/
"Hermione!" Ron called as she stepped through the portrait hole into a bustling common room. "Is Harry with you? He ran in here—" Ron lost his voice as he caught sight of her— she hadn't even thought to clean Draco's blood from her clothes, face, and hands.
"Wh— whose blood is that? Hermione— wait—"
She didn't pause to answer him as she hurried toward the boy's dormitory, eager to avoid the questioning gazes of onlookers, and even more intent on getting the Invisibility Cloak before Harry returned.
Ron ran after her as she sped up the stairs, his long stride allowing him to catch up with her quickly. To her dismay, he stopped her at the door.
"Hermione—" He panted, his eyes full of concern. "What— what happened? Are you okay? And where's Harry?"
"I'm fine, Ron" she replied softly.
"You and Harry come running in here, both of you covered in blood… but you're both fine? I know I'm not the brightest Puffapod in the garden, but c'mon Hermione…"
She bit her lip, finding it extraordinarily difficult to look Ron in the eyes. She'd been lying to him all this time too.
"Harry's fine… he and Malfoy were fighting," she whispered.
Hermione managed to glance up into Ron's freckled face and saw his eyebrows raise in surprise as his eyes darted to her bloodstained hands.
"So that's— that's Malfoy's blood? Is he—" Ron paled.
"Harry used one of the Prince's spells and… well, Snape found us, he healed Malfoy before he…" her voice trailed away, the images too painful to recount. She swallowed hard.
"Hermione," Ron whispered, his expression one of true concern and fear. "What's going on?"
She bit her lip again, holding back tears.
"Ron, I— I need to get the cloak—"
"The cloak? Why? Wait a bloody second… you said Harry used one of the Prince's spells? So you're telling me Harry did this?" He gestured to Hermione's stained clothes.
She nodded in grave silence. "He nearly killed Malfoy," she whispered, scanning around Ron's lanky frame to ensure no one was listening. "He didn't know what it did… but Ron, please…"
"Look, I—I'm not saying Malfoy didn't deserve it, and Merlin knows I have no ruddy clue what's going on between you and Harry… but maybe I can, er— help."
Hermione smiled sadly, and although she was relieved that it seemed Harry hadn't told Ron about Dobby and Kreacher's recent discovery, and even though she appreciated Ron's attempt at tenderness, she could only think one thing.
No one can help me now.
"Thanks, Ron… but I'm— I'm okay," she tried to smile again, and by the change in his expression she saw it seemed to ease some of his worry. "I just need the cloak."
"Oh— right," replied Ron hesitantly. He paused, as if deciding something. He turned around to open the door. "C'mon, I'm sure it's in Harry's trunk."
/
/
/
Hermione wanted nothing more than to hide under the Invisibility Cloak outside of the hospital wing to wait for the cover of darkness, but as she tossed the Invisibility Cloak over herself inside the boy's dormitory, she remembered she had never managed to check on Felix Felicis.
She left a flabbergasted Ron behind and hurried to the familiar storeroom on the sixth floor, failing to avoid picturing the sight of Malfoy, unmoving on the bathroom floor, soaked in his own blood.
As she swung open the door to the small room, the first thing Hermione noticed was an eerie silence. The second thing she noticed was Theo standing beside the open window, a cool yet welcomed April breeze tossing his already disheveled hair, the rapidly fading light darkening the shadows under his tired eyes.
"Bloody hell, Granger," he said. "You look like you got into an axe fight with the Bloody Baron."
Hermione looked down at her still blood-stained clothes, her mind in a daze.
"Oh…"
"Scourigify," he said easily, shaking his head in disbelief as the scarlet stains vanished from her clothes.
"How's—"
"He's alive. That's more than you'll be able to say for Potter the next time I see that git's idiotic fucking face—"
"His wounds?" Hermione interrupted, shivering at the recollection of the gashes that would not heal, despite her best efforts.
"Snape and Professor Tonks fixed him right up. Might have a few scars, but in my experience, living with a few scars is better than being dead." Theo shrugged, "Or at least that's what I like to assume."
"What happened to Felix?" Hermione asked abruptly, her heart racing as she suddenly realized the ominous silence in the room had been the result of not two but three empty cauldrons.
But the grin slowly spreading across Theo's face told her she needn't worry. "It's here," he replied, a small vial of a shining gold liquid held between his thumb and index finger.
