Chapter 10

Hermione stirred. She opened her eyes. She would have stretched if she weren't this cold. Instead, she pulled her knees in tighter to her chest, tucked her arms in also, waited. Waited for what? For the day to be over. The week. The year. For this life to be –

Laughter. It was strange – alien. A sound she hadn't heard in so long that a mere trace of it made her uneasy. And this was no mere trace. It was a chorus. There was harmony, a solo. Then again, a choir. Laughter. What was that about?

She lifted herself up onto her elbows, kicking the brush off herself with her legs. At least her feet were warm – she'd slept in boots. But aching. Her feet were aching to stretch, arch, flex, and point. She rolled her ankles around trying to relieve the discomfort.

She shivered, glad at least to have a jacket. Some of them were not so fortunate. She squinted at the brightness outside of the shelter. Light was all she could see. She massaged her throat as she made her way to exit the shelter; the crisp air had left it raw. She swallowed though the pain.

She stepped out into the sunlight. She stepped out into the snow. It compressed under her foot – soft, pure, virgin. It sparkled across the clearing. In the sunlight it looked whiter than white. It was blinding. It hurt her eyes. What a beautiful adversary it was. Resplendent and ruthless.

It was a scene, alright. Luna jumping in delight as Neville and Ron took turns conjuring a fountain of wine while the other, his mouth gaping open, would drop his head to catch it in his mouth. Their faces and clothes were burgundy stained.

Hermione headed for Nott and Malfoy, who sat on a log watching the action from the sidelines. They were chuckling in amusement. As she neared them, she said, gesturing to the others, "Why didn't we think of this before?"

Malfoy looked up at her first, a strange smile on his face that contrasted the narrowing of his eyes. "Apparently getting high rejuvenates the magical spirit. Look at them conjuring away," he said.

"We should ask them for some blankets," Hermione said, suspiciously eyeing the jovial forms galloping across the clearing.

"I dare you to try," Malfoy sneered.

"They think they're in a vineyard," Nott said. "Wine tasting."

Hermione grimaced. "Of course, they do."

"They thought I was a vine," Malfoy added. "Damn near plucked my grapes."

Hermione let out a snort.

"She laughs," Malfoy said, squinting up at her, a smirk still subtly weaved into his mouth.

The observation made her self-conscious. She composed herself. Cleared her throat. "How's Cho?" she said.

Cho was still laying by the fire, her stunned body draped with someone's jacket. Malfoy shrugged and she noticed that he wasn't wearing his. "Had to stun her again during the night. She was beginning to stir."

Nott held his hand out to Hermione. "Join us." He patted the space beside him on the log.

The look that Malfoy gave her as she went to sit between them was heavy, scrutinizing, long. He shifted sideways when she sat, away from her. It was subtle, but she noticed. She sat very still and straight, rigid, uncomfortable.

Malfoy leaned back slightly, placed his hands on the back of the log. His black shirt rippled in the breeze against his chest. Hermione saw it out of the corner of her eye. The tilt, the shirt, the way he pointedly looked away.

But she felt sorry for him too. Not just for herself and the others. Malfoy was in this with them. They were all suffering. She moved slightly, allowing her open jacket to catch his arm, share her warmth. It was an innocent enough gesture – besides, she did it fairly unconsciously. But he must have shuddered because she felt her jacket flutter at the side. Unless she imagined it.

"Did any of you sleep?" she said.

"I don't think I've slept since we got here," Nott said. He placed his hand on Hermione's knee. His fingers were a light touch, moving softly, one at a time, until his whole palm lay flat on her leg. The warmth of his hand penetrated even the thickness of her jeans.

The warmth was stolen though, replaced by an icy thing. A hand – cold, slight but crippling – slipped underneath the hem of her jacket. It lingered at the small of her back, wound a finger in small circles there, before slithering around. Only the fingertips dared weigh on her waist. The chill, it seeped through the fabric of her shirt.

Hermione almost closed her eyes. Almost craved to sit there and – sit there and enjoy it. Her heart was beating so fast it was making her hot. "We can't just leave her stunned forever," she gulped. She would talk about Cho.

"Have you got a better suggestion?" Malfoy said, his fingers now pacing up the side of her ribcage.

It was a struggle to disengage, but Hermione leapt up off the log, aiming a livid glare at Malfoy. "Can I borrow you for a moment?"

He was still watching her with that contemplative gaze, as if he were appraising her request. His mouth was already curved into an uneven smirk. "Certainly," he said, rising.

