiled a realistic silver dragon.

"Do you remember when you gave this to me?" he asked.

"Of course." She thought back to their wintery Hogmeade trip their seventh year. It had been an impulse buy, which was very much unlike her, but the contentment she felt buoyed her for much of that day and the days after. She soon began to fret, however, as was her wont. What if he didn't like it? What if he ridiculed the idea? What if he rejected her? The worry gnawed at her and she almost returned it countless times. When Christmas arrived and it was still hidden in her sock drawer, Hermione decided that it was too late: she had to give it to him. "Christmas day," she answered. "It was the same night you gave me the bracelet."

"Do you know what it meant?"

She did. "Protection against harm, against grief."

"No, that's what it did. I'm asking if you know what it meant." She looked at him, puzzled. He continued in a low tone. "This was the first honest gift I had ever received from a friend. Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle… Even Pansy. We exchanged favors, bribes. This…" He moved the pendant around the chain in a practiced gesture. "It was enough for you to simply do something good. You didn't want or expect anything in return. You just wanted to help me. It was selfless, Hermione. A selfless gift. In a way, it saved me from myself."

"But that doesn't explain-"

"The bracelet lessens the effect of harmful spells by siphoning some of the magic off. But that magic doesn't just disappear. It needs to go somewhere. When I charmed your bracelet, I charmed this pendant as well. This," he swung the dragon pendant again, "is the outlet for the excess."

Hermione gasped in horror, the full implication striking her at once. "The spell affects you too. Whatever I feel, you feel."

"It's not enough," Draco said. His voice shook. "I've tried to take it all, but there are limitations to the spell. But I've tried, Hermione, and I'll keep trying until I can give as selflessly as you did. Until I can save you from it."

Draco raised his eyes to hers. Quicksilver met cinnamon, and that was it. In a moment of perfect clarity, the world melted away and she saw him unfettered. He was no longer unreadable or untamable or unknowable. He was a man, complex, troubled, and deeply scarred. He had a horrifying past, a threatening present, and an uncertain future, and he risked it all just to spare her pain.

He loved her.

She felt this with a certainty that did not exist before. There was no hidden meaning here, where the infinite realms of ocean and sky kissed. There was no agenda. Only truth existed in this place, and she must abide by that law. So Hermione threw away her pretenses, her sense, and her restraint. She stood before him, her heart as naked and uninhibited as his was, and realized suddenly that she was tired of fighting him. She was tired of thinking and taking orders and acting. She was through pretending that she was immune to him.

Through with pretending that she did not love him, too.

The realization shocked her into movement and she flung herself into his arms, weeping tears of joy and relief. There would be no more lies between them, no more barriers. She needed him. What's more, she wanted him. Their situation was desperate and insane, but what did that matter? She had made it this far, hadn't she? And Draco. Draco, who damned her to live in this hell. Draco, who then saved her and taught her how to survive. Draco, who made her pain his own. He would make sure she made it even further. She was certain of it.

"Draco," she whispered, threading her fingers between the silken strands of his light hair.

"Please, don't," came his weak reply.

"All this time, despite everything, and I can't believe…"

"Don't say it, Hermione." His voice shook, thick with tears and pleading. "Please, don't."

"Draco, I love you."

Her lips crashed onto his, sealing her fate. Draco froze for a moment so fleeting Hermione thought it could have been imagined, and then he kissed her too, sharing her destiny. Fingers dug into skin. Knees buckled. Bodies trembled. His lips were insistent and desperate; he clung to her like a dying man clings to life.

She deepened the kiss and pressed her body against his. She needed the reality of his touch, the heat of his body, and the beat of his heart as they stood breast to breast. She was lost in sensation, flying, falling, and then he pulled away from her.

"Hermione, I'm sorry," he whispered. His breath was an aphrodisiac and she captured his lips again. Honey and spice. A rare glimpse of heaven. She held herself to him violently and he tore away from her with just as much force.

"This can't happen, Hermione," he said. "There's so much you don't know, so much you don't understand."

"Forget about it, Draco. It doesn't matter anymore. I don't care."

"No!" He backed away from her touch and glared, his eyes fierce in the dying light. "It matters! It should not be forgotten, and you should care! You have to understand. You need to know before this," he gestured to the air between them, "can work. Before you say words that cannot be taken back."

And in an instant, she made the connection. The electricity that set her nerves alight fizzled out, leaving her cold. She stepped away from him.

"No," she said. She had imagined this moment countless times, the setting, his excuses, her reactions. But this? On a beach with her soul and heart exposed? Terror gripped her and, for a wild moment, she nearly ran from him.

"Please," he said. His eyes cut through her. "I need to do this. For you."