"We— we did it?" She whispered in sheer disbelief.
"Of course we did it, Granger… we're brilliant."
"Is that all there is?" Hermione asked, surprised by the minuscule size of the vial and somehow unable to feel joy at the news of their success.
"It's fair to say even geniuses have limits, and in this case it seems our combined intelligence is limited to this amount of Felix Felicis… let's agree to not mention that bit to Draco."
At the mention of Draco she looked away, wiping at her eyes.
After months of hard work she knew she should be rejoicing at the success of their potion-brewing, but her only desire was to escape under the Invisibility Cloak to make her way, unseen, toward the hospital wing.
Theo scrutinized Hermione's clear distress and visible lack of joy, astonished.
"Merlin, Granger, it's worse than I thought. So, so much worse."
She met his gaze, her expression one of confusion.
"I saw the way you reacted when Potter hit Draco with that spell… what spell was that, by the way? And when did Potter become so interested in Dark Magic?"
Her expression did not change. What is he getting at?
Theo shook his head, as if to redirect his thoughts. "Anyway… I've never seen anyone react the way you did on that bathroom floor, like you would've done anything…" Theo shook his head again, unable to say the words aloud, unable to ignore a strange desire for someone to look at him the way Hermione looked at Draco.
"I…" Hermione paused, unsure, her voice trailing away.
Theo took a deep breath. "It's obvious what's happening… I bet it started the day of your little run-in at Borgin's… or maybe it's even been building up all these years. But Granger, there have been so many secretive looks— that aren't so secretive, by the way— then there was that damned little yellow bird Draco just couldn't let die… is that a bird you conjured? You know what, don't answer that— I know it was. Had your magic all over it."
"Nott—"
"And don't even get me started on your Christmas piano flurry… I might've been plastered, but, yes, I remember—" he added, noting her glance of surprise.
"And there's your platinum necklace, and the endless flirting that makes feeding a herd of Blast-Ended Skrewts seem enjoyable… or is it flock? no… pack? Pack, that's it— a pack of Blast-Ended Skrewts—"
"Nott— what—?"
"And to top it all off," Theo's continued on, nonplussed, "you come in here today, dazed out of your mind, still covered in Draco's blood, completely ignoring a potion you've been slaving over for months…"
"What are you trying to say?"
"You really don't know?"
Hermione did not reply; she found her throat had gone dry.
"You care about Draco, Granger… and I know he cares about you too, despite my advice. Prat never takes my advice."
Hermione was silent.
"In fact," Theo continued without breaking their gaze, "I'd even venture to guess you're falling in love with him."
"You're wrong," she hastily replied, perhaps too hastily. In truth, it was too frightening to seriously consider how she felt about Draco.
"Maybe," replied Theo, his eyebrow raised. "I mean, what do I know about love? Nothing. Maybe you two are just lusting after one another, the stereotypical adolescent sexual tension of sworn enemies or whatnot… or maybe I just read too much… over-active imagination, maybe. But I really don't think so," Theo continued his monologue.
"I know Draco, he's— well, he's not like that. He's the all-or-nothing type, you know?" Theo shrugged. "And now I think I know you too, and I know you're the type too."
They stared at one another in silence.
"If it's any consolation, Granger, I think he might be falling in love with you too."
Hermione stood firm, folding her arms tightly across her chest as if to hold in her storming emotions, as if to protect herself from Theo's words; she felt lightheaded.
"You know what else I think? I think you might know more about how to mend the vanishing cabinet than you've been letting on."
She bit her lower lip, but did not look away.
"I've been considering ways to get the truth out of you," Theo explained, pacing back and forth now. "I was ready to slip you a bit of Veritaserum, but then you just saved my best friend's life, so I figure you don't deserve that."
"How thoughtful," she added dryly, somehow finding her voice. He smirked.
"Then I reasoned maybe I could withhold Felix from you, use that as leverage some way, or get Draco to threaten to erase your memory… but when Snape was berating me for answers in the hospital wing he mentioned you didn't tell him a bloody thing when he questioned you— he was completely irate by the way," Theo's smirk widened.
"Welcome to the club of giving Snape hell," he added, his grin reaching the corners of his hazel eyes. "So I realized something. You're as eager to help Draco as I am… because you're falling in love with him and everything."
They again regarded one another in silence for a moment, the silver moon outside the window rising up over a misty horizon.
