A/N: Happy Tuesday! I hope you've all have a lovely week and are looking forward to the coming holiday if you celebrate! Speaking of Christmas, I just wanted to leave a quick note that I will not be updating next week, as I'll be on a plane home to see my family. I hope you understand and won't be too upset! Likewise, I'll also be super busy on the 31st with my family, but I'll do my best to update. Check my Tumblr for sure; I'm sorry for the inability to give a clear answer now, but I hope an extra long chapter makes up for it.

Chapter 31 - The Lovers

Hermione's mind fractured. Jagged memories were a kaleidoscope within her; nothing made sense, so she curled into herself with a muffled cry, dimly aware of the snow biting painfully into her skin, soaking into her denim trousers.

Memory was a fickle thing. Her mother had told her as much when she was young; it was never quite truthful, telling telling mostly truths, interpretations of the truth... a simulacrum, and the slant of it was often wrong.

As her bones creaked while she curled into a ball on the ground, two strands of memories spread out behind her closed eyes.

The before and the after.

Before. 25th August 1994

Acrid smoke burned in Hermione's lungs as she ran, tree branches whipping painfully across her face. A stitch burned in her side, turning her run into a graceless canter. Witches and wizards far older than her raced past, panicked screams echoing from the camp behind her.

A singular thought, replaying endlessly, a mantra: find Harry and Ron. Regardless of how many people ran into her, how badly her lungs ached, she couldn't leave this forest without knowing they were okay.

But when she chanced a glance over her shoulder, the trees silhouetted by the flickering of flames, her foot caught in a gnarled root, and she shot forward, arms flying out to catch herself.

The feeling of skin peeling back from her palms was not foreign to her, gritty dirt burying itself in the torn skin. Unfamiliar, though, was the panic that those few seconds wrought, the utter veracity that those precious moments would be what revealed her to the Death Eaters marching through the camp with Muggles suspended above them.

Hermione rolled over, tentatively testing whether she could support weight on her mangled hands, and when they didn't buckle, she stood. Sharp breaths gusted out of her, laboured and awkward, and the voices in the trees around her seems amplified in her fear.

Each step was riskier than the last, dried leaves and twigs snapping in her wake even as she tried to avoid them. Another wizard rushed past, his wand already slashing through a Disillusionment spell, and she held her breath as he disappeared into thin air, only haphazard crashing noises marking his departure.

Ahead of her, a flash of dark hair darted through a clearing, and her heart leapt into her throat as she followed it.

The ten metres to the clearing felt like a league; when Hermione finally fought her way through a smattering of barbed bushes, the dark-haired individual was gone. Instead, she was met by two familiar faces that made her pause.

Draco Malfoy, covered in dirt and snot, leaned his head against a tree and wept, his face turned up to the night sky, no doubt unaware of her presence if he continued to cry in such earnest. The other—Theodore Nott, she remembered from Potions—spoke rapidly to him in a low voice, his fist clenched in Malfoy's disheveled robes, the ones he'd so proudly paraded in mere hours earlier.

Part of her told her to turn around, disappear back through the trees. Another part of her told her to weaponise his weakness, turn it against him like he'd do to her if the roles were reversed. But the loudest part of her, much smaller and more determined than the other two, decided for her, and she strode across the clearing, her voice determined. "Are you okay?"

Any other day, it would have been comical, the way they froze and slowly pivoted their gazes toward her, but the desperation roiling off of them settled low in her belly. It was a feeling akin to her own, and she couldn't help the camaraderie she felt with them in that moment.

Malfoy's voice was devoid of his usual pompous grandeur when he spoke. "No, we're not bloody okay, Granger." He rolled his head forward, refusing to meet her gaze as though he hadn't intended to let the admission slip. "Get out of here. They're looking for your lot."

The confirmation sent a chill down her spine, but Hermione didn't allow it to take hold. "I gathered when they started floating Muggles through the middle of the camp." She paused. "I'd have thought—"

Theodore's hard gaze landed on her, mossy eyes calculating in the half light. "That we'd be out there, too?" The accusation fell heavily on her shoulders, a weight a fourth year shouldn't have to bear. "Our fathers are. But—" He turned away from her, his gaze falling to the handful of Malfoy's cloak he held. An anchor, though whether it was for himself or Malfoy she couldn't tell. "But not us." He swallowed, the barely discernible lump of his Adam's apple bobbing. "Not anymore."

