Chapter Twelve- Running Blood
It was three weeks before Hermione heard anything back from Professor McGonagall.
Snow had fallen silently one night and carpeted the grounds ever since, wrapping the shivering trees in their seasonal coats, and forcing the students to wear their thickest cloaks at all times. The winter chill would creep its way into the castle, through the nooks and crannies in the walls, nibbling at exposed flesh, striking goosebumps. Hermione made sure she kept her earmuffs and gloves with her everywhere she went, just in case her fingers started to go numb. Sometimes, they would hurt so much, she couldn't even write her notes in class. Winter had arrived, and it had come with a vengeance.
Throughout it all, however, there was something quiet and serene about it. The Black Lake glistened with a thin sheen of dark ice. Snowmen would pop up between lessons only to be ceremoniously destroyed the day after. Fires crackled in every hearth and there was a buzz in the corridors in the lead-up to Christmas. Hermione wasn't sure she really shared in their excitement. She had nowhere to go. Harry and Ron still hadn't made their minds up about their plans. There were only four weeks left! It irked her to no end that they were slipshod enough to leave all their preparations till the last minute.
Most likely, Hermione thought, she would stay at Hogwarts. The quiet in the library might do her some good and she was acutely aware that this would be her last Christmas at the castle.
She wasn't sure what Malfoy would do. She wasn't sure if he had a home to go back to, or if the Ministry had seized it and warded it off to raid for their investigation in building a case against the Malfoy's. She wasn't sure what had happened to his mother for he hadn't mentioned her once since their conversation about nightmares and spoon tricks in the kitchen. His father was locked up in Azkaban. There was no point pondering on that charge.
Still, Malfoy didn't say and Hermione didn't ask. They met every week, tried to meet most nights but their workload was increasing and they needed the library more and more. Hermione had half the mind to suggest they just study together, but she knew it would make him draw deeper into himself and the thought of being seen in public with him, and the rumours that would follow, had made her grimace and shut the thought down immediately. Every time she saw his sterile, blond hair through a bookshelf, she would divert her eyes and pretend to be interested in the book above her head.
It wasn't that she was ashamed of him. Hermione was always quick to tell that to herself. It would simply complicate- whatever it was they had.
And sometimes, it was nice to have a secret. Something to keep to herself. Something untouchable.
It was a Wednesday morning. Hermione had been trying to eat breakfast in the Great Hall more often, not least because Ginny kept making pointed comments about putting a tracking spell on her at all times to make sure she was looking after herself. Hermione rolled her eyes but neglected to point out that she only turned up because she had to make sure a certain stubborn Slytherin was looking after himself.
He wasn't at Breakfast. Hermione had noticed as soon as she'd entered the Great Hall. There was a spot next to Blaise Zabini, on the very end of the table, suspiciously empty. She caught Zabini's eye, and he glanced at the space beside him and back at her, raising an eyebrow. She shrugged, turning away, but her heart raced.
"Morning, sleepy head," said Neville, grinning up at her as she slid onto the bench beside him. "How're you feeling?"
"Fine," she replied, filling her plate. "How are you? How's your Herbology project coming along?"
His face lit up. He'd long grown out of the small, timid First Year she had jinxed to keep quiet; his cheeks had hollowed, his hair darkened, his torso lengthening and slimming so he now towered above her. "Great! In fact, Sprout says she might be able to take me on as an apprentice if I get the grades! But don't tell anyone! I don't think she's spoken to McGonagall about it yet."
Hermione beamed at him. "Neville, that's incredible!"
He still blushed like a First Year.
Hermione felt a little bit more rejuvenated after learning that. There was truly nobody who deserved it more but she couldn't help but wonder why life was rushing and organising itself for everybody else, but crawling by for her. Harry and Ron already had their futures lined up for them. Ginny was looking to be scouted straight after Hogwarts for some Quidditch team or another. Everything seemed to be falling into place but Hermione could only see a chasm ahead of her, an empty space she had no idea how to fill, never mind what with. As a child, she always assumed she'd become a teacher, but part of her longed to get out of her childhood, to escape the repetitiveness and triviality of regurgitating a book; Defence lost its appeal when she'd been forced to rely on it to save her life. Maybe something political, something that could change the world. But British politics was a mess. How much change could one person make?
