NOTES: Thanks for being awesome readers!

WARNINGS: references to sexual assault

22. Whatsoever Star that Guides My Moving

"It's good to see you."

Hermione looks over her shoulder. Harry leans against the doorframe of her bedroom, his face carefully neutral. The last time he saw her, she didn't know who he was. Now she knows far too much.

She nods toward the desk chair. "Sit."

As he settles slowly upon the seat, she pads to the door and eases it shut. This isn't a public conversation. She knows Tom and Draco can listen if they want to, but she trusts them to allow her this modicum of privacy.

Harry perches on the edge of the chair, limbs bouncing as he tracks her movement. She lets him stew as she settles on her bed, elbows resting loosely on her crossed legs. Her linen trousers billow over the coverlet.

Harry inhales sharply and breaks the silence. "I'm sorry."

Hermione expected this. She knows he must desire her forgiveness above all else. "I would be worried if you weren't."

He nearly hides his reaction, but she knows him too well to miss the smothered flinch. He clasps his hands together and leans forward. "I swear I didn't know what was going to happen to you. I thought we would come back for you as soon as I got him to safety."

"You mean you didn't know I was going to be tortured and raped on a regular basis for nearly ten months." She makes no attempt to hide the bitter anger. He has no idea what he did.

"I…" he trails off. There is truly nothing he can say that will make this better. He must sense that because he changes tactics. "Look, I love you so much, Hermione. I know that together we can make this work."

She can't help raising an incredulous brow. "Make what work?"

He motions to the space between them, emerald eyes overbright. "Us. We can save us."

"What in the world gave you the impression I want to save us, Harry?"

His chair clatters over the floorboards as he surges to his feet. He takes a half step toward her before thinking better of it. Harry settles for drawing his hands through his messy curls as he drops back to the chair. His face is a wreck when he finally looks at her.

She feels her chest tighten, the vestiges of her attachment to him aching. His eyes are far too glossy and his lips are pursed to keep their trembling at bay. She doesn't allow herself to be swayed.

"I'll always love you, Harry," she begins, as gently as she can. "But I'm not in love with you anymore. I haven't been for a long time. We kept getting more frayed the more we searched for Ron, but you didn't notice. You didn't see what you were doing… putting an entire war on hold to look for one boy. I love him too, but I knew we shouldn't have neglected our duty like that. The Order could have helped Ron. All we had to do was ask. But we didn't think, did we?"

He opens his mouth, a protest on his lips, but a single glance from Hermione silences him. "You choosing to save him in the end, it wasn't even a surprise. But that doesn't mean it didn't rip my heart out, Harry. And then I had to obliviate myself to protect you both. After that, you didn't exist and I had to learn to survive on half a brain.

"Do you know how lost I was down there? I couldn't remember my name. I didn't know what magic was, only that something I couldn't see could hurt me. I shut down as much as I could. I learned to disappear when they raised their wands. When he pried my legs apart and impaled me over and over until I wasn't human." Her hands close to fists, her nails digging deep. She doesn't feel the pain, only the agony of her own memories. "I lost everything, Harry. I lost my mind. My body. My soul."

He's on his knees in front of her, water streaking the hollows of his cheeks. "I am so sorry. I am so sorry…"

No amount of his apologies will help her. "It doesn't matter. You can apologize for eternity, Harry, and it will still have happened. There are some things you can't fix and this is one of them."

He reaches out a trembling hand. She lets him tangle his fingers with hers. He stares down at their joined hands. "I don't know what to do."

"Let me go, Harry."

He shakes his head. The linen of her trousers absorbs the splatter of his tears. His hand digs into hers, as if the pressure will force them back together.

"I love you. I'm so in love with you I can't breathe half the time we share the same space. You're everything good in my life, everything that I'm fighting for. I can't lose that."

Hermione gently pries her hand from his. "You already did."

Harry collapses at the edge of the bed, his shoulders shaking. "So you're choosing him."

She doesn't need to ask who he means. "Tom and I have nothing to do with this."

"You love him."