"I— I don't love him…" Hermione said, her voice feeble. Suddenly, the thought of having her memory erased was entirely tempting.
Like hell you don't, Theo thought, his expression one of deep, unguarded skepticism. Or maybe you just don't know it yet. Typical. Of course the smartest witch at school can compartmentalize better than Draco… and I've been dealing with them both on a daily basis…
Theo was quite certain he deserved some kind of award, or at the very least, some recognition for holding onto his sanity all these weeks.
"Nott… if I tell you everything… would you do it? Would you erase my memory?"
The desperation in her voice gave him pause; with irritation, he found his heart ached for her. He wished he could scourgify her pain as he had Draco's blood from her hands and clothes.
"Granger, I—"
It would certainly make things easier, a voice in his head whispered.
He shook his head, silencing the notion.
"At first I thought what was going on between you two was a phenomenally bad idea, and not that I'm suddenly convinced it's a particularly good one either—"
"—Nott—"
"—but I think I've settled on some sort of gray area… and Hermione—" he paused at the rare use of her first name, making sure to meet her gaze as he did so, "—even if I thought I could wipe away months of your memories— I wouldn't… or at least I don't think I would. It'd probably be the safest choice, but it wouldn't be fair to you or Draco… it wouldn't be right."
She swallowed, equally relieved and afraid. The sound of her heartbeat raced in her ears.
"So what I'm trying to say is I split Felix into two vials," Theo continued softly, pulling a second small, golden vial from his pocket. "And this one's yours."
He placed the vial in her cold, trembling hands.
"But—"
"You care about Draco Malfoy. Trust me, Granger, you're going to need all the luck you can get."
/
/
/
'"You're falling in love with him."'
Nott's words rang though Hermione's mind over and over, like an endless, reverberating echo in a darkened cave.
'"And I think he might be falling in love with you too."'
Despite her fatigue, she vehemently shook her head.
I'm not… and Merlin knows Malfoy's not. She was beginning to think Theo truly lived in a world of his very own. But she couldn't blame him for it, it certainly seemed a better alternative than the real world.
It was well past curfew, and Hermione paced back and forth in the silent and empty corridor outside the hospital wing, hidden under the Invisibility Cloak. She couldn't bring herself to enter the wing, despite her desire to do so.
He doesn't want to see you, she thought.
But he won't see me, she argued with herself. I'll stay under the cloak.
Hermione brought her hand to her throat, tangling her fingertips between the platinum and gold necklaces that laid there.
He's okay, she reminded herself. Nott said so.
But she needed to see for herself.
Hermione sighed heavily and slowly pushed through the double doors. The wing was as soundless as the hallway outside, and although the lanterns were lit low at this late hour, the long room was illuminated with moonlight. A quick scan of the wing revealed only one bed was occupied— Hermione quickly spotted the familiar bright blond hair, as silvery as the moonlight streaming through the tall windows.
"That better be you under that cloak, Granger," Draco whispered, having noted the movement of the wing's double doors. "If it's Potter, prepare to be throttled."
Hermione jumped in surprise at the sound of Draco's voice, she thought he'd been sleeping. Her plans to check on him without his notice fell to pieces. She tried in vain to swallow the lump in her throat.
"It's me," she whispered, scanning the room again, nervous Madam Pomfrey might appear. She walked toward Draco's bedside as he propped himself up on his elbows.
Draco inhaled deeply, ignoring the soreness in his chest. He wondered why Hermione was visiting him in the hospital wing, and attempted in vain to slow his rapidly increasing heart rate.
"Muffliato," he murmured, and Hermione, still invisible beneath the cloak, regarded him curiously for using the Prince's spell.
"Where did you learn that spell?"
"What does it matter?" he replied sharply. "Take off the bloody cloak, Pomfrey won't hear us."
"I need to know," she urged quietly, revealing herself and slipping the velvety cloak under her arm. The spell must be getting around the school, she reasoned.
He raised an eyebrow. "Snape."
Snape? But that could mean… she froze, stunned by the idea forming in her mind. Could Snape be the Half-Blood Prince? Hermione wondered in awe.
He is a Potion's master… but surely he's a pureblood, not halfblood… or is he? No, it couldn't be him…
Hermione knew many spells came in and out of vogue all the time, and she reasoned that was the most likely explanation for Draco's use of 'Muffliato,' but she resolved herself to re-focus her research of the Prince's identity.
