A/N: New Dramione scene at the beginning of this chapter. So close to the end of this rewrite I can taste it!
Updated: 5-30-2018
Draco was bored.
It was not a feeling he was accustomed to. Being the heir to a family such as the Malfoys meant that he had an endless supply of entertainment choices, be it the fastest broom on the market or seeing the most ridiculous order he could come up with for the house elves. Never was he just left on his own in a bed all day, with nothing but counting ceiling rafters to count to occupy his mind. However, Madame Pomfrey evidently did not care for his delicate sensibilities.
The door at the end of the hospital wing opened rather abruptly. Draco turned slightly to see Hermione signing in at the guest log. Quickly, he turned on his side to pretend to be asleep. The last conversation he had had with his girlfriend had not been pleasant, as he had been doing his best to push her away before she was inevitably hurt by him. He heard her stop beside his bed and give a small huff of annoyance before putting up several privacy charms.
"You're a terrible actor, Draco," she said. He stayed on his side and did not turn to face her still. "So that's how we're going to do this, huh?"
Draco remained silent, praying she would leave while knowing that she never would. He heard her take a few steps closer. Though he could not see her, he just knew that her hands her on her hips, wild hair flying as she frowned at him.
"Just so you know, I have no intentions of ending this relationship or letting you do so," she said. "You're cousin confirmed my suspiscions—you're just being nasty in some misguided notion that you'll be protecting me. Well, listen closely, Draco: I'm in danger in this war no matter what, largely for something I have no control over. Quite frankly, I doubt that I could be in any more danger that I already am and you trying to break up with me won't stop the fact that I love you. So get your head out of your arse, Draco Malfoy, because I'm not having it!"
With that, he heard her start to walk away. Don't do it, he warned himself. Draco Lucius Malfoy do not do it!
"Wait!" he called out, wincing slightly at the strain. He swung his feet around, planting them on the cold stone beside his bed as he pushed himself up. He managed to take a step or two before Hermione turned around, that look of righteous fire on her face that had made him fall in love with her in the first place. The look quickly faded into one of worry.
"Draco, you shouldn't be up—" she said as she rushed to his side.
He took her by the waist before she was able to say any more, leaning in to kiss her. She gasped softly into his mouth before wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him in closer. He felt his legs start to wobble beneath him and backed up to the bed, pulling her down to him so that he could support the both of them, inadvertently causing her to crash rather painfully into one of his wounds. Jerking away from her, he let out a hiss. Hermione sprung away from him.
"Oh, Merlin, did I hurt you, I'm so sorry—" she then cut herself off and glared him. Draco was certain she was contemplating hitting him as though it was third year all over again. "You idiot! I could have hurt you!"
"But that was my choice," he said. "Isn't that you're whole spiel here?"
"I—I—you—urgh!" she screeched, her hair seeming to expand in volume with her frustration. He bit down the urge to laugh. "I know what you're doing and it's not going to work!"
Draco sighed, leaning back on the pillows, tugging Hermione with him. After a moment's hesitation, she joined him, snuggling into his side. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in more tightly against him, despite the pain.
"I can't protect myself, Hermione," he said softly into her hair. "And I'm going to do awful things. I—I can't stand the thought of you hating me. And as bad as that is, I couldn't live if something happened to you."
"Draco, you don't have to worry about either of those things—"
"Yes, I do, 'Mione! I've seen it—there are some things that you Gryffindors just can't forgive!" he choked himself off before he revealed too much about Bailey.
Of course, Hermione had already latched onto that little tidbit. "What is that supposed to mean, Draco? What Gryffindor are you talking about?"
"Don't worry about it," he said.
"Draco—"
"Please, Mione, leave it," he begged. Something in his voice must have told her to take him seriously, because she nodded slowly.
"Alright," she said. "I'll leave it."
"Thank you."
They sat in silence for a few moments, Draco memorizing the scent of her hair, the feel of her body against his. The likelihood that they would ever be this close again after he completed his mission was nil. The thought brought a new ache to his body on top off all the cuts on his chest.
"I know that war is ugly," she said softly. "Maybe not as well as you do, but I know it. And it's coming—maybe it's already here, I don't know. But I know that I love you more than I hate the man you serve. After all, if love wasn't stronger than hate, what would all this be for?"
Draco was silent, throat closed up with some sort of emotion he did not recognize.
"How about we make a deal, hmm?" she said.
"What sort of deal?" he asked cautiously.
"We'll have a reset button," she said. "If we both make it through this—after the war is over—we'll meet back where we first kissed, remember? In the alleyway beside—"
"Beside Flourish and Blotts," he said in fond voice, roughened by emotion. "I remember."
