I Will Not, Cannot Go

by odairrieres

After running away from the shadows of the war and finding a new life and fiancé in muggle London, Hermione is faced with a ghost from her past who refuses to let her go on living a lie.

26. Honest Mistake

[I'M SORRY. I'M SORRY. I'M SO SORRY. HERE'S A 40 PAGE CHAPTER TO REDEEM MYSELF FOR 6 MONTHS OF SILENCE. I'M SORRYYYYY]

June 30th 1997

"Cheater," Hermione grumbled through her fingers.

Ron gave a smug smile; Hermione's queen was crudely blasted off the board by the throne of Ron's, equally smug and victorious, queen. To further display his win, Ron dusted the remaining chunks of her beheaded queen towards her. The crumbling bits of stone tumbled off the small coffee table and plopped onto Hermione's pajama pants. A particularly big piece made it so far as the dorm's fireplace behind her.

With a languid sigh, Hermione brushed off her defeat. She could've been honest with Ron and told him that he'd won on a technicality. Hermione had a severe disadvantage: a plagued mind. Even as he bragged across from her, the volume of his voice was dialed down beneath the noise:

June 30th. Stay in bed. Please.

A month later, the day had arrived, and Draco's urgent voice continued to beg her.

At least, in her head, he did.

Hermione hadn't heard Draco's voice since that day in the infirmary. She had barely seen him; and only through occasional, accidental, and extremely hurried glances in the hall and class.

After all, she'd determined not to approach him. She stood firm in her resolve. She would stay away, until he finally came to a decision.

She'd left Draco that day with solid resolve and a good amount of confidence in his inevitable choice… But time damnably shook her down.

It was June 30th. Evening was giving way to night, and Draco Malfoy had yet to knock her door down. There were no decisions made. Draco was in no rush to make Hermione keep her promise.

You have to decide if you truly want my promise.

… What if he'd decided, after all?

Even though she knew he had the freedom of choice, she was terrified he'd made the wrong one.

But would it be the wrong choice for him, or for her?

"Hermione?"

The volume twitched upwards long enough for her to focus. She was holding onto the chipped face of her queen. Her fingers were trying to pressure the pieces to stay together. Instead, the cracks multiplied, craterous and crumbling.

"Hmm?"

The freckles on Ron's nose stirred like agitated particles. The corners of his eyes crinkled in concern. "I asked if you knew what Dumbledore wants from Harry…"

Ah. Yet more trouble, scratching at her skull.

Hermione swallowed, and tried to clear her mind by helping Ron clear off the chessboard. She picked off pieces from the board one by one.

"We both know what it is," she replied calmly, hoping her tone would help the both of their nerves settle.

Ever since Harry had dashed off with a letter from Dumbledore earlier that evening, Ron had been a little on edge. And Hermione? Well, the news when it had reached her... Well, between searching out the allusive Half-Blood Prince - a self-imposed project meant to distract herself and protect Harry- and practicing self-control in regards to magic and Draco Malfoy? Merlin. The thought of Harry vanquishing horcruxes with Dumbledore, tonight of all nights-

June 30th. Stay in bed. Please.

She was barely holding onto her edge.

Ron frowned. "Right. But you don't think Dumbledore's actually found a horcrux, do you?"

Can you promise me that's where you'll be?

Hermione bit down on her bottom lip, a little too sharply. "I wouldn't be surprised if he did," she remarked, much too sharply.

Ron paused in putting the chess pieces away. His hand hovered over his and her knights.

"Would he really take Harry with him?"

No.

She picked up the pieces for him and tossed them a smidge too roughly into the drawer, and hastily snapped it shut.

"I'd like to think Dumbledore wouldn't endanger a student's life, but the record has shown-"

Before Hermione could even finish her speculation, the entrance to the Gryffindor's dormitory whipped open. Breathlessly, Harry flew in.

No.

Hermione's face went numb.

"What does he want?" She said at once, on her feet, her head infuriatingly light and anxious. She needed calm and collected, prepared and calculating. As she'd been for a month since-

"Harry, are you okay?" Hermione blurted, in no way calm, collected, prepared or calculating.

Harry's cheeks were flushed. His eyes were ablaze with something dangerous, unharnessed- alarmingly familiar. He was rushing towards the stairs, when he only just remembered to be polite. He paused with his foot on the first step.

"I'm fine," he finally replied curtly, and then immediately disappeared up the staircase.

Ron and Hermione barely got to exchange a worried look before Harry was barreling down the stairs again, pouring out the events that had sent him flying around Hogwarts for the past half-hour.

Hermione barely caught the ends of his sentences: Dumbledore finding a horcrux - which she'd suspected - Harry demanding to go, even though he was infuriated about Snape. Something about Snape, what was that bit? When Hermione tried to grasp at the details, she caught the prickly edges of wrath and betrayal.

Before she could register any of the facts accurately, Harry was moving again, flinging something white and balled up at his friends.

"Take it."

Ron just barely caught what Harry was ordering them both to take; his face took the brunt of the catch.

When Ron's hand unfurled around it, Hermione and he both stared down at a clunky sock.

Hermione was still frozen in horror, and now utter confusion. Her mind was still in the process of wrapping itself around Harry leaving with Dumbledore. In pursuit of Horcruxes, of all things.

June 30th.

How she wished she'd misheard.

"Professor Trelawney heard someone in the Room of Requirement," Harry's flow of events still rushed out, creating a calamitous current. "Malfoy. He's going to do something tonight while we're gone, I'm sure of it-"

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, finally hearing full sentences, but Harry shot a hand out to stop her.

"No, listen to me, damn it!"

Immediately, Hermione's words of protest evaporated. Though, definitely not because they weren't warranted anymore. Hermione was shocked still by his familiar, inflamed tone. A tone she'd heard countless times in her own voice not too long ago. It was the sound of a nuclear bomb detonating.

She recognized the tempestuous, apoplectic cloud in his eyes, too. Too keenly.

Her entire body drained, became dreadfully numb. Nothing good could come from this look, this storm. Nothing good could come from his leaving tonight.

"I have to go, so - please - just take it."

Ron, puzzled, gradually lifted the sock until something small rolled out soundlessly onto Hermione's outstretched hand. It landed softly, smoothly.

It might as well have burned a hole through her palm.

Thirty-three days. It had been exactly thirty-three days since Hermione last flirted with dark magic. And exactly thirty-one days since she'd last flirted with Draco Malfoy. So, for more than a month, she'd managed to stop flirting with disaster. She'd stayed on track, poised and friendly and relatively calm despite the brewing tempest around them all.

But now she stood with her back to the fire again, the most miniscule bottle in her hand- with the most consequential liquid inside: Felix Felicis.

Known side-effects: recklessness and dangerous levels of overconfidence.

Known purpose for use: to gain success in all endeavors.

For Hermione, that could go one of two ways.

She cradled the small dose of divine intervention - or destruction - as she would've held a grenade.

Stay in bed. Please.

"No," she burst out, wide-eyed, and finally mobile. She shoved the bottle back at Harry - nearly throttling it.

How could he just burst into the dorm in hysterics? Demanding they just let him go on this ridiculously dangerous mission? Leaving them to deal with whatever was NOT happening? Because no matter what Draco had said, no matter Harry's makeshift prophecies, nothing was going to happen.

Nothing was going to happen. Nothing-

"Hermione, this isn't an argument you're going to win."

Harry heatedly grabbed her hand and balled it into a fist, shoving it and the trapped vial back at her crudely. He'd been agitated from the moment he'd appeared; red-faced and rushing around the dormitory like a madman with a cause. He wasn't going to calm down now, and especially not in regards to her. The grip on her hand was proof enough of this.

She was struck again by how much of her was reflected in his eyes just then.

Hermione's gut twisted into queasy knots.

The conversation he'd had with Dumbledore shook his mind into a turbulent beast, and left his composure destroyed. He couldn't stop moving, legs shaking to take off, because he was fed up of inaction. He wasn't going to let Hermione or Dumbledore, or anyone else, tell him no or that he was wrong. Not anymore.

"Don't go," she begged, her other hand piling atop his clenched, white knuckles. Harry squeezed her fist tightly, and for a moment she wondered if that fragile little bottle could withstand the pressure.

Harry had a decided, incensed fire in his eyes. "I have to. It's now or never."

"You know, out of all the cliches, I think I hate that one the most," Ron muttered nervously. He looked ready to snatch Harry's Invisibility Cloak away, as if that would keep his friend still. But Harry was just too restless. His toes were biting at the tops of his shoes, ready to run to Dumbledore's side. To a mission no boy should ever be handed.

"Take Felix for yourself. You'll need it more than us, Harry," Hermione reasoned with him. Or at least, she tried.

Sheer will powered Hermione's arms as she pushed the bottle towards him.

Looking about ready to burst into flames, Harry opened his mouth to argue-

"Nothing's going to happen! Alright?" Hermione blocked him off, her own heart flaring up. "We'll be alright."

Momentarily, Harry's anger was whisked away by a riptide of worry. His face twitched and succumbed to an anxious frown.

Harry thought, and knew, he was securing her safety with the potion- but at what cost to her sanity?

Up to that moment, she'd fought off her alter-ego (or worser half) and had subdued the whispers. Her sobriety had been successful so far. But that little drop of liquid courage could easily be the little drop of gasoline her mind needed to run wild and dark, with absolute confidence and control. She'd be physically safe, surely, but there would be consequences.

And she'd lose her hold for what?

After all, nothing was going to happen.

