Chapter Twenty-Nine: Hope

"You know, Granger."

She whipped her head around to look up at him, knitting her brows together in annoyance at the use of her surname.

He was gazing down at her, a familiar cocky smirk on his face as his eyes roamed over her.

"Slytherin colors suit you."

She rolled her eyes, swatting his chest playfully with the hand that lay against his chest. She laid her head back down and snuggled further against him to hide the blush that had crept into her cheeks. After they had finished, she had only pulled herself away from him to pull on a pair of the forest green and silver satin pajamas she had been given, while he had transfigured a sheet into a pair of the joggers he favored, this time in a shade of deep green that happened to match the clothes she had pulled on. She had immediately crawled back into bed to settle herself against him while he had begun playing with her curls.

That lighthearted comment had been the first thing said between them, and she was grateful that he had broken it first. A tension had filled the air between them, settling thickly, after they had settled back into the bed, and she hadn't been sure how to break it.

She had no idea what this meant for them, or how she felt, but she knew that it meant something.

She couldn't go back, couldn't go back over that bridge now that it had been crossed and demolished. There was no back. There was no before. There was only now, in which he was so ingrained in her that she was sure no matter what happened between them, she would always have a bit of Draco Malfoy with her, until the end.

She was relieved that while she had no idea what he was feeling, it at least didn't seem to be regret. The confident look on his face had been one of the most comfortable expressions she had seen him wear since she had come here.

The tension had given way to comfortable silence, and she felt as though now was the time to ask him about them, but she was unsure how to get started.

She was normally confident, rarely making decisions and actions that she hadn't fully thought through, and she was nervous now that she found herself in a position she was unaccustomed to. She hadn't planned for this, had had no idea that this is where they would end up, tonight of all nights, and so when she had said yes, she hadn't had time to think through the after.

She didn't regret it. Not a bit. Despite herself, she had come to like Draco, who he was beneath that mask and who he was becoming. The post-war visions she had imagined came back with a vengeance, as though the possibility of them being together after the war had suddenly brightened with what had happened between them. She could see herself laughing on the couch at something he said, while Harry and Ginny laughed opposite them. But the images in her mind faded as she thought about Harry.

They needed to win this war first, and even if they did, she didn't know if that was something Draco was interested in, if he had even thought about it at all.

Just ask him, coward.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek nervously, fighting with herself internally. She willed herself to force the words past her lips, yet she stayed silent.

You are a Gryffindor. Find your damn bravery.

She took a deep breath, preparing to open her mouth to ask it as she trailed sligthly trembling fingers across his chest.

"What's wrong?"

His hand closed around her fingers and he asked the question before she could get her own out.

She cleared her throat before responding, trying to seem light. "What do you mean?"

"Your hands are shaking."

She peeked up at him through a curtain of hair and found him frowning down at her. She released another sigh, steadying herself. He seemed to take it he wrong way and once again spoke before she had the chance.

"You regret this."

He said it as if it were fact, and the disappointment in his voice at the thought made her twist towards him, her need to ensure he knew that she didn't regret a single thing overriding her nerves.

She gazed into his silver eyes, trying to meet his worry with a fierce confidence of her own.

"Absolutely not."

She willed him to see the surety in her words as his eyes searched hers, confirming the truth in them. She saw him relax slightly, the worry replaced by confusion as he realized he still didn't know why her hands had suddenly begun to shake. She latched onto the bit of confidence she had found, not allowing herself to second guess anything as she pushed forward.

"Actually, I - I enjoyed it. A lot. And I enjoy you. A lot. And I was just…" She blew out a breath, trying to chase away the small tremor that had begun in her voice.

"I just wondered how you were feeling about this. About… us."

She glanced down, back to where her hand laid on his smooth chest, unable to handle the possibility that his eyes would fill with pity instead of encouragement. She didn't think she could handle that at the moment, not while she was so vulnerable. But she knew this conversation was important. Their positions within this war were too perilous for them to have the luxury of indecision, or time to figure it out.

They had no time.

And she needed to know where they stood, so she could be prepared, regardless of what happened. She didn't need a title, but she needed to know if this was something he was interested in pursuing after the war, if they were fighting for that in this war as well, or if she was just a bit of comfort in a time when not much comfort was available to go around.

She would be fine either way. She just needed to know.

At least that's what she told herself.

He hadn't answered, and she could feel her walls beginning to rebuild, trying to shield her as the worry that his silence meant rejection took hold and sprouted roots.