She was just buttering her toast when the owl swooped from overhead, clutching a bulky package. It dropped the parcel onto her lap, but didn't have time to slow down and clattered to a stop further along the table, sending goblets of juice spilling onto people's plates. Neville's beans were flooded with Pumpkin juice.
Hermione flashed him an apologetic smile, coaxing the clumsy thing closer and offering it her crust. It nipped her finger slightly.
When it was distracted, she tucked the package closer onto her lap, and quickly pulled the scroll from its leg. She threw the last bit of crust along the table when the bird squawked at her. There was no majesty to the owl and its feathers were all ruffled and flattened. It had the look of a wild and senile thing, with cloudy grey eyes. She didn't recognise it. Hermione pulled the string and unfurled the parchment. The smile pulled at her lips before she could stop it.
Hermione,
Does this mean you're getting up to mischief without us?
It is with heavy heart that I send the Map. When I couldn't concentrate, I would pull it out and watch you pace from one side of the library to the next. I swear I could hear your ranting through the paper.
I miss you.
Harry x
PS: Ron says he loves you but you need to stop eating in the kitchens. Apparently they don't have all the good puddings down there and only keep the leftovers. I think that's his way of telling you to eat properly and look after yourself. Sometimes, he'd watch the Map with me too.
She laughed a little, smothering it with her hand. She closed her eyes and a tear leaked out. Hermione clutched the package closer to her. She could feel the sharp corners of the Map and felt a rush of remembrance for her friends. The owl must've been a Ministry one.
"He's got a point, you know."
Hermione glanced up and noticed Ginny had sidled her way closer. She offered her a smile.
"As much as my idiotic older brother lacks sense, he sometimes manages to hit the nail on the head," continued Ginny, grabbing an apple. It was as red as her hair.
"You're cruel," Hermione laughed.
Ginny grinned and some juice trickled down her chin. "It's not cruel if it's true."
"That's not how it works!"
"He really does have a point," said Ginny, ignoring her. "They hardly keep any puddings in the kitchen. House Elves don't really have a sweet tooth."
Hermione looked at her friend knowingly. "Ginny, I'm fine. I eat every meal and go to sleep at an appropriate time. I even slept in this morning!"
There was only a smidge of sarcasm in her voice and Ginny narrowed her eyes. She tried to look threatening but Hermione found very few things terrifying nowadays.
"I'm joking, Ginevra," she said, nudging her shoulder. "But I am fine. I think I've got back into the swing of things."
Ginny hummed but her scowl never softened. She said loftily, "And it's got nothing to do with the mystery person you're meeting on an evening?"
She'd asked her question just as Hermione had gone for a swig of her drink and she choked a little. "I'm sorry," she said, wiping her mouth. "What? Who-? I don't know what you're talking about."
Ginny snorted. "Harry isn't the only one spying, you know. When you kept disappearing, I owled him to ask if he could use the Map. He said you disappeared from the Map entirely. Every day at the same time, more or less. The only place that isn't on the Map is the Room of Requirement, and the only reason you'd sneak off- and lie about it, might I add- to a place that can't be physically or magically traced is because you were meeting someone you don't want me to know about."
Ginny smiled brightly and took another bite of her apple. Hermione gaped then shook her head, prepared to deny it, then closed her mouth because she realised she looked like a fish. In the end, she just shot her friend a glare and muttered, "You're much too sly for your own good."
Ginny's smile widened. "So I'm right?"
Hermione winced. "Yes but-"
"Oh don't worry," Ginny leaned away, finishing her apple. "I'm not going to pry any further. You'll end up telling me eventually."