She hates that she's so transparent, but Harry knows her too well. Her lips are numb as she replies, "yes, but I'm not in love with him."

Harry looks up at her through tear-clotted lashes. "But you could be."

There's million reasons that will never happen, not the least of which is the trauma she endured. But she's more likely to fall for Tom than to return to Harry. "In another lifetime, perhaps."

He puts on a brave attempt at a smile. It's watery and entirely unconvincing. "Then I suppose I should listen to Malfoy and get to know him."

Malfoy and his plot to have Tom and Harry join forces to defeat Voldemort. She nearly sighs. It would be annoying if he didn't have a good point. And now it's time for her to help Harry rise above their personal drama and make Malfoy's dream a reality.

"He's not like You Know Who," Hermione explains. "Not that Tom is a saint by any means. He's still dark. He tries to manipulate everyone and everything around him, but he isn't overtly malicious." Hermione pauses. Harry looks entirely unconvinced. She doesn't blame him; she's not selling Tom well. It would probably be easier if she'd spoken a word to the boy since regaining her memory. But it's too late now. "Look, he's not a good guy. But he's a lot better than You Know Who and he has all the same abilities. He also has the resources to destroy the Horcruxes from a distance. It has to be him who does it, but we can win this war in an entirely different way, Harry. A way that guarantees victory."

She watches Harry run through the calculus, the loss of life prevented and the risks involved. He doesn't appear particularly satisfied with his conclusions. Most days she doesn't like the idea of working with Tom either.

"Do you trust him?"

She doesn't, but they don't have a choice. If they choose to allow Tom to help, they can shape the form of his victory. If they choose to leave him out of their plans, he'll simply act alone. She knows he's going to destroy Voldemort with or without them. She also knows it's better to be by his side than caught in the wake of his actions.

"I trust he will destroy You Know Who and the Death Eaters."

It isn't nearly enough, but Harry nods. His eyes are bloodshot, but no longer limned by moisture. He's not exactly put together, but he isn't actively falling apart. It will have to do.

"Tom's in the kitchen."

Malfoy knew not to let Harry's visit go to waste and planned accordingly. Hermione isn't sure whether that makes him cunning or simply resourceful. She supposes he could be both.

Harry swipes roughly at his dry cheeks. "Now?"

Hermione pushes up from the bed and extends a hand to him. He shifts to his knees before allowing her to haul him to his feet. Their eyes meet and linger, the moment stretching.

Harry looks away first. He clears his throat. "Okay, let's do this."

Both Malfoy and Tom are already seated at the kitchen table. Malfoy leans forward on his elbows, staring at nothing. Tom has his chair tipped backward, his feet resting on the table supports. Hermione bites her tongue to keep from admonishing him. Neither the chair nor the table is built for that type of abuse.

Hermione takes the open seat closest to Tom. Despite her reluctance to deal with him, it's better for all of them if there's a buffer between the historical enemies.

Harry sinks slowly into his chair, expression guarded. He shifts the slightest bit and Malfoy offers him the barest hint of a smile. Hermione can't help but notice the irony. Harry, sitting at a table with his greatest enemy, and it's Draco Malfoy he looks to for support.

She expects to feel a pang of regret rattling in her gut. She doesn't. The only thing she senses is the weight of Tom's stare. Against her better judgement, she lifts her chin and meets his brilliant sapphire gaze. His expression doesn't change—it's frozen in apathetic nonchalance—but she nearly drowns in his eyes.

Her breath is a touch too frantic when she looks away. She tangles her hands together on the table. Now isn't the time to delve into that abyss.

"So…" she begins, not exactly sure how to call this particular meeting to order.

Tom saves her the trouble. "We're here to plot murder and destruction."

Harry's shoulders go stiff and Malfoy casts Tom an exasperated look. "Thank you for that, Tom."

Tom tips further back in his chair. The wood creaks softly in protest. Hermione silently prays he falls. But it's Tom, so nothing disturbs the smug twist of his lips. "You're welcome, darling."

