There was soft jazz music, accompanied with various notes of silver and emerald and, of course, lots of black. It was decorated like a proper ball, and for a brief moment, Hermione forgot where she was and the purpose of the ball, but the fantasy came crashing down when she spotted him across the room, dressed in his usual black robes. It was the Dark Lord's celebration for conquering Europe. There was no reason to celebrate the hundreds of thousands of murders that had been committed since the start of his regime, but that night, Hermione had no choice but to put on a fake smile and pretend as though she enjoyed it.

Voldemort was right about one thing. Harry would be disappointed – but she tried not to think about that. A small piece of her courage withered away every time she did, and right then, courage was the only thing that had kept her going.

Hermione gathered the skirts to her floor-length dress and proceeded through the doors, catching the attention of nearly everyone as she entered the ballroom. Her dress was long, white and peplum-inspired. Needless to say, she stuck out like a sore thumb amongst all the heavy black dress robes, but she suspected the Dark Lord had chosen this number for very good reason. Hermione tried not to dwell too long on the fact that she quite liked the dress. It wasn't too showy, or too conservative. It offered the right amount of coverage, with the right amount of skin. Her stride was confident and the looks only increased in number.

"Pardon me, my lady."

She turned, hearing the voice of someone bone chillingly familiar, and felt her stomach drop to her toes. Hermione stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over the skirt of her dress, when suddenly an arm swooped around her waist and steadied her. Her mouth gaped wide open. Her expression went from shock, to confusion, to pure, unadulterated rage. She raised her hand and gave the young man standing across from her a resounding slap across his face.

Within seconds the ballroom went silent. The whispers stopped. The music faded into nothingness. The only sound that could be heard was the echo of Hermione's slap. She stood there, furious beyond words, and folded her arms over her chest. It was gradual, but the guests soon glanced away and the party continued. Hermione, however, maintained her stance. She had nothing to say. She was too afraid of what would happen, should the Dark Lord disagree with her actions, which he most certainly did. He wasn't just a blood purist. He was also notoriously sexist, which happened to be the sole reason his diehard devotee, Bellatrix Lestrange, hadn't been promoted to the role of his second-in-command.

"You've got some bite," William winked, rubbing his cheek. "I was only going to ask you for a dance."

"It's taking me everything I have not to spit on your face," Hermione threatened. "I suggest you walk away before I change my mind."

He laughed, pointing to the one place in the ballroom, where Voldemort was seated on his throne of sorts, and waited until she had a look. "The Dark Lord invited me here as your date. Unless you wish to displease him, I suggest you accept my offer and be quick about it."

She couldn't put into words how horrible this evening was turning out to be, but it was her only shot. Hermione pushed back her anger and resentment, and shakily placed her hands around William's neck. It made her sick to think she had ever found this young man attractive, or even gentlemanly. He was, without a doubt, everything she despised about men, wrapped up in a neat little package. She wanted nothing more than to reverse time and go back to that evening in Sterling Harbour, to the moment in which Draco had warned her about William and tried his best to help her.

It occurred to Hermione that perhaps Draco hadn't even brushed the surface when it came to this young man, and that his motives in that argument were a little more than friendly. Her thoughts seamlessly drifted to him and where he could have been that night, but she had no time to worry. William's smirk was as bright as day.

"I see you fixed your eye," Hermione jabbed, wearing a smirk of her own as her dance partner flinched.

"The Dark Lord fixed it for me," William responded proudly. "In exchange for my parents' release, I joined his forces." He quickly tugged up the sleeve of his left forearm and revealed to her the Dark Mark. "Creepy looking thing, isn't it?"

Hermione didn't look – not once. "I think it suits you."

"Don't act so righteous," he interjected, holding her closer and allowing his lips to hover over her ear. "I know your initiation is tonight."

She ignored his blindingly obvious attempt at unsettling her and shifted her gaze to the door, where Professor Snape had just entered. It appeared as though he'd fallen down some stairs, by the look of his face and his slight limp, which made her scared for him, but Hermione couldn't show it – even a little bit.

"Tell me something," William started, noticing her attention scattered in different places. "What did you expect that night?" he asked. "The night you came to see me in my pub?"

Hermione tried not to frown. She could feel the Dark Lord looking at her, practically visualizing her demise from across the enormous room. "I don't know," she answered, unable to think straight. "I obviously didn't figure you to be the psycho rapist you are."

He scoffed. "You would have had me. It was written all over your face."

"What's the point of this?" Hermione asked, suddenly. "Are you trying to make me uncomfortable?"

"Maybe I am."

"Stop," she demanded, quite softly at that. "I – I'm already nervous about my initiation. I don't need this from you."