"And you," she replied, suddenly angry. "You're doing this for you. Leave it alone, Draco, and live with your guilt like I've lived with mine! I've come to terms. I'm moving on. Why can't you? There's no need-"

"That you've accepted it is proof enough that I should have done this ages ago," he snapped. "Hermione, you should be much angrier at me than you are. You should not be able to tell me you love me, shouldn't even be able to consider that option because of what I've done to you. It's more than I deserve."

"Then don't say it," she pleaded earnestly. In two steps she was in front of him, her fists curled into the front of his shirt. "Don't say anything," she begged him in a whisper. "Don't say words that cannot be taken back."

"Hermione… Please." His eyes begged her, soft and yielding. They were her undoing.

Her acceptance must have flashed across her eyes. He whispered a, "Thank you," and led her out of the water to dry sand, where they sat down. He scooped out a shallow depression where he conjured a small bundle of flames for light and warmth. With a deep breath, he began.

"I was supposed to kill Dumbledore," he said quietly. "That was the task the Dark Lord assigned me when my father failed to obtain the prophecy from the Ministry. It was supposed to be a punishment, assigning me such an impossible task. What I managed to do was more than anyone had ever expected of me. More than I expected out of me. But the fact remained: Snape had been the one to cast the spell. I hesitated. That was my mistake. I disarmed him, but didn't, couldn't, kill him. To this day, I don't know if I could have, even with all the time in the world.

"My punishment was severe. The Dark Lord tortured me for what felt like hours, then told my father to finish the job. My father did not want to kill me, but he came close. I don't blame him, if you believe it. There was so much tension – everyone's lives were hanging by threads and one misstep could have ended it all. I almost ended it all.

"When I was well enough to take orders, I was brought before the Dark Lord once more. He had searched my mind while he was torturing me. He saw that Dumbledore had tried to recruit me and that I knew the location of the Order of the Phoenix. He couldn't see it – I wasn't Secret Keeper – but that I knew it was enough for what he needed.

"He wanted me to infiltrate the Order. I was to get close to Potter however I could, find his weaknesses, and sabotage the Resistance from the inside. I was the lynchpin, he told me. The key to his success. I saw it for what it was: an extension of my punishment. Yes, it was a chance for redemption. If I succeeded, all of my family's mistakes would be forgiven. We would have a clean slate, even be exalted when the Dark Lord gained power. But the Dark Lord knew how I would be received at the Order and at school. Though he probably never imagined how bad it would get, I'm sure he reveled at the thought of my exclusion.

"And there was a price. The Dark Lord needed assurances that I would not fail. I lacked the proper motivation, he told me. So I made the Unbreakable Vow with my mother." His voice cracked and she saw him relive the moment. His eyes were haunted. "The Unbreakable Vow. My part was to kill Dumbledore; my mother's was not to help me along. He forced my father to be our binder. We were a family cursed with extinction and a death more cruel than we could imagine.

"It was extraordinarily smart on his part, of course. The one thing that would properly motivate me was the death of my mother. If she died, my father would have gone insane. It would have destroyed him and he would have destroyed me. My whole family dead because of me; the Malfoy line extinguished forever. I think that's what the Dark Lord wanted, to be honest. My family had failed him too often. We were too inconsistent to be of much use any more.

"He set me up for failure. He knew perfectly well what the feelings were between me and you, Potter, and Weasley. There was no way I could get close to Potter without raising everyone's suspicions and exposing myself as a spy. I couldn't get close to Weasley because…"

Hermione shot him a fierce glare, complete with snarl. "He was one of my best friends," she snapped.

"I had never cared for him," Draco finished lamely. "And that left you." He shook his head. "I don't know if you understand how much it disgusted me at first. Of all people, it had to be you. The Muggleborn who beat me in every subject we ever took. The girl whose blood was repulsive to me, who by her very nature was not fit to wipe dung from my shoes…" He did not hide the resentment in his voice.

"I didn't want to do it. It was unthinkable, but the consequences if I didn't… Those were even worse. So it began. The hate I felt toward you, and that I'm sure you felt toward me, was real. Lowering myself to your level went against everything I had ever been taught. All those times I hurt you? Insulted you?" He lifted his grey eyes to meets hers; she could see poison in their depths. "I meant them. I'm not a killer, Hermione, but I am not a nice man. I was an even nastier boy. I look back on it now and just…" Draco shook his head in disbelief. "I was repulsive," he spat, "How you could even stand to look at me... I didn't deserve it."

"You didn't," she agreed acidly, if not a bit too readily, "and it's my fault for believing you could be something you weren't. But if this mission was so important to you, why did you bother with the insults and the curses?"

He gave her a speculative look. "Had I arrived at the Order and laid on the charm, what would you have done?"

"Hexed you into oblivion."