She shook her head slightly, subtly drawing her curls back in front of her face to hide it from the stare she could feel upon her.

He sighed, the action ruffling her hair and she refused to look at him. Her heart pounded in her chest as she felt him shift, unsure of what he was going to do.

She bit her lip as she felt a tentative hand on her head, his fingers twisting themselves within her curls to draw her head back gently so she was looking up at him.

She couldn't read the conflicted expression in his eyes, and she closed her own, sure he was going to tell her he wasn't interested in an 'us.'

"You don't want this." He said it softly, as though it hurt him to say, and she opened her eyes to find pain shining back at her there. She frowned, but he continued before she could respond.

"I'm… not good enough for you. I've found myself on the wrong side of the war and I don't even know if I'm going to live to see the end of it."

He looked away from her, unable to meet her eyes.

"I'm not good, Hermione. And you deserve good. You deserve someone like Potter. He annoys me to no bloody end, but he's good. He's not good enough for you, I don't know that there's anyone in this world who is, but he's at least good. He's on the right side. He's fighting for you, for people like you, for others who deserve it. I haven't. I'm stuck on the side of those hurting people like you. I could spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it and it still wouldn't be enough. It can never be enough to erase what I've done, how I've treated you, how I've treated others like you."

She stared at him for a moment, her vision blurring as he spoke with tears that begged to spill over for this broken soul in front of her. This man who had been born into a family who had ingrained in him the wrong thing since birth. This man who was willing to change, grow, and learn, despite all of that. Who was willing to try and undo all the damage done to him.

She reached up a hand, cupping his cheek gently and turning his face back to her.

"Draco. You are good. You have it inside of you, I know it, I've seen it."

He shook his head, closing his eyes. His lashes glittered with unshed tears and her heart ached.

"You are being faced with a choice, a chance to help change this war around, to do what's right. And I know you will. You just need to try."

He opened his eyes again to stare at her, his expression sending heat blooming through every inch of skin. He was looking at her like she was the answer he had been looking for, with a warmth in his eyes that urged her on and pushed her to finally say what she wanted from him, no more alluding, no more inference. Outright.

"Don't fight for him. Don't fight for them."

She sat up slightly, moving herself closer as she let her excitement bleed into her tone.

"Come with me. Fight with us."

She grabbed onto his hand with both of hers, pulling herself closer to him.

"Grab your mother, and let's go. Fight for the right side. Fight with me."

For a moment it looked like he might agree. But then he looked away, letting out a sigh of resignation.

"My mother would never leave her sister and husband. No matter how horrible they are."

He left the rest unspoken. He couldn't leave her. Not when she was at his father's mercy and there was no one else here to put her first.

Hermione deflated, the weight of their opposition in this war crashing down upon her again like a sphinx.

He couldn't leave.

He couldn't come with her.

She had no other way to get out of here.

"But…"

She glanced up at him and found a fiery determination there, his eyes so filled with it they seemed to practically glow in the moonlight.

"I am working on a way to get you out of here. And I'll protect you as much as I can until you're free."

The hand still tangled in her hair slid to her cheek and he pulled her closer, touching his lips to her gently.

She could sense they were at an impasse. But for now, she would settle for knowing he at least felt the same about her. For now, that was enough.

~.~.~

Draco slipped from her room near six in the morning. He hadn't slept, unable to find peace past the tumultuous thoughts that had seized him since their conversation. He had waited until her breaths had slowed and steadied, and was sure she was asleep before he untangled himself from her and tucked her further in.

The white rose he had transfigured and left on the chair in her room had been a last minute thought, but he wanted to leave something to remind her. Something as pure as her.

He had made his way through the quiet halls of the manor, knowing that there was no chance he'd run into another soul that early in the morning. The drunken gathering the night before had likely spilled into the early hours of the morning, and he knew that none would be awake yet.

He had been right and he made it back to his room without issue, where he proceeded to shower and then pace for the next few hours until he headed to the sitting room to wait for the Dark Lord's summons.

They had a meeting today to discuss the next steps, and he couldn't help the sinking feeling in his gut as he made his way through the manor, knowing that the subject of Hermione and what to do with her next would likely come up in today's meeting. His month was up, she had done her part in the gathering, and he knew that they were going to escalate any plans with her.

He was one of the first in the sitting room, and he settled himself in a chair next to his mother while they waited for the remaining Death Eaters to arrive.

