Bittersweet and Strange

Chapter 12: Trials of Love

Narcissa Malfoy was perched on the edge of her saffron-colored parlor sofa, hands clenched and eyes darting nervously around the room at the surge of young people who occupied it. They had been there all night, and Narcissa could feel weariness settling in her bones, threatening to make her keel over in exhaustion. The young people – whom Narcissa could only imagine to be the rebellion Draco had aided – showed no signs of being tired from the long night.

The red-headed one seemed to be the leader, but a dark-skinned girl was obviously his foil, coming up with a counter to every one of his ideas. Narcissa couldn't make heads or tails out of anything the young people were talking about, but she had kept her ears trained to pick anything out that she could.

Apparently, the young people had invaded Narcissa's home and taken her prisoner in search of Hermione Granger. It couldn't be right, though, Narcissa thought, since Hermione Granger had been killed. Narcissa had had no contact with Hermione at any time, and she couldn't understand why this pack of rebels thought she did.

A girl Narcissa remembered as being on a Quidditch team at Hogwarts had been staring Narcissa down for the last two hours. The rest of the young people had searched Malfoy Manor from top to bottom at least three times, even taking Narcissa with them and pushing her for information on the Granger girl. The red-haired boy – Narcissa had heard someone call him George – had interrogated her for an indeterminable amount of time, but after the night had passed and morning broke through the heavy curtains of the parlor, he seemed to finally be convinced that Narcissa knew nothing of Hermione Granger.

Narcissa fought to keep her eyes open as George talked to his confidante. "I just can't understand it. It doesn't make any sense."

"Have you showed her the paper?" the girl answered. "Maybe if she sees the picture –"

"I'm not showing anybody that paper until I know for sure we're going to find Hermione."

"Do you have some other idea? She already knows who we're looking for, and obviously she's involved somehow."

"Maybe you'd like to ask her some questions, Angelina? Maybe you can think of some I haven't already asked! Hermione's not here!"

Angelina huffed impatiently and turned to Narcissa again. "Listen, you've got to understand; we're not here to hurt you." She moved closer, and Narcissa stiffened. "Our friend is in trouble and you're the only one who's attached to her. Did you or did you not buy Hermione Granger as a slave three months ago?"

Narcissa set her jaw. "How many times must I say this? Hermione Granger is dead and has been for years! I did not buy her as a slave because she is not alive to be bought. Can you not understand that?"

George finally gave into Angelina's suggestion. He strode towards Narcissa, gesturing with a piece of paper. "Then who in Merlin's name is this and why is your name the one marked as the buyer?"

Narcissa glared at the boy a moment longer, then looked at the paper he was pushing towards her. She let out a soft gasp, reaching out to hold the paper, and George reluctantly let her take it. Narcissa stared at it in disbelief, trying to mask her shock and disbelief. The young people noticed the change in her demeanor, though, and Narcissa found herself surrounded by them as she gawked at the young woman in the picture.

"Well?" George demanded.

Narcissa fumbled for words, trying to regain her composure. "This… this is not Hermione Granger, young man," she managed. "Yes, I… I purchased her as a slave, but…"

A boy with long black hair knelt next to the sofa, eyes wide and anxious. "But what?"

Narcissa cleared her throat. "But her name is not Hermione Granger. This young woman's name was Amelia Finberry, just as her bill of sale says."

"Was?" George echoed, but Angelina intercepted him by pulling the paper out of Narcissa's hands. "We're aware of what the paper says," Angelina said coldly. "And I don't know who on earth Amelia Finberry is, but there's not one of us who will believe you if you say the woman in that picture isn't Hermione Granger."

"Hermione Granger is –"

"If you say she's dead one more time –" George started.

"She is dead!"

Angelina interceded again, this time on Narcissa's behalf. Continuing in her calm voice, she explained, "Hermione Granger was assumed to be dead, but the records are wrong. She's alive and has been a part of… us for quite some time. A leader, actually. She took on an identity and was caught, apparently under the name of Amelia Finberry, whoever that is. But you already know all this, don't you?"