"You're that sure?" Harry asked doubtfully, fretfully shifting in place. His five minutes were running into the negative. Dumbledore would be waiting impatiently now. He feared abandonment. A contagious fear.

June 30th. Stay in bed. Please. Promise me!

"Quite," Hermione asserted, muffling both her's and Harry's tedious trepidations.

Unfortunately, his doubts still screamed out at her, amongst her own.

She hated that his fear was focused on their well-being, rather than his own. She despised that Dumbledore would ask this task of Harry. She loathed not being able to go with him, and resented that he wouldn't take the damn potion for himself. And she was terrified that his worry was warranted.

Nothing was going to happen.

One finger at a time, Hermione calmed her hand's shaking.

"... But we'll keep guard, just in case. I'll use the Galleons to call in the D.A., like you suggested, and have them on alert," she conceded. Still, Harry's brow was stubbornly creased. They both knew why his worry clung to her well-being like a smothering cloak. Her heart clenched. "If anything happens, I'll do what needs to be done."

Still.

Hermione sighed. "... Like drink the potion."

And just like that, Harry's trouble dissolved.

Without much warning, Harry pulled her into a spine-breaking hug. Its urgency tipped her off to a deeper meaning, which was confirmed when Harry whispered something rushed and pleading into her ear.

When he pulled away, Hermione's gaze was hazy, to the point that she couldn't really distinguish her friend's form as he disappeared through the doorway for the final time.

"You think he'll be okay?" Ron asked, his voice coming to her through thick, distorting glass.

She still felt Harry's arms around her: supporting her, yet unknowingly crushing her. When had he grown so strong?

She still felt Harry's breath at her ear, lingering where his chin landed against her cheekbone. When had he grown up so much?

"Hermione? You think he'll be okay?" Ron asked again, closer this time. And this time, it sounded more like he was asking if she would be okay.

"He'll be safe," she replied, dodging the truth. Which was: Harry hadn't been okay for a while. None of them had.

She had a feeling that, after tonight, they never would be.

Immediately after Harry's departure, Hermione was digging up her charmed Galleon and summoning anyone from the D.A. who was up and willing to meet in front of their old spot. All the while, she hoped their enemy would never show.

Ron and Hermione left the dorm soon after sending the signal out and stood, waiting, down the hall from the Room of Requirement. Their eyes were peeled for D.A. members, and any sign of the said enemy:

Draco Malfoy.

That poisonous thought sent Hermione pacing in dizzying circles around Ron. For a while, she stayed that way, while Ron kept his hands to himself for fear of getting them chopped off.

Until Hermione's face smacked onto a ridiculously complacent and unmoving face.

"You have less freckles today than you did yesterday, Hermione," Luna mused as Hermione took a step back from the intrusion. "And yesterday you had less freckles than the day before. You should sunbathe more often, or else you'll lose all your freckles and become frightfully normal."

"Good evening, Luna," Hermione grumbled as she rubbed her dented nose. Luna hadn't budged from where she stood, still barely inches away from Hermione.

"Is it good? I hadn't come to a decision yet. And after my galleon started to warm up on my necklace, I thought it must be a bad evening. Or at least a mediocre one. What's happened?"

"Nothing, yet," Ron commented before Hermione could, inevitably, make a snappy comment.

"Well, that's just not logical. There's always something happening," Luna commented.

Hermione's mouth snapped open again, but this time two people censored her before the annoyed spark in her eye could become a rampage.

"What's going on? Where's Harry?" Ginny asked bluntly as she appeared around a corner, books in hand from her interrupted studies.

"Sorry I'm late!" Neville huffed as he rounded the other corner, hair disheveled and mouth gasping. He'd rushed over from the lake as soon as he'd gotten the alert. It seemed he, Luna, and Ginny were the only ones who got the alert. That or they were the only ones who cared to respond.

It soured Hermione's already bitter mood.

"So," Ron fumbled, when Hermione didn't jump at the chance to take control. "Harry thinks Deatheaters are going to breach Hogwarts. The plan is to keep an eye out for any fishy activity while he's gone- especially with-"

"Sorry," Ginny blurted, not actually sorry at all. Her hawk eyes were locked in on Ron, her words talons at his neck. "Harry's gone? Where?"

Ron tried to play it cool, but the nervous shuffle of his feet gave him away. "Some cave… with Dumbledore, looking for a horcrux."

His sister nodded stiffly, as though this was all perfectly normal. But just as Ron's feet had given him away, Ginny's ears gave her away. They were beet red.

"How are Deatheaters supposed to get in?" Neville asked, puzzled. "I thought this place was a fortress."

"Malfoy's got a trap set up somewhere in the school, with the goal to assassinate Dumbledore," Ron supplied too quickly for Hermione's taste. "So-"

"In case that's true," Hermione aggressively took reign of the conversation, "we should split up and monitor the corridors for any suspicious activity. Since Snape might be helping out with this supposed attack, Luna and Neville - you two will stand guard outside his office. If anything is to happen, it might be there or you might hear some information we need. Ginny, you and Ron will stay in the corridors connecting the Room of Requirement to the rest of the school. Dra- Malfoy has been frequenting that room, and it could be the epicenter of the attack."

There was a moment of silence as everyone digested the gravity of the next few hours.

"Is it true?" Ginny finally asked what stewed in the collective mind.

Hermione's edges bristled. "It can't be," she determined, any doubt well hidden in the night's shadows. "I destroyed what Draco was working on. It's irreparable."

"Well," Luna inserted herself casually. "Most people with Draco Malfoy's intelligence and cunning would have come up with an alternative plan, or found a loophole in his initial plan. He's too smart not to succeed, so I'm sure he's come up with something. You know, despite what might happen tonight, his determination is quite admirable."

"Thanks, Luna," Hermione remarked dryly.

"You're welcome," Luna beamed, once again missing Hermione's hostile beams by a death-defying millimeter.

"It just doesn't make sense," Ginny pondered, unknowingly siding with Hermione. "If his mission is to kill Dumbledore, there's no way it'll happen tonight."

Ron frowned, mulling it over. "Right, with Dumbledore being away… Maybe he doesn't know that? What if he plans to lure him back?"

"There's no point speculating," Hermione stated firmly, indignantly. "He won't do it. He won't kill anyone."

"Hermione…"

Her frustration blinded her to who called her name. It didn't matter who it was or what they had to say. The only voices she could hear were her own and Draco's. It didn't matter that he hadn't spoken to her in over a month. She could hear him, that warning front and center in her mind:

June 30th. Stay in bed. Please. Promise me!

At first, the notes of panic were all she could hear but, when she listened closely at night, Hermione could hear the subtler tremors of uncertainty. The more she listened, the louder the discrepancies became, and they rippled through her.

"No," she affirmed again. "I know him. He may think he's made his choice, but Draco wouldn't take someone's life."

"Then," Neville cautiously wiggled in. He was wringing his own fingers, afraid of stepping on the Hermione-shaped mine. "Maybe this new plan of his has nothing to do with Dumbledore."

"That's a long shot," Ron snorted, months' worth of attacks on Dumbledore still fresh in his mind- especially the one that had played out in his body.

Neville shook his head, moving away from the wall where he'd lingered earlier. He breached the small triad Ginny, Ron and Hermione had made, and stood his ground.

"No, think about it: if he can't bring himself to kill the headmaster, maybe his next mission is to destroy the headmaster's school while he's away. Harry did say Malfoy was building something-"

"-He was fixing his means of escape," Hermione clarified, taking deep breaths to keep her calm. "Which, by the way, is still very much broken-"

"You know, you might be right, Neville-"

"If that's the case, shouldn't we be getting to our posts?" Hermione suggested abruptly. The vicious voice of her poisoned animus, dormant for so long, grumbled awake in the background. She needed solitude and silence to lure it back to sleep.

Luna and Neville read the vibe, took their share of Felix, and immediately took their leave. Even Ron dismissed himself by floating further down the corridor, granting Hermione well-needed space.

Except, Ginny remained.

Ever since she and Harry had started going together, they'd become eerily in-sync - more than they'd been before. Being alone with her was strikingly similar to being alone with Harry, and visa versa. Their temperaments towards bullshit were identically short, so Hermione knew the time for beating around the bush was over. After all, Harry's astute eyes looked through Ginny's and observed Hermione's every move. Hermione became increasingly sensitive to the emotions she hoped were safely tucked beneath the surface of her own skin.

Ginny's x-ray vision debunked that naive thought immediately.

"Harry wanted to say goodbye to you," Hermione spoke up when Ginny made no advance to leave nor question her. She was waiting it out until Hermione cracked. "But he was short on time. He'll be alright."

"I know," Ginny remarked quietly, a tender smile faintly visible in the darkness. "I trust he'll be okay. He has a way of always pulling through."

Hermione nodded silently, and an oddly idyllic peace cloaked over them. Neither of them made to leave for their post. They lingered in each other's company, soaking in whatever positivity they could between them. It worked for a short time, giving them both the courage to speak what was really on their minds before parting ways for the night.

"Can I trust that you'll be okay, too?" Ginny finally asked.

Hermione leveled her eyes with Ginny's, hoping to convey the reassurance Ginny needed to leave her. "Yeah. I'll be okay."

She hadn't convinced Ginny entirely; she could see the corner of Ginny's eyes spasm, ready to hone in and glare down Hermione's confessions. "Just… call for backup when you need it-"

"-Nothing is going to happen-"

"-But just in case something does, I don't want you to feel like you have to-"

"-I know." Hermione stopped Ginny, felt herself flinching against the speech she knew her friend was bound to give. It was unnecessary. After all, she was sure it was identical to the speech she had playing out in her head at that very moment.