"Theo—" Malfoy's protest cut short when an explosion shook the ground, trees groaning around them as a raucous cheer rose up among screams. "Oh gods, what have we done?"

The desperation in both their expressions tore at Hermione's heart, and she strode forward, stopping just shy of Malfoy's coiled legs. A deep breath, coiling courage around her heart like a shield, and she extended her hand.

A peace offering.

Hope.

Whatever it was, she laid it bare between herself and the two Slytherins. "I can help you."

Draco eyed her outstretched hand with derision. "No one can help us, Granger; we're destined to be Death Eaters."

Theo flinched but turned to her. "We don't trust Dumbledore, so if that's your solution—"

Shaking her head rapidly, Hermione stepped closer, hand still outstretched. "McGonagall. You can trust her; she'll get you everything you need."

Slowly, Malfoy turned his head to look at her, cautious hope blooming in his eyes. "My mother said the same, but she wouldn't let us in alone—wouldn't trust us." Suspicion coloured his expression. "Why?"

Though she wracked her brain, Hermione couldn't think of a logical explanation, couldn't put words to the feeling in her soul that told her this is what she needed to do. "I don't know, but I know I'm supposed to help you. It's…" her hand wilted fractionally. "I just know."

A beat of silence passed between them, a thousand words passing silently between the two boys before Nott stepped forward, sliding his hand into hers. "It's a deal, Granger."

Malfoy was more reluctant, eyeing her critically as she loosened her hand from Nott's hold and canted her head at him. His eyes traced the tattered bits of skin on her palm, the specks of blood in it visible even in the low light. For a moment, she thought he might turn away, abandon his fear of the unknown for the ugly reality he'd found himself mired in by birthright. But then he turned to her, unwitting relief in his eyes. "Mother always told me salvation was found in the least likely of places." His hand slid into hers, slick with sweat and tears he'd wiped away.

They crept back through the camp, ducking into the smouldering husks of tents. Though she tried to ignore it, Hermione couldn't help the inkling of distrust that ran through her at having the boys at her back. They'd never been people she'd consider trusting, and protecting them seemed so outside the realm of reality that she second-guessed every move she made.

But when the sounds of the Death Eaters' revel drew further away and silence descended on them, Theo shouldered past her, Malfoy in his wake, and she watched them for several moments before taking off after them.

As they drew nearer the center of the camp, the tents grew more ostentatious. A line seemed to have been drawn in the ground that designated the Pure-bloods from the other campers. Here, the tents were made up of silk and charmeuse, charmed to repel water and filth. They shined in the dim moonlight, and Hermione felt her jaw fall open at the splendor of it all.

How utterly pretentious to display wealth so flamboyantly at a sporting event.

It shouldn't have surprised her at all, then, when Malfoy and Nott edged closer to a deep emerald tent emblazoned with the Malfoy family coat of arms in a shimmering silver threads. Constellations shot through the material in an ever-evolving skyscape.

She nearly choked on a disbelieving laugh when a pure-white peacock strutted around the corner and disappeared into the tent. But the gravity of the situation settled in her lungs when a fresh round of screaming echoed eerily over the husks of burnt out tents.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. It was uncanny, standing before this grandiose tent while someone, somewhere, was being tormented by her companions' fathers. Guilt edged in her for abandoning Harry and Ron in favor of offering Theo and Draco her help, but when a flicker of fear and shame washed over both Malfoy and Nott's faces, Hermione nodded, bolstering herself. "Should we—" she tilted her head toward the tent, and with a short nod, Malfoy led her forward.

The inside of the tent was, if possible, more grandiose than the exterior. Rich gold and black fabric hung in swaths from the ceiling, partitioning the tent into separate rooms. Emerald thread wound through the fabric, the outlines of constellations twining amongst each other. It smelled of jasmine and sage, a low fire burning beneath a cauldron, and Hermione's breath caught when she saw a woman kneeling before it, her back to them.