Narcissa shook her head wearily. "I told you, I've had no idea that Hermione Granger was even alive, much less using the name Amelia Finberry."

"Then you admit to owning Finberry?" George pressed.

Narcissa hesitated. She would have to be more careful now, for Draco's sake and her own. "Yes," she replied slowly, "I bought Amelia Finberry three months ago from Augustus Sparrow's slave shop."

"So where is she now?" the long-haired boy asked.

Narcissa set her mouth in a firm line. "I would prefer not to say."

George reached out and took Narcissa by the shoulders, giving her a hard shake. "You don't get to play that game with us! Hermione means too much and we're not letting you keep her from us! Where is she?"

Angelina put a hand on his arm to stop him from shaking Narcissa. "Save it, George. It's getting light outside. We need to clear out."

George took a deep breath and glared fiercely at Narcissa. "You're right," he agreed. The other young people began assembling nearby, muttering among themselves; Narcissa breathed a sigh of relief at realizing they would be leaving soon. "You're coming with us," George added, seeming to read her thoughts. Narcissa looked up at him in confusion.

"You cannot be serious," she stated in a condescending voice. "I've told you the truth; I know nothing about Hermione Granger."

George just scoffed, not even bothering to answer. "Michael," he said to the long-haired boy, "take Malfoy back to the Fortress. Put her in the cellar until Neville gets back to question her. Set four guards on her at all times."

Michael nodded. "Aren't you coming?"

"I'll be there in a little while," George replied. "I want to look through the Manor one more time."

Narcissa snapped at him, "You'll not find anything of Hermione Granger here. I tell you, she has never been here."

George gave her a cold stare. "You'd better pray I don't find anything, woman. Because if I find out you've done something to her, I'm going to make you pay dearly."

Angelina and Michael pulled Narcissa to her feet. "That goes for all of us," Angelina said, making Narcissa feel strangely cold and alone. These were people Draco had gone to school with, played Quidditch with, possibly even worked with in the rebellion, and they were threatening to kill her. Her only consolation was that she could keep Draco's secrets safe, and keep him safe too.

Blaise's head connected with the unflinching stone of Draco's entryway, making him wince. "Hold on, mate, you haven't heard all of it!"

Draco didn't relax his grip on Blaise's collar for a second, just pushed him harder into the wall. "Oh, haven't I?" he ground out, hands shaking with fury. "What other croakings of doom have you got for me, my dear friend?"

Blaise shoved Draco back, trying to regain his composure enough to speak civilly. "Give me some breathing room and I'll tell you!"

"You liar!" Draco snarled. As if it weren't bad enough that Blaise had shown up, days later and alone, he brought news of the unthinkable: Theodore had lost Draco's floorplan. "You tell me to trust you – you're on my side, you say! – and you lose the most valuable and most dangerous thing in my possession. No, not only do you lose it – you steal it, lie about it, and then lose it!" Draco let his voice rise to shouting level. "That floorplan could fall into anyone's hands, anyone who might turn Dennis in and get me into some worse predicament than I'm in now, and Theodore waltzes around the country with it hanging out of his pocket!"

Blaise noted how the large scar on Draco's forehead was glowing in his rage. Maybe this had been a bad idea after all. "Theodore didn't mean –"

"I'm sure he didn't!" Draco roared, pacing the floor like a lion in a cage. "Just like I didn't mean to get trapped in my house with an abstract painting for a face!"

Blaise held up his hands between them. "Malfoy, if you'll just listen to the rest of it –"

"Oh, sure! What, did he put a red ribbon on it and accidentally send it to Thicknesse personally? Did he owl it to Dolohov? Oh, maybe he just dropped it off at Voldemort's doorstep with a little tag that said, 'Please return to Dennis Creevey'. Is that the rest of it, or have I forgotten something?"

"Now, hold on!" Blaise bellowed back. Blaise wasn't as angry as Draco was, but he could match him decibel for decibel if he had to. "It's not as bad as you think, and it wasn't entirely Theodore's fault!" Draco opened his mouth to continue his scornful tirade, but Blaise kept talking. "He was trying to help you, and he made a mistake. But not as bad of a mistake as he could have made."