"I won't use dark magic," Hermione assured the worried creases in Ginny's expression. They didn't care to budge. "I'm not even going to do the most rudimentary of hexes. Just defensive spells and as many petrificus totaluses as my wand can handle."

Still, Ginny's face was that of a troubled statue. Strangely enough, Hermione caught herself smiling in amusement.

"I promise," she vowed in earnest. "If anything happens, you'll get to have all the fun while I… enjoy my sobriety."

That seemed to do the trick, or perhaps Hermione's smile was simply too contagious, because Ginny's face smoothed into something akin to serenity. It was an ephemeral, indulgent moment, quietly enjoyed between friends before time and duty could snap them back into attention.

As it did only seconds later.

Ginny's eyes sparked, an alarm going off in her head, and her smile faltered. "I guess I better go, then."

Hermione's lips pressed together soberly. "Right. Same here."

Both of them shifted weight, still resistant to movement. After all, movement was action, and neither of them wanted tonight to be at all eventful. Even though Ginny was confident that Harry would come back okay from his mission with Dumbledore, Hermione could see concern in the creases at the corner of her eyes. If something more were to happen tonight, after he returned, how much longer could he pull through? Ginny had her brother to worry about, as well, and even though she was momentarily at ease with Hermione's spellcasting situation...

Ginny cleared her throat of the final question she'd been uneasily stuck on: "So, where is your post exactly?"

It became apparent that while Ginny might have been reassured about Hermione's control over her spells, she was still highly concerned about Hermione's control over her other, equally volatile situation.

Hermione tried again at smiling, but it turned doleful.

"Where do you think?"

Her self-inflicted post didn't need saying. They both knew where she had to be, and so Ginny left Hermione to approach that unassuming wall at the end of the corridor. Within that wall, a vast majority of her year's most terrific and terrifying moments had taken place. As she stood there, pondering her next move - or if she should even move at all - Hermione stewed, unsure which of those two moments would occur that night. She would be perfectly happy if neither happened, neither terrific and definitely not terrifying. But the gravity of tonight pulled at her chest and lungs, making it difficult to breathe and equally difficult to carry on denying destiny.

If what Harry said and heard was honest, then Draco was most likely just beyond that wall. And just as there were two possible moments, he was in one of two possible rooms. And those rooms were attached to two very different fates.

Hermione stared down the wall, demanding it reveal its secrets once more, but it stood resolute, immense, menacing, belittling. Instead of transforming, it seemed to laugh at her uncertainty; the brick and mortar whispered the slightest creaks of change- proof that it could form doors if she so wished.

She just had to know what to wish for.

Behind closed eyes, Hermione tried to focus on the right wording needed to grant her entrance to Draco's intentions. She delved into her own vulnerability for the words the Room required; this was a door that opened only out of desperate, decisive need. As darkness eased her into her own thoughts, Hermione was swallowed in a jarring, familial embrace. Harry's arms were suddenly squeezing her again, securing and suffocating. The words from his lips spread infectiously through her ears and mind:

"I'm trusting you're right. Trust that Felix will make everything right. Just don't trust Malfoy. Please."

The bottle of Felix Felicis burned a hole in Hermione's pant pocket. She still hadn't drunk her share.

Don't trust Malfoy. That would've been a knee-jerk instinct a year ago. Harry wouldn't have needed to beg her to follow such a simple command. She would have rightly scolded him for demeaning her character. How could she trust the boy who'd repeatedly tried to sabotage Dumbledore's Army? The boy who'd abused what little power he was given to torment others? The boy whose father was a Deatheater, whose aunt had killed Harry's godfather? Don't trust Malfoy? What kind of request? Of course not!

Except.

A year had passed.

Everything was difficult to discern now, especially who she trusted. Merlin knew, and probably Ginny, that she loved Draco Malfoy. As much as anyone of her maturity could love. It was of the inexperienced, innocent variety where the victim couldn't quite describe or compare the emotion, and doubted if it even counted as: Love. The Love she pondered over was inscribed with certain values that made it proper, made her wary of giving the name to what she felt for Draco. There were components she had yet to thoroughly check off: the depth of devotion, and certainty of trust. The depth of her love for Draco was impossible to detect from above the well he'd filled in her chest. Until truly tested. By jumping headfirst into the darkness.

That would've been inconceivable a year ago. Her fear of heights alone would have cemented her soul in place. She was made of books and cleverness, but found her bravery wanting in certain areas. The muscles hadn't been tried enough, pulled or pushed to the limits needed to mold them. She admired Harry's struggle, and sculpted strength. There was no way she could soar as he did. There was no way she could embrace the falls as he did.

Except.

A year had passed.

The muscles of bravery were sore from use; from the challenging ups and downs of her relationships- with her friends, with Draco, with herself. They were taut, and ready to be tested.

Her ankles still rattled on the highest step of a library ladder, and she still narrowly eyed flying brooms with trepidation.

But now, she was strong enough to still the rattling, and narrow the trepidation down to nervous excitement. And when she stilled the rattling of her ankles on those steps, there was Draco's hand, warm and assuring on the small of her back. It was he who guided her back to the ground safely- and teasingly levitated the book out of her hands. And when she was done steadying her breath and repeating the mantra: you can do this, you can bloody do this and do this right, enough times to narrow the trepidation of flying down to nervous excitement, there were Draco's arms, soft and lifting as they hugged her. It was he who handed her the broom, and kissed her for good luck on her solo flight. And her flight had been effortless, weightless. Fearless.

Don't trust Malfoy. That would've been a knee-jerk instinct a year ago. Harry wouldn't have needed to beg her to follow such a simple command. She would have rightfully scolded him for demeaning her character. Except, a year had passed and Harry needed to beg her because Hermione's knee-jerk instinct had changed. She couldn't scold Harry, because her character had changed- and so had her view of Draco's character. Her moral compass was three-dimensional now, with an ever-moving arrow. Her hypocrisy and strength were tested, and continued to be prodded and pushed. And Draco's hands were what she saw at the end of the fall, firm and eager to catch her. Because Draco was many negative things - as was she - but he was also remarkably tenacious, passionately loyal, and generously affectionate.

Hermione Granger loved and trusted Draco Malfoy. She trusted him unquestioningly. She trusted him. He would make a choice tonight, whatever choice that was she could not control. But she trusted that he would not deceive her. He had never done so before, and never would. So whatever door he lay beyond, that would be the choice he'd made. She would know their fate tonight, the instant she opened one of those doors.

Of course, there was one door in particular her heart yearned for, which she prayed was the sole barrier between her and Draco. She wished dearly for it to be the door, the room that held him.

The wall had long stopped laughing at her, and now it groaned with determination to give her what she wished. The desired door took shape: round, quaint and soft- offering comfort and safety. The library. She knew it to be that room, but the door revealed nothing beyond the dark wood. Its thickness echoed the depth of Love she feared testing. However, fear would not hold her back tonight. But she refused to let Felix play a role in giving her courage. She had to find that on her own right now.

Hermione readied her muscles, turned the knob, and jumped into the darkness.

---

Every once in awhile, in the darkness there would be a dismal glimpse of light. It took the shape of a girl, whose large wad of unkempt hair and brainpower presented the highest concentration of sunlight, blinding him- exposing him. It's why Draco Malfoy spent most of his time with his eyes closed, or hidden in the shadows of Hogwarts.

Most of the time.

Sometimes, Draco made mistakes. Honest mistakes. Some of them worse than others, worth documenting his stupidity.

The first mistake. At the sound of a curious sniffle, he looked up. Three desks ahead and to the left of him, there she was: Hermione, the light source of the room, flickering on and off as something remotely feathery swished in a blur in front of her face. A quill. A quill that, every time it swayed with her scribbling, tickled her nose. Stubbornly, she kept on until, again, she had to forcefully stifle a sneeze. Her face, scrunched up and focused on not disturbing a soul in class, reminded him of the audacious sneezes that girl could make when she thought no one was around to hear. Or when she finally gave up caring if he heard or saw her let go so ridiculously.

To late Draco caught himself mid-laughter.

He closed his eyes, and begged her afterimage to leave.

Tenth mistake; quite the doozy. There was a twinkle in the dark, the eeriest little blip of light flickering in and out of existence. It almost looked like morse code, an SOS. When he opened his eyes, there she was : alone in a coffin-sized alcove, on the ground and hunched over, textbooks and assignments splattered around her. Obviously hidden, and wanting to stay that way. He fought the urge to go over and pile up her books, uncurl her clenched hands, kiss her groaning spine.

Draco caught himself mid-step.

He closed his eyes, and watched her light fade.

Eleventh mistake. The very next day, Hermione's light was blaring, demanding he wake up, forcing him to witness the day- her smile. He was instantly frozen by it, and lost focus because of it. He was staring too long. He was breaking his own damn rules. He was staring too fucking long, but he couldn't help it. He didn't know what she was smiling for, who else was there to witness it, or even where he was at the moment of reckoning. He just knew- just knew that this what it felt like to stare into the sun. And then the sun was staring right back at him. With dread, Draco waited for her smile to fall, his presence a blunt disappointment to the head.

But instead, her smile took a pause before exploding, a star detonating before his very eyes. Fuck, he wanted nothing more than to smile back at her, to rush to her and fill his shell of a body with her pulsating energy. But he knew how cruel those desires were, for tomorrow would still come, and the day after that- and the day after that. Eventually, he would return to this stagnant, self-depreciating state. She couldn't be anywhere near his vicious disease.

