Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Just the plot bunny.

Intro: Six months post-war, Malfoy is in serious trouble. He's on the run from the Ministry, Death Eaters, and a deadly curse which is eating him alive. When he hits rock bottom, a change in fortune lands him in 12 Grimmauld Place under the Ministry's custody - and forces Hermione to remember the secrets they've both kept for years. Dramione, Sick!Draco, flashbacks to Hogwarts

Chapter Fourteen

"Do you want a coffee? The kettle just boiled…"

She trailed off, but Ron made no effort to break the awkward pause growing between them. Instead he just stood there, one hand still holding the door open, his face twisted as if there was a bad taste in his mouth. Just when she thought she couldn't stand the silence any more he let go of the door and moved forward into the room, crossing to stand on the other side of the table. She fastened her teeth on her lower lip, sucking in a deep breath through her nose. Ron's fingers were picking at the zip on his jacket and his ears were red. A bad sign.

"What the hell's going on, Hermione?"

He had never been so direct. She held his gaze as he looked up at her, unable to pretend that she didn't know what he was talking about. He seemed to be struggling with his words, forcing his lips to form them with huge effort.

"The last couple of days… I don't know. You're acting weird, like... like everything with Malfoy... it's like you care or something, or… Bloody hell." He shook his head, giving up. "What's going on?"

She lifted her tea in front of herself, as if it would function as a shield. "What am I supposed to do? Point and laugh?"

"No, obviously not," he muttered. "You know what I mean."

She tried to laugh it off, but she couldn't make it sound convincing enough. She took a gulp of tea, averting her gaze, wishing that someone – anyone – would turn up to interrupt them. But the house was quiet, most people still in bed. She was on her own. She rubbed her thumb over the rim of her mug, trying to find the words to explain. It was impossible. How could she sum up everything from the past few years in a couple of sentences? She had a bad feeling that Ron wouldn't be quite as patient as Harry and Ginny had been. Ron sighed, shifting his weight anxiously from foot to foot.

"Look, Hermione," he said. "I'm going to ask you a question and I just… I just want you to be honest. Have you… Has there ever been anything between you and Malfoy?"

"Malfoy helped us, Ron. Remember the Manor? When he got us away from Bellatrix?"

"That's not what I'm asking and you know it." His hands were balling into fists at his sides and his ears were bright red.

"Why does it matter so much?"

"Because!" he snapped harshly, his face screwing up. "Because you've never looked at me like that."

"Ron…"

There was nothing she could say. And what's more, she had no idea why she was still trying to hide. Everyone must know by now. She had heard them all talking, muttering under their breath to one another in the aftermath of Draco's fit. Everyone knew that something was going on, Ron most of all. Harry and Ginny already knew the truth - it was only a matter of time before they others found out. She took a deep breath.

"Alright. Alright…"

She could almost feel him stiffen across the room.

"You and Malfoy?"

Her tongue felt like lead. "Yes."

"When?"

"Fourth year."

His eyes turned round as saucers, and she almost physically cringed. She hurried to clarify.

"We were just friends at first…"

"Friends?"

"… and then it just kind of snowballed," she finished, shooting him a glare. "Yes, friends, Ron."

"And this is why we never… Because you were running around with Malfoy the entire time?"

"No!" she could feel her hands clenching tightly around her mug and forced herself to put it down on the counter top, her lips trembling. "Well, yes… Well, you were all over Lavender anyway, and I wasn't running around with him the entire time, we broke it off in sixth year because of everything, and I barely even saw him afterwards…"

She finally managed to stop the words tumbling out of her, her breath strangely tight in her chest. Ron had turned away from her and was staring at the pots in the sink as if he were trying to telepathically laser them into oblivion. His hands clenched and unclenched fitfully at his sides.

"And that's why he helped us escape from the Manor. Because you two were…"

"Yes."

He shook his head slowly. She watched in silence, not daring to provoke him any further than she already had, closing her teeth over her lip once more. Every inch of her crawled with guilt. But she had to endure it - there was no leaving this conversation now. She tried to think of something to say that would diffuse some of the tension, but Ron was speaking before she had a chance. And he was angry.

"Are you serious? I mean, are you serious, Hermione? Bloody Malfoy… You chose Malfoy, some racist, cowardly, evil little brat over me?"

"I didn't choose anyone!" she realised she was shouting and hurriedly tried to lower her voice to a calmer level. "It wasn't like that, Ron, it… Something just worked with us."

"Wait, wait." He held up a hand, his eyes narrowing. "Is this because of me and Lavender? Is this some stupid way of getting back at me?"

She stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. Her temper was suddenly beginning to simmer, and she fought to keep her tone civil.