Now Malfoy's staring daggers. All of them at the table already know the two are involved, but it's clear Malfoy doesn't appreciate the saucy reminder. "Merlin, Tom, can you just pretend to be normal?"

"But I'm not. I'd be utterly useless to all of you if I were normal." He is unfortunately correct, but no one says so.

Hermione grits her teeth and tries to get them back on track. "Harry's agreed that working together is the best path toward the annihilation of You Know Who—"

"My favorite other half," Tom interjects glibly.

Hermione doesn't give him the satisfaction of her attention. "We have procured several books which illustrate how to destroy Horcruxes without using the limited methods we've already discovered."

"It is rather easy to destroy something you've made yourself or that thinks it belongs to you," Tom adds. His tone has faded from insufferable to informational. "I was aware he kept the books hidden and now I know the reason. He can unmake our Horcruxes any time he likes, which means, so can I. Unfortunately, I'll need to sever his soul from his body first if I want the pieces to return to me and not him. And I need to be in close proximity to him to do that. Within arm's reach, in fact."

Hermione contemplates exactly what that implies. The silence around the rest of the table indicates they're all thinking the same thing. This is going to be impossible. To give Tom such close access requires them to have Voldemort in their custody, which isn't going to happen. Or it requires them being in his custody. She's already tried that once. She isn't going back.

"So, we set a trap," Harry finally says. "Lure him to a place where we'll have control. Where he won't be expecting us to make a move."

"So, you're not useless," Tom murmurs, his eyes raking over Harry's exhausted visage.

Harry crosses his arms and stares back with equal intensity. "And you've yet to prove you're anything but an arrogant ass."

Tom arches a dark brow, lips curling into an amused smirk. "Ah, Potter, haven't you come to recognize the outward manifestation of confidence?"

Hermione meets Malfoy's stormy gaze across the table. This is devolving into petty banter and they both recognize it. He nods his head toward Tom and she realizes he wants her to intervene. She glares and shakes her head. She and Tom have technically spoken during this discussion, but they haven't truly exchanged words. Malfoy grunts at her refusal and leans forward, his elbows banging against the table with a resounding thud.

Both Tom and Harry look at him. He runs a hand through pristine platinum hair before saying, "we have to do this together. And that means trusting each other—to the extent the mission requires. So if you two have something to work out, do it some other time. Right now, we need real ideas and plans, not childish nonsense."

Harry has the sense to look abashed. Tom's expression doesn't even falter. Hermione would glare at him if it didn't risk another round of eye contact.

Malfoy steeples his fingers and studies each of them in turn. Satisfied that they're going to behave, he returns to the task at hand. "Potter is right, we need to have a trap. Some sort of decoy to lure the Dark Lord out of his comfort zone and into a location we know we can control."

"You could use me," Harry offers, but Malfoy shakes his head.

"No, you're too important. Your life could still be tied to his in some way we don't quite understand. We need someone he'll chase, but who won't affect the outcome if he truly captures them."

Hermione already knows she fits the bill. She speaks around the growing lump of terror lodged in her throat. "You need me. I slipped through his fingers before. If he finds out I'm still alive, he'll hunt me down to get to Harry."

The legs of Tom's chair crash to the kitchen floor. "Absolutely not."

She doesn't look at him. "This isn't your call."

"I'll go with you," Malfoy decides, jaw clenching. "He would suspect my death if he found out you were still alive. He might even think we were close. If we let it be known I've run away with you, that we faked our deaths to be together, away from him, he won't be able to resist taking his vengeance on both of us."

Tom's knuckles are white where he grips the table. "We aren't turning this into bloody Romeo and Juliet. You two aren't even remotely interested in each other."

Hermione finally faces him. He's rimed in tension, but his expression is carefully neutral. "If you'll recall, this started with us imitating Romeo and Juliet. Why not concoct some soapy drama for him to believe, or at least be intrigued by? It will keep him from asking questions, from finding any trace of you. He'll relish the thought of destroying a pair of love-sick fools."

Tom's eyes burn holes in her skull. "Malfoy doesn't even like girls."