"What in sweet Salazar's name is that supposed to mean?"

"He lost the floorplan," Blaise said, "and someone got it, but he's almost positive it was someone from the Order."

That caught Draco off guard, and he simply glowered at Blaise for a moment. "The Order?"

"Yeah," Blaise said, calming his voice in hopes that it would calm Draco down. "Theodore has been using the floorplan to go to Grimmauld Place every night, hoping it would give him some clue on how to help you."

"Fine, fine. What about the Order?"

Blaise straightened his robe from where Draco had wrinkled it. "Theo's positive it was Cho Chang that got the floorplan when he dropped it. She petrified him, stole the map, and Apparated away before Theo could catch her."

"You're serious?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Yeah. I'm still doubtful that it was actually Cho, but Theodore swears it was her… and that she recognized him."

Draco paused, trying to process what that meant. "So the floorplan is in Cho Chang's hands now?"

"As far as we know."

"And she's with the Order?"

"I assume so, but I guess Granger could answer that best."

Draco pursed his lips, thinking hard, then nodded. "Come on."

Theodore Nott pulled his cloak straight on his shoulders and ran a hand through his hopelessly disheveled hair. There was no point in trying to look like he had gotten any sleep in the last four days if he hadn't, so he wasn't really trying anymore.

A few knocks on the Goyles' door was all it took for a slave to answer the door. Theodore felt a pang of guilt when he saw her – no more than fourteen, with dirty red hair and a nasty gash on her neck. He suddenly remembered Alexandra, the girl he had owned previously and sold to Felix Goyle. The girl who was dead now because Goyle wasn't amused with her snarkiness the way Theodore had been. Amazing how just a couple months changes your whole outlook, he thought. He couldn't even imagine buying and owning a slave now, not after he had decided to turn his life around. He wished Alexandra was still there, if only so he could apologize to her.

Theodore gave the girl a small smile, and she simply stared at him with empty eyes. "Is Felix here?" he asked her, and she shook her head wearily. "Do you know when he'll be back?" he pressed.

"Not until late this afternoon," the girl replied cautiously. "He's off in Paris on business."

"Perfect," Theodore said, and the girl's eyes widened as he slid past her and shut the door behind him. She seemed ready to dart away at any moment, but Theodore tried to calm her with what he said. "My business doesn't involve him. I think you might be able to help me, though." The girl regarded him suspiciously, so he tried another tactic. "How long have you been working here?"

"Who are you?" she said, starting to edge away.

Theodore sighed. "You can call me Nott. Most people do. I'm here to talk to someone, but I need you to keep it a secret for me. Do you think you could do that?"

The girl sniffed. "My master would have me beaten and starved if I did a thing like that."

"Well," he responded, trying not to think too much about what she had just said, "how about this? If you can help me talk to who I need to talk to, I'll get you out of here. That's a promise."

Her eyes widened, as though what he had said was too good to be true. "You're a spy, aren't you?"

"No. I just need to talk to somebody."

"Who?" she demanded.

Theodore sighed again. "Dennis Creevey?"

The girl bit her lip. Bingo. Theodore knew she would help him if he could just get her to trust him. What card could he play? "Say, what's your name?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Poppy," she murmured, still looking deep in thought.

"Poppy," Theodore repeated. "Well, I guess you can call me Theo if you'd rather. Nott's my last name. That is, it's nott my first name." The girl looked at him in utter confusion. Clearly, jokes would not be the way to win her trust. Theodore tried his last card. "Poppy, I'm from the Order."

Poppy squinted at him, as though looking at him through a tinted window. "The Order? You mean, the underground?"

"Yeah, that," he amended. Obviously the underground would be more recognizable to her. "I'm with the underground, and I'm here on a mission to get Dennis Creevey free." That wasn't exactly true, but he supposed he could make up his plan as he went.

Poppy's eyes grew even wider, looking like saucers in her milk-white face. She stared at him so long that Theodore began to feel like a bug under glass, but finally she nodded sharply. "All right, Nott. I'll trust you this once."