His focus was tenuous at best, and it took every bit of control he had to stop the nervous bouncing of leg before anyone noticed, while ensuring that his face reflected the practiced look of boredom that the other Death Eaters had become accustomed to. Anything else and they'd get suspicious. He didn't show emotion, certainly not around them, and they'd know something was wrong if he suddenly began acting differently now.

At the smallest sign of weakness, they would pounce. He was prepared to fight every last one of them if necessary, but he couldn't handle any casualties in the form of his mother or Hermione in any sort of infighting within the Death Eaters.

His mother was quiet next to him, looking at him as though she wanted to say something, but every time she looked like she was about to open her mouth she seemed to decide against it. He'd ask her later what was going on, but he didn't want to bring attention to her by pushing if it was something sensitive and if it was bad news, he honestly didn't think his control would last if he had to hear it now.

Bellatrix swept into the room, the chatter in the room slowly quieting until it was silent, all attention on his aunt. She flipped a lock of her dark curls over her shoulder as she looked around the room, her hooded eyes seemingly searching for something until her gaze landed at last on Draco. Her full lips widened into a wicked smirk, and he felt panic, white hot, explode within him.

"He's ready," her voice called out over them, though she never broke Draco's gaze.

She looked like a child in Honeyduke's - anticipation was lacing every sharp feature of her face as she looked at Draco, and some part of him just knew that it had to do with Hermione.

Fuck.

He stood, following his mother towards the door that the others were spilling out of, though he didn't break Bellatrix's stare until she twirled around to stalk her way back to her master's side.

The Death Eaters moved quickly, none wanting to be at the receiving end of the Dark Lord's ire, and Draco quickly found himself standing beside his seat as the Dark Lord glided into the room. It felt as though time were moving more quickly, pushing him towards the news he didn't want to hear.

The only thing that ever made Bellatrix so gleeful was killing and torture, and of course, the approval of the Dark Lord.

The Death Eater's sat, and began providing reports on their various missions. Snape sat at his place to the right of the Dark Lord, and started with a summary of the going-ons of Hogwarts. The Carrows were apparently torturing students left and right, and while the Dark Lord gave a half-hearted warning not to hurt any pureblood wizards too badly, the smirk on his pale face stayed firmly in place.

Finally they got to Draco, and before he could stand to speak, the Dark Lord raised a pale hand, silencing him.

"We do not need an update from you today, Draco." His dry voice felt like scales sliding over Draco's skin, and he had to suppress a shiver as the Dark Lord continued.

"The mudblood has served her purpose. Harry Potter has still not come to save his friend, so perhaps he will come to avenge her."

Draco's blood turned to ice in his veins, freezing him where he sat.

"My Lord?" It was all the question he could get out. Everything within him was yelling for him to run to Hermione, to tear from this room along the path he could now walk in the dark, to her.

Her.

Her.

Her.

It seemed that every beat of his heart was calling for Hermione, and he struggled to hear the Dark Lord's next words over the rushing in his ears.

"Bellatrix has been eager to get her hands on the girl since she last escaped. In fact, it was her suggestion to play upon Harry Potter's guilt to lure him here."

Bellatrix looked positively beastial from where she leaned over the table, looking at Draco triumphantly. His aunt didn't often give up easily, and she loathed having her playthings taken away.

Draco had practically painted the target himself when he had stopped her from torturing Hermione.

But if he hadn't, Hermione might already be dead.

He brought her here in the first place. It didn't matter if Bellatrix was the one holding the wand, Hermione's blood was on his hands.

His wand hand twitched and he closed it into a fist to stop himself from subjecting his aunt to the very curse she was giddily awaiting casting on Hermione, right then and there. He felt his mother's cool hand on his forearm beneath the table, though she wasn't even looking at him.

He gave a deep nod.

"Of course, my Lord, would you like me to grab her now?"

The Dark Lord's smile widened as his red eyes narrowed to serpentine slits, as though he knew that Draco didn't like that he was going to be handing Hermione over to Bellatrix. Of course, if he had known the reason why, Draco would probably already be laid out on the table being tortured with every curse known to the Dark Lord.

It was Bellatrix who answered Draco next however.

"Such a good boy, Draco. So willing to fetch for your master." Her voice had it's usual sing-song lilt to it, and he gritted his teeth together as he waited for her to finish, never taking his eyes off of her haughty face.

"Work first, play later, Bella." The Dark Lord's hissing voice pulled her attention back to him, and when she turned to look back at her Lord, the look on her face was pure adoration, the devotion one wore when looking at their life-partner. More. She looked at him like he was a God.