"I can fake it well enough," the boy in question interjects. "I nearly slept with Astoria once."

The burden of Tom's glare shifts to Malfoy. "No wonder she looked like you'd kicked her in the teeth when you sent her away. She thought there was bloody hope for you yet."

Harry, who has watched silently, mutters, "I hate this."

"Me too," Tom hisses through clenched teeth.

"Glad we've established that," Hermione sighs. "But unless we can think of a better lure, this is it."

"What about your head?" Harry asks. "You had to destroy your mind the last time and I'm sure that took extraordinary measures to get back."

Hermione can't help the path of her eyes. They find Tom's in an instant. He is suddenly devoid his current frustration, his stoic façade on the verge of collapse as he stares down at her. She can see pain, raw and all too real roiling beneath the surface. She has not told him she forgives him.

His fingers twitch against the grain of the wooden table. Hermione's hand is on top of his before she can stop herself. His eyes go wide and his palm flips up to capture her traitorous fingers.

A pleasant tingle spreads from the junction of their limbs. For a moment she lets it wash over her, the feeling of comfort and safety settling deep in her bones. The hard planes of Tom's face soften and she wants nothing more than to bring her free hand to caress his jaw.

She tugs her hand away instead. An emotion flashes in the depths of his stare, but it's gone before she can identify it. She turns back to Harry.

"I won't give him any reason to think I've been able to remember. It's entirely implausible I'd be with Malfoy unless I didn't remember our shared past. No offense."

Malfoy shakes his head, wry smile pulling at his lips. "None taken. Though I'd like to think we'd have half a chance if I were truly into women."

Hermione merely hums. She supposes Malfoy truly isn't that horrible. In fact, right now he's her strongest ally. "I guess you could be my star-crossed love, Draco."

"That's much better." His lips twitch, but he doesn't say anything more. Neither Tom nor Harry appears the slightest bit pleased by their antics.

Hermione clears her throat. "Okay, so in all seriousness. Malfoy and I pretend he saved me." Hermione can't help the slightly scathing tone with which her sentence ends. He may not be that bad, but she can't forget he was too chickenshit to help her until Tom came along. "We get the word leaked into the Death Eater ranks and create a trail of breadcrumbs leading You Know Who exactly where we want him. It has to be challenging and intriguing enough that he'll be forced to do it himself, not send his useless minions."

"I still think this is moronic," Tom interjects, "but I might have some ideas about that."

The rest of the evening is a never-ending iteration of ever more insane plans. Their ideas evolve, branch and fall to pieces. But they learn to work together. It isn't always straight forward cooperation and no easy camaraderie forms by the end of the night, but Hermione starts to believe they might pull this off.

Harry lingers as both Malfoy and Tom disappear into the darkness of the hall. Hermione doesn't miss the way their fingers twine together, or the breathy laughter that comes a few moments later. She knows just how close the two of them have become; they forget silencing spells a hair too often.

Despite the return of her memories, the full understanding of just who Tom Riddle truly is, she still feels the churn of jealousy as she watches them go. She's not sure if it's rooted in their clear physical connection or in the true intimacy that has evolved between them.

Harry steps into her eyeline and she abruptly ceases that particular train of thought. He takes a handful of steps, closing the distance until the familiar scent of fresh pine from his aftershave inundates her.

"I respect that you need distance between us right now. I also respect that we may truly be over. But I'm not giving up on us. Not yet."

She can tell from the set of his jaw and the spark in his eyes that there's no arguing with him. She wishes he could just let go. "Harry, I—"

"But I'm not going to push either. I'll give you the space you want." He runs a hand through his dark curls, mussing them further. "I just have one thing I need you to promise me."

Hermione raises a brow. She has no idea what to expect.

"See one of the Order healers. I know Malfoy and Riddle have done a decent job, but you've been through so much. You deserve to have a true professional evaluate your health."

He stares at her with earnest emerald eyes. Whatever she could have imagined, it was not such a selfless request. Hermione nods. "Of course."