"Funnily enough, Ron, this is not about you. Draco and I just-"

"Draco?"

"- we just clicked," she said, shooting him a glare. "I'm sorry I don't feel for you what you feel for me. But you can't punish me for loving someone else."

"Oh, sure," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Please, go out with everyone but me. Choose anyone else. I'm just saying, maybe you could have picked someone who wasn't the only person who routinely called you a Mudblood, bullied your friends, and signed up to be a slimy fucking Death Eater!"

"You have no idea, Ronald!" she snapped. "You don't know him! You don't know anything about him!"

"I know enough."

"You know what you've made up about him in your own head."

She stormed over to the sink and snatched up a glass, filled it with water. She turned the tap off so viciously that she hurt her fingers. She span around to face him once more, armed with the glass, aware of the twin spots of heat in her cheeks.

"I don't have the energy to argue with you. I'm going back upstairs."

He spread his hands. His face was quivering, his eyes narrowed. "Please, go ahead. Wouldn't want to keep you."

"For god's sake, Ron, he's sick!"

"Doesn't make any difference, you're fucking in love with him!"

Her feet had been propelling her out of the room, and she had her hand on the door when he roared those words at her. The glass of water trembled wildly in her grip as she stared at him, her lips moving noiselessly. He was glaring back at her, and she had never seen so much anger pouring out of him.

"Tell me you're not," he challenged. "Go on. Lie to my face. Again."

She said nothing. Ron watched her, his anger simmering steadily.

"Well, great choice, anyway," he said as she failed to reply. "How are any of us supposed to trust you now? You think any of the others are going to want anything to do with you? And all for fucking Malfoy?"

Her mouth was clamped shut, her hands balled into hard, trembling fists. He had just voiced every fear she had harboured about the whole thing, and confirmed every paranoid thought that had crossed her mind since Draco had arrived at the house. And yet, no matter what he said, more than anything she was angry. For the way he accused her of doing it all to get his attention. For the way he demonised Draco. For his utter, pig-headed ignorance, and for the way he was saying all of this just to hurt her. With his eyes still burning into her, she turned her back on him and left.

As she climbed the stairs towards the upper floors, she felt like she might be entering the eye of the tornado. Of course, their encounter was never going to take place in a polite and diplomatic manner. It had exploded, as she had known it would. She was very much aware that she was about to get a dose of the Ron Weasley silent treatment which would make sixth year look like a gentle spat. And even so, she still couldn't quite lose the creeping sense of guilt.

You should have told them.

She shrugged off the little voice in the back of her head. She hated feeling like this - like a criminal, constantly hiding from her friends, constantly apologising. She wanted nothing more than to be rid of it all.

Somewhere above her head she heard sound of footsteps on the stairs and slowed down, her stomach sinking at the thought of running into yet another difficult conversation, but rather than one of the others she saw Hestia appearing onto the landing. She looked rather unlike the Hestia Jones Hermione was used to - her face was tight and unsmiling, and there was a vulnerability in her eyes which was entirely unfamiliar. Perhaps that was why Hermione lifted her chin and hurried up the last few steps to meet her.

"Hestia? Can I talk to you?"

Hestia glanced up, and within a moment had regained her usual calm disposition. She offered a smile which didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Not asleep, Hermione? You must be tired, you've had a busy couple of days."

Her tone was light, but underlined with a slight poke at her lies. Hermione ducked her head sheepishly and indicated the living room door, which was ajar between them.

"Do you have a minute?"

Hestia gestured to the door, and Hermione stepped into the room first. She put her glass of water down on the side table as she entered and pressed her hands together instead, trying to steady herself before they began. She still felt flustered after the argument with Ron, and she had no reason to believe that Hestia would react any differently. But she had to try. Enough was enough. She turned to face the other woman, who had closed the living room door behind her and was now waiting, her hands plunged deep into the pockets of her robes, her head cocked to one side, her eyebrow arched.

"Something on your mind?"

"Draco and I used to be together," Hermione said flatly. "We got to know each other in Fourth Year at Hogwarts."

Unlike the others, whose faces had displayed a medley of shock and horror at the news, Hestia simply nodded.

"I gathered as such. Most people don't stay up all night pouring over the bedside of their sworn enemies. Have you told anyone else?"

"Harry and Ginny," she said. "And... Ron."

Hestia's lips quirked. "That must have been fun. And why are you telling me?"

"Because I lied to you," Hermione replied quickly, trying to keep her tone strong and resolute. "And that was a mistake. So I'm being honest with you now."

She thought she might have seen a glint of interest in Hestia's face, but the other woman said nothing in response. Hermione pushed on anyway, speaking steadily and clearly.