"Speaking of Snape… what did you tell him?" Draco asked curtly. "He wasted no time interrogating Nott and I, when I managed to be semi-conscious, that is."
"And here I was thinking patience is one of Snape's best virtues," Hermione responded, the corners of her mouth raising slightly. Somehow, she felt lighter now... seeing him, alive. She felt almost as if he'd come back from the dead.
Draco smirked lopsidedly, the weeks of coldness between them slowly melting away. "Stop trying to evade my question."
"Nothing," she answered without hesitation. "I didn't tell him anything. I don't know how, but he figured out Nott and I have been helping you…"
It wasn't a complete lie. She wasn't entirely sure, but she reasoned either Snape had simply guessed correctly, or Dumbledore had revealed her involvement in Malfoy's plans. "But I don't think he knows with what, or where."
Draco nodded. His last conversation with Snape, despite the debilitating pain that had racked his body at the time, had told him about as much.
He observed Hermione in curious silence as she sat in a chair by his bedside. He'd been in the hospital wing due to injury before of course, but he'd never had many visitors, and certainly none past curfew.
Draco reasoned it could be the side-effects of the dittany, but he rather felt like he was dreaming. Hermione's hair somehow managed to glow golden even in the cool silvery moonlight streaming through the window at her back, and he noted with reluctant satisfaction that the light flecks in her brown eyes were full of concern… for him. He felt rather like he had on Christmas Eve, when their combined magic had made it snow.
Their eyes met for a moment before she looked away, as he remembered just why he was in the hospital wing in the first place.
"I'm going to kill Potter, you know," he murmured darkly.
"Unlikely," she replied softly. "Seeing as I'm going to kill him first."
Draco shot her a look of deep skepticism, the corner of his mouth again reluctantly inching upward.
"I would," she urged gently, noting his expression. "He was foolish and rash and he— he—"
"I think the words you're looking for are 'He nearly bloody committed murder.' He should be expelled… but of course Dumbledore would never dream of expelling 'The Chosen Twat.'"
Despite her disapproval at his choice of words, Hermione mused Draco had a point. Any other student would probably be expelled, or at the very least, severely disciplined. As unpleasant as the professor was, weekend detentions with Snape hardly seemed a fitting punishment for near-murder.
"It's no excuse, but Harry didn't know what that spell did. He— he'd never kill someone… not even you," she said, venturing a small smirk.
"Sure about that, Granger?" Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes, despite the flutter he felt in his chest at the sight of her smile.
I used to be, Hermione mused darkly.
"You tried to use the Cruciatus on him," she added, her expression hardening.
Draco sighed, despite the truth in her statement. He'd been angry— ashamed— that Harry had found him alone and desperate and sobbing in the bathroom over his own misfortunes after his Occlumency lesson, and the spell had just slipped out… just as Hermione appeared… he didn't like to think about how fine that line had been in the heat of the moment— that gray, murky divide between right and wrong. He wondered how many more times he'd have to toe that line before the war was over, or before he died… whichever came first.
"What happened, Malfoy? Before Nott and I got there?"
He cringed inwardly at the use of his surname; in this setting, just the two of them in the otherwise silent hospital wing— considering what had happened earlier that day—it felt cold, unfeeling. Right now, Draco felt it somehow sounded wrong coming from her lips.
"Potter didn't tell you?" He spat.
Hermione shook her head. "I didn't ask."
Surprised, Draco's eyebrow arched ever so slightly.
"Does it really matter, Granger?""
Hermione could not meet his eyes at the unexpected stab of pain she felt at the use of her surname; for some reason it now only seemed to amplify the barriers between them, highlighting the obstacles she was not sure they'd ever be ready or willing to surmount.
She sighed heavily. "No, I suppose it doesn't."
Draco's surprise lingered; he'd been prepared for one of their lively debates. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, their knees nearly touching.
"Look— I've been dealing with the consequences of Potter's idiotic mistakes for years, and this time's no different. Nothing's changed. We still need to figure out how to fix the cabinet. You're still keeping things from me, and I'm still keeping things from you…" Draco sighed.
"So you've seen me— I'm alive," he gestured to his torso in a scanning motion, as if that would prove he was both alive and well. "Your delicate Gryffindor conscious can rest… so I suppose you can go now."
Hermione looked up into his bright gray eyes at last, and she could not stop the words that escaped her mouth.
"We don't have to hide things from each other."
