This for some reason was tough. I have it the way I want it – but I don't know. You'll have to let me know what you all think. Thanks for the constant support guys! In this installment, Hermione is terrorized by Marcus Flint, and Draco realizes something important.

LCailan

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Draco ran. It was an odd thought, but he began to consider the last time anything required him to move as fast as he was moving now. In the end, he couldn't remember a one. His heart seemed too big for his chest, hammering inside of him like a bass drum, steadily, steadily. Luckily, the alienage was not crowded that time of day, and he sprinted around the circumference of the building where he had left Lavender, and then along the fringes of the courtyard, behind the sleeping quarters and through the door.

Out of breath, he stood, his ears ringing.

The room was completely empty save for the shadows. Catching his breath, Draco wasted no time whirling around and then dashing across the courtyard in the opposite direction he had come, cursing Flint under his breath.

Control, he needed to maintain control. No one could know the sheer panic he felt.

He rounded a corner.

Draco barreled directly into her a split second before he realized she was there, and he found himself surprised because Bellatrix Lestrange never visited the alienages. She hardly ever left Ministry grounds, in fact. He didn't have time to ponder over her reasons for visiting that day, but found it rather inconvenient. Precious seconds were slipping through his fingers, after all. He tried breathing over the erratic beating of his heart.

"Nephew."

Bellatrix drawled the word, giving him a cold smirk, her dark eyes surveying him for a silent moment before she continued. "Going somewhere in a hurry?"

Draco wondered for a brief second if she somehow knew what he was feeling, and how badly he needed to be on his way, and was simply taking her time to cause him as much pain as possible. She was good at things like that – torture, inflicting pain…irritating-

"Flint…an issue with Flint."

The words were breathless, and for the first time Draco did not play to his aunt's whims, instead, pushing her out of his way. She could try and stop him, but he could still fight back.

She stepped directly into his path, her dark eyes boring into his, making it clear who was in charge. And he knew, however unfortunate, that she was clearly the one in charge.

She spoke, her tone no nonsense.

"Let someone else handle it, Draco. I must meet with you and Pansy about the missive I sent this morning. The resistance movement is becoming a rather pesky problem. Surely you've heard others make mention of it? They call themselves Wizards' Equal Rights Alliance. Frightening really, what a group of Muggle-born sympathizers can do when they get together. Last night they killed one of the officials on duty on the western side of the city. And these are half-bloods! Traitors to the cause. It's vile!"

The words gave Draco pause, and he hesitated for a second.

"At Zabini's alienage?"

"Yes, they had orchestrated some escape attempt, but it went awry. One of our own was a casualty, but luckily we got the lot of them. They're waiting for the Dementors. I told them not to even bother with Azkaban, just get rid of them now."

Draco swallowed back the irritation he felt, though his eyes flashed impatiently in her direction, which made Bellatrix laugh, although it was rather cruel in delivery.

"This issue with Flint, whatever it is, must be pressing?"

"Quite," he managed to say, trying to get away again.

This time she stopped him.

"Shall we meet in Pansy Parkinson's office?"

Draco felt himself impossibly torn. On one hand, if he defied the Ministry, pushed aside Bellatrix's orders, he knew they'd question him. But if he wasted another minute – another second – away from Flint and Granger-

"I can't put this on someone else."

The words were firm and he moved away from Bellatrix, who now wore a look of mild interest and confusion.

"I can't imagine why. Especially since the latter issue is less important that the one with the recent rebellions and the resistance movement."

Once more, Draco felt himself hesitating, and finally Bellatrix rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Fine! Let's get this over with, then. I'm sure he's just down there in the rows," she said pointing to the line of brick buildings at the bottom of the gently sloped hill. "I'll help you sort this out and then we can have our meeting."

Draco panicked.

"I'm quite able to handle this myself!" he called out in a firm voice, hoping to dissuade her, but she motioned him once more, and moved quickly towards the buildings, her long black robes billowing out behind her in the fall afternoon breeze.

"Wait!" he called after her, and then broke into a sprint.

Hermione was living a nightmare, but her eyes were wide open. She had long ago lost sensation in her hands and feet – the bitter cold had completely permeated them. Somehow, her fingers still clutched Flint's wand, and her dry lips muttered curses at his command, tears spilling from her eyes and burning down her cheeks.

As her eyes closed against the view before her, she wondered what choice she really had; what choice did any of them have?