Narcissa Malfoy.

The woman's hair was piled atop her head, a delicate elegance to the way her wand held it in place. The long column of her neck highlighted the delicate lines of her shoulders, their tension visible even as the woman spoke lowly over the cauldron. Though she couldn't make out the words, Hermione could tell that the woman's mind was far away from the tent.

Malfoy approached slowly, and when he laid a hand on the woman's shoulder, the woman gasped gasped, whirling around and staring sightlessly around her in bewilderment.

Milky white eyes darted around the room, chilling Hermione to the bone

Reeling backward, Hermione's heart thundered in her chest. Instinct told her to run, a cold finger of fear running down the middle of her back. She didn't make it far, her back colliding into a solid person. She froze. Slowly, a hand wrapped around her wrist, a low voice accompanying it in her ear. "It's okay. Narcissa— she's a Seer."

While Nott spoke, the colour returned to Narcissa's gaze. Slowly, icey blue seeped into her irises, the pupil returning along with it. Hermione was scarcely able to breath, Narcissa shook herself, gaze fixating on her son. "Draco, dear, is everything al—"

But Draco interrupted her, "Mother, I can't." His voice broke, panic warring across his face at uttering the unthinkable, betraying his family. "I can't— I won't follow Father." Even from the distance, Hermione could see the way Malfoy's face crumpled at the confession, throat working up and down before he spoke again. "Granger…" He paused, gaze drifting to where she stood. "Hermione, she said she can help me. That McGonagall will help me."

At the mention of her name, Narcissa froze, her eyes snapping up, locking on to Hermione's. The icy blue was insistent and hard, piercing her straight to her core. Every flick of her gaze was analysing her, and Hermione felt fear settle in her stomach, fear that Narcissa would summon her husband and send Hermione to the same fate the Muggles outside had met. Fear that she'd hex her on the spot, anticipating the bright decisive green of the Avada.

But none of that happened.

Instead, the woman's eyes glinted just so, and she stood, robes sweeping around her, cauldron abandoned. Tendrils of hair fell loose and framed her high cheekbones and delicate features. When she stopped before Hermione, she seemed to study her for several quiet moments, sucking a sharp breath before speaking. "Why?"

So like her son. Or maybe it was Malfoy who was like his mother, far more than Hermione had ever given consideration as she studied her in kind, searching for any misgivings. But other than a slight tightening around her eyes, Narcissa schooled her features waiting while Hermione searched for words.

"Because no one should be forced to bear the weight of mistakes they're willing to take responsibility for. Especially not when they're forced into it by someone they love."

The words rang with the truth of what she'd begun to suspect of the way Dumbledore treated Harry, but Hermione held her ground, refusing to show the emotion that rioted in her core, that turned her into a ball of nerves.

Slowly Narcissa nodded, a slight upturn to her lips and a knowing glint in her eyes.

The memory faded, the next already bleeding through.

1st September 1994

Hermione knocked tentatively on Professor McGonagall's office door, Nott and Malfoy shifting from foot to foot behind her. When no one answered after a moment, Theo cleared his throat. "Maybe we ought to try another time. Anyone could—"

Before he could finish, the door creaked open, McGonagall's imposing frame filling the doorway. Hermione felt the boys flinch under McGonagall's harsh glare, but she stepped forward, gesturing behind her. "Professor, we need your help."

If it was possible, Hermione was sure Professor McGonagall's brows would have shot off her face with voracity with which they flew up, but she quickly schooled her expression, fixing them with an imperious glare, and stepped aside to allow them into her office.

When they settled, each of them in a chair before her desk, McGonagall spoke lowly, trepidation in every line of her aged face.. "Miss Granger, I do hope you know what you're doing."

Shame seared over her, that the other woman would be so clearly suspicious of her motivations; the truth of it was that she didn't know what she was doing, but something told her that she needed to extend the two boys an opportunity to change. Divination was rubbish—she'd never claim otherwise—but she'd never ignored her gut instincts. And right now they were screaming at her to give this—give them—a chance to prove they weren't what everyone had labeled them as.