His eyebrow arched with incredulity now. "We don't? Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Honestly," she sighed, "I'm not so sure what is a good idea anymore… but you can believe me when I say I—I'm glad you're okay."
She stood to leave, and Draco discovered he wanted her to stay.
"Snape told me you and Nott saved my life."
She paused mid-step, the image of the life draining from Draco's features sending a chill through her core. She shook her head and slowly lowered herself back into the chair she had just occupied.
"Our healing spells wouldn't work— if Snape hadn't come…" she failed to hide the agony in her voice. Draco noticed, and was sure his heart was about to leap from his chest.
"Why?" he whispered.
"Why—?" replied Hermione questioningly.
"Why did you try to heal me?"
She was reminded again of Dumbledore's memory, of the streaks through the dirt on a young Draco's cheeks his tears had left behind, and felt certain her heart might break for him.
"Are you asking me why I didn't just let you die? Honestly, Malfoy? You still really think that poorly of me? Like I'm some kind of— monster?" She scowled, but only so her own tears would not form.
"No— I…" Draco replied quickly, stumbling over his words. He hadn't meant to hurt her. He fiddled with his platinum ring. Hermione waited for him in silence.
"You're not a monster… I'm the monster, remember? The foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach, if I recall correctly," he replied with a smirk, hoping to see her smile again.
At Draco's mention of the memory, she hesitantly obliged with a small smile; it felt like a lifetime ago, when he was just arrogant, prejudiced scum to her, when she was just an obnoxious Mudblood to him… what was he to her now? And she to him?
"Too many adjectives. Needs work."
Draco shook his head, "I just— I don't understand you, Granger. Why are you supposedly brewing a potion with Theo? Why haven't you told Potter and Weasley about anything… and why the bloody hell are you helping me?"
"Well, for one thing, we aren't working on the potion any longer. It's finished."
Draco sighed, "Why did you and Theo work all year on a potion, then? And don't try to tell me it was to get in Slughorn's good graces, you two are silver and bronze after Potter's gold in the walrus' eyes."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ask Nott."
"And don't ignore me other questions. Or has your memory somehow become as selective as Theo's?"
Before today, Hermione hadn't been able to answer these questions, but she now found the words came easily. She bit her bottom lip and looked away, unable to meet his questioning eyes with her answer.
"Why am I helping you? Because I— I don't want you to die…"
"How thoughtful," replied Draco dryly, even though a warmth spread through him at the sound of her words.
"I care," she admitted at last, as much to herself as to Draco.
Bloody Nott, Hermione thought. How is it possible he always just seems to know?
Silent, Draco watched her, holding his breath with each word.
"Because I think you're conflicted… and because I don't want Voldemort to win," she finished, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
Draco felt empowered by Hermione's unflinching use of Voldemort's name. Her boldness reminded him of his mother, a woman who faced derision and death and despair with an unflinching resolve.
Hermione, he realized, wasn't so different, at least not in this way.
"Neither do I," Draco replied. He did not break his gaze from her face as he carefully lifted the black, fitted sleeve covering his left forearm, revealing the mangled Dark Mark beneath.
Hermione's breath caught in her throat at the sight of the blackened and bruised Mark; it seemed to twist and writhe on his pale forearm. There was proof, at last— and it was as horrible— as distressing— as she had imagined it.
"Why—?"
"Why does it look like this? Because I won't accept it— the Mark I mean. He'll never be my 'Dark Lord,'" Draco spat. "Not while I live and breathe, anyway. Not after what he's done to my family… my home."
Hermione moved to sit beside him on the narrow hospital bed and Draco did not stop her.
"Can I—?" She asked quietly.
He nodded in silence, and Hermione hesitantly reached out to trace the Mark on his forearm with her fingertips— the mark she'd imagined countless times, the mark she'd hoped was not there. He shivered at her cool, gentle touch, a relief through the heat of the Mark's searing pain.
"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered. The Mark was hot to the touch.
"Not as sorry as I am."
"I don't understand… I know Voldemort gave you a task, but—"
"Fucking Nott," Draco murmured. Hermione ignored him.
"Don't blame Nott, he only confirmed what I already suspected from that day in Borgin's… but it's not just about fixing the cabinet, is it?"
Draco did not argue. He merely waited for her to continue.
'We don't have to hide things from each other.'
