Hermione stirred, wrapping the cotton sheets around her like a giant towel, a sharp stabbing pain in her right ribcage bringing her back to a painful reality. Her eyes fluttered open in the brilliant morning sunshine as an onslaught of memories returned to her.
Malfoy Manor, the attack, and that unsettling whisper.
He's alive.
Dolohov.
The monster that attacked her at the Department of Mysteries with a muted spell resulted in almost a month-long recovery in the Hogwarts infirmary under Madam Pomphrey's care—time spent recovering with mountains of potions to revert a curse that stumped even the experienced potions master.
She hadn't thought about Dolohov for a very long time. Aside from the irregular night terrors, he was a chapter she had considered closed. The physical sunflower-shaped scar he left behind was the only thing that remained with her. Considering Severus had killed him and there was never any reason to doubt her former Professor, right?
Wrong.
Twice in a matter of days, two men had seemed to return from the dead. One to send her on a fool's errand into the snake pit and the other… the other forming some sort of magical connection through her scar. It started to tingle just thinking about it.
She raised her shirt and moved her palm towards her chest, stopping just millimeters away as if her skin would burn hand if she got any closer. Shaking her head, she scoffed. What was she thinking? Plenty of times, she grazed the raised flesh in the shower. It wouldn't make a difference now.
Still, she cautiously traced the ridged scar tissue under her fingertips, delicately tracing the outline. Moving up the numb purple tendril towards the center, she deepened her touch and laid her hand over it just like Dolohov had. The same intense discomfort flared up in her chest, and lightheadedness made her uphold her weakened head. Once nausea passed, and she swallowed the cotton ball in the back of her throat, she looked up into the room, and a constellation appeared in front of her.
Despite her discomfort, she crawled out of the covers and knelt on the bed. Like a rainbow shining through a prism, the nine planets roated around the sun in front of her. Reaching out her hand to make sense of the images, the planets shifted and aligned in a straight line, a full moon hovering behind it. She reached out her hand further, but the image disappeared, and she was back in the bedroom she woke up in.
Alone.
She sat still for a few minutes, her chest heaving, hesitating to touch the scar again, and she did with gritted teeth, but nothing happened. Hermione repeated the movement a couple of times, always with the same result.
In their third year at Hogwarts, the tedious classes that met at midnight in the Astronomy tower taught all about constellations. The boundless charts Professor Sinistra assigned wanted Hermione to chuck her books into the fire, until she was on the run, then Hermione was indebted to her. While Harry and Ron were asleep, she kept watch outside, reciting the names while tracing the stars with her fingers. It didn't just give her overactive mind an objective. The heavens made her feel connected. It was something that she couldn't explain. Her mother loved her garden, and Ron swore there was nothing more grounding than hearing the waves crash upon the shore; Hermione always recognized tranquility at night. Even if she was alone, she never truly felt lonely.
Until the nightmares started.
The unsuccessful recapture of her parent's memories started it all—the guilt and the crushing heartache of losing her parents. She had sought out the most highly decorated and educated healers to help her; however, the damage was irrevocable. The time it took to reach her parents was too long. If the healer had performed the spell, there was no way to know the psychological damage it would provoke. So Hermione had to be content with knowing that they led right and interesting lives.
Without her.
Rubbing her temples to alleviate the oncoming headache, she slid out of bed and walked barefoot across the hardwood floors. The layout was foreign to her. The bedroom she exited was on the second floor; it was the only room upstairs aside from a loft. Downstairs she found a separate bedroom with a living room and fully stocked kitchen.
Someone lived here.
By the front door, two coats hung on the wall. Large boots stood underneath with fresh soil stuck to the grooves of their sole. No sounds came from the house except the soft pitter-patter of her feet. Without a wand for protection, she grabbed a kitchen knife out of the drawers and precariously searched the rest of the house.
Although it was an average size home, exploring the rooms exhausted her. Covered in deep dark blue bruises, the knicks and scrapes from her attack stung. She considered magical exhaustion with the ache in her chest and unnatural fatigue. Her ragged breath made her lungs strain against her bruised ribcage, making her break out in a light sweat that made the dark blue pajamas stick to her back. Hermione peered out the kitchen window, but a row of thickets blocked her view. Was she in Dover?
Standing in front of the front door, one of the coats over her shoulders, she pushed on the door, half expecting it not to open. She felt the wards course through her as she stepped outside. She imagined the house sitting on a cliffside with the salty ocean breeze swaying through the tall grass. But there was no rushing of the ocean. In lieu, a dense forest surrounded the house—a small vegetable garden planted on the side of the house. Unknown to Hermione how long she lay in the uncomfortable bed she had just vacated, her stomach growled, observing the ripe vegetation. She cut one cucumber off with the knife. Half turning towards the door, she turned back around, cut off two more, and headed back towards refuge when a small 'pop' came from the woodland edge.