So she cleared her throat, curling her hands around the chair lest her favourite professor see them shake. "Professor McGonagall, Malfoy and Nott are being groomed to become Death Eaters." Colour drained from the woman's face, and Hermione tried not to balk when McGonagall's throat bobbed in a thick swallow. "I've offered to help them. They want out."

Silence, filled with tension so thick it felt as though it crowded in her lungs. But McGonagall folded her hands in her lap delicately, her lips flattening into a thin line before she spoke. "I've suspected, but I had hoped that this was stamped out years ago." Her gaze rested on the two Slytherins, and when she spoke again, her voice was stern. "I trust Miss Granger. I do not, however, trust either of you."

Both boys coloured, Malfoy hanging his head, defeat heavy on his shoulders already.

"But—" Cautious hope lit in Theo's eyes, and he leaned forward, Hermione's own breath held while she waited for McGonagall to continue. "Should you require somewhere to earn that trust, I shall make the Transfiguration classroom available directly following dinner."

For the first time, Malfoy's mask cracked, and she saw the same hope that had buoyed Theo in the depths of his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but McGonagall cut him off. "To avoid rousing suspicion, you will have to do as they ask, Mister Malfoy; deviating from the path set before you will only result in complicate matters."

Theo leaned forward, a deep vee marring his smooth brow. "Professor, I don't understand. Are you asking us to stay with them?"

McGonagall sighed, eyeing the boys. "If either of you were to publicly announce your breaking from the Death Eaters, you risk being persecuted by them. You risk death. You put yourselves and Miss Granger in danger." Laying her hands flat on the table, she heaved a deep sigh. "I've spoken with your mother, Mister Malfoy. She understands; she advocates for you, and I wish I could intervene, but some things must be allowed to happen."

Her heart pounded in her ears as she stared at McGonagall. If she didn't know better… Narcissa had seen something of the future.

"Professor?" Malfoy swallowed audibly, and Hermione felt his fear as her own.

"I trust actions, Mister Malfoy, not words. See to it that you prove yourself, and I'll do everything in my power to help you." She stood, offering a slight nod to Hermione, and entered her private chambers, the snick of the door shutting punctuating her departure.

Finally, Theo broke the silence. "So when do we start?"

25 June 1995

When Cedric died, they knew. All illusions of safety within Hogwarts had been ripped from them, and Hermione couldn't go a day without wondering who would be next, where they would surface, and what part of the world she loved would be ripped away.

They trained harder, long into the night, during the few days before the term ended and while the school still hung heavy by his death.

When Harry and Ron asked about the circles beneath her eyes, she told them she'd started studying longer.

So lost in the horror of Cedric's death, neither of them questioned her.

When she said goodbye to Theo and Draco in McGonagall's classroom, she had to force herself to walk away, a tiny coil of fear in her stomach at what might happen while they were separated.

29th October 1995

"Bombarda Maxima!" A jolt of white wandfire careened through the air, colliding with and exploding a stack of cushions Hermione had arranged at the far side of the room. Theo rolled to a stop, his motion fluid as he threw up a Protego, the shield shimmering in the dim room.

A smile of approval curved her lips. "Excellent, Theo!" A wave of her wand had the pillows mending themselves as she crossed the room and offered him her hand. "You've been practicing?"

Crooked grin pulling up his cheek, Theo chuckled as she helped him to his feet. "Not much else to do when you're avoiding becoming a henchman for a literal madman."

The gravity of the statement was not lost on her, but Hermione smiled nonetheless, squeezing his forearm in silent congratulations. "It shows; keep it up and you'll have basic combat mastered in no time."

Behind her, a light cough drew her attention. "Granger? Are you going to watch or flirt with Theo all day?" Malfoy's voice was pinched, a jealous tint to it that Theo had clued her in to when she stayed later to help him with his protective charms.

Rather than answer, she simply nodded at Malfoy. The other boy flew into a series of jinxes and hexes, an impressive array of defensive magic binding it together seamlessly before him with his non-dominant hand.