Never before could Hermione recall using any of the Unforgivables, but in the last span of moments she had rendered the cruelest of punishments on the poor and helpless people locked in the tiny rooms. Flint was walking down the vast hallway, expertly ignoring the whimpers and cries from his left. Hermione, on the other hand, found herself feeling each and every cry, every whisper, and every plea that fell from the lips of the trapped. Somehow those voices were more poignant and sharply broke into the veil of her conscience, sitting heavily on her heart, becoming a more painful burden as each second slipped by her.

They were screaming in pain, and shrieking in fear as those around them fell dead. When Hermione could not utter the curses fast enough, Flint would do it for her, killing one, two, four, ten, without hesitation. Without remorse.

The only saving grace was that he hadn't yet forced her to kill anyone, simply relishing the fact that he could easily make her torture anyone he wished.

She wept.

He smacked her for it.

Still, the tears refused to cease, and Hermione clutched herself tightly, shaking her head against the assault on her senses. Taste, touch, sound – each of them was inundated with terror, so that she nearly crumbled beneath the burden.

"Hurry!" Flint called to her easily, motioning towards another door on the far side of the hallway, and the walk she made seemed like it lasted an eternity, though this eternity echoed with the sounds of the damned and forgotten; people just like she was.

Draco realized almost immediately that Bellatrix had no intentions of stopping and he was fearful that when she found Flint and Granger in the row, she would finish her off as well. After all, who was Hermione Granger anyway? Who cared about her? Who cared what happened to her except for those others who meant nothing now?

No one would even know she had died today. No one would search for her; she would die and be forgotten.

You care for her.

Yes, yes, he did.

And so with that in mind, he gripped his wand.

"Aunt Bella!" he called, hoping that his voice would surprise her enough to give her pause; Draco never used such a voice with her.

He was lucky, for the sweet quality in his tone caused her to stop and turn, her brows furrowing.

"Nephew?"

"Obliviate!"

Her dark eyes, harsh and unfeeling, suddenly took on a strange, vacant glaze, and she blinked, looking around. The expression on her face was of a peculiar distracted quality, as if she had found herself in a new place and without direction. Draco moved forward quickly, clutching her thin, upper arm and then pulling her toward the brick row buildings.

"Stupefy," he whispered, and she fell in a heap of black robes and unruly black curls.

Once she was docile, he lifted her easily and began setting up a tableau, placing her body in the direction of the building, so that it seemed as if she had fallen faint on her way to check on Flint's progress. He studied his work critically twice and arranged her arms once again, realizing he couldn't waste much more time.

It would have to do; it was suspicious, but it would have to do. Turning, he ran towards the metal doors.

Flint finally stopped moving in the last room, turning on Hermione, his eyes gleaming.

"The ones over there die."

Still gripping the wand in her sweaty hand, Hermione's eyes moved from Flint to the small group of men locked in a metal cage, as if they were animals. None of them spoke; none of them even looked up to acknowledge her.

"Go on, don't waste my time, pet. You've done well so far!"

Hermione's eyes burned with shame and she could hardly breathe over the agony of what she had already done – it pressed against her heart so that she thought she would be crushed beneath it. She had been here too long, she had uttered too many horrible things already, but to actually – he wouldn't actually force her to –

She whimpered, and then the tears came, unbidden.

"Like this," he said rolling his eyes. "It's not hard, pet. Just point and…Avada Kedavra!"

The closest one to them, a small black man with long, stringy hair fell dead, slumping against the back wall and sliding to a stop on the floor, lifeless. Hermione closed her eyes against the gruesome image, gasping in shock. Her hands came up to cover her face, but Flint yanked one of them down and forced her fingers closed around his wand once more.

"Don't all you Mudbloods want your wands back?" he wondered with a sneer. "Here's your chance, then. No holds barred. Do it, kill them. What's it matter, pet? They're just a bunch of stupid rebels!"

His words seemed to grow in manic caliber, and Hermione trembled visibly, shaking her head, her fingers opening and the wand clattering to the floor.

"I-

Could he really do this? She was already too dizzy and weak with emotion, and the thought of having to kill someone frightened her so badly that-

Let me pass out! Let me pass out and never awaken again if this is what I must do!

