Draco woke up in a puddle of molten chocolate. At least, that's what it felt like. There's a gentle weight to it, pressing down across his frame like a weighted duvet, pinning him to the cot with its heat. What an excellent bedspread! He was sure he'd never laid in one as fragrant before!
He could hear his wand vibrating against a wall, two feet from his face; but hang that. The Malfoy heir was never known to be a morning person, and he nuzzled his face deeper into the comforter segment in front of his nose. It was soft, thick, and bouncy like a cloud.
Altogether, the pressure across Draco's adolescent form was heavenly, particularly against his morning wood. If only he was sideways, then he'd be able to transition from grinding to outright rutting against the thing. The pinch at his neck returned like a hot poker.
"M-m-m-MALFOY!"
The warmth disappeared as his duvet was ripped from his arms, and Draco cursed whatever house elf had been sent by his mother to pry him from the comfort of his four-poster bed.
He wasn't as cruel as his father, but that was finger ironing worthy, at least.
The petite pitterpatter of retreating steps caused him to open his eyes with a groan, and he caught sight of the bowed form of Hermione Granger as she shoved her feet into the trainers at the foot of the stairwell. His brain might have caught up with this series of events if the sight of her perfect, Valentine's heart-shaped arse didn't give his train of thought a delayed departure time.
"I'll-I'll see you in the kitchen," she muttered as she left, without looking at him.
Draco's brow furrowed as he dragged his feet to the floor and the train finally left the station. Draco had let their two forms slide down the wall before he had finally succumbed to sleep. It hadn't been his intention to waste a single moment with her in his arms, but his magical compulsion to serve her commanded he rest as well. The day had already been long, and he'd need to be revitalized if they were unable to convince Potter, which they wouldn't be. He swapped out his slept-in trousers for a borrowed pair of denims, gritted his teeth as he buckled his weeping cock down, then checked the time with a quick "tempus."
Too much time to begin walking, but not enough for a quick wank. Bugger. He checked the contents of his satchel, making sure the undetectably expanded compartments were secured correctly, then he took a quick inventory of the frontmost pouches.
Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder? Check.
Hand of Glory with a wax candle? Check.
Essence of Dittany? Check
Thomson's Self-Tightening Tourniquet? Check.
Beazor? Check.
Euphoria Elixir? Check.
Veritaserum? Check.
An ampule of Red Spider exploding potion with the catalyzing flower spellotaped to the cork? Check.
A vial of Invigoration Draught? Check.
Emergency portkey, wrapped in cheesecloth and keyed to a small villa on the southern coast of Tuscany? Double check.
Draco was suffused by a surge of gratitude for Severus, who had first suggested the assortment of potions and ingredients that he should never find himself without. They were the same that the senior Death Eater had on hand, at all times; save for the darkness powder and hand of glory, which had been Draco's own additions to the collection. He idly wondered where his mentor's own portkey would send him, then dismissed the notion as he tugged on the borrowed dragonhide boots.
Severus Snape was an enemy now, and if he met him on the battlefield, would be shown no remorse. The terms of his oath demanded this. He tightened his grip on his walking stick as he caught up with the assembling party in the cottage.
Weasley was sipping from a glass of cool water, no doubt in an effort to rise to full alertness in the pitch-black night. The waning crescent outside had offered him little in the way of illumination, but the odd perks of the oath had drawn him back to his liege, almost unconsciously.
His witch was otherwise occupied and seemed as if she was coming off an argument she had no patience for. Then he noticed Potter, who was looking at Draco as if he regretted not finishing him off after their altercation in the girl's lavatory. Was the scarhead... jealous? Ohhhh. The poor sod had caught Hermione fleeing from his bed and had clearly drawn all of the right conclusions. 'Play it off Draco, don't frustrate her by descending to his level.'
The lordling cocked an eyebrow in response to the wizard's ire, and gestured good-naturedly with the cock of his chin in inquiry.
That pissed Potter right off, and Hermione responded with a swift smack to the git's arm before redirecting him with the same galleon from earlier the day before.
"Neville said that he'd be at the Hog's Head in fifteen minutes, is everyone packed?"
Potter visibly strained to master his frustration and stormed off into the black night.
"Wait,- Potter, there's a ca-!" The loud crack of a disapparition cut Draco off at the first syllable of the warning, and he rounded on the two others to finish.
"There's a fucking caterwauling charm across all of Hogsmeade! He'll get snatched for violating curfew!"
That roused Weasley, who took off into the night after his best friend, apparating midstep. Hermione was only half a step behind him and flung her hand out to Draco as they both chased the two wizards.
His fingers had barely found purchase around her wrist when they were squeezed together between nothingness, pressed together without an inch of space for the second time that night.
He tried not to relish in the feeling too much as they popped into existence in a small town already alight with spellfire, rematerializing on what should have been a shadow-filled, cobblestone side street.
