Hermione washed the blood out of her hair. The crimson liquid spiraled down the drain in soft swirls, like a spot of milk in afternoon tea. She closed her eyes, in an attempt to drown out the images of William's bloodied corpse, but the number increased tenfold. She could still feel his hands clinging desperately onto her, as deep, narrow slits emerged all over his quivering body. A single tear trailed down Hermione's cheek, mixing with the ice-cold water that left the showerhead.
She scrubbed harshly at her naked skin, but the stains ran deeper than her exterior. She would never forget William's final moments. She would never forget the look in his eyes, as he searched desperately through her soul for forgiveness. In truth, Hermione wasn't sure if he could forgive him for what he had done, even in death. He didn't deserve to die the way he did, but she had no plans of glorifying him posthumously.
William was right about one thing. He wasn't innocent, and the same was now true for her. She had let his life slip through her fingers, and for what? A plan that should have been in motion, the moment she entered Death Eater territory. That was the agreement. But, alas, life got in the way. Draco, as it seems, got in the way. She paid too much attention on her personal affairs, and not enough on the details of their rebellion.
The young woman washed away for another ten minutes, until the tips of her fingers started to prune, before stepping out of the shower and wrapping a thick green towel around her naked form. Her hair dripped down her back and onto the floor. She stepped out of the attached loo and into her bedroom, thankful for the night. She could be herself at night. She didn't have to twist and turn at the Dark Lord's every whim, not then.
"Hermione?"
She turned, instantly recognizing the voice. "Draco…"
He was there. His hair was a mess and his cloak was soaked, as though he'd been trekking through rain or snow. He approached her, stifling the hitch in his breath, as he stopped mid-step. His eyes had found the marking on her left forearm. "You…You…."
"I had no choice," Hermione whispered. "It happened so fast."
His eyes flicked up, and he embraced her, breathing in her scent as though it were his life source. "I'm sorry I wasn't there," Draco told her, stroking her wet strands of hair. "But I'm here now."
There were tears caught in her eyelashes, but she didn't dare let them fall. She had to be strong. "It's all right," Hermione lied. "I had Professor Snape with me."
Draco separated from her, keeping close, and wiped the moisture from her eyes. "I just spoke with him. He told me what happened with William." The words hung in the air between them. "How are you feeling?"
Hermione shrugged. "Does it matter?"
"Of course it matters," Draco spoke, solidly. "It matters to me."
She smiled weakly, still shaken from what happened in the woods beyond the courtyard. "I'll survive," Hermione assured him, brushing the damp hair from his forehead. "Where have you been?"
"Alaska, I think."
"Alaska?" she repeated, bewildered. "…Should I ask?"
The expression on Draco's face went from thoughtful to restless, as though his inner monologue had reached a fork in the road. It was like watching the two sides of him – the duality of Draco – battle before her. He closed his eyes a moment, and then released her. "I have something for you," the young man said, overcome with unidentifiable emotion. "I – erm – I need you to get dressed and follow me, before the morning patrols start."
Hermione paused. Something was awry, but she thought not to question it. "I can't. I'm to stay here until the Dark Lord summons me for breakfast."
"Trust me," Draco told her, carefully. "You'll want to see this."
"Is it bad?"
"I can't go into detail. Come with me. I'll make sure you're back before he summons you."
"All right," Hermione nodded, willing herself to smile.
She gathered clothes from her wardrobe and slipped them on with her back turned, not that Draco was looking. His behavior set off several red flags, but she hadn't the slightest idea how to approach the subject. It was worth some thought, and as the brunette signaled to her paramour that she was ready, he led her out of the bedroom and into the darkened corridor.
The walk was fast and silent. Hermione followed a step behind Draco, allowing him to assume the role of guide. The more she thought about it, the more she realized how raw their romance truly was. It had only been a few weeks, and already it felt like years. It was, in part, due to the fact that they had known one another for many years, and Hermione did have the capacity to admit to herself that she found him attractive even then, but their emotional connection was as golden as a newborn babe.
She glanced up at Draco and found him looking at her. His eyes darted away in an instant – almost chillingly.
"Hold on," Hermione urged, placing a hand on his shoulder and pulling him into a corner. "What's going on?"
"What do you mean?" he asked, quick.
There was an arch in her left brow. "You're acting…different," she worded. "I know you can't tell me where you've been or what you've done, but it's starting to worry me."
Draco gave her a knowing look, and for a moment his expression softened. "Fine," he decided, reaching into his cloak and withdrawing an item. "Here. This should sum it up for you."
Hermione glanced down and opened her palm, to find Dumbledore's deluminator. Her eyes narrowed. She looked to Draco, utterly confused. "But this was given to…and he…how did you…there is no…"
His arms wrapped around her, silencing the words as they left her mouth, and in what seemed like one final testament to what he felt for her, Draco kissed her passionately, lips quivering against hers during the last few moments. He held her by the hand and led her down the last corridor, around the bend and into a room she would have otherwise overlooked, seeing as a gargantuan tapestry covered the door.
"In there," Draco instructed. "I'll wait outside."
"But…"
"Don't worry. I'll be right here. If you would like to return, for whatever reason, I'll be right here waiting for you." There was an indecipherable amount of subtext in his words, but Hermione couldn't quite understand what he meant. "Go on."
She blinked, just once, and turned to the door, twisting the knob open and stepping inside, hearing it click shut behind her. The air in the room was thick and dusty, as though it had been abandoned for centuries. Hermione held a sleeve to her mouth, coughing every now and then, as she struggled to see through the clouds of dust. It was dim. There was light, but it was faint and flickering, as though it came from a torch.
"Is – Is anyone there?" she called out, half-expecting Bellatrix Lestrange to pop out of the shadows and strangle her to death.
But there was no response. There was no voice. There was no indication of what or who was waiting for her on the other side of the room. It was then, and only then, that Hermione glanced down at the object in her hand and felt the overwhelming realization of what was going on.
"Mione? It – It's me."
Her lips parted, trembling. The faint light grew brighter and closer, and in its glow was the face of someone she thought she would never see again. The girl fell to her knees, crushed beneath the power of what Draco had done. "I can't believe it…" Hermione breathed, feeling a pair of familiar hands stand her upright, and then embrace her. It took several, long, winding seconds for her to gather the courage to reciprocate, and when she did…her entire world came together and fell apart in the same heart wrenching moment.