"I'll make the arrangements with Malfoy. It'll be easier if we glamour you, just so you're not recognizable. Everyone expects you to be dead and we have so many injured coming through the Order safehouses, no one will make the connection."

Right. Their entire plan hinges on Hermione being off in locations unknown with Draco Malfoy. She can't be discovered at an Order safehouse. "And if I am recognized?"

"I'll deal with it."

She imagines he means memory charms, but doesn't ask.

Her next inhale is uneven, tinged by the terror flickering just beneath her skin. She is so very broken. She almost doesn't want to find out how much. But no matter how much she fears the truth, she cannot avoid this. There is no escaping herself.

"I'll be there."

Harry wraps his arms around her and she doesn't resist. His embrace is warm and familiar. Her breath catches the slightest bit and she clutches him tighter. For a moment she can almost pretend it's before.

That her vitality hasn't leeched away to nothing.

"Ugh!"

Hermione hears a dull thud behind her. When she turns, she realizes it's the sound of Malfoy's head hitting the table. She checks the latest potion—veritaserum, simmering nicely—before dropping into the seat across from him.

The cottage windows are flung wide and she can hear the joyful din of the beachgoers against the steady slosh of the waves. It's the height of summer holiday now and the beach is packed from nearly sunup to sundown. Hermione spends less time burying her feet in the sand—she's still not great with crowds—but she makes sure to take a walk or run whenever the tides recede.

Malfoy looks fit to burst and the potion will keep. She grabs him by the forearm and hauls him up from the chair. He follows her lead without protest.

"We're getting out of here," she announces.

He glances down at his rumpled tee shirt and board shorts. He looks painfully Muggle and it's exactly what they need. His skin has slowly bronzed over the course of the summer. With the Dark Mark erased and his entire complexion evolved, he doesn't resemble the pale brat from Hogwarts, a fact she appreciates.

"No one cares that you're wrinkled," she insists, dragging him toward the door.

"But Tom—"

"Can live without us for a bloody hour."

"We're heading out, dear," she calls in a saccharine voice.

Tom doesn't bother to respond. They still haven't talked. She makes a face at the silent hallway and yanks Malfoy the rest of the way out the door.

Hermione maintains her grip on him as they navigate the bustling shore. While she doesn't enjoy being surround by so many people, she's no longer a wounded animal, jumping at the slightest provocation.

She leads them out toward the Elbe, worms squishing beneath their bare feet and the tide flowing gently in their wake. Neither of them speaks as the sun climbs higher, the midday heat scorching down upon them. She wishes she'd remembered her hat, but one day in the sun isn't going to destroy her skin.

Malfoy tips his head up to the sky, allowing her to admire the strong line of his jaw and the sensual slope of his neck. Tom's right. The former Slytherin prat has become dashingly handsome.

He slants grey eyes toward her. "You're staring, Granger."

"Sorry."

He shrugs and looks back to the deep blue abyss of the cloudless sky. "It's not that I'm not flattered—I am. I just don't think it's going to work out between us."

She snorts, entirely unladylike. "Such a tragedy. I was so looking forward to inheriting the Malfoy fortune."

"Do you mean to tell me you're only marrying me for my money?"

"It couldn't possibly be your looks," she answers, tongue in cheek and lips twitching.

It's his turn to snort. "If only it were that simple."

She takes that as the opportunity to ask, "how's Tom?"

Malfoy kicks the water, droplets spraying them. The mist is cool and welcome, a respite from the mounting heat. "Incorrigible as ever."

"He seems rather taken with our plot to destroy You Know Who."

Tom spends endless hours with the texts he's "rescued" from Voldemort's library. When he's not pouring over the pages, he's grilling Malfoy on the contents of his family's library or meeting Harry in clandestine locations neither Hermione nor Malfoy knows. His enthusiasm is contagious, but Hermione worries about the particulars of his plan, which he refuses to share with any of them.

To make matters especially concerning, the restored Gaunt ring appeared on his hand a week ago. When she asked about the former Horcrux, he muttered something about Potter and proceeded to ask Malfoy a litany of mundane questions.