"Thanks," he said, and he followed her through a heavy set of green curtains to the next room. "Thanks for the trust."

Narcissa didn't struggle once as Michael Corner and Angelina Johnson each took one of her arms and Apparated her to somewhere they called the Fortress. She had no idea where she was or what she would do with the information if she had it, but she had made up her mind not to say another word to these young people. She kept eyeing one of them, a stocky freckle-faced boy who looked as grim as Narcissa felt, and noted that her wand was tucked into his belt. If she could just get her hands on the wand for a second, just long enough to send a Patronus, she had a fighting chance.

"Is anyone else here?" a boy named Dean asked. He began pulling a large tome from the top shelf of a bookcase and set it on the large conference table that took up the center of the room.

"It's just us," Angelina said, rubbing her eyes. "The others are…" She paused and looked at Narcissa. "They're on the other mission."

"Right," Dean nodded, scribbling something in the book. The other young people began going in different directions, but Narcissa kept her eyes fixed on the boy with her wand. He started out into a hallway, but Dean called him back. "Hey, Seamus, does this look right?"

Seamus turned and started toward Dean, past Narcissa, and she seized her opportunity. Angelina was rubbing her eyes again and had one hand loosely on Narcissa's right arm. Narcissa jerked her arm free and lunged for Seamus with strength she didn't know she had. Angelina and Michael reacted quickly, but Seamus was a second too late, and Narcissa had her wand in her hand before he could jump back. Narcissa shouted, "Expecto Patronum!" before Seamus had snatched the wand back and Michael had tackled her to the ground. Her shoulder burned where she hit the floor, but Narcissa didn't really care: these gruff young people wouldn't be able to stop her Patronus from reaching its destination.

Blaise followed Draco up the stairs to the third floor of his house, to a door he had never seen before. Draco pushed the door open gently, and Blaise noticed how quiet Draco seemed in contrast to his behavior downstairs. He realized the reason when he stepped into the room and saw Granger, sound asleep with her head on a desk, surrounded by stacks of books.

"Nice to see her in her natural habitat," Blaise remarked, and Draco frowned at him, waving at him to be quiet. Draco cleared his throat nervously and took another step towards her.

"Granger?" he called softly. She didn't move, so he tried again. "Granger?" he called again, a little louder this time. She made no move to stir, so Draco ruefully looked at Blaise out of the corner of his eye, gritted his teeth, and said, "Hermione?"

Blaise smirked at him as Hermione lifted her head off the desk, looking confused and bleary-eyed. Draco just glared back at him.

She took a moment to rub the sleep out of her eyes and shake her head as if to clear it, then finally seemed to notice that Draco and Blaise were standing in front of her. "Um…" she started, then shook her head again.

"Blaise wants to talk to you," Draco said awkwardly, looking everywhere except Hermione. Blaise noticed but refrained from commenting.

"What does he want?" Hermione asked, beginning to sound more like herself.

Draco looked at Blaise. "Well, what do you want?" he said pointedly.

Blaise rolled his eyes and sighed. "The floorplan is… no longer in Theodore's possession."

"And?" Hermione prodded.

"I'm going downstairs to take my medicine," Draco interrupted. "This whole thing is giving me a migraine," he added, giving Blaise an irritated look before hurriedly making an exit from the library.

Blaise turned to Hermione. "What's got him acting so strange?" He let his gaze wander around the room, then to the chair where Hermione had been sleeping. "Late night?" he asked, an edge to his voice.

"Cut the innuendo, Zabini," Hermione snapped. "What's going on?"

Blaise crossed his arms and kept his voice steady as he filled Hermione in on all that had happened, from Theodore taking the floorplan to it being taken by Cho Chang. She listened in fascinated silence, not interrupting him once to ask a question. When he finished the story, she began chewing her lip and thought for a few moments more.

"Why has Nott been waiting at Grimmauld Place every night?" Hermione finally asked.

"He's been looking for something that will let him help Draco somehow."

"Why was Cho Chang there?"

"Hanged if I know. She was alone and upset, from Theodore's description."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "And he's absolutely positive it was Cho Chang?"