Hermione wondered whether she was right. She shoved the package containing the Map and cloak in her bag and pretended not to hear her.
The morning post had come and gone by the time the last owl soared through the open window. It was the polar opposite of the Ministry bird the boys had used. There was an elegance in the strong wing span and sharp eye, and it circled once above before dropping down and landing in front of her. No goblets were toppled. It offered her its leg and Hermione slipped the parchment from the string. The eagle owl didn't wait around for a reward but took off, disappearing out through the same window it had swept in by.
Hermione's heart was beating so hard in her chest she thought it might break through and follow the bird into the sky. She quickly excused herself, grabbing her bag and barely registering Ginny's confused questioning. There was some part of her that knew what the letter was, and if the way the eagle owl had circled the teachers' table was anything to go by, she knew who it was from.
Sure enough, when Hermione found an empty corridor, she opened the letter:
Miss Granger,
I have had to fight quite diligently and ferociously but the Ministry have agreed to the terms. They also have a few of their own; they state that he cannot be out for any longer than three hours, within daylight. Failure to be reported back in Hogwarts by the required time will result in immediate transfer to Azkaban Prison.
Whilst seeming harsh, they are far more reasonable terms than I anticipated.
On the day of your choosing, report to me in the morning and I will modify the Ministry band.
Yours,
M. McGonagall
Hermione read it again. She read it three times. Four. Five only when she realised she'd stopped breathing.
She'd done it. An astounded laugh forced its way from her throat. It struck her that she needed to find Malfoy.
She knew exactly where he'd be.
Not a moment later, Hermine bounded onto the seventh floor corridor, using the bannister of the moving staircase to haul her on faster, just before it dislodged and started to move again. She didn't have time to pace three times, practically sprinting back and forth, that by the time she tumbled into the Room, her chest was heaving.
Malfoy was sitting on the green leather settee, book in hand, legs propped up on the coffee table. He glanced over the top of his page. Raised an eyebrow.
"Did you run here?"
Hermione had to stop and breathe. The letter was clenched in her fist. She doubled over, panting, pulling a face at the condescension in his voice. "No."
Malfoy pursed his lips. "Merlin only knows how you survived on the run, Granger."
He turned back to his book.
Hermione just gaped at him. The ungrateful sod-
She moved quickly again, and with purpose, pushing his feet off the table so she could stand directly in front of him. He spluttered his indignation and looked up at her.
"Granger," he said, deadpan. Her name was laced with tension. "Why are you acting like a mad woman?"
Wordlessly, she held the letter out for him. Malfoy kept his eyes on her. "What's this?"
"Read it and find out," replied Hermione, wiggling it a little.
He held her gaze for a second longer, before reaching for the parchment and unfolding it. She watched his eyes skim the page. His face flickered then shut down completely.
Malfoy looked back at her. "I'll ask again, what's this?"
Hermione inhaled deeply, suppressing her smile but she was sure it shone from her lips regardless. She said, "After our conversation a few weeks ago, about Hogsmeade, I went to see McGonagall and told her that I thought it would help if-"
"Help what?" His eyes were still fixed on her but there was a chord in his neck that made her falter.
"Help- well, help you," she said lamely.
Malfoy stood abruptly, shoving the letter in her hand, and began walking towards the door. Hermione frowned.
"Draco-?"
He whirled on her. "I don't need your fucking help, Granger!"
He was nearly at the door but he stormed towards her; the fire died in the hearth, blown out, the walls seemed to shrink, Hermione took an instinctive step backwards, hitting the arm of the chair. Malfoy was a breath away from her. His eyes were wide, that sliver of blue around his iris darkening, nostrils flaring, lips pink and split.
"I do not need your help. Are you listening? I put up with your company, Granger. I've let you see me cry and break- but I am not one of your sad, pity cases. I refuse to be, Granger."