Severus Snape had arrived.
He was quiet—more than she was used to leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, his thumb drumming against his upper arm. He was irritated. He made her a light lunch, but she refused to eat in the same room as him, only sipping her tea and refusing eye contact with him. She was angry, and she wanted him to know.
"Your stomach is growing loud enough the dead are waking. You've been out for two days. I would advise you to eat."
Hermione didn't answer, keeping her gaze on the mug cradled between her hands as if drawing strength from the warmth between her palms. Silence passed between them for so long that she thought he had left the room. But Severus was still standing in the same spot, staring at the floor, his hair covering his eyes like a curtain. A man that was as patient as a saint. While his patience remained intact, Hermione's grew thin. She pushed her empty cup to the side and shot Severus an unspoken glance that can only be understood through years of friendship.
"Where are we?"
"Ireland."
"Ireland? A safe house for the Order?"
"No, this plot of land is mine. I come here when I need to think. The grounds are warded and the gardens – enhanced, so it doesn't spoil in my absence."
"You've never told me about it." Hermione mused.
"I never needed to."Severus sat down opposite her, grabbing her gaze more intently with his own. She knew the question was coming and hoped to avoid it at all cost, but a look of dread grazed his features as his eyes almost begged for an answer. "What were you doing at Malfoy Manor?"
Hermione derided his question. "If I received a sickle for every time someone asked me that." I was invited; italmost seemed laughable, chuckling dismissively through her nose. Lucius burnt her invitation, and Dolohov beat her. That didn't sound like a civilized invitation.
"I was curious." It wasn't a lie, she almost revealed more, but at the moment, she wasn't quite sure where his loyalties lay.
His eye twitched, his stature otherwise never faltering. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the diamond necklace she wore to Malfoy Manor, gently placing it on the table with a soft thud. "What do you know about the person who gave this to you?"
"Nothing, I never met them."
He pursed his lips. "Explain."
"Twilfitt and Tattings –" Seeing his confusion, she added," -it came with the robes that I ordered at Twilfit and Tattings."
"Fuck, Hermione, it could have been cursed. Have I taught you nothing?" Severus exclaimed, his bass resounding through the room, making her jerk and rethink the mention of the cryptic note it came with.
"But it wasn't. I'm unhurt." Slumping her shoulders along with her feeble protest. Her rebuttal sounded ridiculous even to her.
"Judging by your current state, I beg to differ." His eyes danced across her face. "I promised you I would keep you safe. You can't go around – " Severus wiped his hand across his chin and repositioned himself, so they sat eye-to-eye. "You have no idea what this life is really like."
"You taught me for a reason."
"I did because you asked, but most of all, you needed protection. Not for you to go gallivanting into Malfoy Manor wearing trinkets from unknown individuals. Although you may not like it, you are a part of the sacred Golden Trio-"
"I know-" She growled.
"-that saved the wizarding world. "
As Severus pushed the glistening diamond across the table, uneasiness hung in the air. He focused on the necklace before continuing. "If something would have happened to you – It's not something you can come back from – the person you become when you kill someone. Whoever you thought you were – that dies alongside your victim."
"Like when you killed Dolohov?" The words passed her lips before she could blink.
"Yes," He articulated the lie effortlessly. "I don't hate myself for it, but I have to live with it. Every day."
After the war, the Order had gathered at Grimmauld Place to assess their next steps to help recapture the Death Eaters that fled after Voldemort's defeat. The Aurors hat reclaimed and imprisoned most of the accused, but only a handful remained on the run, one of them being Dolohov. Severus had personally volunteered to bring him in. Several weeks later, the Order received news that he had successfully found him in a small village in Croatia, living as a butcher to satisfy his bloodlust.
Though surreptitious, Dolohov was alerted of Severus' trail on him, heavily warding his home against intruders. Severus tried penetrating the wards, and as soon as he was inside, Dolohov attacked him, a fierce duel ensuing. When Severus cornered him, he was sure to surrender; however, Dolohov raised his wand instead, setting the house ablaze with fiendfyre. The wooden beams quickly engulfed in flames, barely allowing Severus to escape the rising inferno. He stood by the house, readying himself to save the nearby town, but Dolohov's spell contained the flame he had set on it. It pierced against the ward like a wild animal striking its cage.
Many years later, Severus confided in Hermione about that day.
"It wasn't the fire itself – it was the manic and desperate look in Dolohov's eyes as if he wanted it. And he was smirking. Merlin, Hermione, I have taken many lives but never one with a look of elation. I watched him swat at the flames before the foundation crumbled, and the – the… it was –"
She wasn't sure if it was firewhiskey or the sorrow that laid heavy on his shoulders, but he reduced to tears in front of her. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state had her sitting petrified in her chair. It was odd seeing such a guarded man crumble.