"Positive. Any reason why it shouldn't be?"

"No," she retorted. "Cho's very active in the Order. I don't know why she was at Grimmauld Place to cry, but I'm sure she had a reason. You say she recognized Nott?"

"He said she seemed to, but she didn't say anything to him. She released him from the petrification before she Apparated, if that means anything."

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know anything the Order has been doing recently, so I can't say for sure."

Blaise nodded, letting his gaze fall to the floor as he thought about how to address his next question. Hermione absently flipped through a book in front of her, seeming as deep in thought as he was. She let a few minutes pass, then as Blaise was ready to pose his question, Hermione burst out, "I need your help."

Blaise halted his train of thought to wrap his mind around her words. "You need my help?" he echoed.

"Yes," she said, getting to her feet and beginning to pace the floor. Just like Draco, Blaise thought absently. "I need to get a message to the Order."

Blaise thought his jaw might hit the floor. "The Order?"

"Yes. It's important that I get some information to them, but I'm stuck here and have no way to get in contact with them. Draco told me that you and Theodore had decided to help him, but I wasn't sure I could trust you until I heard your story about the floorplan. As much as it pains me to trust Order secrets to a Slytherin git like you –"

"Really?"

"– I just don't have any other choice," she finished. Her gaze was steady on him, and she stopped pacing to lean her hands on the desk. "I need you to get a message to the Order for me."

Blaise took a moment to let her words sink in, then crossed the distance between them and leaned against the desk opposite her. "Tell me where they are, and I'll get it to them."

Hermione seemed surprised. "You're willing to help me?"

Blaise shrugged, trying to seem casual. "If it helps Draco, I'm in. And I think you're on his side, too." He paused, then continued. "Remember when I told you we'd have to have a long talk one day? Well, I think we just did."

Hermione gave him her best Slytherin smirk back. "Yeah, I guess we did."

Poppy, who seemed to exude courage now that she knew she was with someone she could trust, glided through several rooms in the Goyle house, Theodore following her on faith that she wasn't leading him into a trap. He stayed quiet, for fear that he might upset the silent balance of the great mansion.

Poppy finally pointed Theodore through a bright yellow door that seemed totally out of place in the drab mansion. "Dennis is down there," she said quietly, casting a glance around to make sure no one was listening. "Tell him you're with the underground. I'll watch the front door and signal if someone is coming."

"Thank you, Poppy," Theodore said sincerely. The hopeful look she gave him made him want to pull her from the house that very instant, but he knew he had to keep cool if he wanted to get anyone else out – and get to Dennis.

Theodore pushed the door open as Poppy left, slinking down a staircase into a room that was hot enough to make him sweat moments after entering. When he reached the bottom of the steps, he realized that he was in a room taken up mostly by a furnace, obviously the main heating device of the mansion in the dead of winter. Theodore could see a young man by the furnace, shoveling coals into the open door of the machine. When the man straightened to wipe sweat off his face, Theodore called out to him. "Dennis Creevey?"

The young man turned around. His messy brown hair was coated in ash, and his thin face was marred by a scar across the forehead. If Theodore hadn't already known who the man was, he would never have guessed Dennis Creevey. War did terrible things to young people.

"Who are you?" Dennis answered roughly. He leaned his shovel against the wall and made his way toward Theodore, dusting off his grimy hands on his shirt.

Theodore suddenly felt sheepish, as though he weren't worthy to be the one to rescue young Dennis Creevey, war hero and leader of the underground rebellion. But he was the only one there to do the job, so he pressed on. "Dennis, I'm here because I need your help."

Dennis snorted a laugh. "I'm certainly in a great place to be doin' favors for people. I'm not in any mood for jokin', pig."

Theodore remembered his alibi. "I'm with the underground movement, and I'm here to rescue you. I just need your help with something else, and I can get you out of here."

Dennis didn't look impressed. He raised an eyebrow at Theodore and cocked his head to the side. "Underground, eh? What's your name?"

He had told Poppy that his name was Theodore, but he knew Dennis would recognize that name. "Lenny," he lied. "Lenny Muggins."

