Lying next to him Hermione had tried in vain to fall back asleep but her mind was restlessly working. She wondered how he'd got his hands on Nightshade. Remembering having read that the Ministry had banned the use of the plant extract due to its dangerous addictive properties she realized that neither Slughorn, Sprout or Pomfrey would have been keeping any in stock which meant that he'd most likely stolen it from Snape's private supply. She weaved in and out of semi-consciousness for a few hours until an idea came to her and roused her fully awake. As softly as she could she crept out of bed and went to the wall. Speaking under her breath, she removed the vanishing charm.

The landscape of the wall had changed. Clippings, images, vague sketches, they were placed more neatly, almost in some sort of order and while there'd been dozens of different colored threads running across one another, now there were only three. He'd removed things, she was sure because the entire map seemed to have shrunk as well and she remembered seeing an old picture of Regulus Black which was no longer there. She walked first to the right side of the wall where two of the threads met. The middle one was a dark green, the one above simple white. The white was the shortest and it ran from a single sketch to meet the green where they both ended. The light was very dim and she had to squint to see the image. Draco was no artist but it was clearly a body of water, a lake—the Great Lake—no, there were, she thinks badly drawn ducks. A park?... No.

There used to be a lake on our estate...it's all forest now.

She followed the white thread from Malfoy Manor to where it ended pinned to another hastily drawn sketch of a church—no, it was too large to be a church—maybe, a cathedral. Her brows furrowed unable to decipher what it meant. She touched the pin where the green and white thread both ended meeting together and followed the green backward as it ran over a simple drawing of a lightning bolt. Her mind immediately thought of Harry's scar but it couldn't have meant Harry, could it? Then she walked toward the left side of the wall where most of the clutter still was. A red string ran through everything and—

Her breath hitched. There were several newspaper clippings from the Daily Prophet.

James & Lily Potter Murdered. Attack at Godric's Hollow. The Boy Who Lived.

The red string—was it Harry? No... it went back further in time, before Harry was born, over dozens of other pictures and articles and clippings. A few, in particular, caught her attention from 1938.

Muggle-born Student Killed. Hogwarts Unsafe. Will Dumbledore Resign?

The red was Voldemort's string. She looked to where it ran forward to meet where the green started. She took two large steps away from the wall to take the entirety of it in. It was all in chronological order like a timeline. The green was Draco, and it began on a single word.

Marked.

It signified, she believed his Death-eater initiation.

The white she frowned in thought… who was that?

Of course, she sighed. The only true Malfoy resident currently at Malfoy Manor. His mother. Hermione touched where the green and white string met. He was going to meet his mother, maybe it wasn't a cathedral, maybe it was Hogwarts and she was meant to come here. It was safe in the castle after all. In the corner of the sketch, there was something scribbled in tiny scrawl which she hadn't seen before.

06/01

A date?

Pk.

Pursing her lips she tried to think of what it could mean. There was a date, a place, a meeting. Her mind ran through abbreviations.

Hermione felt her stomach drop.

Portkey.

His mother wasn't coming here. How foolish of her. They couldn't hide at Hogwarts forever. He was going to use a Portkey to take them both somewhere. Whatever he had planned for Voldemort, he had never intended to stay to see it's consequences or to face the Order.

This was Draco's escape plan for him and his mother.

The air suddenly felt thin. It was hard to breathe. How long had he been planning to leave her without—

Draco stirred.

She quickly drew the vanishing charm over the wall with her wand before he turned over still half-asleep, stretching his arm out to her side of the bed to find it empty. Her absence always woke him.

Hermione wouldn't wait another time for this confrontation. "You lied to me, again," she whispered, coming to stand near the bed.

He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I didn't lie—"

"An omission is a lie," she cut in sharply.

He bowed his head looking down at the sheets. "I didn't want you to worry."

"Well that's rich," she scoffed. "You get to lie to me and seem gallant about doing it at the same time."

He remained quiet, his head bent and his lack of response infuriated her even further.

"You're taking nightshade Draco—nightshade—and you're…" Leaving me. She folded her arms as if it was necessary for something other than her legs to hold her up.

He gave a deep sigh. "It's effective," he murmured.

"And addictive," she deadpanned.

"I have it under control. Things are going as planned."

Hermione froze, her blood practically boiling at those foul words he'd dared to utter. His plan—the secret one to run away and leave her—it was going as planned.

"You do not have it under control and I am sick to death of hearing you say that!"

She almost fell back as he suddenly jumped to his feet, shouting in reply. "And I'm sick to death of having this argument with you over and over again! What do I have to do to get you to shut the hell up!"

Hermione blamed it on a rush of blood to the head when she reeled her arm back and slapped him for the second time across his face; a red handprint adorned his pale cheek. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he slowly turned to face her. They stood looking at one another for a long time.

He was the first to break the silence.

"I'm sorry," he began softly, his fingers reaching for her. "I shouldn't have—"

"Don't touch me," she hissed batting his hand away.

The features on Draco's face hardened like stone. "What did you just say to me?" he demanded.

Her chest was rising and falling. Forgetting her bag she grabbed her robe which was draped over one of the armchairs and made to leave.

The door didn't open when she pulled on it.