Nott, who was looking at Hermione levelly, shifted his gaze to Malfoy. "I'll keep an eye on things," he said, nodding at the prancing forms in the clearing.

Hermione grabbed a clump of shirt on Malfoy's arm and dragged him to the outskirts of the clearing. "We should move soon," Malfoy was saying as they walked. "Shouldn't be staying in one place for too long. We'll need to scout a new location in a few days."

When they reached the woods, Hermione nearly impaled him on a branch of a birch when she shoved him through the trees.

"Watch, it, Granger!" he complained.

"What is your deal, Malfoy?" she hissed.

"Come again?" he said, feigning ignorance.

"Are we going to have a problem?" she said dangerously.

"Granger, you're going to have to be more specific."

"Are you going to pretend that you didn't just grope me right next to my boyfriend?"

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Boyfriend?" he said.

Hermione sighed in frustration. "Whatever he is."

Malfoy neared her. "How would I know he's anything? It's not like you told me."

"Why would I tell you anything? I wasn't expecting you on feeling me up this morning."

Malfoy watched her skeptically. "I thought you were in love with Harry Potter."

Hermione swallowed and looked away. She winced at the sting in her throat. "Yes, well, that doesn't matter, does it?"

"So, you're just going to give up?"

Hermione looked back up at him irritably. "What do you care, Malfoy?"

Malfoy scoffed. "I don't care."

"Then explain yourself."

He tightened his lips. "Just having a laugh, Granger. Ease up, will you?"

She bristled at his offhand remark. Put a firm hand across his chest when he went to leave. "I will not ease up," she said when his eyes flitted back up in surprise. "And you will stand here and apologize."

"Get stuffed, Granger. It's freezing out here."

She remembered feeling sorry for him. Watching him shiver in his billowing shirt. His lips were turning a dull blue while he gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering. She endeavoured to expel whatever part of her that still wished to share a jacket with him and shook her head resolutely. "Promise me that it won't happen again."

Malfoy stopped pushing against her palm and brought his own hand up to clasp around hers. "Get over yourself, Granger."

She dropped her hand from his chest, but he held onto it for a moment. He ran his thumb through her palm, across her wrist, before letting her hand fall. As he moved past her, she could feel an escalating thrill seize her chest. It was his unpredictability that was exhilarating, she reasoned. If nothing else, at least Malfoy was interesting. She listened to him tread through the snow, snap branches, crunch over sodden leaves, until the footsteps stopped. She turned to look at him.

He stood there and watched her, the greys of his eyes mimicking a darkening sky on a stormy day. Equally menacing and magnificent. And pointedly trained on her. The flutter rippling through her intensified. He began to walk forward, toward her again. It was a flurry of panic and anticipation that rattled inside her, she felt it prickling about her skin, sparking. She felt as though she might ignite, like a piece of kindling. Faster, combust like a defenceless, volatile wisp of cotton.

"Does my presence make you uncomfortable?" he said as he approached her.

She took a step back to compensate for the rapid loss of physical space between them. "Not at all," she said.

She felt his hand on her stomach before she realized he'd reached out to grab her shirt. He pulled her in toward him and, with his face just above hers, he said, "Does this?"

"Should it?" she breathed. His hand that clutched her shirt was the match. She imagined that the flames engulfed her. In an instant she was gone.

"Well," he smirked bitterly, "you're spoken for, aren't you?"

She stiffened, allowed herself to disconnect. She met his turbulent gaze with a fiery one of her own. "If your sole intention is to make me uncomfortable," she said, lifting his hand off her midriff, "how sad it is for you that you've got nothing better to do."

She gave him one last look of disdain and left him amid the trees, making her way back toward the clearing.

…

I want to help him. I wish I could. I do. I can tell him the truth. Would that be helpful, though? Would it be harmful? For twenty-two years, he's been operating under the assumption that – well, let's just say that he's been wrong.

Malfoy slides his fingers through his hair and leans over his drink, as if relishing in its contents. He sniffs, picks up the glass, lets out a quick breath, and downs the whiskey. He slams the tumbler back down on the counter, harder than the last one. His depth perception must be waning.

"He saved your life," I say. I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm already at the end, itching for the grand reveal.

Malfoy tightens his mouth. He's not looking at me, not really. Hasn't for days now. I think the process of dredging up old memories, it's not as therapeutic as some might say. Perhaps sometimes it's best to forget.

"It's not your fault," I say.

He nods. Purses his lips in a way that tells me that he doesn't necessarily agree with my sentiment.