"I don't know no Lenny Muggins in the underground," Dennis shot back.

Theodore wasn't sure how to convince Dennis he was on his side, but lying seemed like a bad idea. Nevertheless – "I'm new."

"And they sent you on a mission to rescue a Pureblood house full of slaves alone?"

"Um… yeah."

"Who's in charge of the underground these days?"

Theodore didn't know how to answer. "Joe?" he tried.

Dennis snorted again. "Nice try, fink." He turned back to the furnace and picked up his shovel, but Theodore reached out and grasped Dennis's shoulder, deciding to drop the façade.

"Dennis," he pleaded, hoping the truth would sound like the truth, "you're right. I was lying. But I'm not lying when I tell you I want to help you and I need your help. My name is Theodore Nott. I'm a friend of Draco Malfoy."

Dennis' face didn't betray a thing he was thinking. "What's that got to do with me?"

"I know you were his contact when Draco was helping the underground six years ago. And I know he's been in touch with you since he was cursed by giving you potions."

Dennis still didn't break. "You're off your nut by a mile, mate."

Theodore gave his last shot. "I know about the floorplan!"

Dennis finally gave in, narrowing his eyes and giving Theodore a look that made him want to crawl into the floor. "What floorplan?"

"The floorplan Draco used as a portkey to meet you at Grimmauld Place six years ago. The floorplan he's had ever since. The floorplan that…" Theodore trailed off, suddenly embarrassed to have to tell this intense young man what he had done.

"The floorplan that what?" Dennis demanded. Dennis' life could hang in the balance with that floorplan, Theodore remembered.

Theodore sighed. "The floorplan that I lost. To the Order," he added, as if it made his mistake any less serious.

"You lost?" Dennis echoed mockingly. "You stole Malfoy's floorplan and then lost it?"

"The Order has it!" Theodore replied. Dennis was taking steps toward him, and Theodore didn't feel any safer just because he had his wand and Dennis didn't. "It's safe with them, and I can get it back if you'll help me!"

Dennis' eyes narrowed to slits. "Help you do what?"

Theodore took a deep breath. "Help me find the Order. I'm trying to help Draco, and the only way I know how to do that is to help you too, and to find the floorplan I lost. If you can just tell me where the Order's hideout is, I can –"

"How should I know where their hideout is?" Dennis interrupted, his voice tinged with disgust. "I'm underground, not Order."

Theodore pushed on. "I know you know where it is! Draco told me –"

"And even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you," Dennis continued. He spat on the floor at Theodore's feet. "Death Eater filth."

The words stung, but Theodore knew he would have to spend the rest of his life making up for the life he had chosen. He also knew that it would take a miracle to change Dennis Creevey's mind.

He tried one last time. "Please, Dennis. If you can just give me an idea of where the Order is…"

Theodore didn't get to finish his sentence, because a deafening crack suddenly made both him and Dennis startle. Dennis looked at the furnace, thinking the fire was crackling, but when he looked at the foot of the staircase, Theodore couldn't believe his eyes. There before him, in flesh and blood, wands drawn and ready for action, were Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood, irrepressible as always. Following them seconds later were Fleur Delacour, a lovely sight in the hovel around her, and Nigel Wolpert, whose eyes lit up when he saw Dennis standing next to Theodore.

Dennis' mouth was set in a firm smile when he turned towards Theodore. "Actually, I think that's them now."

Hermione lingered in the library for a few moments more after she and Blaise finished their plans for sending messages to the Order. After getting her filled in on the news of Katie Bell, Blaise headed for the door to get to the Ministry for work. "Can't afford to raise suspicion," he explained.

Once Blaise had left the library and gone down the staircase, Hermione sat back down in her chair for a moment. Her head was still reeling from all the information she had just received. Katie Bell had defected. The Wizarding World was abuzz about spies and underground movements and rumors and secrets. Blaise and Theodore were really on her side. Cho Chang had the floorplan. She would finally be in touch with the Order.