Which brings her to the largest problem. She and Tom still haven't had a proper conversation. They'll exchange words about dinner or the latest find in his harrowing book collection, but that's the extent of it.

She has a feeling they're both waiting for the other to succumb. The problem is both of them are epically stubborn. At this rate, Voldemort will be dead and decayed before they have a civil conversation.

And as much as that might seem like a good thing, an ache in her gut tells her otherwise.

Malfoy splashes the water again, his golden skin glistening. "He's taken with getting every lick of his magic back and then some. Killing the Dark Lord is merely a stepping stone to that goal."

Of course. Tom believes he's nothing without his magic. She can't exactly blame him. Her thirst for magic is what allowed him bring Hermione's memories back. Perhaps they share that fundamental and covetous desire that came from growing up in a world without magic and then being handed the keys to infinite power upon their entry into Hogwarts. She'd rather not share anything with Voldemort, but Hermione's beyond denying truths, no matter inconvenient they might be.

"So you think he'll keep his end of the bargain."

Malfoy nods, platinum strands dancing across his angular cheekbones. "Tom will honor the plan. But I wouldn't count on him after that."

"You think he's planning something else, something bigger."

The blond stops abruptly and spins to face her. He's backlit by the sun, his hair a luminous halo. "I know. He hasn't said anything, but he's collecting more books than simply the volumes on Horcruxes. Half the time he's going back to that library for more. It's a wonder the Dark Lord doesn't know we're coming with the number of risks he's taking."

It's an unsettling confirmation, but no surprise. "Do you think we can stop him?"

Malfoy turns away with a shrug. "I think it'll come down to if we want to stop him."

She wants to insist that of course she'll be willing to foil Tom, but she holds her tongue. It's unwise to underestimate his influence over her or Malfoy. She suspects they are not entirely unbiased when it comes to Tom Riddle.

Hermione's mouth feels coated in sand, but she knows it's only the coarse texture of truth. Hermione sighs and keeps walking toward the ever-fading horizon. "Then we deal with that when it comes."

Malfoy nods and they continue on. The sun has reached its apex when he says, "I don't think I ever fully apologized for the choices I made when you were in the Manor. I want you to know I'm not that person anymore. I'm not willing to let others suffer just to save my own skin."

She believes him. She isn't the same either. Not just because of the trauma or her memory. Spending time here, evaluating what's truly important to her has shifted her paradigm. Harry is no longer the center of her world.

"I don't know if I can ever fully forgive you, but I understand that's not who you are anymore."

He pauses, throat bobbing. "You're going to have to put a lot of trust in me for our plan to work and I want to make sure you're fully on board. I won't hold you to any of this if you have any serious doubts about my ability to protect you through this."

She searches his stormy eyes, finding nothing but aching sincerity. "I trust you with this, Malfoy. The burden is going to be on you to sell this lie, but I think you can do it."

"Can you?"

That's the question. He has to fake his attraction to her, but Hermione has to be receptive to him. Voldemort isn't going to buy a chaste kiss on her cheek as the type of passion that led them to flee together. Of course, lie doesn't need to hold forever, but it has to be good enough. It has to buy them the time they need.

She doesn't flinch anymore, but is she ready to feel someone lips against her own, someone's tongue tracing the contours of her mouth, someone's hands digging into her flesh?

She looks at Malfoy. There's only one way to find out.

"Can we try something?"

He lifts a silver brow, but nods. "Whatever you need, within reason."

"Kiss me like you mean it? With our mouths open and your hands everywhere you can reach."

He sputters, coughs and stares down at her. "Did I just hear you right?"

"Look, we're going to have to pretend to be deeply in love or at least in lust. Our lives—and Tom's and Harry's—are going to depend on it. So I have to know when I'm going to choke. Where the line is we can't cross. Otherwise, I'm going to blink at the worst possible moment."

To his credit, Malfoy only nods. "That actually makes a lot of sense."

"Like actors and actresses have to practice for their parts," she rationalizes.

The corners of his mouth twitch up. "I've already agreed to snog you, Granger."