She wondered if there was anyone else around. She wondered where Malfoy had gone, and a part of her hated him in that second. Hated him and all those just like him-

Flint reached over, to touch her cheek with the back of his hand in a gesture which sickened her. But Hermione had no strength left to pull away from him, for she was rooted to the spot.

"Or perhaps you've changed your mind, love? Care for a shag? I'll forget all this…nasty business, yeah?"

He took a step closer and Hermione winced, trying to move away from the roughness and heat of his palm.

"What?"

He pouted.

"Am I not good enough for you, Mudblood? You'd rather be fucking someone else? Malfoy, perhaps?"

Hermione stood still, saying nothing.

"Poor deluded little bitch," he whispered. "You think he cares for you?"

Still, she did not move, swallowing only to keep from choking.

I won't say anything. I won't say anything. I won't say-

She closed her eyes tightly, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.

"You know what happens to girls like you?"

His voice held a sibilant quality, and Hermione felt his fingers clamp around her wrist – hard, and she found herself dragged back into the room of nightmares, where she could still hear the whispers and moans of those alive, and the cries of terror that Flint drew just by his very presence. Up until that moment, Hermione had not realized how horrible Marcus Flint truly was. She had been too focused on the others, too focused on Malfoy, too-

"They end up here."

He shoved her towards the rooms where the prisoners awaited their deaths.

"Open your eyes and look, Mudblood. Look where you'll end up when he's done with you. When you're no good anymore, to anyone, not even good for a decent shag."

Hermione began to shudder as her eyes opened and her vision was blurred by helpless tears.

"Take your chance now, bitch. At least someone still wants you. Malfoy doesn't. He'll tire of you soon, you'll see."

His two large hands pressed heavily into Hermione's shoulders as he turned her towards the next, barred room.

"She the one in the corner?" he whispered against her ear. "She was like you. Thinking anyone here had a shred of sympathy for her. Selling her body in exchange for mercy. She thought I actually gave a fuck about her, pet!"

His laugh was soft, less annoying, but no less frightening. Hermione blinked away her watery veil to see a pale, young girl crouching in the corner. Just then, as if she knew what Flint was whispering about, her dark eyes turned up and met Hermione's, and there was vivid heartbreak painted there. For a moment, the whole world stopped.

That could be me!

But, what choice had she been given? What could she have offered if not herself? And Malfoy-

In his arms, she hadn't felt like a whore. She had felt right, as if he wanted her. As if he…

Flint's right. What's to say he cares? If he cared, wouldn't I have known it years ago in school? Wouldn't things have been different for me? If he cared, I wouldn't be where I am. Could he even care about a woman like me?

Tears seared Hermione's eyes for a split second, and then slipped down her cheeks, hot against the cool skin there. She had indulged too much in her fantasy, she realized. In that silly little fancy that Malfoy might care for her, even though the world said it wasn't right.

Flint was whispering those horrid things in her ear once more.

"I know you heard about the one that hung herself, didn't you? It was quite flattering, really. Poor, deluded girl. Just like that one," he said pointing to the poor soul who was watching them, terrified.

"What do you say, pet? Make yourself useful, yeah? I know you're not stupid, and this could be good between us…for awhile."

Shuddering once more, Hermione turned on him, plucking up a moment of courage which she took full advantage of. She simply refused to let him see her as completely helpless.

"I wouldn't touch you if you were the last man on this earth, and you told me you'd kill me if I didn't!"

The words harsh and her eyes narrowed menacingly.

"He's five times the man you are, no matter what you say!"

Her defense of Malfoy surprised even Hermione herself. She watched as Flint's face lost all color, then turned red, and then ashen.

"Is he?"

The words embodied a nasty quality that made Hermione go cold in fear.

"He's a coward who is too afraid to admit how he really feels about a filthy whore like you," he hissed. "But I'm not, and maybe you'll have to make that choice, bitch. Me or your death."

He lifted his wand, and Hermione felt a surge of triumph at his obvious tremble. She wondered if he'd do it, or if he'd show himself the coward that she believed all of them were. She had no illusions of the fact that Malfoy cowered in fear just like any other man; she had seen it in school, she had seen it even here, at the alienage. But, she no longer blamed him. After all, he had offered her kindness in a world without any, no matter his status and who he was and whom he served. And somehow, Hermione believed that if it were Malfoy in Flint's place, none of that horrific afternoon would have come to pass.

"Do it. It's like you said, no one would care anyway."

Hermione stood up straight, staring Flint into his hardened, ugly face.