"You had no choice," I say.

He lets out an abrasive chuckle. "There's always a choice."

…

The silence was what alerted them of the situation. No more laughter, no casual conversation. Not even the crunching of snow to signify movement. Besides the crackling of the fire, the camp was still. Their initial reaction was to freeze. They both froze at exactly the same time. Too late, though – they'd each been fuming over the preceding events to notice. And too close to the clearing. They would be spotted without question.

Behind her, Malfoy took a hold of her hand. Slowly, he stepped in front of her.

In the clearing stood Nott, wand in one hand, Malfoy's axe in the other. His arms were spread to protect the others behind him – Luna, Neville, and Ron, who seemed to have sobered up to properly recognize the dangerous state of affairs.

Standing before them was the perceived threat: Oliver Wood. He was at the opposite edge of the clearing, taking small steps toward them. His hands were up, no wand. His face looked pleading.

A shuffle that came from inside the nearby shelter startled them. They turned to see Harry climbing out. Malfoy held out his hand to still him. Harry halted, staring ahead at Wood.

"How did he find us?" Hermione whispered behind Malfoy.

"Does that really matter right now?" Malfoy muttered.

Hermione squeezed the hand that was holding her.

Oliver Wood took another step forward.

Nott held up his wand hand, stepping forward himself. He seemed to hesitate, deciding which instrument could do more damage. Would be a more prudent line of defence.

Hermione began to shuffle around for her wand. "I left my wand in the hut!" she exclaimed in a feverish whisper.

Malfoy dug into his back pocket to produce his own wand. "Stay here," he instructed.

As Malfoy began to walk forward, Harry motioned with his arm to Hermione. "Hermione, get in here!"

Hermione had no intention of barricading herself inside a shelter with no escape. She shook her head at him, and he sighed in frustration, clambering out of the hut clumsily in his haste.

"Hermione, watch Ginny," he said to her in a low voice, taking his wand out. "Please."

She stared at his figure as he stalked off after Malfoy. Protect Ginny, of course. She crept toward the shelter, keeping her eye on the figures in the clearing. Ironic that in a forest brimming with terrifying creatures, their most formidable foe was a friend. An ally.

…

I'm intently staring at the menu, I realize. The front of it, to be exact. Just the name is on the front of an otherwise black cover. The Grey Goat, I read. Underneath, in a smaller, more uniform font, it says, Bar & Grill. I've never ordered any food here so I'm not sure why I've taken a menu today. I think it was offered and I didn't refuse. So, I'm just watching it now as a means to compose myself. To pacify my nerves.

I'll be seeing him today. For the first time since – well, since yesterday. And what will I say? I've deceived him. I'm no better than she was. I almost get up to leave, but then I see him, just as I'm about to rise from my seat.

He adjusts his leather jacket as he bounds up the steps – he wears a jacket, rain or shine. Removes his sunglasses as he approaches my table. Our table. Slips them into an inside pocket of his jacket. He's smirking at me already, before he's even sitting down. I do my utmost not to look away in shame. If only he knew.

"Marian," he says, lowering himself into the seat across from me.

I manage a smile. I am good at faking it.

"Are we eating today?" He points to my menu.

I've never seen him eat. Just smoke. "We can."

He flips the menu open while it still faces me. "Anything good?" he says.

Good is subjective. Or so I've been told. "Probably," I respond. Am I good?

Theodore Nott holds up a hand to signal a waiter. "Can I trouble you for another menu?"

…

Hermione peered out through the slits between the logs. Ginny lay behind her, her breathing laboured as she tried lifting her head to watch.

"What's happening?" she whispered feverishly.

"Oliver Wood is here," Hermione whispered back, without looking at Ginny.

They were moving in a circle, the four of them, holding their wands out like rapiers. Wood had drawn his when Malfoy and Harry approached.

Ginny groaned behind her. "Hermione," she said, trying to lift herself up to get a better look.

"Shh," Hermione said. "Don't move."

"Hermione, I need to tell you something," Ginny panted.

Hermione turned to look at her.

Ginny's face was pale, sweaty, drawn; her lips were grey. She looked as though she was fighting to keep her eyelids from closing over her eyes. She was wavering precariously on her elbows. Simply maintaining consciousness seemed to be a struggle.

"I've got news." It was Wood who spoke – outside, in the centre of the clearing.

Hermione turned her head back around to look outside. She saw Nott's wand hand falter. He wasn't expecting Wood to speak. After all, Cho had been silent. Perhaps Wood wasn't compromised. But how could they know for certain?