The thought of corresponding with one of her longtime comrades filled Hermione with excitement. Almost four months, and she had only spoken with four other people in all that time. She hadn't realized how much she ached to hear Neville give out some orders, or George's maniacal laughter, or Angelina's no-nonsense remarks, until she realized they were within reach again. Hermione didn't know how long it would be, but she would soon be sharing plans with her dearest friends again. This must have been how Katie felt, she realized. Six years as a Ministry spy must have been pure torture.

Her mind wandered to something else Blaise had said. "Are you in love with Malfoy, Granger?" She hadn't known how to answer, just stammered until she managed a, "No, of course not." Blaise had given her a triumphant smile anyway and muttered something about fifty galleons, but she was too overwhelmed to think about it too much.

Hermione sat in the chair a moment longer, then decided to head downstairs. She and Draco would have to talk sometime; it might as well be now. His anxious behavior at Blaise's arrival hadn't escaped her notice, and they had come too far to spend days in silence again.

She descended the staircase quickly, just as Blaise was letting himself out the front door with Draco at his heels. "You'll let me know the moment you hear something?" Draco was saying, and Blaise nodded.

"Don't worry, you're my only confidant now," Blaise assured him. "Besides Theodore, and who knows what he's up to now."

"Yeah, well, find him as quick as you can," Draco said. "I want the floorplan back, but I don't want him stirring up too much trouble trying to get it back. Kinda defeats the purpose."

Blaise laughed and raised a hand to wave goodbye to Draco. Seeing Hermione on the staircase, he called, "Good talk, Granger!" cheerfully before shutting the door behind him.

Draco turned to see Hermione behind him, seeming surprised at her appearance. She gave him a gentle smile, hoping to clear the air, but Draco just ducked his head and began walking toward the kitchen. Hermione thought about giving up and going back upstairs, but she was too stubborn to let him get away without talking to her. She followed him into the kitchen, noticing that he didn't turn around.

She leaned against the doorway, watching him fiddle with anything he passed – the cabinets, counters, tabletop. He glanced at her sideways. "Wasn't enough for the stupid git to steal from me and then lie about it," Draco muttered, sounding almost amused. "He had to go and lose the ruddy portkey on top of everything else. To the Order, no less!"

Hermione cracked a smile. "It does seem ironic. Though I guess it's worked out all right in the end. The portkey is safe with the Order, and now I've gotten a message to them."

Draco turned to look at her straight-on, stopping his ambling around the kitchen. "You got a message to the Order?"

"Through Blaise," Hermione nodded. "I told him how to get in touch with them, and he's delivering my message about Dennis and the underground to them."

Draco gave a halfhearted laugh. "You trust Zabini that much, eh?"

She shrugged. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."

Draco nodded, casting his gaze on the floor again. Hermione wasn't sure how to say what she wanted to say, so she let the silence continue while she thought.

Her waiting ended quickly when Draco broke into her thoughts. "I'm sorry about last night," he muttered, not looking at her.

Hermione looked up, surprised at his words. That wasn't what she had expected at all. "Oh, well… I –"

"I got carried away. I've been in here for years all by myself, so I just… I guess I just lost my head for a minute. I promise you it won't happen again."

Hermione was stunned. Surely he wasn't serious. "Draco," she declared, "I'm not offended by what happened last night. It was just a kiss, just a dance. It's not as if we did something permanent or shameful. Compared to what Zabini and Nott think we've got going on, we're still at first base."

"First base?"

"Muggle expression," she said hurriedly. "My point is, I'm not upset about what happened. In fact, I'm sort of… well, I'm glad it happened. I know things have been happening very quickly and very unexpectedly, but I'm used to living life at lightning pace." She steeled herself for her next words. "And I'm used to losing people I care about as soon as I realize how I feel, and I'm not going to –"

"Stop!" Draco cried out suddenly. "Don't say any more."

Hermione took a step toward him, and he turned to look away from her. "Why not? What's –"

"There can never be anything between us," Draco forced out, clenching his fists at his sides. He cursed his luck, his fate, his whole life that had held only misery and horrible choices from the beginning. "Hermione, we're not meant to be together. I've made decisions every day of my life that have brought me to where I am, and I deserve it. You're above it. You're above me. I don't deserve anything you could ever offer me, and you deserve so much better than anything I have to offer. I'm nothing but a grisly Death Eater with a face like a cracked mirror, and you're…" He didn't finish, but he didn't have to.