She smiled. "And we'll have a reset," she said. "It'll be as if the war didn't happen. And we can be boyfriend and girlfriend in public and not have to worry about getting killed."
"I think the friends you keep, I may still have to worry about being killed," Draco said with a small smirk. Hermione laughed, nudging him slightly.
"I can keep them in line," she teased.
"So when does this grand plan of yours go down?" he asked a small smile on his face.
"Hmmm," she hummed, a small line appearing between her eyebrows. "The first Saturday after the Prophet declares the war over," she finally said. "Ten a.m. Sharp."
Draco chuckled, placing a small kiss on top of her hair. "I will be there," he promised, praying that he would be able to honor that promise.
"Why I never—When I said you could visit him, Miss Granger, I did not mean in his bed!" Madame Pomfrey spluttered as she rounded the corner. Hermione immediately hopped out of the bed, her face beet red. Draco bit back another chuckle, not least of which because it would hurt to laugh.
"Sorry Madame Pomfrey, I—"
"I do believe visiting hour is over!" the matron snapped.
"Of course, Madame Pomfrey," she said meekly, leaning over to give Draco a goodbye kiss. "I will see you later."
"See you then," he said.
Immediately her eyebrows furrowed, but before she could say anything more, Madame Pomfrey had bustled her out, muttering all the while about impropriety and the need for her patients not to get excited and students these days. Draco would have laughed if he was not so focused on watching Hermione leave.
Though she may not have realized it, he knew.
They would not see each other until that Saturday far in the future, ten a.m. sharp, after the war was won.
In two nights' time, Bailey was still in her robes well after curfew, packing up her potions kit. Though she did prefer to be the first to bed on weekends, her dormmates were not unaccustomed to her having late nights, even if they did find it unseemly.
"You are the Lady of a Most Noble and Ancient House, Minerva Bailey Ann," Amelia would say about once a week. "Being out all hours of the night leaning over smelly cauldrons does not become your station!"
Bailey smiled at the snoring form of her pretentious friend. Though she put on airs like none other, even the great Amelia Blackwood drooled in her sleep. Shaking her head, Bailey wrapped her cloak tightly around herself and left the dormitory. She was stopped in the Common Room by a most unwelcome person.
"Lady Black," a snide voice came from one of the wing-backed chairs. Bailey turned to see Daphne Greengrass. "Where are you going so late?"
"Not that it's any of your business, but I am gathering herbs with my Potions Master," she replied primly.
"You know, I'm truly surprised at you, Black," Greengrass continued. "I am sure you realize that the Dark Lord demands loyalty to himself above all else. He's already waiting for you to remove your familial ties—you really want to force him to order you exterminate some romantic entanglement as well?"
Bailey willed herself not to show fear.
"I broke up with Weasley months ago—one prank too many," she hedged.
"You know I'm not talking about Weasley," Greengrass replied, picking nonchalantly at her nails. "I'm talking about Zabini."
"Blaise and I are allies—"
"Don't give me that, Black, this entire House knows better," the other girl scoffed derisively. "All the upper years saw that little display in the Common Room the other day."
"If you want to try and put a target on Blaise's back, be my guest," Bailey challenged, thinking quickly. "My mother may not be of import to this House, but he certainly is. He is an old Pureblood with connections all over the continent and Britain—his House can wipe yours out. Remind me, how far is it that the Greengrass family goes? The eighteenth century? The nineteenth? Blaise and I both can trace our family trees to Merlin and beyond."
The other girl blushed and opened her mouth to say something, but Bailey stopped her.
"Be careful that you don't reach so far that you can no longer see your hand, Greengrass," Bailey said, giving a sneer worthy of Draco. "You might not have a hand to draw back."
She did not even realize when it was that she had done it, but Bailey had drawn her wand. Greengrass was staring at her in open-mouthed fear. Both girls knew that Bailey was the more powerful—both in magical strength and in political weight.
Greengrass sagged in relief as Bailey lowered her wand. She studied Bailey's face with trepidation before speaking again.
"Make sure that you either get your job done or die in a way that your body is found quickly," she warned in an arrogant voice.
Bailey glared at her, even as her heart thumped wildly, but allowed the other girl to go to bed before continuing out of the Common Room to meet Snape.
"Are you ready, Lady Black?" he asked as soon as she arrived in front of his office door.
"Yes sir," she said. They could not speak openly while still in the castle.
"Remember to keep your wand out—it is the full moon," he said before pulling an empty potion bottle from his robe. "Take hold of this."