But before he could, from behind them a crash sounded, the door at the far end of the hallway blowing open unceremoniously.

Hermione and Flint both turned, and she nearly moaned with relief. The sight of Draco Malfoy had never seemed more of a saving grace than it did in that moment.

"Flint! Look at this fucking mess! What in Merlin's name are you doing in here?"

The words were harsh and left no room for argument, or even defense, and Flint stepped back, his wand dropping.

"We were just-"

"Save me your excuses. I need your help. Lestrange is here, and she's fallen ill. We should take her to the infirmary as soon as possible. Leave the mess; you can deal with it afterwards."

Flint blinked and Hermione saw Malfoy's pale face flood with color born of rage.

"MOVE! We don't pay you to sodding stand around! Don't waste my bloody time, Flint!"

Hermione willed Draco to look at her, but he did not, instead whirling around, his posture stiff, and stalking out of the room. Wordlessly and wearing a scowl, Flint followed.

Hermione was left alone with those others – the living amongst the dead, the scared, hopeless, and forsaken. She lowered her head, not sure if she could even move. Every whimper made her wince, and every whispered word or plea made her want to jump out of her skin. In some ways, being left behind to face the mess that had been caused by her hand was even worse than-

No! I won't think that way! I wouldn't have, if he hadn't forced me! I'm not like those officials, and I never will be!

When she did finally look up after what had seemed like millennia, the poor girl that Flint had drawn attention to was still watching Hermione closely with those dark, mournful eyes.

"I'm-I'm so sorry. So…so sorry…a-all of you…I just-I-"

Her words seemed to make no difference and earned her no attention, so finally Hermione turned and fled down the hallway after the two men, wanting nothing more than to get away or wake up from her living nightmare.

Then sun shone brilliantly in a pale blue sky when she barreled out of the building into the small yard in front of it. No one was there, either. All was still, for the rows were further away from the alienage and the life that went on there. Here, she was alone, and finally Hermione was able to take a full breath, though she still trembled and her heart raced like that of a scared kitten's. Fearing that her knees were so weak that they would refuse to hold her up, Hermione dashed towards the wall of the closest building and leaned against it, sliding down the rough brick exterior until she was sitting in the sun warmed dust. A few breaths later, and she felt better. She wasn't sure how many minutes had passed by as she sat there, breathing deeply, her eyes half-closed.

I'm all right. I'm going to be all right.

An unemotional peace settled upon Hermione; in that moment she felt and heard nothing at all. She simply was. The placid feeling was shattered by the sound of running footsteps and Hermione's eyes snapped open, he body tensing for confrontation, just as Malfoy rushed down the gentle sloped hill towards the row buildings.

He hadn't seen her, and she found herself staring at the expression on his face. He looked positively panicked, his gray eyes wide with fear, and his face devoid of color. She could see the rigidity with which he had set his jaw. His fingers slipped once, twice on the door handle before he yanked it open with too much force, causing it to slam against the brick frame.

"Granger!"

Even his voice sounded choked and carried a tense tremble.

Hermione got to her feet, struggling to find her voice, to give it enough strength in reply. He was looking for her!

Me! He's panicked this way because of me?

Flint's nasty words seemed to cut into Hermione's hopes, trying to poke holes the in fragile trust that she had in Malfoy.

Did she dare hope that he cared?

He must! Oh, he must!

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she brushed them away, moving out of the shadows and towards him.

"I'm here," she choked out, her response emotional as she gazed on him.

He turned slowly, gasping and she saw the flicker of surprise in those deep silver eyes, and his face melted into one of sheer relief.

"Merlin on high," he muttered and Hermione decided in that moment that she had to hold onto this man; come hell or high water. She needed him.

Malfoy's touch was firm, but gentle, as his eyes surveyed her face, her body with concern before he spoke.

"Did he hurt you?"

His words were whispered and Hermione shook her head.

"I'm fine," she replied, not wanting to share what had happened with Flint, not certain she could speak of it even if he had asked.

Instead, she flung herself into the comfort of his strong arms, breathing in the familiar scent of his morning soap and the cigarettes he sometimes smoked. His Ministry jacket smelled of the fall air, earth and musk, and she breathed him in for a few moments, feeling the way his fingers curled around her neck and twisted into the confines of her long, curly hair. At first, his embrace was uncertain and he stood in the circle of her arms stiffly, but finally he let out a breath of air, and melted into her.