The whistling of the teapot brought Hermione out of her thoughts. Severus stood by the oven, pouring them another batch of tea. She fingered the delicate chain still on the table.
"Do you know who gave it to me?" She asked as he returned to the table with a steaming cup.
"It's a very rare diamond belonging to the Romanovs – yes, the royal pureblood family. It was rumored to have been lost for centuries until you wore it the other night. It's surprising the papers aren't writing about it."
Hermione leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. "Rita Skeeter was there. She spoke to me. Her demeanor was more hostile than other times we had spoken. I didn't know she was pureblood. Did you?" Hermione took a sip of her tea, the hot liquid making her swollen lip throb.
"Her blood status interests me as much as the dirt under my boots, but no, I did not. Except for this piece, the remaining crown jewels had been sold at auction after the Romanov family's execution. Either lost or stolen, it disappeared." He picked up the pendant, weighing it in his hand. "It is a magical piece, but its function is unknown."
"Function?" Hermione repeated. Severus waved his hand in the air, and his wandless magic engulfed the room in darkness.
He tapped the diamond with his hand, and the jewel hummed softly and then illuminated across the room. Before her, the necklace shone the same constellation she saw in the bedroom upstairs.
She swallowed hard. "What is this? What did you do?"
"A simple Revelio. This depicts what the sky will look like in three days. All the planets will align."
Last week there was an article in the Daily Prophet. She only skimmed over it because the article depicted it as a regular phenomenon. Every twenty-seven years, the planets aligned. It was a grand marvel where stargazers traveled to the countryside to observe the rare event. The article continued to joke that no earthquakes would happen or the tide won't be affected.
"What's their connection?" She asked, her finger lazily waving back and forth as if drawing an imaginary line.
"Again, that is unknown."
"Can it be destroyed?"
"It would be unwise to tamper with it without knowing its true potential first. Destroying it can only be done with ancient magic, the same way it was created." He tapped his wand again, and the image disappeared along with the darkness.
Hermione fell back against her chair with a huff. "Then what do we do now?"
"I am unsure. I am in the process of tracking down a house elf that was a servant in their palace, but he is making himself extremely difficult to find." Severus raised his cup for a breath but didn't drink, holding it in midair before setting it back down. "The other peculiar discovery I made was this."
Severus opened the pendant just like Hermione did when examining it in her bedroom. He waved his hand, and a tiny seed hovered in midair between them. The strong smell of apricots assaulted her nose.
"Care to explain how the seed of a Photia Oleander came to be in your possession?"
What does he know?
She never found the plant in the conservatory despite the redolence. Did Viktor place it there while they were dancing? He couldn't have; his hands were always on her as he guided her across the dance floor. Weren't they? Or… did Lucius? No, he would never. He had more interest in throwing her out than helping her. Torn about whom to trust, she decided to trust Severus. He has never been anything but unfaithful to the Order and her. The man in her flat could have been anyone. Polyjuice, glamour charms, anything was possible with magic.
An impostor.
A seamless impostor.
Unwaveringly, she told him everything. Holding nothing back, she began from when she found the man in her flat to the events leading to Severus rescuing her. He sat up straight, interlocking his hands as if in silent prayer. When she was ready to detail the events in the small bedroom chamber, her hands had become so animated that she knocked over her remaining tea. Taken aback, she retrieved a towel to clean up the mess. She remained standing by the sink and finished her story. But for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to speak about the names of her attackers.
"Their hoods were drawn. I- I didn't see their faces." She said, letting her gaze fall to the floor.
"Very well," his stern tone made her glance at him, "Whatever the man wanted to accomplish, he did."
"Meaning?"
"Whoever this person is, it cannot be the true Draco Malfoy, for he is dead. He is dead, Hermione." He reiterated his words seeing her reservation. "This impostor wishes to bestow doubt, and clearly, he has accomplished that."
"That's all you have to say on the matter? That I'm second-guessing myself? Because I can assure you he looked and felt very real where he stood. And what of the article and you being my supposed protector? What of that?"
"There is no such thing written about you in the Witches Chronicle." He conjured the newspaper from the last two days, and sure enough, there was never any mention of Hermione Granger having 'royal blood.'
Hermione pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to relieve the oncoming pressure. She took a deep breath to try and process everything that's happened, but there was still an unanswered question that hung between them. She lowered her hands to catechize him.
"Why were you at Malfoy Manor?"
His index finger tapped a staggered rhythm on the table. "No matter how extravagant his gatherings, I always preferred not to attend them. There are traces of dark magic that still linger in that house, and no redecorating will ever eradicate it. Nevertheless, I arrived late to support the abettor he was. It wasn't until late that he let slip that you were present. A matter I found most peculiar knowing your intolerable history."