Hermione was dragging in hyperventilating breaths as she tossed her mane to and fro, searching for her friends; but Draco zeroed in on the immediate threat. The caterwauling charm had summoned the dementors, who were only made visible amidst the red jets of the stunners, overhead. They were moving like a stream of ice floes down Mainstreet, jostling each other and spreading a chilly aura in their wake.
His hand went immediately to his sleeve, intent on revealing his Dark Mark, but was scarcely able to before a charging silver stag impaled the dementor vanguard on his antlers, like a boil on so many lances.
"Sick 'em, Prongs!"
The stag, Prongs, apparently, shrugged the gored dementor off like a set of black robes then reared up on its forelegs and kicked out with its rear. The dementors that had been attempting to circle around the apparition stood no chance. That was Potter's corporeal patronus? The memory of seeing it on a warm spring's day, during their O.W.L.s, paled in comparison to the spirit in front of him.
It was too bright, alone, and nearly blinding on the almost moonless night. Then it simply wasn't. A silver dog and some type of swimming mustelid joined the stag in the melee, circling their charge protectively.
Draco was pulled away from the ephemeral sight as the hand he had grabbed, grabbed back at him, and Hermione dragged him down the side street and into the Hog's Head.
Their surroundings blurred too quickly to take in, but he was vaguely aware of the barman manhandling them through an open portrait hole before it was slammed shut behind them, plunging them again into darkness.
Draco stood ramrod straight and tried to control his breathing. Hermione still hadn't let go of his hand, and he was dimly made aware by the heavy gulping of air around them that they were not alone. Then he heard Weasley's low growl, "Hermione?"
She shuddered a breath of relief that sent heat across the stubble left by yesterday's shave.
"Yes... Harry?" was the only reply she dared murmur. There was an answering affirmation, in the form of an audible "Mhm," and the tension in the corridor dissipated minutely. She relaxed against Draco, whose hand she'd yet to release, so he cradled her lower back with the hand that held his walking stick. He hadn't even drawn his wand yet.
The rough sound of fist on wood echoed from the room they had escaped from, and then all sound in the passageway ceased as they waited.
Then they heard, who Draco guessed to be the barman, give the performance of his life.
"I just saw Harry Potter, aren't you goin' to chase him!" he roared at the wizards at his door.
There was more silence, then a confused; "He was last seen outside of your pub, Aberforth." A beat then the crunching sound of a metal handle being flung against the whitewash.
"Well have a look then! He's not hanging about in here! The nerve of ya, like I'm too old to see Undesirable No' One pinching fire-whiskey from behind the bar!" The silence returned, and Draco would have been relieved, except for the lack of apology- the unbearable refrain of Severus Snape's many foreboding lectures bounced around his skull again- and he whipped out his wand and traced a widened 'S' in the direction they had come from.
"Spongify," he whispered, as softly as he dared. He needn't have worried, it was drowned out by the bellowed "Hominum Revelio!" from the altercation at the building's threshold.
The frenzy of action behind him resulted in wands poking and prodding past him, towards the space they all had surmised the door was… but no one uttered a word. The anticipation for an inevitable conflict was stifling as it filled the corridor, reaching a fever pitch.
"Satisfied?" came Aberforth's voice, one last time.
"Alright Abe, alright. We'll be leaving you alone then. Blasted kid must have flown out as soon as he stunned Olly and Jack."
The sound of the door closing immediately prompted a whooping wave of jubilation to wash across the pressed bodies. Through the indecipherable sounds, he heard the soft whisper of the only person he really cared about, "That was brilliant, I've never heard of that being possible without protective enchantments! Where did you learn that?"
Draco didn't need to see her face to know the words were emerging from one of her giddy smiles. He debated the merits of telling her it was something he had picked up from their old, murderous school teacher before the door behind him was yanked open. In the harsh, pale light of Aberforth's wand, all of their faces were thrown into unflattering relief. Then the mood soured.
"MALFOY? What is he doing here?"
The tightly packed inhabitants of the corridor had all lowered their wands by this point, except for that last wizard, who kept his pointed straight and true at Draco's sternum as he interrogated him.
Draco was being held at wand point by, what looked to be, a prisoner of war. Swollen, bleeding, and hateful. He looked closer, and it only took mentally smoothing out the blackened eye to identify the formerly round face of Neville Longbottom.
Well, at least someone had the good sense to be suspicious of Malfoy, thought Harry. Hermione had seemed to forgive years of torment at the drop of a hat, and even Ron was agreeing with him more often than not. Harry was half tempted to let Neville send the bastard to the hospital wing, but it seemed that Hermione had other ideas.
With a shrill "Stop!" the witch had inserted herself in between the tip of their housemate's wand and Malfoy's chest, arms stretched out from one end of the corridor to the other.