She was doing so well.

He closed his eyes.

The final mistake.

When he opened his eyes this time, the light was artificial and cold, and shaped shadows all around him. Draco moved his wand around the room as he walked, the small flash at the point momentarily illuminating the towers of discarded, forgotten, distressed objects. Right at home, alone. At least, he was now.

How could he have equated Professor Trelawney's scratching and skittering to Hermione's approach? How could he have so idiotically, repeatedly, thought Hermione would come to his rescue?

She hadn't in the lavatory. She wouldn't now.

Draco had to remind himself that he didn't want rescue. That he couldn't want her.

With a distraught sigh, Draco turned back to the mountainous obstacle in front of him- the vanishing cabinet he'd so brilliantly fixed, only to tear apart. All thanks to Hermione fucking Granger.

In the limited light from his wand, the cabinet's organs could be seen splayed out gracelessly on the floor. Panels and metal bits and pieces were tossed this way and that, so that he could get at the heart of the damn thing. Draco bit down on a scream as he looked through the cabinet's open doors, into its barren chest. At its core, the cursed furniture was absolutely hollow, missing the one thing it so desperately needed to live.

He couldn't get at the heart of it, because it was completely fucking heartless.

How fitting.

A fist smashed into the door nearest him, and only through the dull pain did he realize it was his own hand doing the bashing. He pressed his head to the door, as if to apologize, and breathed in deeply and quickly, burning his nostrils. Just as he wanted to burn this whole damn place down, him in-fucking-cluded.

A little bottle, relatively snuffed in his trouser pocket, flickered back to life with promises of fire and destruction.

A little bottle slammed into Draco's vision, the liquid inside sloshing around violently as it tried to settle on the coffee table. Pansy's long fingernails scratched against the glass as she let go of her delivery.

"There. My side of the deal is done," Pansy snapped. "Your turn to pay up."

A tray of food flew across the table and bumped against Draco's knees. Finally, he looked up at her, eyebrow raised. Thankfully, no one was in the common room to witness the odd exchange.

"I don't get it. You said I had to go on a date with you."

Those were the terms Pansy had set the other day, rather bluntly, when he'd asked her for a favor. Of course, Draco hadn't expected her to do something freely. But now she just wasn't making any sense.

Pursing her lips, Pansy slipped into the lounge chair next to him, slinging her legs over the armrest. She folded her arms and jut her chin out at the utensils in front of him.

"This is the date. Eat."

That didn't do much to ease his confusion, but when Pansy barked at a first year to "get the fuck out", Draco decided he didn't want to be at the receiving end of her glare. He picked up a spoon and drowned it in soup.

Viper eyes watched him eat. She always did like her prey to be plump, and strong. She preferred a good struggle before the kill. And Draco had a sickening hunch that he was very much in for a fight.

"You need to take better care of yourself, Draco."

He snorted through a piece of bread, tasted self-loathing in the dough.

"Why?" He grumbled.

His friend's glare turned needle-thin. "What do you mean 'why'?"

Draco really should've known better than to reply, not when Pansy's harsh voice made people perform u-turns in the hall.

You could say he was feeling a bit suicidal.

"Who cares? I don't-"

"I do! So you should!" Pansy howled, and obviously it was supposed to override whatever feelings he had on the matter. After all, the last person to ever have a say in his life was himself.

Frustrated and so damn tired, Draco tossed the remnants of bread onto the table; it slid off and hid beneath a chair.

"No, I shouldn't! And you shouldn't, either. Why the hell do you care so much, anyway?"

That was a set-up he regretted instantaneously.

They both already knew the answer to Draco's question. But, Pansy was perfectly confident in reiterating her unshakable stance on the matter. She flung herself off the chair, flinging off any semblance of repose. She stood over him, with the stance and face of a vengeful god.

"Because I love you, you dumbass, and I'd rather not be seen with a moping skeleton. It's pathetic and inexcusable," she spat as she stabbed a fork through a piece of beef. Abruptly, Pansy shoved it at Draco's mouth.

"Eat."

"Don't love me," he countered, hand swatting away the serving.

Rolling her eyes, Pansy dropped the fork with a clatter.

"I can't just turn it off."

Draco laughed humorlessly, leaning back on the sofa. From that vantage point, Pansy looked much less intimidating, and he obviously was showing off just how little he cared.

"Ridiculous," he rebuked. "Why me? I'm nothing special. You can pluck any other pureblood twat in here and get about the same deal: arrogant, selfish, proud. Hell, this date probably would be more pleasant with the first person to walk into the dorm!"

"You think I haven't tried?" Pansy scowled, sizing Draco up. The more she looked at him, the deeper her disgust ran. "Unrequited love is beneath me. But here we are, because those other pureblood twats are not you."

Something wretched and wild clawed out of Draco's throat then, and he growled- kicked the table and nearly tipped it over.

"Draco," Pansy called quietly, "Draco, when was the last time you slept?"

"It doesn't make any sense!" He hissed, hunched over and grasping at hair, grasping at straws. "So if you had a batch of- fuck, I don't know-" His eyes latched onto the small bowl of fruit that had spilled over his tray. "-berries, you'd only eat 'the one'? Even though they're all the fucking same?"

With an exhausted sigh, Pansy scooted the food tray away and sat down in its place. He was less likely to lash out at the furniture this way.

She waited until Draco's breathing evened out, and ducked down to catch his haggard eyes. There were deep purple shadows beneath them.

"You're not a damn berry, Draco. Let's stop playing stupid. We both know you don't care why I love you. You want to know why she does."

Draco had no trouble looking Pansy in the eye then, his stare frozen.

"How did you-"

Pansy smirked. "There are no secrets between Theo and I. I thought the same stood for the two of us."

His stare turned hostile. "This isn't a secret. It's just none of your business."

Shit.

The air went still between them. Pansy discarded him to avoid the sting of his words, her eyes studying the untouched rice on his tray.

Why was he such an ass hole?

"I'm sorry."

Pansy took a deep breath through her nose and turned back to him. Her face was mute.

"Unforgiven."

He nodded. Yes, he deserved that. He deserved more than that.

He also knew very well what he didn't deserve.

"She doesn't," Draco muttered abstractly. Pansy's eyebrows quirked. Her irises glinted, piqued.

"What?"

"She doesn't love me."

Draco hadn't expected Pansy to smile at that. But smile she did.

"For someone so certain," she laughed in ridicule, "you sure do look torn to bits about it."

He shook his head, determined to prove his theory. "She can't. It's a trick- a ploy to make me do the honorable thing. The 'right' thing."

The table whined as Pansy leaned back, and - always without asking - planted her legs on Draco's lap. Properly crossed at the heels, of course.

"Ploy or not, her opinion of you shouldn't matter," she mused lazily, not once acknowledging Draco's loaded stare. "I've never once given a shit about the countless boys who have proclaimed their undying love for me. I've never changed or chosen differently because of them. Because I was not inspired to. I was bored to tears with them, and I was never in love with them-"

Crudely, Draco shoved her legs off him and bolted from his seat.

"I am not in love with her."

Pansy shrugged and toyed with the little bottle she'd delivered to him- yet he had not touched.

"Then, your mission remains unaltered."

"Because the love of a girl can be the only, only reason why I'm torn about what I must do," Draco snarled, and snatched the bottle out of her hand. Shoved it in his trouser pocket. That's what she'd wanted; for him to take initiative, to accept what had to be done. That's what they all wanted from him.

"That reason is the catalyst of all your problems, and you know it!" Pansy shot, her arrow poisonous and true. Still, Draco paced across the room despite the wound. "That old man will die eventually, one way or another. It will be done."

"Then let him die naturally." Draco knew better than to plead, and he was pleading to the completely wrong person.

Pansy frowned. "The Dark Lord is impatient, and the longer that old man lives-"

Draco flinched, grit his teeth. "-He has a name-"

"-the longer this fight will drag out. Kill him, and you kill the opponent's hope. People will surrender, lessening casualties," Pansy tried to reason with Draco, her tone even assuming a more gentle, nurturing one. It was alien on her, yet completely genuine. "He has lived a long enough life. You haven't. This guarantees that you will."

Her new approach was working. Draco's pace had slowed down, until finally he came to a stop in front of the glass window looking out into the lake. He felt like he was in a fishbowl, swimming around and around endlessly- trying to reach the killer view on the other side, always going around and around until eventually he banged his head on the glass and died. Predictable. Pathetic.

"The choice is simple."

He was grinding his teeth to sand. "No. It's. Not."

Pansy was exasperated. "Because you lo-"

"No!" He yelled, barrelling towards Pansy and jabbing a pathetic finger into her chest. "No! I want her love. I seek it out greedily, and I love that she loves me- that she thinks me worthy of- but that doesn't mean-" Draco's head was short-circuiting. "I-I can't. I can't. I can't care for her... I don't want to hurt her."

Somehow, even though those two confessions were meant to conflict, they merged into one truth.

"Draco, she's strong." It was odd to hear such a compliment come from Pansy. But she knew her equal when she met it. "She'll get over-"

"No," Draco feebly repeated, finger still pressed against her breastbone. "No, you don't get it. If I do this… If I go through with this mission tonight," every muscle in his body tensed, skin crawling with revulsion, cheeks drained of all color.

"If I kill Dumbledore, I've killed her."

"Draco," Pansy's voice was dangerously calm. It was the same tone she'd used to tell him his father had been arrested. "She was dead the moment she was born."