Watching Malfoy weave spellwork was enthralling, and she found she could never look away from him when he began. He threw his whole body into the magic, a fluid, dancelike connectivity in his motions that bridged gaps she wasn't aware were there until he filled them.

Malfoy captivated her, and she found herself hard pressed to listen to the voice in her head that told her she needed to look away. Hermione felt colour rise to her cheeks,

She felt rather than saw Theo sidle up behind her, his own appreciation evident in the silence with which he watched his friend. But his words washed over her, quiet and sure. "It's mutual, you know."

Her breath froze in her throat. Surely he couldn't mean… but when she looked over her shoulder at him, he simply nodded, watching Malfoy. "Why do you think he watches you so closely? That he gets jealous when I talk to you even when he knows I have Luna?" A beat passed between them, and then... "Talk to him about it."

Before she could respond, Theo was gone, crossing the room to settle down next to Luna. She briefly watched the way they seemed to melt into one another, taking solace from each other's warmth and steady presence. It wasn't a pairing that she'd expected, and frankly she'd been terrified of their reaction upon Luna interrupting their training when she'd forgotten her knapsack, but it had been easy. Luna had settled into the small group seamlessly, and Hermione found she was grateful for the other girl's presence.

It didn't hurt that they found alibis in each other and soothed Harry's suspicion.

Ron, though… Ron was more suspicious than ever. It was no secret that Hermione had harbored feelings for him once upon a time, but those feelings had… faded? Even as it seemed Ron was finally cluing in to the fact that she was a human female, and that he was marginally interested in her. His hand lingered on her arm, and she caught his gaze following her through the common room, uncharacteristically clingy any time they were around. But Hermione found it suffocating, especially when she'd long since found her eyes on someone else.

The graceful arc of Malfoy's wand through the air drew her attention, the taut line of his shoulders and the quiet determination evident in his gaze breathtaking.

No, she'd long since abandoned any residual feelings for Ron.

When Malfoy rolled to a stop, chest heaving, he looked up at her, hopeful excitement shining in his eyes.

She was crossing the floor before she could think twice, her footfalls quiet on the padded floor. When she extended her hand to him, it was so reminiscent of their early truce that she found herself cast back into that small, nervous girl in the woods again. But Malfoy's hand clasped hers, and he righted himself.

"So?" Malfoy stared down at her, his expression unreadable as she swallowed.

Behind her, she could hear Luna and Theo approaching, low laughter rumbling between them at some private joke.

Nerves crowded into her throat. Something in her knew that this was a turning point, and part of her warred with whether or not this was wise, offering something so fragile in the midst of the war. But she studied him, the strong line of his jaw that he'd grown into over the last year, the comfortable familiarity that she felt whenever in his presence. "Stay after today?"

An impossibly slow smile lifted the corner of his lips, sending a flurry of butterflies through her. "Anything for you, Granger." Without breaking eye contact, he spoke over her shoulder. "Theo?"

"Yeah, mate?"

His hand was on her wrist, and she was sure her heart was going to beat out of her chest. The harsh beat of it tattooed against her ribcage. "Get out. I've been meaning to do something with Granger."

She couldn't breathe for the anticipation writhing in her stomach as their footsteps receded, Luna's quiet, "I knew the Nargles were on to something" punctuating their retreat. When the door slipped shut behind them, Hermione studied him, sucking in a deep breath when he stepped into her space. Heart in her throat, she whispered, "What have you been meaning to do?"

The hand that was on her wrist slid up, tracing nonsensical patterns along her flesh. When it reached the curve of her neck, he paused, leaning back to peer into her eyes to search for permission. Of their own accord, her eyes fluttered shut, a soft sigh escaping her when his fingers delved into her hair.

And then his lips were on hers, warm and insistent. It was far gentler than she wanted, tentative, and she slid her hands over the dip of his hips, moulding herself to him. With a gentle nip, she drew his full lower lip into her mouth, smiling into the kiss when he groaned and wrenched himself backward. Twin spots of bright pink coloured the high arches of his cheekbones, his breathing laboured. "Granger, I—"

But she rocked up on her toes, pressing another kiss to his lips. Giddiness rushed through her at the simple action. "Stop, Malfoy." Swallowing, she pressed another kiss to his lips. "The war… bad things are coming. Let's just… enjoy this while we can, yeah?"