Bailey scrunched her nose. She hated portkeys. But, she took hold of the object anyway and immediately felt a jerk behind her navel. In less than half-a-minute she and her master had landed on hard ground, Bailey stumbling forward a bit. Professor Snape reached out a hand to steady her. She opened her mouth to say something, but he placed a finger over his mouth just as a wolf began to howl in the not-far-away-enough distance.
"We can speak when we get to the site and can place proper wards," he said.
They began to climb the forested mountain, Bailey gripping her wand ever tighter each time she heard another howl or noise. Finally, they came to a grove of ancient looking trees, all standing in a circle. In the very center of that circle was her quarry—a blossoming white Wolfsbane plant. The air all but vibrated with magic.
Her master immediately set to placing protective spells over the grove so that no visitors—lupine or otherwise—could get to them. Bailey set down her potions kit gently near the plant before looking back at him.
"I have to be killed," she said without preamble. His eyebrows rose. "Or at least it has to really look like I was."
"Please elaborate, Lady Black," he said. So she told him about her encounter with Greengrass in the Common Room earlier that night. He nodded sharply.
"I don't think we need to take such drastic measures as your literal death," he said dryly, "but a fake death may just be necessary. You need not worry about Mr. Zabini—anything happening to him would only alienate the Continent from the Dark Lord's cause."
Bailey nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. She had been correct in her assumptions.
"He wants the Continent?" Bailey asked. Professor Snape shot her a look.
"You are above such inane questions, Lady Black," he said. "The Dark Lord's ambitions will stop at nothing."
"Tha—"
"As for how to fake your death—" Professor Snape said, interrupting her. "What are the anti-fire wards like at Grimmauld Place?"
"Considering how many people my grandmother burned off the family tree, they are the best in Britain," she said wryly. The elder Lady Black had not been overly careful about stray sparks when she was in a fit, according to Bailey's father, which had forced her grandfather to enact powerful enchantments over the place to keep it from burning to the ground every time a family member was disowned by Walburga Black.
"Alright—what about at your mother's farm?"
"There are only the basics there—protection wards and notice-me-not charms…" she trailed off, heart clenching. She was fairly certain of Snape's plan now, and she could not imagine doing that to her childhood home.
"I am sure you know your cousin is planning something to be set in motion very shortly. That night, we will say that you ran and sent your brother to the Continent. I don't want to know where he is really headed," he said, holding up a hand.
"Good, I wasn't going to tell you," Bailey replied, annoyed at the implication that she would not already know that. Professor Snape ignored her.
"I will go after you in order to trap what will be assumed to be you and your family within the house—really just some pieces of complex Transfiguration—and burn it to the ground. The 'bodies' with be naught but dust."
Bailey nodded, a lump in her throat.
"You must leave something in the ashes, however, that can be easily identified as yours," he continued.
"My wand?"
He gave her a look that clearly said she was daft.
"No, not your wand, daft child," he sneered dryly. "Perhaps your House's signet ring?"
Bailey was already shaking her head. "Not only do I rarely wear it, but if the Black ring were to find its way into Bellatrix's hands that would mean Voldemort having access to a vault that would make the Malfoys look like paupers."
Snape frowned, pacing. Then his eyes alighted on her wrist, where she always wore an old charm bracelet.
"Are you known to have that?"
"My charm bracelet?" Bailey asked. "Well I suppose it is the one Black family tradition my father willingly adhered to—he even sent me charms while he was still in Azkaban, before I even knew who he was…"
"Then that should do," the professor said nonchalantly. Bailey inhaled sharply, as though she had just been given a blow to the stomach. She grasped her wrist protectively. Of course, Snape noticed. "I know that the situation is far from desirable, Bailey, but it is that bracelet or the lives of you and your remaining family."
Her master's voice had softened somewhat as he said this, even choosing to use her given name, something he rarely did. Bailey nodded and slowly unclasped her bracelet.
"Be sure it gets to Narcissa," she said. "Then I may perhaps get it back someday."
Professor Snape nodded. Bailey handed the bracelet to him before turning away to compose herself.
"Shall we?" she said as she began to harvest the herbs.
By the end of the week, Draco was out of the Hospital Wing. She saw neither hide nor hair of Harry, though she had heard that he was making an awful lot of visits to the Headmaster's office. The rumor was that he was receiving some sort of special training. The second week, she finished her potion with results so wonderful that he godfather cried for joy when she told him. It would not cure lycanthropy, but the change would not leave wolves vulnerable while still leaving their human minds. Then came the third. The third week, Draco came up to her and whispered in her ear.
"Tomorrow."
She looked up at him with wide eyes. And then she began to prepare.