His knees gave out, and thankfully the sofa edge saved him from falling completely on his ass.

"No. No, they could win," he rambled. Pansy had started shaking her head long before he'd finished his dillusions.

"No, they can't. If you really believed that, again, the choice would be simple. You wouldn't be here with me. You'd be with her. In an instant! But look at you." Draco didn't want to. Hadn't looked himself in a long while. "You're not, because you know how this will end."

Distantly, he felt Pansy's hand fold his finger away from her, placing his hand down on his lap.

"Just think- really think, Draco. Think of the consequences of tonight. Think of what your two choices really mean," Pansy planted soft, dangerous seeds in his mind. "The first: you complete your mission. You guarantee your family's safety and your own. Eventually, Granger's fate catches up to her."

His nails dug into his knees, nearly splintering.

Pansy didn't care about causing Draco pain. She continued on.

"The second: you desert your mission. You guarantee your family's death and your own. Granger's fate still catches up to her."

Draco's head throbbed. He clung to the reassuring whispers in there, the ones Hermione had breathed, to keep away from the whispers Pansy now sought to root in him.

"The Order could help. She said they'd help-"

"Who did she say they'd help, hmm? Your mother and father? You?" Pansy ranted, bemused. "When they can't even protect their own? Sirius Black is dead, and that was on their own turf. They'd have to go into the belly of the beast to save the man - the Deatheater - and woman who abetted Sirius Black's murderer. You really think that's something they're willing and able to do?"

Draco shut his eyes, willing her to go away with his mind. Begging her to stop. Pansy saw his agony, and kept on.

"You really think you'll frolic off into the sunset with Granger? Of course you don't, or you wouldn't be here trying to convince yourself! You know as well as I what would happen."

Closing his eyes had been a mistake. It made it all the more easier to envision his future.

Draco would run to her, as every muscle in his body urged him to do that very second. He'd be at Hermione's side in an instant, he'd missed her so. For a moment, in holding her, Draco would willfully forget all negative consequences of his actions- as he was prone to do.

Perhaps he'd be able to keep fate at bay for a while.

Perhaps no one would take his place as assassinator, perhaps Snape would hold off just long enough to concoct his own plan.

Perhaps Dumbledore protected Draco for as long as he was alive.

Perhaps Voldemort kept his parents alive. Just long enough, until Dumbledore fell.

Everything would crumble then. Instead of running to Hermione, he'd be running with her- trying to escape the grasp of a powerful tyrant. For his betrayal, he would be marked a pariah. The Malfoy name would have its last pillar of pride and power torn down. A pureblood lineage is defined by its prestige, fealty, and prowess; all of which were placed on Draco's shoulders to revive and uphold in place of his father. And he would have failed for the last and final time by betraying the Dark Lord.

Draco would be the last nail in his family's coffin, the signer on his family's execution.

But of course, there would be a stay of execution. Voldemort would wait, until he'd caught Draco Malfoy. Even though, Draco knew Voldemort would wait still. Until he'd found what had made Draco Malfoy turn and run in the first place. Not only would he be the cause of his parents' deaths, but he would accelerate the arrival of Hermione Granger's apparent fate. It was enough that Hermione was Potter's dearest friend. Worse still that she was muggle-born. What hell would be in store for the mudblood Potter-sympathizer who dared to turn a prestigious pureblood into a blood traitor?

Pansy's voice hissed alive, slithering darker fantasies into his head.

"He'll keep you alive when he catches you. So that he can give you the gift of your mother's cries, your father's pleading, your lover's screams. If he's merciful, maybe he'll kill you once those sounds only exist in your head, long after your loved ones are dead. But then again, you did betray him for the affection of a mudblood-"

"I get it," Draco grit out. "He'll torture me."

Pansy clucked at him in disappointment, as though he should've known better. "Oh, darling, he won't need to. You'll torture yourself."

The skin on his face sagged, exhausted beyond repair.

"Either choice I make, the end is the same."

She snorted. "Hardly."

Draco glared at his friend. Was she really so callous? "How many lives will I play a part in taking if I complete this mission? How many lives will I carry around on my shoulders?"

Pansy sat up straight, rigid with confidence. "One. One old, light-weight, wrinkly life. That's it. You are not responsible for what happens after that. Whoever dies from their side was going to die either way. They're destined to lose. We are destined to win. And if you stay your course - if you don't change your bloody brilliantly stupid mind - you're destined to live through this."

Draco's glare didn't lessen. If anything, it hardened.

"Let me guess: Hermione-"

"-Granger will die. If she doesn't change her course, yes," Pansy filled in matter-of-factly. But then, the strangest flicker of excitement lit up her eyes. "However, if she were to change her mind… If you were to make her change her mind… She could survive this."

Draco's forehead creased in confusion, suspicion.

"What do you mean?"

Pansy grinned, eager to feed his curiosity. "She's on the losing side of this war, Draco, and tonight she's going to try to drag you down with her. But you could pull her up. You could go to her tonight, and convince her to leave with you. To go home with you."

His jaw dropped, and he recoiled from the suggestion, from Pansy. "To the Dark Lord? Are you mad?"

She wasn't put off by his reaction one bit. Pansy lept over to the sofa and sat beside him, beseeching him to see the potential she saw. "You could convince him that she is an asset, a tool to be used."

"Bait her?!" Draco howled, and he had to claw his hands into the cushions to keep from lashing out at his childhood friend.

"Her dark magic, you imbecile!"

That hardly worked to relax him.

"That's not enough to guarantee her safety," he said heatedly, baffled this was even a conversation being had.

"It can be," Pansy pressed. "She's not casually playing with darkness. She's drinking it in, secretly delighting in it."

Draco's jaw clenched, his blood reeling. "It's destroying her," he corrected.

"Because she's fighting it," Pansy concluded.

The knee-jerk reaction was to reject, to shun. He shook his head, his entire body quivering with anger and… frustration. A part of him was actually considering it, running the statistics to see if it would work.

"It's not enough. She'll be used as leverage against Potter," he reasoned, almost disappointed there was no other outcome. "I'll be turning her in, not protecting her."

"She can revive the dead, Draco."

His calculations came to a grounding halt. His blood ran cold. Yet, something inside his gut purred with pride.

"Who told you this?" He asked hesitantly, though already his chest was swelling with awe. He watched Pansy carefully, ready to call out any lie, any exaggeration.

"No one," she stated, that mischievous smile still toying at the corners of her lips. She mirrored his feelings exactly. "I saw it myself. It was a raven, so not as spectacular as what the Dark Lord would expect- but promising."

"When?" Draco pressed urgently, his features coming alive for the first time in months. "What did you see exactly?"

"It was the day Potter attacked you," Pansy clarified, lips bitter and her eyes glazing over as she remembered. "I found her in the courtyard, and caught her in the midst of a resurrection spell. Her finger coated in her own blood. Ghastly."

Something was off. Draco's eyes narrowed. "Why were you there?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "You know exactly why. To lash out at her."

Oh, Merlin. He sighed. "I told you: Hermione had no part in-"

"-I know! And I don't care," she snapped impatiently. Who cared about those details anyway?

"And the raven was dead, for certain?"

"It lay limp in the grass the entire time I was confronting her. Then, as she left, the damn thing nearly made my heart leap from my chest as it flew off. Granger didn't even witness her own success."

Draco let out a breath he'd been strangling, for fear that it carried diseased hope. "Merlin."

"Draco," Pansy called him back to attention, and appeared to be steeling herself for a speech she never thought she'd make.

"For whatever reason I don't care to find out or understand anymore, you want to protect this girl. This is the way to do it, all while appeasing your Lord and securing your life and family. The Dark Lord can surely overlook her… impurities if he deems her a willing and viable asset to the cause. And if you come to him carefully, with no hint of your affection- weakness- for her. If all goes well, she will be respected by his followers, or feared at least, and that will grant her protection. You will be revered as the subject who went above and beyond his Lord's expectations. Your family name will be restored, your position elevated, your life long."

Now he rolled her eyes. "Her friends betrayed, tortured, dead. She would never turn on them."

"You must not have heard then how, in a fit of rage, she nearly did Potter in herself. Her dark magic sure does have a kick to it. More so every time she represses it." Was that fascination sparking in Pansy's eyes?

Draco tried hard not to let Pansy's contagious, contaminating thoughts touch him. "Is that supposed to convince me to go along with this ridiculous scheme?"

"Is it so ridiculous?" Pansy asked with a shrug. "She indulges in the dark arts. She enjoys power and imparting punishment. She loves you, misses you."

No. No, he couldn't consider it.

"And it's just a matter of time before she gives into her stronger, better half. She might as well do so now, join the stronger team, and live. Otherwise, those gifts are a waste."

Hermione was very much gifted. She had so much potential.

"It would take very, very little convincing to make her see reason."

Darkness had as much merit as light. You couldn't have one without the other. Hermione had both. Could balance both. Long enough, until the war was over. She was strong enough. Merlin, was she strong.

"Tonight you have the chance to save her."

How was it that you could love someone, and still destroy them? To want so badly to be the antivenom, but be the one biting down?

Draco's heavy head banged against that damn, fucking cabinet. Yet, even as the wood slapped his head, reminding him of where he was, Draco had the nauseous feeling of falling. It was hard to shut off the feeling, so surrounded by darkness. Tired, his wand gave up its light, and he was swallowed whole.

He closed his eyes.

---

"Hi."