A sharp nod was her only answer before he swept her into his arms again.

18 June 1996

Malfoy carefully bound the wound that stretched up her side, arcing across the ladder of her ribs. His shoulders were tense and his eyes shuttered as he placed fresh gauze over the laceration. "It's healing slowly."

Letting out a hissing breath, Hermione nodded. "I don't know what it was—the curse. Harry had silenced him, and—"

Brows knit together, Malfoy interrupted her. "Whatever it was, it likely would have killed you had he been able to speak. It was a powerful curse."

Tears welled in her eyes as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her ribs. Behind them, Theo and Luna laughed quietly, and Hermione sat upright, settling herself into Draco's arms despite the pain that lanced through her.

"It's coming," Draco said, his voice low and rumbling. Hermione glanced over her shoulder at him, his expression forlorn as he swept her hair over her shoulder and kissed her freckled skin gently. "We have to be careful."

She hummed, leaning back into the warmth of his embrace. Fear settled low in her stomach, stealing her ability to answer him with anything more than a simple acknowledgment. "I know."

They stared into the fireplace for a few moments, tangled around each other. When he spoke again, she could hear the emotion underscoring the words. "I'll find you. No matter where you are or what happens… I'll find you."

Tears sprang to her eyes, but she tried to force them away as she craned her neck to press a gentle kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Draco, I—" But the words stopped, and she buried her face in his neck. "When it happens… I'll have to go. With Harry, with Ron. But I want you to know—"

His arms tightened around her. "I know, Granger." He buried his face in her hair. "I know."

3 August 1996

Hermione was preparing dinner in her parents' kitchen when Draco Apparated into the backyard of their cottage.

The ceramic bowl in which she'd tossed the salad slipped from her fingers, shattering into pieces when it crashed against the tiled floor.

She was out of the room before the pieces could settle on the floor, her heart in her throat.

When she skidded to a halt before him, Draco was curled in on himself, a high-pitched whine emitting from his clenched mouth. Hands shaking, she rolled him gently, her stomach turning when the sharp scent of blood and urine washed over her.

On his left forearm, blood shone brightly, mangled bits of skin framing the ugly, roiling black ink etched into his skin.

A Dark Mark.

Her stomach revolted against her, and she swallowed back the bile that climbed up her throat. With slow, careful movements, she removed the cardigan she wore over the top of her simple t-shirt, slowly wiping away the blood as he rocked in her hold. When his whimpering quieted, she pressed a kiss to his temple, voicing the question she hadn't been able to manage. "Theo?"

A short nod gave answer enough: alive, and marked too.

6 November 1996

"There's a spy in the Order."

Hermione was wrapped up in one of Draco's jumpers near a fire grate in the Room of Requirement when Theo rushed in, his breath wheezing out of him. His announcement immediately put her on edge, her hackles rising as she turned a serious gaze on him. "What do you mean?"

He settled before her. "It's the only explanation; how they know where the Order will be. How they're getting information from inside Hogwarts. There has to be a spy somewhere."

She considered it for a moment, letting the truth of it wash over her. It would explain how the Death Eaters knew about the Room of Requirement and the Vanishing Cabinet. "So we'll tell McGonagall, have her help us—"

A door clicked open, and suddenly Ron's voice echoed through the room. "Hermione? Harry saw you disappear in here on the map; everything okay?"

Theo's eyes widened, and he scrambled around her, ducking for the chair before Ron came around the corner, his brows drawn low with something akin to suspicion. When he saw the fireplace and the book she'd been reading laid across the arm, his face relaxed.

She forced a smile at him, ignoring Theo's grip on her ankle. "I'm fine, Ron. Just needed a bit of privacy is all; it's hard to read with everything going on." She waved her hand in his direction, picking up her book for extra emphasis, but his eyes narrowed on her sweater.

The very telling emerald and silver sweater that was just a little too large on her frame.

"'Mione, why are you wearing a Slytherin jumper?" Suspicion coloured Ron's tone, twin pink stains adorning his cheeks as the tips of his ears flushed dark red.