"It's impossible, Malfoy, what he wants you to do… who he wants you to— surely you can't—" she whispered, unable to bring herself to speak the words.
Draco fought to keep his face placid. How does she know? Even Theo doesn't know…
"Does Theo know?" Draco asked, his tone betraying his worry.
"I'm sure he suspects… he always seems to know things—"
"Glad I'm not the only one who noticed that," Draco interjected.
"—but Nott doesn't know for sure that it was Slughorn's mead— the one he meant to give Dumbledore— that poisoned Ron. So he's not positive who you're—" Hermione looked away.
"You can say it," he whispered, and she turned her head to find his gaze.
As Draco examined her features, he discovered he no longer cared if Hermione knew his true task— in fact, he found part of him wanted her to know… someone who could understand the true incomprehensibility of his position…
"You can't kill Dumbledore…" Hermione breathed, her fingertips still gentle on his arm, as if anchoring him to what was left of his sanity.
Draco considered lying, denying her claim, but as he looked into her wide, honest eyes— mesmerized by their familiar golden flecks— and as he felt her gentle touch upon his arm, he knew he couldn't lie to her… he didn't want to lie to her.
"How did you figure it out?"
Hermione bit her lower lip in worry and Draco had to tear his eyes away from the gentle curve of her mouth.
"He seems the most likely target," replied Hermione, as if answering a question in class. "I know you saw that opal necklace in Borgin's… and I know you were one of the few people at one of Slughorn's suppers who heard the professor say Dumbledore prefers mead… plus you had free access to Slughorn's office during the Christmas party, to poison his gift for Dumbledore—"
"So let me ask you this, Granger. Even though you think I'm trying to kill him… you're still helping me. Remind me again— why the hell are you helping me? Doesn't really seem to be the most efficient way to defeat Voldemort," he interrupted, finding he couldn't bare to listen to her describe his failures, his shame— he couldn't bare the guilt, nor the fear in knowing he'd never be able to complete his task… and somehow worse than that, the fear in knowing what danger he was putting her in.
She shook her head. "Why are you still trying to do this? There must be some other way— the Order might be able to help— or you could go into hiding, or—"
"You don't know my mother— she would never abandon her home, or take the coward's way out… and I won't either. Don't you think I've considered every option?" He paused.
"What other choice do I have?" Draco asked sincerely, his voice barely above a whisper now.
"Lives hang in the balance," Hermione said softly, echoing the words Theo had spoken months ago. Draco nodded in confirmation.
"I'd die before I left my mother to suffer alone, before I let that snake completely destroy the Malfoy name."
Draco's eyes shone fiercely, and Hermione found she could not look away, nor argue. It was clear to her now— his intentions. He'd taken the Mark not for glory, nor power, nor hatred of Dumbledore or mudbloods… but to try to protect his future, to save his family. In that moment she knew she had misunderstood, as Theo had tried to explain. Her eyes traveled again to Draco's Mark.
"Won't he notice? You know, that your Mark isn't—"
"Sticking? I assume so. He's more snake than human, but he's not blind."
Hermione hastily retracted her hand from his arm, and Draco wished she hadn't.
"How can you joke about it?"
Draco shrugged. "Theo figures it's better than rolling over and dying."
"I guess he's not wrong," Hermione mused.
"Promise me you won't tell him that? Dealing with his ego is problematic enough already."
Hermione laughed softly and Draco could not hide his smile at the lovely sound. "Glad I'm not the only one who noticed that," she said, echoing Draco's earlier sentiment concerning Theo's finer qualities.
The moment passed too quickly, and Draco's eyes traveled to his arm again.
"Snape told me to try accept the Mark, but I can't… well, I suppose I won't," he added, saying it aloud for the first time.
Draco watched as Hermione's brow furrowed, deep in thought. He'd observed this look before, but it was only now that he admitted to himself that he found it endearing.
"Well… the Mark is obviously Dark Magic, so it's limits could be pretty narrow…" Hermione's voice took on the quality of answering a question in class again. "Have you tried just accepting that the Mark is there, you know, physically?"
"What do you mean? Is this some kind of riddle? There's a reason I was sorted into Slytherin and not Ravenclaw, you know."
"Malfoy, don't get me started on the reasons you were sorted into Slytherin and not Ravenclaw, we'll be here all night."
That wouldn't be so bad, he thought.
"I'm sure you'd love making that list, Granger. Any chance to insult my intelligence," he grinned.