William stared at her for a long time, continuing to dance and allowing her emotions to settle, before he leaned in closer and spoke again. "It's a good thing we're on the same side," he whispered, flicking his gaze to Professor Snape as he drew back. "I know what you think of me, but even I wouldn't be stupid enough to willingly work for the man who took my parents hostage."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, frustrated beyond words. "This is too much."

"Tough for you," William shrugged. His smile was wicked. "It's not like the other war. It's not good versus evil. It's just us versus them."

His words echoed in her subconscious for quite some time. Hermione knew them to be true, but she would never admit it, not to him. It didn't matter to her whether or not they were fighting on the same side. She hated him with a fire that would never extinguish. He tried to hurt her. He was vile. He was not fighting for the right reasons, but at the moment, they were outnumbered, which meant there was no room to be picky.

She slowly found herself being whisked to the edge of the dance floor, where William bent down and kissed her hand. "Thanks for the dance, babe. I'll find you when I'm ready for another."

Hermione paid him no mind, and glanced around the area to make sure Voldemort wasn't looking at her, before quietly making her way to the second floor of the ballroom and onto the balcony. It was already dark out, which left the only source of light to be a flickering torch held near the door of the balcony, casting shadows along the stone surface. There she found something waiting for her in the darkness – or rather, someone.

It was a man, a young man, and he was dressed in tailored black robes with his pale blond hair combed softly to the side. Draco turned around, catching an eyeful of Hermione, and without uttering a single word, the pair of them embraced. It should have brought her joy, to finally find him in one piece, but the manner in which he held her, told the brunette that something had gone horribly awry. She closed her eyes and melted into his arms, fearing it would be one of the last times.

Draco breathed in her scent of lavender, honey, almond and mint. It was comforting. It reminded him of their days in Tuscany, when all that had separated them was the door to the master bedroom. It felt like a different lifetime, and for the most part, it was. He hadn't known her then. He hadn't seen her smile or heard her laugh or felt the rippling sensation that coursed through his veins whenever their eyes met from across the room.

"I need to tell you something," he whispered to her, holding her close, as if she would escape him at any given moment. "I remember things about you – about us – whenever you look at me, or whenever your hands brushed over mine. I see our memories in bright flashes, and I feel everything I felt back then, multiplied by ten. It's been difficult dealing with this – this memory loss, and part of me wonders why I would ever want to forget a single second I spent with you, but I finally realized the truth." Draco loosened his hold on her, and leaned back, gazing into her eyes with a hint of desperation in his. "I remember everything," he confessed. "I wasn't going to tell you – not yet – but I can't keep lying to you." His hands moved up and down her arms, keeping her warm against the brisk winds. "It wasn't just a headache that night, after we…we…" There was a tear in his courage, but he persisted. "I regained my memory that night," Draco finally uttered. "I know I should have told you, but part of regaining my memory includes the reason I erased it in the very first place." He pressed his forehead onto hers and inhaled. "I can't tell you what it is, but I can tell you it's something good, something you deserve…something that will put everything into perspective for you, because it certainly has for me." His breaths were staggered. She had never seen him this way. It was painful, having to witness him break down right in front of her. "I have to go somewhere far and bring that something to you," said Draco, as though he were making a promise. "I came here tonight to see you one last time, before I leave, before everything changes." His bottom lip trembled as he spoke the last word. Hermione instinctively brushed her lips over his, relaxing the tension in his muscles for just a moment. "I want to thank you for being with me on this – this adventure. I never understood your lot's penchant for danger and adrenaline, but I finally realized it has nothing to do with the thrill. It's about being good, being human, being courageous, and you taught me how to do that. I know we argued and battled with mud and had our fair share of disagreements, but somewhere along the line…amidst the trees, the stars, the barren buildings, and the late nights…I fell in love with you." He breathed in, deeply, and opened his eyes to find hers glossed with tears. "I'm in love with you," Draco repeated, as though he were speaking these words for the first time in his life. "I'm in love with everything about you, and it kills me that I have to leave but I'm doing it because I love you. I wish I could play the Slytherin card and decide to be selfish over this, but I can't, not anymore." He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm doing this for you, Granger. I need you to be happy."

Hermione blinked, several times over, unbeknownst to the meaning behind his words, or the reason behind his apparent heartbreak. She could only be certain of one thing, and it happened to be the fact that she was happy, for the first time in a long time, she was genuinely happy. "That's not how this moment is supposed to end," she told him, feeling her lips quiver against his. "You're supposed to dance with me," Hermione instructed, placing his arms around her waist and rocking side-to-side, slowly moving to the sounds of distant music. "You're supposed to kiss me," she furthered, standing on the tips of her toes, and gasping softly as Draco did exactly as she told, with incredible ease. Hermione hovered there for a moment, kissing him and allowing his movements to transport her to a different reality, where they weren't in a castle filled with Death Eaters, where they could do everything they wanted without the slightest trace of fear or anxiety. "You're supposed to tell me I look nice and that –"

"Beautiful," Draco whispered onto her lips, kissing her there gently. "You look…beautiful."