"And at Hogwarts, when Potter and Weasley weren't there to watch your back?" Hermione frowned; he had a point. "I had to make it look natural. I had to insult you and then gain your trust, show you that everything and nothing had changed without incriminating myself. My mother's life and my family's name depended on it. That was all that mattered. I was fueled by desperation. I would not fail. Not this time.

"From there, you know what happened. Time passed. It seemed like I started to hate you less. Zabini and those idiots actually helped me along. They gave you reason to pity me. I knew you saw me as a broken thing waiting to be fixed. A lost cause, even. I played right into your sympathies, Hermione, and I knew it. It was all according to plan.

"But what I didn't expect was that I actually did start to hate you less. I won't lie and say that I had a terrible childhood. I was rich enough to buy friends, had an affectionate mother, and, yes, my father could have done better, but he was only doing what he thought would help me through the world. Yet there were many things I didn't have: loyalty, genuine affection, sincerity. You showed me those things. You were no longer this insufferable snob. You cared about me. You were honest. You listened. You wanted to help. Imagine my horror," he said with a wry chuckle. "A Muggleborn… You were everything I wasn't and offered me everything I never had.

"I was so angry at you. Frustrated that you could be so good but so blind to what I was doing. I wanted to shake the naiveté out of you and make you see the truth. But you refused to be swayed and that made it so much easier for me to get close to you. For once, I felt comfortable in my own skin. I didn't have to worry about what being with you might cost me. Sometimes, I even forgot about what I had to do to you. I was falling in love with you, Hermione. Head over heels in love."

His words hung in the air like a lead balloon. The gravity of them hit Hermione square in the chest and she dreaded what came next. Tears slowly made tracks down her cheeks. She didn't want to hear it, but knew Draco could not stop.

"I was in love with you, but it was my job to ruin your life and the lives of everyone you loved. It tore me apart, like with every beat my heart ripped itself further out of my chest, but what could I do? My family needed me and you were a Muggleborn and I was the selfish fool who fell for you and didn't have the sense to try and make it right while I still had the chance.

"I was terrified, Hermione. Terrified of failure, terrified of succeeding. Whatever path I chose would end in disaster and there was no way I could come out of it a happy man. I considered telling you everything. Christmas. Valentine's Day. The Quidditch Finals. After we made love. All the nights we studied together in our Common Room. The words were there, poised on the tip of my tongue, and I… I…" He buried his face in his palms.

"Coward," she hissed. He looked at her and she saw him shatter.

"I can't tell you how ashamed I am." His voice was low with anguish, humiliation, guilt, regret. "Craven. Spineless. Weak. Afraid of uncertainty, of change. The one path I could have chosen was the one that had the greatest chance of saving you, the people you love, and me."

"So why didn't you?" she spat. "Aside from the fact that, short of murdering your kin, you would do anything just to save your own hide?"

"What would your reaction had been if I had suddenly confessed all?" he yelled back. "Explained to you how I lied and manipulated you? How I preyed on your sympathies, on your greatest strengths, for my own gain? Hermione, you would have hated me! You could never love me after that! I would have lost you for good!"

Despair consumed her, so cold and fast that she could not contain it. She jumped to her feet and dug her fingers into her hair, sobbing in frustration and grief. Deep down, she had known the truth of it. She knew that there was more to his betrayal than orders or even hatred. There had to be. A man could not love her like he had loved her and be insincere. Hearing him explain it all somehow made her pain more bearable, but did not remove the sting of reality. Draco's arms were around her in an instant, holding her together as she threatened to fly apart.

"I am a coward, Hermione, but worse, I am a selfish coward. I couldn't come to you because I knew it would destroy me. Yes, my life was a wreck and I was stuck between a manticore and a hard place, but I loved you and you loved me. I couldn't deny myself. I couldn't sacrifice myself for you, couldn't stand the thought of you looking at me with contempt after I confessed, couldn't stomach the idea of you getting back together with Weasley. The thought of you being happy with another man filled me with hatred; I never had any intention of sharing you. You were mine, all that I wanted, everything I needed. I couldn't live my life without you since I had once lived it with you. I – a selfish, contemptible bastard to the last. I couldn't let you go… And I couldn't… I couldn't…"

Draco gasped and fell to his knees before her, his entire body contorted in grief.

"A boy's thoughtless mistakes and a young man's tortured life," he said quietly, his voice thick with heartache. "Now you know what it means when you say you love me. Now you know what I've done and why I did it. And now you know how impossible it is for you to say that you love me. Hearing it is like eating the apple of Eden, but I knew that if I told you… If you knew…"

His words were lost in his sobs. "I don't expect you to love me. I don't expect you to forgive me. I just wanted you to try to understand me. I'm not the man I was and I live with regret so piercing that a piece of me disappears with every heartbeat. But I love you. I always will love you. And I… Hermione… I'm so sorry."