"When I first met him, he wasn't a Death Eater. And when he became one in Sixth Year, he broke up with me. At first I didn't realise what was happening, but when Dumbledore was killed..."

She broke off, only then realising how difficult this was going to be to explain to someone who was so distant from everything that had happened. And as an Auror, she doubted Hestia was going to be listening sympathetically. But she was listening, at least, and her face although stern was not unkind. With a flicker of inspiration, she felt in her pocket for her pebble and held it out. Hestia took it slowly, frowning.

"We used to communicate through that," Hermione explained. "He sent me a couple of messages immediately after Dumbledore died, and from what he said it sounded like he thought he was going to die. I believe he only made a show of trying to kill Dumbledore - I don't think he ever meant for it to actually happen. I think he was hoping to be arrested before it got to that point. But he was too much involved to not get caught up in it."

"You seem very sure of yourself, considering this is all just speculation," Hestia said, tossing the pebble back to her.

Hermione caught it deftly. "Because I am sure. Because I know him." She held up the stone again, drawing Hestia's gaze to it. "During the war, when we were on the run, Draco helped us. If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have won."

Hestia's eyes narrowed. "How, exactly, did you draw that conclusion?"

"When we were leaving Privet Drive at the very beginning, when we were all acting as decoys, I was stunned and fell off the Thestral I was on. Draco broke cover and saved my life." She saw Hestia's eyes widen incredulously, but ploughed on. "After Harry was bitten by the snake in Godric Hollow, he was sick from the poison. Draco gave me an antidote and showed me how to make it. And when we were captured by Snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor, he was the only reason we escaped."

Hestia was watching her suspiciously. "Do you have any proof for any of this?"

"Harry and Ron," she said at once. "They know that Draco helped us get out of the Manor, they just didn't understand why. And if you ask Draco, he'll tell you the exact same story."

"I very much doubt that," Hestia said with a humourless smirk. "Mr. Malfoy is extremely reluctant to say anything at all. It's rather like getting blood out of a stone."

Hermione found herself smiling. "I know, he can be... stubborn." She shook her head. "It was a mistake for us to hide it. I'm sorry."

Hestia looked away, her piercing gaze fixed on the wall. Hermione waited with baited breath, still holding the pebble tightly in her fist, pleading silently for Hestia to believe her. After a few long moments of silence had crawled by, Hestia fixed her with a pointed stare once more.

"Even if this were all true - even if your ex-boyfriend does have a heart of gold deep down - do you think it really changes anything? If you knew what he did while he was a Death Eater, would that make you less likely to sing his praises quite so enthusiastically?"

Hermione hesitated. She didn't like the way Hestia was looking at her, as if she knew something Hermione did not. Her gaze had grown harder, colder. But no matter what Hestia thought she knew, Hermione couldn't let it get in the way of what she was holding on to. She had to trust him. She owed him that much. So she folded her arms definitely and stared back at Hestia without flinching.

"I know him," she repeated. "Whatever he did, he was forced into it. We've all done things we're not proud of to protect the people we love."

"Have we?" Hestia said lightly.

Hermione bit her lip. There was nothing more she could say - she had poured out everything she had. Eventually, Hestia sighed and reached for the door handle.

"Well, if that's everything, perhaps you should finally get some sleep. I have what I'm sure is a very angry Ron Weasley waiting for me downstairs."

The conclusion of their conversation was surprisingly deflating. Hermione wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but Hestia had barely reacted to her confession at all. Either she was very good at hiding her shock, or Hermione's words had had no effect on her whatsoever. Unable to think of anything else she could say to fight Draco's chase, Hermione gave in and made her way out of the door Hestia was holding open for her, picking up her water on the way. They both emerged onto the landing.

"Good luck in Scotland," Hermione said, somewhat awkwardly.

Hestia finally shot her a smile, and it felt a little less forced than before. "Get some rest, Hermione."

Hermione stood there until Hestia's footsteps had died away down the stairs. Despite the commotion of the morning, she found herself yawning, found her eyes growing blurry. She rubbed at them with the back of her hand. Perhaps she could take an hour to catch up on some sleep. She didn't like the idea of leaving Draco alone, just in case he had another attack, but after all the shouting and arguing she couldn't deny that she was exhausted. She wouldn't be much help if she couldn't even cast decent spells. Resolved, she climbed the next flight of stairs and shuffled into the room she shared with Ginny and Luna. The other two girls were still in bed, and Hermione took the opportunity to crawl under her own duvet and pull the blankets up over her head undisturbed. She would sleep for an hour, two at most, and then go back upstairs. She should probably set an alarm of some kind... Unfortunately, before she had finished the thought, she had made the mistake of closing her eyes and within seconds was snoring quietly.

Thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcome.

SUPRNTRAL LVR.