A small blush crept up on her cheeks. She breathed in, closing her eyes as his kiss moved to the inner curve of her neck. "You're – You're supposed to…to…keep doing that," Hermione moaned, grabbing handfuls of his hair. "That…feels…so…good…" the young witch panted. "I…just…lower…with something…else…"

Their breathing grew rapid, and Draco came up for air. His lips were wet and swollen, and his hair was no longer neat. It was tousled and sexy, and without having to instruct him further, he lifted her up, by the hips, and against the back wall, beside the door that connected them to the rest of the party. Everyone was there. The Dark Lord. Professor Snape. Bellatrix. William. Anyone could have entered the balcony to catch some air, but the fear of that no longer stopped them.

They kissed each other, passionately and vigorously, and clawed at each other's clothing. Hermione pushed back the coat of Draco's dress robes and wrapped her legs around him, as he held her there with one, using the other to graze the inner curve of her thigh. She had never felt so uninhibited in her life. It was everything. It was the one moment everything had been leading up to. "Don't make love to me this time," Hermione panted, pushing her body closer to his, and attacking his belt buckle. "Don't be delicate."

His gaze darted to hers, as though he were trying to confirm whether or not his ears had heard her correctly, but the pause didn't last long. Draco grabbed her by the neck and pulled her in for another kiss – deep and invigorating – and without further word, he reached between their bodies with one hand and brushed his fingers over her panties to see if she was ready, before hiking the skirt of her dress around her hips, ripping off her panties and thrusting into her.

Hermione tilted her head back, gasping for oxygen. She gripped his shoulders for support, feeling the straps on her dress fall down her arms, exposing her bare chest to him, as he touched all the right places in all the right ways. Her eyes fluttered somewhere between open and closed, and the sound of music grew more distant. She moaned and cried out, feeling so much pleasure it seemed damn near impossible, but Draco made her feel that way. He made her feel brighter, better, stronger.

She wanted him this way, out in the open, under the stars, where the world could see. She had already experienced their nice, fairytale night, in which he combed her hair with his hands and kissed her forehead, and made her feel special. It was now a different night, with different dangers. Hermione abandoned her morals, and immersed herself in the moment. She rotated her hips against his, meeting him with every thrust, and felt that same build-up in her core, as Draco groaned and grunted in response to her movements.

His eyes were on her the entire time. He was doing what she wanted, exactly the way she had imagined, but there was still affection in the way he touched her. It was something about Draco, something about the manner in which he streamlined between saint and sinner that drove her wild with frustration and intrigue. It was what attracted her to him, initially, but that subtle fascination soon grew into something more. In complete truth, she loved him, too, and she knew it from the moment he had kissed her in the meadow. It wasn't just a kiss, it was admission into the feelings they had both been ignoring for the earlier half of their journey.

Hermione thought of that moment, and allowed everything about Draco to consume her tenfold as their breathing quickened and they thrashed through every barrier that had been forced between them.

It was then and only then, that she saw clearly. Hermione gave herself a moment to clean up, whilst Draco did the same, knowing her appearance was in complete disarray. He set her down, but the pair of them stayed close, holding one another and breathing in the other's scent, memorizing every detail. The wizard kissed her again, softly this time. She could feel his eyelashes brush against her skin, as he closed his eyes.

He was the first to say something. "That was…"

"Fucking incredible?" Hermione teased.

Draco laughed with her. "Couldn't have said it better myself," he winked. "I wish I didn't have to –" He paused, glancing down, where the coat of his dress robes was spread on the floor.

Hermione followed his line of vision. "What's wrong?"

He didn't say anything. Instead, the young man reached for his coat, slipping it on, whilst withdrawing something from one of the pockets. It was a silver pocket watch, and the object appeared to be vibrating. Draco glanced up at her, worried. "It's a timer," he explained. "I – I have one minute to get to my Port Key."

There was a hitch in Hermione's chest. She embraced him, without sparing a moment. "Are you sure you can't tell me where you're going?"

"I'm sure," Draco answered, as though it pained him. "I'll be back soon."

Hermione pulled away, wiping at the stray tears that rolled down her cheeks. "Stay strong," she said, voice quiet. "Make sure you come back."

His expression softened. He wiped the remaining tears from her face and nodded. "I will," Draco promised. "Be safe, Granger."

She smiled, feeling an odd sense of nostalgia take over at the mention of her surname. It was endearing, in a way, whenever her referred to her like that. "Back at you, Malfoy."

There was no time to waste, no empty slots filled with silence and subtext and nervousness. Draco leaned in and kissed her again – short and sweet – before taking a step back, eyes on her, and vanishing into the darkness.