"That's not true!" Hermione answered, feeling tears well up behind her eyes. "You're wrong! You've made a lot of bad choices, yes, and you made yourself an enemy of my loved ones. But I've seen who you've become, who you are now that you've chosen to change! I've seen the man behind the scars, the Draco who lives above the name of Malfoy! Don't hold yourself prisoner to what you think you are. Let yourself be free by who I know you are, who you truly are deep inside!"

Draco's voice was broken and hushed when he answered her, his face turned away. "It doesn't matter, Hermione. It'll never matter. I've made my choices. I've done all the damage one man can do. No matter what I do, I'll never atone for all that I've done. And I guess I won't have to. When the Order comes for you and you destroy Voldemort once and for all, I'll already be gone. I'll be dead, so you and the others can live. I know it'll never atone for my wrongs, but maybe that's my fate. Maybe in death I can do the one thing I've never been able to do in life: to help someone."

Hermione felt her tears rushing down her cheeks openly, and she took the few steps forward that closed the space between her and Draco. Wrapping her arms around him, she couldn't find any words, just buried her face in his neck and whispered, "No, no…" over and over until she thought she could believe it. When she felt his arms tighten around her, holding her so close she could barely breathe, she tried to say what she felt.

"You're wrong," she whispered in his ear. The scars on his skin suddenly looked so lovely to her, just as they had the night before. "You're wrong. There's always a place for people who forsake what they know is wrong and choose to change their fate. The Order will always be open to you. You've chosen good over evil; I know it. I'll help you. I'll do whatever it takes to save you." Hermione raised her head, placing a hand on either side of Draco's face so she could look him straight in his cloudy eyes. "I'll do anything, Draco. I won't let you go." Her voice broke. "I – I –"

Draco didn't let her finish. His hands cradled her head as he kissed her, softly as first just like the night before, and then harder, with more passion and intensity. She returned the kiss with everything in her might, trying to say what she wanted to say – "I love you" – without words. His hands tangled in her long hair, and she let her hands wander on his neck, over his shoulders to his chest. She felt his heart pound under her palm, felt his lips tenderly moving against hers, and she suddenly felt that she would never get to say those three words. Draco would never let her.

When Draco pulled away from her, resting his forehead on the side of her neck and breathing in her scent, he tried to memorize what it felt like to have her in his arms, to feel completely whole, completely forgiven. He knew they would never have their happy ending, and that this would be the only moment of forever they would share.

After what felt like a lifetime and at the same time a split second, they parted, gazing into one another's eyes with the passion they both felt. Hermione's eyes implored him to say what she wanted him to say – that this wasn't the end, that they would have another chance, that he wouldn't give up – but he couldn't lie to her. He would never lie to her.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said softly, so softly she wondered if he had even said it. "But there's just nothing for us. We can't let ourselves get attached to one another. It's only going to make things harder… at the end."

Hermione choked back a sob. At the end. Why did everything have to end? "There doesn't have to be – "

"Don't argue. You know it's the truth."

Hermione just stared at the floor, biting her lip and feeling as though every dream she had ever had had been crushed. Maybe it had. "I wanted to save you," she whispered, finally meeting his gaze. "I wanted to save you."

Draco stepped forward, taking one moment more to touch her face with the back of his hand and memorize the deep brown of her eyes. "You did," he said simply.

And there was no more to be said.

A/N: My dear friends! I truly can't believe it's been NEARLY TWO YEARS since I've updated this story. I kept promising myself I'd come back to it, but double-majoring in college leaves little time for fun writing. Nevertheless, the quarantine has provided me with opportunities to write again, so I plan to update this until I finish, which won't be much longer, hopefully. For anyone who is still reading this, thank you so much for sticking with it! It means more to me than you can ever know, and I truly intend to make it to the end this time. Thank you again and let me know how this chapter agreed with you! Much love to you all!