"Oh. Okay." She doesn't think about how pleasing his symmetry is. "And it should be Hermione. If we're shagging like rabbits on amortentia, it's definitely Hermione."

"Then get used to Draco," he replies.

"Fine."

He steps closer to her and she can feel the damp heat of his skin where his arm brushes hers. She looks at his lips and thinks of Tom.

Unexpected heat floods her. She hasn't contemplated intimacy for a long time, but now she can think of nothing but Tom's mouth on Draco's. A steady burn grows as she realizes she's about to experience what Tom enjoys on a daily basis.

It's entirely uncouth to think that way, but she can't help it. She braces herself on his biceps and rises on her toes. Draco's mouth meets her halfway. Their lips fumble against each other, awkward for a moment before he eases her mouth open. His tongue is velvet against hers, his caress cool and languid.

Something that isn't quite arousal builds at the base of her spine. She brings her hands to twine into his silken hair. It's softer than she imagined. She allows herself to pretend her lips are Tom's, that Draco's caress is sincere instead of theatrical. It only makes her want to feel Tom himself against her.

Since when was she so bloody attracted to Tom?

But she hasn't felt this kind of heat in nearly a year. Not since she was with Harry and her body was still whole. She supposes it's a good thing, even if it's bloody inconvenient at the moment. Perhaps she hasn't lost as much as she feared. Perhaps time truly will heal these wounds.

Draco's hands are straying lower, to the curve of her ass and then the inside of her thigh. Her breathing hitches—not from arousal—but she manages to keep her mouth moving against his. He pushes further, lifting her to straddle his hips.

Hermione hadn't realized how much taller he is, how strong his agile frame truly is. She wraps her arms around the solid line of his shoulders and experimentally pushes their hips together. It's no surprise when she finds no evidence of his arousal. This is a theatrical exercise, after all. But she's thankful; she isn't sure she could handle that yet.

He gives her lower lip a playful nip that makes her giggle as he lowers her back to the ground. His mouth is deliciously bruised as he takes a half step back.

"So what's the verdict, Hermione? Do we pass muster?"

She shakes her head, trying to clear the fog, the latent desire to feel Tom's lips where Draco's have been. "You pass with flying colors. And I managed not to run away screaming. So I'm hopeful we'll be able to pull this off."

"Just close your eyes and think of mother England, right?"

"I'm definitely not thinking of mother England," Hermione replies, the words escaping before she can think to censor them. A flush rises on her cheeks despite the continued heat of the day.

"No, we're not."

It's the closest they're going to come to admitting they both thought of Tom. Hermione doesn't know whether to be mortified or relieved that Draco seems to understand.

Draco clears his throat and motions toward the shore. "We should get back."

Hermione massages her temples and nods. "That we should."

"You know, just because you and I are going to pull off this Romeo and Juliet nonsense doesn't mean your real life Romeo is anywhere close to giving up on you."

He's talking about Harry.

"It's over, Draco. Whatever I felt, he destroyed that. First during our pursuit of Ron and later when he abandoned me." She isn't changing her mind.

Draco glances at her out of the corner of his eye, expression solemn. "Potter didn't give up on you. I refused to tell him where you were. He asked, repeatedly. I refused."

"You knew I was only being kept alive to lure Harry into a trap," she replies. "I can hardly hold that against you."

"I just want you to know he never stopped caring. Never stopped loving you."

She can't help but wonder if Draco's trying to push her back to Harry to protect his relationship with Tom. She studies the line of his jaw, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. No, this isn't a manipulation she decides. He's genuinely trying to help Harry because he cares, not because the ends will serve him.

"I know he still loves me. I still love him, but not in the way that matters." She lets out a small laugh. "Up until today, I wasn't sure I'd ever kiss another man. Now that I know I can, that someday I might be ready for more, only makes me all the more aware that Harry and I are over."

"Glad to hear I helped," he murmurs, "but I also feel for Potter."

"So do I, Draco. So do I."

But no amount of empathy is going to alter this truth.

They walk shoulder to shoulder, casual and comfortable the rest of the way to the cottage.