Draco wanted to vomit.

"Bellatrix has some business to attend to on my behalf, she will send for the mudblood once she is finished tomorrow. Once the girl is disposed of, we will spread the news that Harry Potter's mudblood is dead. The boy is a slave to his pathetic emotions, he will come once he knows. He will want revenge."

The Dark Lord looked boastfully around the room, as if Potter was already on his way and he had already won the war.

"Dismissed."

As soon as the meeting ended, the Death Eaters broke out in excited chatter, many of them hurrying after the Dark Lord to laden him with compliments for his wondrous idea.

Draco stayed frozen, acutely aware of Bellatrix's eyes on him. He was afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid to do anything as he no longer trusted that he wouldn't do something he regretted the moment he stood from this table.

A soft touch on his shoulder caused him to turn his head slightly, only enough to look at the source. His mother stood beside him, her hand still resting where she had tapped, and inclined her head towards the door, urging him to follow her.

He stood mechanically, focusing on placing one foot after the other. It was all he could focus on because if he allowed himself to focus on anything else, he would go positively feral.

His mother led him across the house, until she walked into a rarely used sitting room.

She let him walk past her before shutting and locking the door behind the two of them, turning afterwards to assess him as he stood shaking by the window.

"Draco…" She started, hesitantly. He didn't look at her, focusing on the perfectly manicured bushes that would be covered in white roses, soon, as they made their way into spring.

"Is… is there something going on between you and the girl?"

He avoided her question, instead allowing a bit of rage to seep into his voice as he responded.

"This is wrong."

He could hear his mother sigh behind him.

"Draco..."

"I have to free her, mother."

He turned this time to look at his mother, who had concern etched in every line of her face. He crossed to her, taking her dainty hands in his as he met her eyes, begging her to understand.

"You know this is wrong. Mother, please, let's go."

"Draco, we've discussed this before. They will find us. He will always find us." She was whispering, as though she was worried that someone would overhear. "We can't leave."

He stared at her, hating her because he knew she was right. The mark on his arm burned slightly, as though it knew that he was thinking of running, as if reminding him that because of it, he could never be free.

He turned away again, stalking back to the window.

He would never be free.

But she could.

"I'm going to save her. At least, I'm going to try."

~.~.~

Hermione laid in bed, a small smile on her face as she stared at the white rose, practically glowing in the moonlight.

It was beautiful.

Like him.

She glanced to the door as it opened, falling shut with a loud thud that made her wince.

She sat up quickly, tearing the covers off herself to meet Draco as he practically ran towards her. He looked scared, more terrified than she had ever seen, and terror blossomed within her own chest in response. Before she could ask what was wrong, he had wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding her to him. She could feel him shaking and every moment her panic grew, her gaze flitting from Draco to the door behind him, worried that someone would storm through at any moment.

"Draco…" she finally forced herself to say, "What is it?"

He pulled back, and his eyes looked desperate, broken.

"They want to kill you."

She could feel herself blanche. She had known this was a possibility, had expected at some point or another they would realize that she had no information left to give them and would take the next logical step.

She swallowed, steeling her spine as she looked at him, sure that he had come to collect her for Voldemort. This war was bigger than her, she reminded herself, and if she had to die rather than betray the cause, then she was prepared to do so.

This had always been a possibility.

She'd known this.

She nodded, lifting a hand to run her fingers through his hair, savoring how soft it was.

"I'm grateful for the time we've had."

She said it softly, trying to memorize every line of his face before she couldn't.

He shook his head.

"No. I'm going to get you out of here. Tomorrow."

She frowned at him, not allowing herself to believe the determination laced in every word he spoke. It was dangerous, to let herself hope when she knew so assuredly that he wouldn't be able to stop them from taking her if they wanted.

He seemed to sense her way of thinking and he gripped her hands in his own. His hold on her was sturdy, sure, and when he next spoke, she couldn't help but be pulled into the sincerity that she found there.

"You told me it's not too late. And I don't know if I can fight with you, and I can't leave with you, but I can save you. I know where I stand. This war needs you, Potter needs you, I need you. And I can't lose you."

He stepped closer to her, moving one hand from where their hands were joined between them to rest against her cheek. A fierce determination glowed in his eyes, and damn if she didn't believe him.

And just like that, there it was, though it never seemed to leave her for long. Warm, bright, and sure.

Hope.