A sick feeling pooled in the pit of her stomach. With what courage she could conjure she turned and found him with his wand in his hand. He'd cast a non-verbal lock on the door, a charm she herself couldn't manage without reciting the spell. Before she could even think to use her own wand to unlock it, he disarmed her.

Draco stepped forward. She stepped back and around the sofa to put something in between them because she knew what she had done. Her body began trembling as he took another step forward and her another step back. Despite having his wand, he didn't use it and it terrified Hermione to know that he wanted instead to use physical force to subdue her. Hermione tried to speak but her breath failed to give form to her words. The back of her legs hit the table and she startled letting her robe slip from her arm onto the floor. His eyes didn't leave hers as she side-stepped around the table. The bed was close behind her and while she'd thought it meant she could retrieve her wand which he'd caught and tucked under her pillow, she'd ended up exactly where she shouldn't be...

Trapped.

Hermione gave a sudden gasp as Draco lunged forward grabbing her by her hair. He yanked her head back. "Look me in the eye and say that again," he whispered in a deceptively soft voice. It wasn't a challenge, it was a warning and she was practically panting, her mind screaming at her to keep her mouth closed because she knew where it would end but there was still that part of her that couldn't help herself, that wanted to push him off the edge just to see how far they'd both fall.

Raising her chin defiantly, she enunciated each word clearly. "I said, don't—touch—me."

Draco moved so fast she was held down by her wrists under him within a matter of seconds. She wrestled against him, trying to raise her knee up into the side of his torso. He yanked her arms up right above her head so he could free one hand to push her leg down and use the other to hold both her wrists.

"Don't touch me!" she cried out thrashing from beneath and the more she resisted the more painful his grip became. With his free hand, struggling against her protestations, he tore at her clothes unable to remove them completely but enough for what he needed. She winced as he pinched her nipple and it pebbled. He caught her lip in between his teeth and bit till he almost drew blood. She whimpered into his mouth, the sound an echo between them. He ground his hips against hers and she felt the pulse of his erection. Tears stung her eyes as he kissed her fully, his palm leaving her breast to cradle her head. The first fell as she parted her lips to allow his tongue to meet hers. The second when he released his hold on her wrists, sliding a hand down her arm and along her torso. The third was accompanied by a sharp intake of breath as his fingers brushed the hairs covering her sex and flicked against her clit. Her hands which had been laying above her head on their own accord fisted his hair. His mouth began peppering kisses down her neck over her bare shoulders. He whispered in her ear how he'd do whatever he wanted to her and as she felt a familiar knot of pleasure beginning to writhe and twist, she whispered, over and over again, that she no longer loved him. His finger thrust into her and she loathed how her body was so accommodating, how easily he slipped in. Hermione suffered under his ministrations wishing her words meant something. She watched as he rose to his knees and began pulling her knickers down her thighs.

She helped him.

He crawled over her, his body trembling as much as hers.

And until then she hadn't realized how desperately she wanted to know what it would feel like to have him inside of her. To have him touch her in a way that was so permanent it couldn't be undone. Watching her face intently Draco pressed the head of him against her opening. She squeezed her eyes shut wincing with pain, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

He stopped.

She opened her eyes.

"Look at me," he rasped.

She bit hard on her lip as he went deeper and when he'd finally buried himself entirely in her they both moaned. If she listened closely enough she could hear their hearts beating violently.

Looking down at her with something akin to wonder he confessed, "I wish I could hide in you this way forever."

Then she kissed him, a long deep caress showing him that he could, he didn't have to run. The wet sensation of her tongue must've stirred something in Draco because he started moving, slow and steady, his breath ragged struggling to control the sensations without being overwhelmed by them. Her name began falling from his lips like a prayer and she could tell he was fighting the impulse to move faster, deeper, to see how much he could press into her without breaking her.

Their bodies were covered in a thin film of sweat. Her fingers dug into his skin holding him close trying not to let it show that it hurt, that it felt like something was tearing. It lessened a little and soon she felt the rubbing of smooth friction, a building momentum, his muscles clenched beneath her soft palms until he released a low base moan collapsing on top of her like dead weight. After a few moments, he raised his eyes to meet hers and reached up tracing his thumb over her bottom lip. She closed her eyes at his touch. He loved her and she felt it so completely. He stayed like that inside her for what felt like a long while and when he moved to withdraw she wrapped her legs around him tighter.

"Wait," she said. Her eyes drifted over him for several moments, studying his features. She lifted her head to press a solitary kiss that lingered on her lips long after. As he eased himself off her, she let out a soft gasp. She didn't like the feeling at all; like a sense of being emptied out. They laid next to each other in silence, without uttering so much as a word about what they'd just done, their fingertips touching.

Hermione imagined that by now the sun was probably rising on the last Sunday of March and they'd have to return before the others woke.

"It's dawn," she told him, expecting him to get up.

Neither moved to leave.

They spent most of the day together, drifting in and out of sleep; pillow talk and languid kisses, promises of adventurous trips and exciting futures; incapable at that moment to care that their absence wouldn't go unnoticed. Just for a little while, without saying so, they agreed to forget the world outside the walls of their little room, to pretend like there were no secrets, no obstacles, only the whole wide world within reach of their fingers. Hermione wanted to pretend, now more than ever, since she'd discovered that their time together was due to expire on the first of June.