But Hermione had always been quick on her toes, and she wrinkled a nose at him. "I know, but it was what the room offered when I asked; I was cold, so—" she shrugged, allowing him to fill in the blanks, even as she held her breath, hoping he'd buy the lie.

After a beat, he nodded, though the pinched expression didn't leave his face. "Right. Well, dinner is in thirty minutes; I'll see you at the table?"

Hermione nodded, already distracted as Theo's grip on her tightened on her ankle. "See you at dinner."

Ron slowly retreated, his hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders scrunched around his ears as he walked away. It wasn't until the door fell shut that she allowed herself to breathe out a heavy exhale.

But then Theo was rising, expression wary and pensieve. "Hermione, you don't think…" He trailed off.

"I don't think what?"

Waffling for a minute, Theo rocked up on his heels, staring off in the direction Ron had left in. "You don't think it could be Ron… do you?"

A disbelieving laugh tumbled from her lips. "Ron? A Death Eater?" she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Ron is a lot of things, but he wouldn't. He'd never betray his family like that." In the corner of her eye, Theo flinched, his hand moving to cover his forearm where the Dark Mark stood out angrily. She spun for him, catching his hand and forcing him to look at her. "Theo— I didn't mean it that way. I don't think of you like that. It's—"

He smiled ruefully, glancing back the way Ron had left, his brow still knit in worry. "It's complicated."

20 January 1997

"We need a contingency plan," she announced, watching as Malfoy and Theo stirred a cauldron of potion that rested on a table near the back of the Room of Requirement. Coiling silver smoke issued upward from it, the putrid smell crowding the small space, but she pushed forward. "When it happens… when the war comes here, I have to go with Harry. Wherever he goes."

Malfoy gazed at her over the top of the cauldron, hurt swirling within his eyes. "So what are you saying?"

Drawing her lip between her teeth, she considered her words. "Harry is hiding something. He's been going away with Dumbledore, spending long hours being advised in his office." She sighed, cutting her gaze away. "It's something to do with the war. But I don't know what, and he won't tell me."

Theo crossed to her. "Hermione, it's—"

"I know it's dangerous." She swallowed, trying to find the brave face she always wore, the distinct knowledge that it would be okay, but it was gone, leaving her bereft in the moment she needed it most. Steeling herself, she continued, voice clipped and clinical. "But you're in danger too. If they find out you've defected, they'll kill you." The certainty of her statement stole her breath, and she fought to stave off the terror it brought with it, her tone softening. "If it comes to war, do what you can to survive."

She shook her head. "You told me that you've been practising memory charms to help evade Voldemort." Both boys flinched at the name. "What can they do?"

His brow furrowed. "I haven't tested it; it's all theory—but the spell I've been working on… well, it can essentially replace your memories with false memories that you've been coached to learn. It's not perfect, but with some time…"

"With some time it could work?" she prompted, carefully avoiding Malfoy's earnest stare.

When Theo looked at her again, she could see the depths of sorrow in his gaze. "It could work."

Quiet resolution steeled her words, but she couldn't bear to look at Draco. Not when she could feel tears pricking the corners of her eyes. "Teach me."

30 June 1997

Somewhere within the castle, Death Eaters roamed.

Hermione raced through the halls, ducking as loud crashes and shrieking laughter sounded on the floor above her. Icy dread drove her forward, the source of the laughter unmistakable.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

She'd encountered the woman in the Department of Mysteries, her maniacal laughter forever etched into her memory, and Hermione found that no matter how fast she ran, she couldn't escape the terror that clawed its way up her throat.

By the time she made it to the Room of Requirement, a stitch had developed in her side, her breath ghosting in and out of her in desperate huffs. If they weren't there, if Theo and Draco hadn't made it to the room—

But she tumbled in after a second frantic pass, falling into waiting arms, and she loosed a relieved sob when Draco's familiar warmth washed over her.

He was alive. He was alive and running a hand over her curls, and gods, she couldn't leave him like this.