"Do you want help with your Mark or not?" She replied, doing her best to stifle her own smile.
"Help away."
"Well, I'm not sure, exactly. Maybe you can try to accept that you agreed to it, the Mark— for a good reason," she added hastily, noting his scowl, "but maybe you can still refuse to accept everything it represents?"
"Sounds pretty convoluted to me, which means it just might work," Draco mused aloud. "I'll try."
They sat beside one another in peaceful wordlessness for a while, staring at the nearly full moon in plain view beyond the glass of the hospital wing's windows. They both sensed something had changed between them, a dynamic shift, a joint effort in the destruction of the old walls that had previously separated them.
Draco shifted slightly beside her, and Hermione glanced at his ring— it was luminous in the moonlight, as if glowing from within; she'd recognized the same quality in her necklace.
"I know there's a connection between my necklace and your ring," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
"How did you find out?" He asked, surprised. Again, the idea of trying to lie to her now seemed pointless… and wrong.
"Ron's brother, Bill. He's a curse-breaker for Gringott's."
"How many brothers does that freckled git have? Are they multiplying or something?"
Hermione frowned.
"Why didn't you say anything?" He asked with rare gentleness, noting her change in demeanor.
Hermione shrugged, a pit in her stomach forming at the thought of the Marauder's Map and her guilt surrounding her use of said map… and the recollection that Harry now knew she'd been helping Malfoy in the Room of Requirement.
Draco didn't pry, overwhelmed with curiosity, wondering why on earth Hermione would knowingly let him trace her whereabouts. Admittedly, he wasn't upset about this fact.
"Oh… and since we're being honest now… Harry knows I've been helping you in the Room of Hidden Things," she swallowed hard.
"He— what?" Draco seethed.
"Harry, he—"
"I know what you said, Granger. I'm just having a hard time believing that daft git actually figured it out. Please don't tell me you decided to have a little honesty session with him too?"
"Well… no," Hermione replied and Draco felt a jolt of pleasure.
"You see, Harry, he… he had house-elves tail you… and—he has a map."
The jolt of pleasure, like lightning, disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
"House elves? From the kitchens? No… must have been our old house-elf Potter freed— Dobby?"
Hermione's silence told him he was right.
"I hate to admit it, but that's clever. Wish I'd thought of it— even house elves would've been more useful than Crabbe and Goyle. But what's this about a map?"
Hermione nodded, cringing. "It's how I figured out you and Nott were using the Room of Requirement. The map's enchanted to show the whereabouts of everyone in the castle."
"So let me get this straight… not only does Boy Wonder own a cloak of invisibility, but he has a bleeding map that shows the location of every student and teacher in this entire bloody castle?"
"Yes," she mumbled. "And all the secret passages, too. Or most of them, anyway."
"You know what, I don't think I can stand to walk the same earth as Potter for one more day, let alone share a castle with him. You and Theo should've just let me die—"
"Don't say that," Hermione replied sharply. Draco sat in stunned silence at her response.
You owe her, a voice in his head whispered. She saved your life.
Draco instinctively reached for the platinum necklace at Hermione's throat, holding the luminous joined rings between his fingertips, the gold necklace Harry had given her hanging limply beside it.
"I thought the necklace would help me keep an eye on Potter this year… but I suppose I don't have to tell you I needn't have bothered."
Hermione did not pull away from his touch, her gaze never moving from his eyes, which were now so close to hers. The feel of his fingertips grazing her throat felt like the chilling electricity she'd come to associate with his touch.
"I owe you," Draco said, his voice low and soft and serious. "For saving my life…"
He discovered he liked the sound of being in her debt.
"And it's not looking like I have much time to repay you."
"That's not true," Hermione spoke quietly, but she did not believe her own words. The end of term was rushing toward them; his time— their time— was running out.
Draco did not reply, but moved his hand slowly across the curve of her collarbone to her faintly pink scar. He traced the 'M' — his 'M'— slowly, deliberately, with the tips of his fingers, as if signing his name on her skin. He wondered if she knew it was his. Unbidden, he considered what the scar— her skin— might feel like on his lips.
Hermione's breath caught in her throat at the sensation. "You don't owe me… remember McLaggen?"
Draco looked up after what felt equally like an eternity yet not nearly long enough, shaking his head. Without speaking, he gently brushed her hair to one shoulder, relishing in the feel of it against his hand, and leaned forward to reach behind her.