It was the only word Hermione could think of to cut through the stunned moment. When her feet lept over the threshold, she'd fallen into a pool of light. Draco stood, frozen and exposed at the heart of their shared sanctuary. As he'd stood countless times before, waiting for her to appear- but this time the floor beneath them was sideways. The floor creaked from neglect - when was the last time they'd been here together? - and it tipped over with the weight of tonight - was this his decision, then?

The difference and distance between them heightened her senses to everything around and about Draco; she was euphorically aware- as though she'd downed a whole glass of Felix Felicis.

The room was gold and shimmering with firelight, a backdrop of sunlight to Draco's silver form. At first, he appeared an apparition- translucent and fleeting, ready to fade behind the books that framed him. But the more she looked at him in admiration and silence, the more he filled in with blood and feeling- until his body was so solid that it blocked out all light sources- a solar eclipse transforming the room into a red sea. His face was cast in shadows, but she could see his lips- parted and partially shaping words he couldn't voice just yet- and his eyes, drinking her image in a whirlpool of maddening emotions.

A minute had passed since she'd opened the door and said "hi". Thirty-one days had passed since she'd last said hello to, last seen, last kissed Draco Malfoy. Thirty-one days worth of longing was pressured into one minute of absolute agony.

She dropped into that immeasurable depth, suspended in a frightfully exhilarating freefall.

Her lungs, already swelling with hope and anxiety, began to cry out in pain- drowning one second, suffocating the next, ready to burst.

Then, suddenly, the landing was upon her before she could ready herself. Like a flash flood, Draco collided into and submerged her, breaking her heart and lungs free from her chest as he embraced her. His fingers dug into her sides, filling the spaces between her ribs and pulling her closer to him than she'd ever been; every tremor of every nerve-wrecked cell shook against her- leaving nothing secret. Hermione smelt the innocent notes of spring mint, dusted with fresh ash and feverish sweat on his skin. She pressed her lips into his tense shoulder, and smiled into those nervous muscles; slowly, they relaxed at her touch, and his stumbling heartbeat tried to follow hers into synchronicity.

Draco's breath crashed against her neck and receded hungrily, powerfully, dragging away some of her own air. She gave it willingly, too willingly.

Another minute passed, with Draco holding her still- as though he were afraid she'd change her mind and leave him to drown. Because this was it. He'd turned his back on the road his family had paved for him. He was in uncharted territory, falling at full-speed into uncertainty. Hermione wanted nothing more than to hold and guide his fall.

Her hands eased their way around him; pillars of support on a splintering spine.

The fist Draco had buried in her hair rattled awake, emboldened, and slithered across to encircle her completely.

"You were supposed to stay in bed," he sighed heavy into her skin, his voice a sudden invasion to her deprived senses. The tickle of his lips and the bristle of her curls - which he kissed with every word he spoke- sparked a fire that spread unchecked across her body.

"Should I go?" She asked quietly, hoping desperately that luck was on her side and he'd say no. Though, Hermione knew good and well that she wouldn't go - even if he asked her to.

The question hung in the air for what Hermione swore was yet another wasted minute. She wondered if he'd heard her-

Crack! Something shattered, sudden and violent.

Before she could turn, fingers entangled in her hair, pulling her, and Draco was crashing into her again- lips suddenly, forcefully, sublimely consuming all that wasted time and space as they slammed into her lips. What she thought was solid ground beneath her instantly caved, and she was plunged further into the depths.

Dropped into the current, Hermione opened up to him. His tongue rushed to fill the void. A wave of cool liquid pleasure pooled into her mouth- relaxing her blood, and lifting thoughts off the bed of her tongue. Hermione's nails dug into Draco's back, clinging to him before she could be completely uprooted.

It was a futile effort.

Everything she knew to be true about herself fled her mind, flooded her mouth, and begged to be read by his. Amidst the words of a thousand novels and spell books, there was an intoxicating, deepening truth; three little words that continued to drop and reshape the foundation beneath her.

She swore she tasted those same words on his tongue as he caught her, caressed her, coaxed more truths from her; licking secrets off the roof of her mouth.

Even though the tyranny of fear kept his heart from screaming out everything he wished to tell her, Draco revealed himself in the way his hands melted into her cheeks, fingertips electric and singing at her earlobes, lips needy and tongue drumming desire. Small, vigorously pounding and dense with feeling, Draco's heart lay pressed between them- bare on Hermione's chest. She heard it echo the same siren her heart cried out. Three little words beat through them, and were kissed over and over again onto her.

Those three little words formed the seams that bound their stories. Without that one truth, both of their lives would unravel. Stupidly enough, it was only as everything threatened to fall apart that they were able to see, acknowledge, and revere the thin but resilient string that held their world together.

Heart and lungs burning, Hermione pulled up for air, but could not get far before Draco's fingers formed steel bars, holding her in place. His forehead scorched hers, intensifying already pyretic impulses.

"Please don't go." He pressed the words firmly into her cheekbones, begging her with every kiss he trailed over her freckles and down her jaw.

A year ago, her knee-jerk reaction would've been to run, to apparate across oceans to get away.

Except, a year had passed.

Draco didn't need to beg.

"I won't."

Hermione gave in readily. Devotion trickled down her tongue and into his awaiting mouth, effortlessly.

"Promise?"

Again, the fear of desertion resurfaced, turned Draco's already turbulent waters into a stormy sea. The kissing grew more urgent and searching, demanding her entirety; he had given himself fully now, and he wanted- needed her to do the same. Hermione could feel a subtle tremble coming from his hands; uncertainty shaking down his resolve.

Would he have chosen the right path, had she not been holding the sign?

She tried not to think about that.

"I promise," the words floated out of her with ease, without her consciously summoning them.

When he kissed her this time, his lips tasted sweet with promises unbreakable, but his tongue moved like jagged glass. It cut across her mouth, marking her to match his scars. She didn't mind his sharp edges.

He tested her further, twisting them around, backing her into the table. Again, Hermione didn't mind the pain or pressure. She embraced it as she embraced him, nails digging into his back- anchoring herself, letting the splinters of his spine bite back at her fingers.

Draco could test her promise as much as he wished- Hermione was relentless in her resolve. Enough for the both of them. He fed off that energy.

Emboldened, Draco's hands and lips dipped away from her face- vanished low, chasing Hermione's fire as it rushed through her veins and down her body. His palms relished the warmth of her chest and hips, all the while fueling the fire more and more with his touch.

Claws dug into her thighs, whipped her up and around his waist. Suspended, Hermione's heart lurched into her throat, where Draco caught it with his teeth, and held it tight as he eased her down onto the table for further tasting.

"You love me?" He asked mercilessly, biting down on his captive. If he paid any attention to the frenzy pulsing through her heart, he wouldn't need her to say anything.

"Of course I do," she confirmed anyway, her voice remarkably clear despite the drunken humming in her head.

Slowly, hesitantly, his teeth guided her heart back to her chest, burning a bruisingly red trail down the side of her neck all the way down. With a lingering kiss to her chest, he released her heart. Yet it remained captured by his every move.

Draco was overdue in paying respect to her, and so hands eagerly took to running up the hills of her legs, worshipping each divine curve. His lips occupied themselves with kissing any and all exposed bits of her- and when that ran out, he devoted his time to kissing the clothed bits. He hugged her to him, and wrote love letters onto her strong shoulders with his lips, sent similar letters down the smooth road of her neck where evidence of his bites still stung pleasantly.

She crooned at his devoutness, and kissed appreciation onto the crown of his head.

The desire to show him how much she loved him overtook her, and gradually Hermione's hands made their way down Draco's sides to the corners of his shirt. She grabbed at courage and seized the clothe, lifting it up, fingers brushing languidly and longingly against skin. Draco sighed hot with pleasure into Hermione's collarbone, his hands suddenly steel holds on her hips.

Hermione spotted the beginnings of his scar. The tip of it curved over his hipbone, and it sprawled out towards his lungs. This was a scar that wouldn't leave him. It was the one she'd wanted to heal that day in the infirmary, the one she couldn't get close to just yet.

Or at least, she'd thought it was the one. As she scanned over his body, Hermione realized she'd been wrong about the scar on his arm, partially. It did trail onto his chest, but it was utterly detached from this deeper gash. A wound she hadn't detected, hadn't known to fix.

Her heart froze as, gingerly, she ran her thumb across the marred surface, anticipating his retreat; Draco's instinct was always to hide his flaws from her.

But, he let the tips of her fingers smooth over his imperfection. Draco quietly leaned into her touch, sighing happily; breath light and soft against her chest.

Hermione's heart swelled.

Encouraged, she caressed the tender tissue, marveling at how it rose and dipped into valleys where discrete little creeks stretched out to uncharted, un-harmed territory. The healing flesh protected itself, thick and firm, yet it had the texture and sheen of a newer, kinder life. She smiled at this small peek into what lay beneath Draco's skin, at his fragility and gentleness, at his ability to tolerate and even embrace change. He was healing gradually, every day, and becoming a stronger person for it.

When Hermione's palm pressed down into the center of the scar, between his lungs and ribs, Draco's hands clenched at her hips, blunt nails creating crescent craters.

She immediately became hyperaware of how surrounded she was by him: his lips heavy and dragging at her cheekbone, his ragged breath steam at her earlobe and neck - turning steel earring molten and evaporating the water in her blood-, his cheek pressed to her temple - a heavy mind begging for support, his hips snug between her thighs... And his mustang heartbeat, right there beneath her hand. She could feel it slamming wildly at bones and crushing breathless lungs; so madly that she felt it even where she rested at his abdomen.