Harry wondered for the second time that night, what the hell Hermione had been doing with the blonde prat after he and Ron had gone to bed. She hadn't given him a very good answer when he caught her sneaking into the kitchen, and Harry was still made nauseous by the suspicions her flushed face had evoked. As it was, the sight before them seemed to make Neville hyperventilate in fury.
"What the hell, Hermione! This is all his fault, you wouldn't believe what's been going on up at the castle because he killed Dumbledore!"
Hermione was unperturbed, and answered back with an equal, if less manic, fervor.
"Draco is working with us, he's come over to our side. You can't hold him responsible for something he had no choice in!"
Harry thought that it wasn't her best defense ever, and from Neville's sputtering face, he seemed to agree. A freckled hand appeared on the boy's shoulder, and Neville turned and looked at Ron, before appearing as comically confused as was possible to be.
"He's made us an unbreakable vow, believe he's changed or not, he's got no choice but to fight for us now. Best not to question it, ya know?"
Neville apparently didn't know and was looking at them like he had almost six years ago, when he had caught them sneaking out to steal the Philosopher's Stone. Finally, he looked at Harry, who gave an apathetic shrug of his shoulders. Harry could already feel the adrenaline from fighting the Snatchers and dementors draining from him, and he had quickly decided that this was not the place to burn their remaining darkness.
Looking thoroughly unconvinced, Neville made their goodbyes to Aberforth, (who looked like he still had things he wanted to say to them,) and turned to lead them up the passageway. The debriefing Neville gave them along the way turned Harry's stomach to hear. When Malfoy had told them "the stuff of nightmares," Harry had mistakenly taken that to mean nightmarish for him.
They were cruciating underclassmen?
His jaw clenched and his molars ground against each other.
Snape had… so much to answer for. Harry's fingers white-knuckled the walnut wand in his hand. He would, and his pet Death Eaters would too. When they brought up their plan to find brooms, Neville had offered them an even better solution: use the Room of Requirement to create passageways directly to their destinations. Harry nodded along as the plan was adapted from underneath him. Still, he had wanted to fly, he felt so much more comfortable in the air, almost untouchable, even.
"Wait, Neville." Harry stopped, and the rest of them stopped with him. He dug in his pocket and pulled out the folded up, much-loved piece of parchment that contained the Marauder's Map.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he lied, and the expanse of the building he considered home was laid out in ink before him. A quick look was all it took to find the three Death Eaters in the castle, not counting Malfoy.
Amycus and Alecto Carrow were, curiously, in the same room, in the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor's suite. Harry thought that was odd for three in the morning, but let it lie. What he was most concerned with was the black, encroaching footsteps of Severus Snape, who was making his way towards the corridor where Harry knew the Room of Requirement could be entered. He made his decisions quickly.
"Malfoy, you and Ron are going to go to the dungeons to get Rosier's hair." His female friend made a sound of dissent, but Harry kept on, "Hermione and I are going to Ravenclaw tower."
"No, Harry- any Ravenclaw can get you into the Tower, but if you need to fly out, I'm a liability compared to Ron." Harry spared her a look of annoyance, but then Neville intervened.
"Actually, any student can get into the Ravenclaw common room, if that's where you're looking to go; all you need to do is solve the riddle the door gives you." Harry could solve riddles, he'd dealt with a sphinx by himself in the Third Task, but the churning nausea he was suffering from only intensified at the thought that Hermione didn't want to accompany him, then Ron joined in.
"Besides, 'Mione is the only one that can control him, right?"
Harry openly groaned now. 'I wonder if you'd agree if you knew what I knew,' he thought with disgust.
"Fine, Hermione, just keep him underneath the invisibility cloak, so he doesn't start a riot when we get in there. Nev, make sure that everyone in the D.A. stays in the Room of Requirement so we can get back into the passageway."Harry was aware now, more than ever, what little space separated him and Ginny Weasley.
Neville was still confused.
"But... aren't you here to take the castle back?"
Harry shook his head and pressed on past him as he answered.
"No, it's too early for that. We're on a mission Dumbledore left for us. You-know-who can't be beaten without it." He made it to the door and pushed, letting the warm torchlight of Hogwarts spill down into his face as he searched for his witch.
AN: Oh my, does canon compliance slow down the writing speed! The Harry Potter wiki and 1998 calendar are just open tabs on my browser when writing this fic. Also, the next two chapters are probably not as Dramione centered as you want them to be, but I don't really ever see myself writing a canon retelling with fluff sporadically inserted at convenient locations. They'll be shorter and balanced between Harry's internal monologue and the dramione, for the sake of telling a larger story. The continued existence of Dobby, and the change of order in the Horcrux hunt will have dramatic ramifications for the end of this war. That said, the projected plot will definitely be shifting the overall genres of this story to include the political endgame of Voldemort's demise. There will notbe a cut to nineteen years later as his body hits the ground, and this romance will be well paced if it kills me.