She felt every hot, spitting syllable on her cheeks. She felt the warmth of his body close to hers. She wanted to push him away but she didn't think he'd come back if he walked out that door.
Hermione forced herself to swallow and keep her eyes on him. The chair arm was digging into the back of her thighs. "Draco," she breathed. "That's not how I meant it."
It was like he remembered who he was, and he rolled his shoulders back. He didn't move away and Hermione glanced down at the little space between them. She could feel his knees in her thighs, his sharp hips, the flat plane of his chest. She put a hand on his arm to gently make some room.
"When we were on the run," she began, licking her cracked lips. His eyes flicked down to follow the action, then fixed back on her eyes. "We camped out in places I'd visited with my parents; forests, villages, maybe places I'd been on school trips. At every location, I'd put up as many wards as I knew, around the tent, around the perimeter. We started the three of us but the Horcrux in the locket drove Ron to walking out, so it was just Harry and I for a while. It was the most trapped I've ever been. We couldn't leave, we couldn't even go a metre from the tent. I felt like I was suffocating slowly. I know what it's like to be trapped, Draco. I didn't want you to feel like you couldn't breathe, knowing there was something I could do to help."
He stared at her for a very long time. Her hand was still on his chest and he reached up, tentatively, to hold her arm. Hermione flinched. Nobody ever touched her there. His fingers were cold over the cuts his aunt had carved into her flesh.
She licked her lips again and this time, his eyes didn't flick back up to hers. Hermione swallowed.
"You have to wear the cloak," she said quietly. "Harry's invisibility cloak, that is. And stay with me for the three hours. So it's not too bad, not really. Not unless you're adverse to my company..."
Malfoy stared at her lips. He was still so close to her. She could feel every one of his breaths, from the moment it was born in his chest to when it died in the sigh between them.
"What do you say?"
She tilted her head when he didn't reply.
"Draco?"
He reached up suddenly and wiped at her lip with the pad of his thumb. Hermione froze. Her palm was still splayed across his chest and his hand was holding her, touching her skin, touching the place she'd been branded a-
He pulled his thumb away and she saw it was speckled with her blood.
"Have you always bitten your lip raw?" asked Malfoy. She hadn't even realised she'd been chewing her bottom lip and they both stared at the blood. It was a deep red, only a drop.
Hermione winced. "Only when I'm nervous."
He looked at her then, something amused, confused and carefully veiled in the furrow of his eyebrows. "I make you nervous?"
She watched him unsurely. Tried to chuckle. "You've always made me nervous. I used to punch you but I can't very well do that now."
"No," he agreed. "Now, you try to help me."
"You say that like its worse."
"It might be." He paused. His voice was little more than a murmur. "Why are you nervous, Hermione?"
She didn't take her eyes off of him.
Because I'm not sure I can help you.
Hermione leaned in close and he gave away his surprise in the way his eyes widened fractionally, and he leaned back. "What if I lose you in Hogsmeade and you run away to the Shrieking Shack and become a fugitive? They might think I'm complicit."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed slightly and he dropped his hand, wiping his thumb, her blood, on his shirt. He finally moved away, retrieving his book which he'd dropped on the settee. Hermione still hadn't moved from the chair arm when he said, "Granger, you became complicit the moment you asked me if I was okay."
She didn't point out to him that she became invested long before then. Her arm was still warm, burning, where he'd touched her and her lip was salty with blood.
AN: I think this is really the most intimate they've ever gotten which is strange to say it's a Dramione fic, 12 chapters in. I hope you all love a slow burn! I do love this dynamic. It's reminding me of Avery x Hermione in The Light, which was just a DREAM to write. Up and down, sensitive to even the slightest bit of tension or change. I never know what turns and twists each chapter is going to take. It is a joy. AS IS receiving your reviews and lovely comments! They absolutely make my day and I can never, ever express my gratitude to you all for believing in me and my writing, for sticking with me despite the hiatuses, for never failing to make me smile. Thank you. Next chapter: HOGSMEADE!