Rocketing upright, Hermione's gaze skittered over his features. They were drawn tight, grim determination in every line of his face. He'd grown so beautifully, settling into his pointed features that were now pinched and pained, seeing the tension he held himself with, the desperation that clung to him like a shroud… Hermione scarcely recognised him from the boy she'd grown to love.

But then Theo was there, Luna nowhere in sight, and she knew. All this time she'd been putting it off, the war looming outside their doorstep, growing ever closer.

And now it was here.

And she couldn't breathe.

Panic clawed up her throat, seized her by the heart and no matter what she did, she couldn't calm herself. She couldn't think past that certainty that lodged itself beneath her breastbone, that wrenched its way into her heart that she'd never see Draco again.

And when she finally forced herself to move to face him again, tears welling in his own eyes, sorrow and regret vying for dominance in his expression.

And though she raised her hand to cup his jaw, she couldn't make the words come out, couldn't stop her lip from trembling as an explosion rocked the castle somewhere outside the walls of their safe haven.

Safe no more.

She threw herself at him, desperate and broken, kissing every inch of him that she could reach. If this was to be their goodbye, she wanted him to remember it when she couldn't anymore.

Her heart thrumming in her ears, she crushed herself against him, aligning all the edges that fit so perfectly, that she'd taken for granted in their stolen time together, but then a wailing issued through the castle and another explosion shook the floors, part of the wall partitioning the room collapsing as she reeled away in horror.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Theo's wand rose to her temple, hot tears sliding down his face and dripping onto her arm. Outside, a loud wail rose as someone found the source of the crash, alarmed cries echoing upward in unison.

Whistling, low and ominous, carried through the Room of Requirement, something in it promising change, but Hermione found she couldn't quite embrace it the same way she had the last time she'd sensed it.

"Do it, Theo." She spoke through clenched teeth, only determination holding back the torrent of tears that threatened, the sob that tried to claw its way up and out of her throat.

He faltered, his wand dropping fractionally, but below them a door crashed opened. Bellatrix's manic laughter spiraled up the staircase.

They were running out of time.

And then Draco was there. Draco, with his beautiful, soulful grey eyes. With his strong, steady presence even when she could feel the sorrow pouring off him in waves. Draco with his love shining bright in the promise he swore her. "We'll find you; we'll make this right. Together."

"Together," she whispered. "I love you."

And then Theo's wand was pressing against her temple again, his words gusting over on a choked breath. "Repone certus memorias."

After.

The false memories streamed through her mind, each of them falling into place over the old. Juxtaposed with the original, she could see the false constructions, each added nuance painting Draco as a villain instead of the victim.

The World Cup.

His forced position in the Inquisitorial Squad.

Letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts.

The days he spent observing her torment in the cell.

All of it streamed through her mind, laying over the top of the true memories in a nearly seamless reimagination.

But now that she knew where to look, the shimmer to them, the way they didn't quite fit… Hermione could see where it all fell apart, and she knew.

What he had done, the moments of her pain and debasement, he'd been there alongside her. Whispering in her mind his apologies, his love, and how much he wished to do anything else; the way he shielded her as much as he could and beared the brunt of whatever magic he could siphon away from her.

It was all for her, and she broke again and again and again.

Now.

Mere moments seemed to have passed since she collapsed in the snow. Fresh flakes whirled through the air, settling on her cheeks, in her hair, but all she could fixate on was the warmth of the body that she was cradled against, the now-familiar scent of Malfoy coiling around her in a comforting blanket.

But all she could focus on, all she could feel, was the way her mind seemed to splinter within her. Magic shot outward, wrapping her and Malfoy in a whirlwind of colour and sound, and the only constant through it all was him.

Malfoy. His face. In her memories, before her, all of it blending together as she tried to force some semblance of sense into the visions assaulting her.

The last thing she heard before blacking out again was his whispered pleas for her to come back to him as he lowered his face into her curls.

A/N: Merp, how on the nose was that title lol. HUGE shoutout to highlyintelligentblonde for helping me work out an incantation for Theo's spell; she's a life saver and absolutely incredible! As always, alpha love to LadyKenz347 and beta love to tofadeawayagain. Happy Christmas!