The scar tissue stretched painfully; ready to tear open, to let her slip inside and steal away what was already profusely hers.

"Hermione," he pleaded breathlessly, his voice all at once the battered seafoam and menacing wave.

Hermione's nails curled in hungrily, gnawing at the soft, pliable surface.

It was just a scratch.

Something snapped in Draco: a rib, a vein, a muscle, something. In an instant, his body sprang to action. Hands became talons, thrusting her flush against him from their waists, driving her hand up to the eye of the storm, right over the heart she strived to snatch. Dry lips were suddenly wet against her cheek, teeth razor blades against her proud bones, his breath a dragon's flame lighting her up.

Hermione inhaled the flames, letting it turn her lungs to ash, to forge her heart in his image.

Her hand had been pushed up, pulling his shirt up with it, revealing more of him to her. She spotted the continuation of his arm's scar, still mostly hidden from view, and determined to peel off that ridiculous barrier of clothing. Hermione tugged at an already loose tie, letting it slide onto the table as she undid what seemed like a million, pain-in-the-ass buttons; the little huff of frustration she gave was rewarded with the most delicious, tortured laugh weaving through her hair.

Once she had finally slipped off his shirt, her closeness allowed her to kiss the exposed skin, to feel its softness and resilience on and between her lips. She engulfed the starting point of the scar, adorned like a bodily sash starting at his right shoulder-blade and swinging down and across to his left arm.

Another trigger. Draco's arms glitched, jerking harshly in completely opposite directions. Forcefully, his hands braced against her body, one clutching down desperately onto her thigh and the other grasped around her ribs, squeezing tighter the more pressure her lips applied.

He tried his damnedest to compose himself; the kisses he bathed the nape of her neck in covered up a clenched jaw. But the rest of his body betrayed him; his hips gave a frustrated jerk. His pants were suddenly just too damn tight, the only relief coming when he pressed against her belly. His thumb brushed at the side of her breast.

Deep in Hermione, in the little shallow region between belly and pelvis, a beast twisted and turned- awakening, starving.

She planned to feed it well tonight.

Tongue tentatively sampled a taste of him, her growling curiosity completely to blame for it.

Draco's kisses to her neck and shoulders immediately came to a shaking halt, and a hiss of a breath escaped through gritted teeth. It slid over her skin, slick from his attentions.

She was more than happy to return the favor.

Hermione licked at the raised skin, seeming to make it rise even higher as though it was stretching towards her warmth. She followed the tight string of scar tissue, strumming it with her tongue as she went and earning a hair-raising groan from her lover. His adoring sounds vibrated down her spine, making her nerves sing.

He knew how to strum a tune within her, too.

When the scar's track led her across his chest, and she mischievously nipped at his nipple, the song between them crescendoed, turned cacophonous.

The talons at her thigh seized her viciously, yanking her leg up by the back of her knee, caving her body inward, pelvis flat against the wood table. Draco's groans turned into growls. He tried to muffle them. Teeth bit into the back of her shoulder. Hermione cried out.

That just made him even more anxious, feral.

The hand so restrained at her ribs, using them as a cage against his instincts, released itself and raided Hermione's chest, clutching and squeezing at every inch of skin until his hand was at her throat. With precision he didn't even know he had, his thumb flicked up and hiked her chin up, before hooking around it, pulling her jaw and mouth wide open to him. He relished in the melodious rush of breath that came out of her, then, before grinding it down to moans with his lips.

Draco wasn't even sure what the hell he was doing, if it even qualified as kissing. But when he drew on the roof of her mouth with his tongue and her body shook him to his core, when he snatched at Hermione's bottom lip with his teeth and dragged, and her nails dug into his neck, her thighs constricting around him… Well, he stopped caring what any of this was called.

Except, somewhere in the back of that stupid head of his, somewhere just north of where she clung to him, Draco knew exactly what this was called.

As he continued to explore what made her lose breath and control, a dangerous question was pried out from the depths of his thoughts, coaxed into the open by Hermione's enticing lips light and feverish at the back of his ear.

With a stifled cry, he tore himself from a particularly tender spot at the intersection of her throat and collarbone, and planted firm, suckling, rooting kisses across her shoulder and down her arm, until he had a knuckle between his teeth. This was the fist that had struck him once, knocking the air from him for the first -but not the last- time. He kissed every fierce mountain and valley, and let his lips slide down the rivers of fingers as Hermione moved to cup his face. Her thumb traced over his swollen upper lip, making it ache. This was the thumb that she held him under. He snatched it between his teeth, nipped at the work-worn pad, before turning his head slightly and kissing her palm. This was the palm she held him with.

She smiled the kind of smile that he always found so strange and endearing; the kind of smile that starts at the eyes and works its way down, and right back up again. Gravity-defying.

He stared at her, calming from the soft forest browns and greens in her irises, yet paradoxically exciting from the gold sparks of wildfire that threatened to consume her forest whole.

Forest fires were a natural gateway to rebirth, he thought. They scorched weakness and plague, and from the ashes rose new, stronger growth. She would tower over him, a fiery phoenix. If only...

"If I asked -if we had to- would you run away with me? Could you be selfish?" The words left him like water through firmly cupped hands. It was pointless to try and hold it back.

Her hold on his cheek turned steel, the spark of fire in her eyes blazing wilder; they could melt the glaciers of his irises if she so wished it, make him a hot spring at her feet. Instead, Hermione's hand shot away from his face, gripped at his blonde locks and crashed him to her again, demanding a kiss from him that sucked the marrow from his bones.

When they parted for air, she leveled her eyes with his. Hermione watched as clear glacial water churned forcefully, and -in a burst- darkened from uprooted dirt. Sullied, as her brown eyes were. The both of them, sullied.

Could she be selfish?

"Yes," she breathed, not as shocked by her answer as she should've been. Adrenaline pumped her with boldness, and the way Draco's eyes glinted and roamed over her then intoxicated her, made her realize how very selfish she could be when it came to him. She was too high to care what truths came out of her.

The hand at her neck stirred to life again, fingers pouring gasoline on her skin as they dragged their way down to her chest and slowly, slowly pushed her down to the table. Slowly, slowly, she wrapped her legs around Draco's waist. She rejoiced in the harsh clenching of his jaw when she did so, the increasing force with which he touched and bruised her, and that warming pressure between them she'd only ever heard of from Ginny's ex-escapades, and the occasional, blushing book.

Yet, somehow, somehow, there was doubt in the undercurrent of his gaze, in the movement of his hands. They curled around her body, outlining her, memorizing her as if for the last time.

Hermione decided she'd have to have enough certainty for the both of them.

She grabbed at his torso and pulled him down to her. She snuffed out his grunt of surprise with another kiss. She never did get tired of it, and it never stopped working charms on her Draco. Doubt evaporated from his touch, and those palms of his pressed eagerly, hungrily, all over her. He broke their kiss only to continue it down her jawline, jolting her with the occasional tear of teeth. Soothing her with the lapping of tongue.

"You'd leave your friends behind?" Draco asked quietly. She barely heard him over her own breathing. "Would you do that, and go somewhere with me tonight- if I asked?"

"If you asked nicely," she responded freely with a little grin.

Draco's head dropped like a rock into the crook of her neck as he laughed.

"Nicely," he repeated, in awe. "If I asked you nicely…"

Draco took a pause, then, to rest his lips on her skin. They felt heavy against her throat, like they were holding back something meaningful. He dragged that weight up to her ear, his cheek flush with hers and burning with embarrassment and need, air coming in bursts from his nostrils even as he tried to take deep, even breaths. He was gearing himself up to ask her that meaningful something, but Hermione figured she would spare him by cutting to the chase.

Her fingertips firmly touched that soft, quivering patch of skin just above his trousers.

He hissed into her ear. A warning. He pressed into her. An encouragement. The beast in her gut purred, and her body pooled with warmth.

Her hands wrapped around Draco's belt. She got the buckle to click its release-

Finally, everything shattered inside Draco's head.

Quick and firm, his fingers grabbed at Hermione's, constricting. The rest of his body went rigid, stunned by the inevitable, and possibly even horrified.

"I can't," Draco gasped, his pain echoing around her eardrum. "I can't," he said again, and again and again; a broken record repeating the same heartbroken note over and over. He buried his face into her hair, where no doubt he continued saying the same thing, though Hermione could no longer hear him.

"Draco?"

He just shook his head.

She didn't understand, and tried to turn her hands in his, to hold him, to ease his nerves. After all, it was her first time, too; she knew the wreck clattering about in his chest. Yet, again, he didn't respond as she expected.

He yanked her hands to his lips, ghosting over them with the softest of kisses, before suddenly embracing her fiercely- trapping her hands between their bodies. He whispered into her hair muffled sweet nothings, and she detected the softness of lips at the helix of her ear. It was the only warning for the shower of light pecks he gave to her face.

Hermione laughed, confused but pleased all the same. She melted into his arms, and let him ease his nerves his own way; he took to kissing every last freckle that dusted her face- from one ear to the other. Drowsily, Hermione closed her eyes and let him kiss her eyelids, too, before returning to his task. He'd made it to her nose by then.

It struck her as extremely peculiar how each press of lips seemed to drain muscle after muscle of all tension. By the time Draco was done adoring the bridge of her nose, Hermione was suppressing an ill-timed yawn.

"Tired?" He breathed in the gap between two especially far apart freckles.