They were like that for an innumerable amount of time, and Hermione wished that whatever it was she felt when his arms were around her would never end. She wished for an endless moment where she could take time and hold it in the palm of her hand so that she could have those particular seconds for all time.

"I'm sorry."

The apologies came easier for him now, Hermione realized. Saying sorry had been impossible for him – at least the Malfoy she had known before. But the man in her arms now was inexplicably different.

"I'm sorry."

His words were soft as he breathed them against her hair, and then she felt the warm touch of his lips to her forehead in a tender moment that caused tears to spring up into her eyes.

"It was Lavender; I didn't know he would- what he had done to her- to everyone. I tried to get here when I could, but then Bellatrix-"

He stopped, and she gazed up into his face, seeing the look of helplessness there. Reaching up, Hermione couldn't help the way the back of her hand ran along the firmness of his jaw, her fingers tracing his lips.

"He didn't hurt me. You came just in time."

Hermione felt a stirring within her heart, a strange, melting feeling which she was afraid of, and one that she couldn't believe she was experiencing.

Bloody hell, I care about this man, don't I? It's not just-

Sighing, she shook her head.

"You know you can't protect me forever," she reminded, and she searched Draco's eyes.

His face confirmed what she already knew; it would be a waste to hope that he could prove her statement false.

"Maybe not from the mess this world has become," he replied tersely. "But from a bastard like Marcus Flint, I can. And from Pansy Parkinson, I can. I swear I'll do what I can to get Lily out of this place and out of London so she's safe. And I'll make sure Flint and Pansy won't hurt you."

His jaw was set, and his face of the utmost seriousness, as he gently pushed a stray chestnut curl away from her face. His words seemed uttered like a prayer; in complete faith and perfect belief. Hermione could hardly believe that in a world that had given her nothing but insurmountable obstacles, it was the enemy with whom she found some relief. And she wanted to believe him. She wanted to trust him. She cared for him.

An icy leaden feeling churned within the pity of her belly, as Flint's whispered reminders worked to eat away at the trust Hermione wanted to feel. None of Draco's assurances seemed to help the acidic words as they echoed in her mind over and over again. Nothing, not even wrapping her arms around Malfoy, quelled the alien, cold feeling that lapped at the edges of her consciousness.

Flint is wrong!

Hermione held fast to Draco, her fingers splayed along the firmness of his back, refusing to let go, even when he tried to gently pry her away.

"What did he tell you, Granger?"

The question made her shudder, but she refused a reply, shaking her head mutely. She could only see the faces of those poor people, damned simply because of their blood status. She could only hear their cries and moans for mercy, and try as she might, she couldn't shake the image of the dark haired girl out of her mind's eye. And even though she tried to banish the thoughts, she could still feel the heaviness of Flint's wand within her own grasp.

Though Hermione tried to keep him from pulling away, Draco was much stronger than she, and he managed to tip her chin up so he could look into her face.

"You're not telling me something," he said, his eyes narrowing. "What is it? If it's Flint, tell me. You can trust me."

Can I? Can I, really? Or is Flint right?

Her heart thundered with her indecision. In the end, Hermione opted to remain silent, resting her head against Draco's chest where she could hear the steady, comforting rhythm of his heartbeat. It seemed safest, and she didn't want to let him go, to relinquish the comfort she so easily found in the circle of his arms. Even if he didn't love her. Even if he would be gone from her life as soon as Lily was safe. She didn't want to think of that, but she would face that, too, when the time came.

Hermione felt him sigh, his fingers lingering in her hair, and then she let herself melt against him completely.

She shifted in his arms, sighing almost inaudibly and Draco found himself glad that none of the others had yet questioned him about what he was doing with Hermione Granger. Now that she was safe again, and Flint had been deterred, he had begun to consider his actions. And lack thereof. And the fact that he had taken more risks than he thought he was willing to in an effort to keep her safe.

Why?

He had no explanations to offer, let alone to give to anyone else, and so…yes, he was glad that they had left him alone thus far. Even if they had asked, Draco wasn't sure what he would say. He didn't understand his own feelings when it came to Granger. He was getting used to the heady feeling of unrest in the pit of his stomach whenever she was near. He had started to anticipate the feeling of being lost in her when she kissed him. But, those things were physical, weren't they? Borne of lack of physical intimacy, and nothing more, right?