Malfoy spoke next: "Out with it, then."

"Ron," Wood was looking past Nott, Malfoy, and Harry. "Ron! Your brother – George – he's alive, Ron."

Hermione sensed the suspicion on Malfoy's face without seeing it. His back muscles tensed under his shirt. Hermione realized that her own fists were clenched, and she slowly released the pressure.

"Hermione," Ginny croaked behind her. "I need your help."

Hermione turned back and crawled toward Ginny. She tried covering her with some brush when Ginny's hand landed abruptly on her wrist. Hermione gasped and looked at her.

Ginny's eyes were glistening. "I have something to tell you, Hermione."

Hermione watched her evenly, but a sense of dread gripped her at the sight of Ginny's expression. "What's the matter, Ginny?"

Ginny gulped, relaxed her grip on Hermione, or, rather, her hand just fell away from exhaustion. "I know what happened to me, Hermione."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. "You were hit with debris, Ginny," she said quietly, as one would soothe a child who's afraid of the monsters under the bed.

Ginny shook her head, shutting her eyes. Tears that had been pooling inside of them now streamed freely down into her ears. "There's more," she whispered.

Just then, Hermione heard a crack penetrate the air outside the hut. She jumped up and ran to the entrance. She didn't wait to see what was happening. She jumped out of the shelter and dove for the second one, just a few yards away, to grab her wand.

It only took her a few seconds but once she returned, the situation had altered again. Ron was screaming, rolling on the ground, clasping a hand to his shoulder. Neville was kneeling over him, inspecting his injuries. Another moment later and Nott had been disarmed. Wood moved swiftly across the clearing – moved toward Ginny's hut. Harry jumped in front of him, throwing out haphazard charms that Wood rapidly deflected. Finally, Wood hit Harry with a freezing spell, covering him entirely in a thick layer of ice. He toppled over on his side while Wood moved forward.

Wood seemed to be in good form – physically speaking. His wand work was crisp, precise. His stride was buoyant. He was by no means malnourished. Hermione jumped ahead of him, holding her wand out. She saw Malfoy in the background shaking out his own wand in frustration. Sparse sparks were fizzing from its tip. When he looked up at Wood and saw Hermione, he tossed his wand aside in frustration and dove for the axe that Nott had dropped by the fire.

Nott, who was scouring the ground for his wand, took after Malfoy's example and started collecting the larger stones surrounding the fire pit into his pullover that he held out like a sack. He began throwing them at Wood's back.

Out of nowhere, it seemed, Luna came up behind Wood and wound her arm around his neck, bringing him to the ground. Hermione tried to aim a spell at Wood but the two were rolling so swiftly that she was afraid to hit Luna by mistake. Finally, Wood slashed his wand across Luna's chest. A gurgle escaped Luna's throat. A dark blood began to stain her flowered blouse from the inside out.

"Luna!" Malfoy roared from behind them.

Hermione stood frozen in place, staring at Luna's moving lips. She looked like a fish that's been pulled from the lake. Or like a person drowning, gasping for air that wasn't there.

There was a whooshing that whistled past Hermione's left ear. The axe. It landed diagonally, cracked right into Wood's spine as he rose. With a dull thump, as into a tree trunk. But she heard the splintering of vertebrae. Forward he fell, over Luna's quivering body.

…

"Obviously, not all of you made it," I say. I'm mortified that I have to bring it up, but he hasn't as of yet, and I want to know what happened.

He looks at me then with a new pair of eyes. Suddenly, I'm seeing contempt in the torrent of grey. I cower – in my mind. In reality, I continue to watch him, unperturbed. "Obviously," he says tersely.

I shouldn't press him. I know I shouldn't. But, by now, I've lost all self control. "How did it happen?"

…

"You killed him," Hermione breathed as Malfoy walked past her. "You killed him!" she screamed after him.

Luna's chest heaved as Malfoy grabbed Wood in a rage and threw him to the side. Nott skidded to a halt before Luna as she was closing her eyes.

Malfoy rose again, bared his teeth, looking about.

"What are you going to do?" Hermione whispered; her face already stained with tears – when had she begun to cry?

Malfoy walked across the clearing resolutely. Hermione followed in his wake.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" she called hoarsely.

Malfoy reached the dip in the snow where he'd dropped his wand.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" she screamed. "Malfoy, don't!"

He pointed his wand at the stunned body of Cho.

"Malfoy!" she screamed. "Stop, Malfoy! Don't!"

"Avada Kedavra!"