Hermione pouted. "No," she muttered stubbornly, even as her legs forceful hold on Draco's torso turned into a casual, lazy hug.

"A little bit," she admitted quietly, and Draco was too good, too patient. His arms lifted her up and off the table. Her head drooped against his shoulder, and Draco smoothed her hair out behind her- pressed those same hands as support against the small of her back. As she hooked her feet behind him, Hermione decided that it wasn't an entirely bad experience.

She rocked gently as he walked them to the sofa, but she forced her eyes to stay open. Especially as he laid her down, covering her with a blanket.

Briskly, and to Draco's amusement, Hermione shoved the blanket off. She sat up determinedly.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily," she rebuked him as her arms draped over his shoulders, nudging him closer. His replying smile looked too sad for her liking. Of course he was disappointed. How had her passion been extinguished so quickly? Merlin, Hermione hoped he didn't think it was his fault.

She kissed him eagerly, to reassure him of her continued devotion… but yawned the moment he pulled away.

"I don't know what the hell has come over me," Hermione grumbled, and Draco's smile widened into a laugh.

"It's alright," he sighed. She moaned in displeasure. Draco's eyes had cleared up quite frustratingly since she'd grabbed at his buckle. She moaned in displeasure at it all. Then, suddenly, there it was: that dark hunger for her.

However, everything was different this time when he leaned in. He pushed her back down onto the cushions to encourage sleep, not lust, and to sneak the blankets back over her chest.

When Draco kissed her, the mood had turned into something that, whether he intended it or not, turned Hermione's impatient fire to molten lava.

His lips were tender waves, brushing lovingly, languidly against the shore. He was savoring her. As she did he, promising herself and him that she'd go to sleep after just one more kiss… or maybe after the next one.

So, when Draco pulled away, she whined like a child.

"Hermione," he breathed, seemingly unaffected by her mood. He sounded so serious.

"You know," she murmured sleepily, "I didn't think I'd find you here. I'm so glad I was wrong. It's just," she yawned, "you were so angry with me."

That distracted Draco away from whatever stream of consciousness he was on. His forehead crinkled in confusion and disbelief.

"When was I angry with you?" He demanded, giving her shoulder a soft shake when she appeared to be drifting off.

Hermione was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. "In the hospital wing, of course. Sure, you kissed me- which was very, very nice- but you weren't completely over what happened. I'm still so sorry about Harry, about burning your arm during that ugly fight. That was cruel of me. I think I'm such a good person, but really- well, I don't blame you-" Hermione drawled on, spewing regret after regret.

Draco gaped at her, his hold on her shoulders steadily growing firmer.

"Hey," he barked, and she blinked her way out of self-loathing. "I was never angry with you. Don't go thinking that a second longer."

"You were angry," she rebutted resolutely. Hermione knew an emotion when she saw it, especially on Draco.

His eyes dropped away from hers, staring daggers into her blanket. "I was, but I was angry with myself. For many, many reasons I'd rather not bore you with."

"You're one of very few who could never bore me," Hermione sighed, relaxing back into the sofa. She smiled dreamily, and very much enjoyed the starry look Draco gave her in return. So, she hated it even more when her eyelids became too heavy to hold up.

But then Hermione felt reverent lips against those same, horrible eyelids, and she decided maybe she didn't hate it that much. After all, there'd be plenty of time later for them to explore all the paused scenarios of that night. Bedtime affections had their own appeal: a lightheaded, delightful feeling- like floating downstream.

"You're a good person, Hermione," she distantly heard Draco affirm onto her forehead, sealing that fact with what she felt was the ten-thousandth kiss.

She asked her muscles to smile, but they were out like a light. She was quick to follow, for sure.

The darkness was soft and cozy as it enveloped her, mimicking the feel of Draco's embrace. She let it keep her suspended, easing her away from the lullaby of Draco's breath.

"Hermione," he called hesitantly.

Her lips were tingling with sleep, static she couldn't put shapes to. So, she just hummed in reply.

Fingertips brushed the curl that strayed over her face, tickling her nose.

"Hermione," he beaconed again, faintly. "What did you do with it?"

Behind closed eyelids, Hermione flinched at the flicker of a nightmare. "With what?" She grumbled.

Draco's thumb smoothed over the crinkle at the top of her nose. He was trying to soothe her back into the stream, but there was something in there with her, nipping at her heels.

"The cabinet's power source. What did you do with it?"

"I hid it."

Hermione went rigid in the water. Why the hell had she said that?

Don't trust Malfoy.

Her eyes flung wide open, alarmed, body ready to jump from the sofa.

Draco held her arms, keeping her under.

Hermione did not overlook the pained expression in his eyes, the reflection of her panic, his betrayal. He openly offered the truth the more she looked, really looked with awaken eyes. The warmth she'd felt flood her mouth when he'd first kissed her, the ease and bliss she felt in answering his questions- veritaserum. The sweet nothings in her ear, the gradual descent into slumber- the reliqua spell.

"You-"

Her throat clenched tight, afraid of what she would say. Her view of Draco, and the sanctuary around him, suddenly became very blurry.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." Draco's eyes glistened as he spouted apology after apology, his voice strangled by desperation, yet his hands remained unmoving as she struggled; he was still a broken record. Except, now the broken record hurt her ears to hear. A scream ricocheted around her throat, and she choked on it. She couldn't trust what words would come out if she set it free.

"Where is it?" Draco asked, voice shaking.

"It's- it's in-NO! No." Hermione fought it heatedly, and tried to swim upstream, kicked her legs violently. Draco did not budge as her feet smacked at his back, at his chest and arms. And the more she fought, the more tired she became.

Don't swim against the current. Will had taught her that, but letting it carry her off was no good. Doing that had led her to this exact point, and Hermione's gut wrenched, already feeling like she was falling off a cliff edge- again. Fucking again. And she knew now there would be rocks, so many rocks.

Her eyes burned, and she tried to pin it on exhaustion.

Gradually, her body stopped its rebellion. Those same hands that she'd searched out before to lift her, sunk her into the cushions. Still so gentle, caring and careful. It made her heart lurch and howl, yet all she could let out between clenched teeth was a strangled, weakened cry.

His cry was not so weak. Tears spilled over all the features Hermione had kissed only moments earlier. Spilling too were more apologies, so earnest even as those damn tears of his wiped him clean of her.

Hermione's lungs started to burn, as though holding back his answer were choking her of air.

Exhaustion guaranteed her surrender, and he knew it.

"It's in here," she finally spoke, the words leaving her before she could even form them with her lips. It was a bitter blessing; her lips were abuzz again with sleep.

Draco's eyes never left her face. He was punishing himself, forcing himself to confront the repercussions of his actions -for once.

"You glamored it as a book." He sounded almost amused. His lips almost formed a smile. She almost smiled back.

"You said you didn't want me to leave you. I promised I wouldn't go. You made me promise," Hermione whispered, every syllable broken glass in her vocal chords. Draco flinched, and a hand he'd sworn he wouldn't move towards her again touched her cheek. She didn't have the energy or care to jerk away from him. When he withdrew, there was a sheen to his thumb.

Hermione hadn't realized she was crying. She willed herself to stop, to keep a level head, to keep her eyes open long enough to see Draco take what he really wanted and leave. But even though he'd removed his hands from her, and sat with his body at the edge of the sofa, Draco couldn't bring himself to go.

In the stillness, as she battled sleep and he his demons, she realized something that momentarily revived her: For him to have slipped her veritaserum, he had to sample some himself.

No wonder he'd been so candid, a shadow whispered in the back of her mind. That same darkness urged her to reveal his plans, to strip him of everything as he'd done her.

But she just wanted to know three things. Just three, and then she'd finally let the current sweep her off. She'd let go.

It was as he reached to tuck her in beneath the blankets one last time, that her eyes seized his, and she finally pried the first question from her mind.

"Are you going to kill Dumbledore tonight?"

Draco's knuckles cried out as he clenched at the fabric in his hands. Agony struck down like lightning across his face, and boiling tears gathered at the rim of his eyes. Did he cry from struggling with the truth, or from accepting it?

"Yes."

Her bones creaked, begged for rest from this hell. Hermione could feel herself slip under, and the weight of his answer sped up the process.

Still.

She rolled her head back upon a pillow, to watch Draco even as eyelids draped down like heavy curtains.

"Do you want to be a better person?"

Gradually, her surroundings were melting into an impressionist painting, all colors and soft shapes. Yet, still Draco's eyes stayed in sharp focus, bright moons on a darkening landscape. Those moons waned and spilled rivers.

"Yes."

That seemed to do it, to push her past the shallows and into the deep waters she couldn't even see in the dark. Merlin, she didn't want to go. She still had one more question, plastered to the roof of her mouth, too stuck for her weary tongue to pull off. Perhaps too pointless to even ask, when her body wanted nothing more than to stop asking, to stop thinking, to stop feeling. Oh, but then, just then, there was the slightest pressure, the slightest feeling of a hand on hers. She felt it, even past the draught and the blankets and the betrayal. She felt Draco Malfoy: comforting her, waiting to see her safely to sleep.

"You're in love with me."

It didn't sound like a question anymore, because at some point Hermione decided she knew. She wasn't expecting an answer, didn't need one- just wanted it out there, to be stripped bare as she'd been.

To her own disbelief, she was at peace with it all. The bathing of slumber was warm and nurturing as a womb. Hermione knew well enough that fear and trauma would come with waking. But she had to let go. And so she did.

She let go, slipping off into the darkness where her only company was the softest, most heartbreaking of whispers:

"Yes."