A deep, shuddering breath ended his speech and he sank onto the sand, his head hung between his knees. Hermione sank down beside him, feeling weak, resigned, and a good deal calmer than she had any right to feel.

"Why now?" she asked.

"For the first time since Potter's fall, the Dark Lord is going to Legilimize me. There are some things that just cannot stay hidden, no matter how sturdy the defenses. Love is one of those things. If he is still the Lord I think he is, he will be no closer to understanding its power than when he started. I am counting on this to work in my favor, but it may end up doing the opposite. Whatever the outcome, I am ready to face the consequences now. Responsibility," he croaked, "a lesson I learned too late."

They sat in silence until the sun disappeared below the horizon. The evening star winked into life above them and was soon joined by her companions. Soon, all remnants of sunlight were gone, leaving only the night's gentle caress.

"Why couldn't you just be a villain?" she asked him quietly. She stared into the petite bluebell flame and felt rather than saw him stir.

"The world is rarely so black and white," he whispered. "It would make existence too simple."

She wiped her tears away. "I'm tired of everything being difficult."

Draco laughed quietly. "I am too, but it won't change anything."

"So what can?"

His eyes burned into her, but she resolved not to look at him. "You," he whispered. "Me. We can change things."

"How can you say that?"

"Don't you get it, Hermione? Don't you understand?" His voice was so earnest that she could not ignore him any longer. The flames danced in his eyes, making them sparkle. "More than anything, I want to be selfish. I want to steal you away and run from my responsibilities. But I can't and I won't. I've changed. I see now that there are things in this world that are bigger than you and I. Things that are more important than us. I hope you can understand that."

She laughed wryly. "Draco, you are talking to the best friend of the boy whose entire existence was for the Greater Good. So yes, I understand you perfectly, but that does not stop me from wishing it could be different. What you've done was beyond your control. Yes," she continued in response to his shocked, almost horrified, expression. She herself was a little surprised. "You were seventeen – barely an adult – and you battled with impossible decisions. There was no way to come out of it unscathed and, given the circumstances, who's to say I wouldn't have done the same thing?" She glanced at him again. "You looked appalled."

"I just can't imagine you choosing the path I did. You would have confessed, tried to have saved everyone."

She thought for a moment, her brow furrowed, and shook her head, uncertain. "I like to think I would have, but I don't know. The pressure you were under… The lives you held in your hands… I am good under stress but I have a breaking point. I think that would have broken me. Nothing good can come of desperation and your story is as desperate as I've ever heard."

"You forgive me?" His voice was harsh, as if he consciously stripped it of hope.

Hermione hesitated. "I wasn't lying when I said that I had come to terms with what we've done. I have. I live with my guilt and I'm trying to move past it. Part of me feels horrible and callous, like I'm abandoning them. But even though I'm still here and they're in some anonymous grave," Draco flinched beside her, "I'll never forget them. Just like I'll never forget how you watched as they burned. Just like I'll never forget the mistakes I made that allowed them to burn in the first place. So do I forgive you? No. I think that's a long way off. But I do understand, and that's a start."

"That's more than I ever hoped for." Draco took her hand in his and pressed it firmly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She let the moment hang between them unscathed, but she was not through with him yet.

"What I really don't understand," she continued, "is what you're doing now. Your service to him is repulsive and wrong and I know that you can't change it without risking your life and the lives of your family. But if you've learned to be selfless, I wonder why you haven't even tried." Draco looked stung momentarily; she continued. "You are meeting with him tomorrow, confident that he won't kill you. You have attended his fêtes, sat at his right hand… You have power and rank within his office. He listens to you and still you help him instead of fighting. And don't tell me that you believe that propaganda he puts out!" she said sternly in response to the defense she saw him preparing. "After what you've told me, the love you have for me, you cannot honestly say that me and my kind are below you. You're too smart for that and we both know it."

"What if you're wrong?" His voice was full of significance but its meaning was lost upon her.

"I'm not." Her retort was swift, cracking in the air like a bullwhip. Draco said nothing but maintained eye contact. "And that's what I'm trying to puzzle out now, Draco," she murmured. "How can you love me but hate everyone like me? How have you learned to sacrifice but still refuse to give up your comfortable, safe life to help those who need it?" She stared at him intensely and, almost of its own volition, her hand reached out and caressed his cheek, her fingers running down his ribbon-thin, hairline-to-jaw scar. Draco closed his eyes and leaned his head into her touch.

"And what if you're wrong?" he said softly. He laid his hand to the back of hers, pressing the length of her palm against his cheek.

Their eyes met and Hermione saw another shadow of truth, a flicker of something that at once frightened and exhilarated her.

What if?