Hermione could feel the warmth of his body against her chest, and the light caress of his breath on her exposed neck. The sensation sent shivers down her spine, yet warmed her from the inside out.
Draco breathed deeply as he unclasped the platinum necklace, overwhelmed by the familiarity and appeal of her aroma— warm but also lightly floral— as intoxicating and comforting as the scent of the Manor's summer garden.
He pulled away slowly, the necklace in his hands, and Hermione felt as though he'd taken a part of her away with him.
They were positioned so closely that Draco could feel her breath on his lips. The desire to close the distance between them was overwhelming.
"Anything else you want to tell me?" He whispered, and their eyes met.
Hermione neither replied nor pulled away, and Draco leaned forward again, this time to bring his lips to hers.
His kiss was gentle yet sure, and Hermione lost herself in the wonder of the feel of his mouth against hers, the tingling burn spreading throughout her body, and the undeniable longing that burned between them.
Her mouth, warm and soft and responsive, moved in rhythm with his. Draco found he never wanted the moment to end, and when she grasped the front of his shirt, not to push him away, but to tug him closer, he deepened the intensity of their kiss. He placed his hand firmly on the small of her back and pulled her toward him in one sure movement.
With a suddenness that went unnoticed, Draco and Hermione's combined magic burst forth unfettered; the flames of the lanterns lining the walls of the wing surged brightly in unison for a moment before extinguishing to simultaneous darkness. The rising smoke from the now-dormant candles floated toward them, encircling the pair in a silvery, moonlit haze.
It was only after some time, and with great reluctance, did Draco and Hermione part, their lips swollen, their breaths heavy in their close embrace.
They said nothing, and made no motion to disentangle themselves until Draco opened his palm. The platinum necklace glinted between them, a harsh reminder of the realities of the world in which they lived— Voldemort, the war, vanishing cabinets, months of deceit, scars, torture, murder plots, blood status, and all the years of hatred, jealousy, and aggression— and suddenly Draco was picturing Hermione on the cold flagstone floor of the drawing room at the Manor, hearing her screams of agony at the receiving end of Voldemort's Crucio— or worse, his killing curse.
"We— we can't," Draco breathed, and he felt as though he were again rapidly losing consciousness on the soaked bathroom floor, as if his blood poured from deep, burning slashes all over his body.
What am I doing? He wondered, forcing himself not to meet her searching gaze.
Hermione pulled away. "I know," she replied, her voice weak.
This is wrong, her thoughts screamed as she tore her eyes away from his face to stare at the platinum necklace, debilitated by everything it represented.
She felt an ache in her chest unlike any ever she'd ever experienced before, a gaping, bottomless emptiness that longed to be filled— that had only just been filled then depleted in a matter of moments.
Dumbledore's question echoed through her mind; '"When is the right time to follow one's head, and when is the right time to follow one's heart?"'
In that instant, Hermione knew the answer.
She acted quickly, as to not allow herself time to change her decision. She reached toward her bag propped on the floor beside Draco's bed to retrieve the Invisibility Cloak and the book Dumbledore had given her. The chapter on vanishing cabinets was bookmarked with the enchanted petal— she knew it'd take Draco no time to find the information he needed.
Every idea she'd considered to sabotage Draco's plans seemed impossible now; how could she justify any attempt at interference when even Dumbledore himself had decided not to act? How did she ever think she alone could protect Draco from Voldemort and successfully interrupt his plot? She couldn't— but she would do her best to protect everyone else in the aftermath of this decision.
Draco watched as Hermione stared at the worn leather cover in her lap for a moment before placing it in his hands.
"Here," she whispered, every syllable a stab to her heart. "It's nearly the end of term, and I—I can't help you anymore."
Their eyes met again for a moment with an intensity that would have shattered even the most powerful resolve, but neither spoke a word.
Draco watched as Hermione disappeared beneath the Invisibility Cloak, unwittingly holding his breath, longing to reach out to her, to pull her back into his arms. The hospital wing doors swung open, as if of their own accord, then closed with a barely audible 'click.' He wanted to run after her, but his reason whispered that choice meant death… the end of her— of the both of them.
He tore his gaze away from doorway and stared into his trembling hands— the worn leather book in one, the necklace in the other— to find the delicate platinum chain had settled into the lines of his palm.
/
A/N: I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, I did my best to make it just right. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!