Biting his lip, he realized he was heading down a path that would lead nowhere good, for when he began to think on his predicament, she was the only distraction; the oblivion he found in her embrace was the only cure for his unrest.

Stroking the softness of her honeyed, brown curls, he began to hope that she wouldn't look up at him, for it was those cinnamon colored eyes that-

She turned her face up, gazing at him, her expression peaceful. He was reminded of the war-torn expressions of those he had come in contact with over the years. The way the war had eaten away at their emotions, wrecked havoc on their minds and bodies, leaving behind colorless, expressionless people it its wake. Not so with Hermione, Draco realized. There was still life within those eyes, a light burning deep within. He had been taken by those eyes a long time ago, he realized. War had not beaten her down. He knew she had convinced herself that there was no hope, but something inside of her stubbornly refused to believe that, and it showed.

She gave him hope, for Merlin's sake!

She gave him light.

She was beautiful.

He felt his heart plummeting when she let him go, pulling away and dropping her eyes.

"I should…go. I have kitchen duty tonight. With Ginny, and I…I need to see…Justin."

Her words were muffled and soft. And when she looked up, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"Thank you," came her whisper, and for a moment she hesitated, as if she would say something more, and Draco felt himself longing for a touch, a kiss.

And then wondering what the hell was happening to him!

She walks away from me? It should be the other way around, shouldn't it? What is wrong with me?

She hurried away from him, the thick, unruly waves of that long, curly hair shining fantastically in the sunlight, mesmerizing him for a moment before Draco took after her, not even sure what he was doing.

"Granger, wait!"

Well, it wasn't like…he had much else to do, right? And…it was his alienage, so he chose who stayed and who went. And it wasn't like anyone would notice she was missing, was it?

"Look, I-"

Was it really happening? What the bloody hell was he supposed to ask her? To go to tea? For an afternoon at the cinema?

So, Hermione, we should have a chat sometime over coffee. I could make us some brekkie, yeah? With you, it's always a jolly chat, isn't it?

He winced. Was he really wanting to spend time with her? Good God.

I'm officially mental.

She was watching him, her expression strange. He wondered if she it were possible for her to look more beautiful than she did right then.

"I thought maybe if you…had time, you could-"

He sighed. It was impossible. Unacceptable. Wrong, on so many basic levels.

"I don't think you finished the bathrooms the other day."

His voice was hoarse, pulled over his emotions tightly, although he wasn't quite able to hide the tremble in his voice, or look her directly in the eye.

"The bathrooms?"

Her echo held remnants of disappointment. He cleared his throat a bit too enthusiastically.

"Last time I checked, you were still scrubbing my toilets, Granger," he muttered gruffly, his head down.

The silence that followed was deeply awkward, and he felt Granger staring at him, though he refused to meet her eyes.

"I don't…understand. You want me to come…today? Tonight? Is it…?"

He glared up at her, his face pink. His façade broke for a moment, his words heated.

"Isn't it better when we're together?" he snapped, hating that he felt…hurt by her strange reaction. "Or is it just a shag to you?"

He began to walk briskly towards the alienage, knowing she was behind him, but not checking to make sure. Draco didn't understand himself, and he certainly had never understood women. Especially a woman like Granger, in a world like they lived in, where there were new rules. And, sometimes no rules at all. But, he understood the feeling of hurt, and of feeling like his own emotions were unrequited. Or, at least, that's what it seemed like.

I'm pathetic. I'm a married man reaching out for comfort from a Mudblood who could give two shites about me. Clearly, so long as I help her Lily, she'll shag me until the day is done. But, if I so much as try and offer her company just because I'd like to see her, to talk to her, she-

Granger didn't understand. Clearing his throat, he stood up straight, forcing a passive expression on his features. He stopped on the outskirts of the main courtyard.

"You'll be coming with me this evening, Granger. For my pleasure."

He hated making it sound so…disgusting, but, at least he knew she would agree. At least, she couldn't say no. He had tried…wanted…something else, but she-

No matter.

"You'll meet me here at sundown. Don't be late."

He didn't even spare her a glance, wondering if the quiet moments they had just shared had actually been real. Sometimes, he thought he was living the most terrifying nightmare of his life. And Granger was the only thing giving him direction.

Draco wondered when her body would stop being enough. He was afraid that he had already gotten in too deep.