"You're not the only one that finds me being there peculiar." Running a hand through her hair. "Even before I accepted the invitation, I had an overwhelming sense of dread. And I know it wasn't just from when Bellatrix was there – when Harry and Ron – well, you know." She saw his mouth twitch. They knew there was nothing more that needed to be said. Bellatrix was a different force of nature. A witch that thrived on inflicting pain as if it were her lifeline, like blood to a vampire. She crossed her arms across her chest as a sudden chill coursed through her.
"When I arrived and saw that elegant foyer, it felt like Versailles opened its doors. I felt like I was in a different place, hoping that Lucius had changed just as much as his home. But as soon as I caught sight of him, I just knew. It was all a ruse. He's planning something. Hiding something."
Or someone.
"What are you thinking?"
"That he is behind the Vaxa virus."
"That's a severe accusation to make. Besides, he would never – could never. He might have the resources, but he never excelled in potions."
"Are you defending him?" She furrowed her brow as the throb around her temples increased.
Severus walked around the table to stand in front of her. "No. I think you are exhausted and are overthinking. Lucius was never naive. He has ambition but only to benefit himself. Killing multitudes of purebloods has no profit whatsoever. "
She dropped her head in her hand, rubbing her temples. "Maybe your right. I just have this unbelievable headache. But he is planning something."
She looked up to see a hazy Severus as if he stood behind a milky glass; her reality was shifting.
She swayed on the spot.
"Severus?"
Before she knew it, her world turned black.
She awoke in her bed the following day.
The cozy sheets were a familiar comfort around her. The birds outside her window sang their morning ballad. The sun shone brightly, illuminating her bedroom walls. Laying waste to the nightmare she endured. They had been so frequent recently that, at this point, she couldn't decipher if her memories were deception or reality.
Maybe Dolohov wasn't hiding in Malfoy Manor.
Maybe Severus didn't lie to her.
Maybe Lucius wasn't behind the virus.
She tensed as her hands grazed her ribs through her shirt, but the sting never came as it would with lesions. Unswollen eyes and unscathed hands made her exhale a breath she didn't know she was holding.
It was just a dream.
Tension gone, Hermione stretched, feeling somewhat refreshed. It was Sunday, and Neville was waiting on her for their morning briefing. While getting dressed, she sipped her tea, giving her a remarkable vigor. She didn't have any other news for her subordinate, but maybe he would let it pass. If she was lucky, and for some reason, she felt extra lucky.
Hermione had to laugh at the ridiculous dream she had the night before. To dance with Lucius and Viktor as if she would ever allow herself to enter Malfoy Manor again. That book closed long ago. And Viktor? He never was and never will be, a mere crush in her fourth year that never matured into anything else.
She got dressed in her usual blouse and dress pants, her reflection somehow a burden of monotonous dress wear.
Although it was only a dream, she could still feel her skin prick as Dolohov's hand roamed over her body, but as she took in her reflection, she didn't see any marks on her delicate skin. Only the sunflower-shaped scar peeked through the top of her blouse. Staring at herself in the mirror, she rummaged through her closet again, stopping as her hands grazed a knee-length black dress. While it may not be weather permitting, she still felt it was the proper outfit for today.
She slipped the cotton over her and paired it with black flats. Walking into her living room, she subconsciously peeked at her hallway walls and was disappointed not to see a bullet hole. It was a dream. She huffed at her gullibility and walked towards the fireplace to floo to the Ministry. Holding her notes, she grabbed the powder and let the destination die on her lips as she saw a prominent rose bouquet on her dining room table.
Hermione never owned flowers. It hurt too much. Her mother, the active botanist that she was used to showcase them all over the house. The fireplace and dining room table would always have a fresh-cut bouquet picked from the garden every week. But not Hermione. It reminded her too much of her parents, of a life forgotten.
But before her on the table stood a bright Juliet bouquet she did not remember acquiring.
It was mocking her.
The powder seeped through her fingers just like her sound mind.
It wasn't a dream.
A loud banging on her front door forced her to call out to the Ministry of Magic quicker than she ever did.
Her office was cold and empty as she emerged through the fireplace. She knew she was early, but the privacy was appreciated giving her some time to calm her nerves. With a flick, the fireplace was alive with warmth. Hermione stood in front of it, regaining composure. She struggled to bring her occlumency shields up and put her memories on her bookshelves, but she had to do it before she came undone.
It is a steady rhythm of cataloging a face to a book, then gathering the collection and tucking it onto a shelf to be locked away. She was almost complete, already feeling much more relaxed; she just needed to arrange them further away so no one could–
A warm hand on Hermione's shoulder made her whip around and aim her wand under the chin of the uninvited guest.
He blinked.
"Bloody hell Neville! Don't creep up on me like that." Hermione exclaimed, lowering her wand.
His arms raised in defense. "Mione, I didn't mean to startle you. I called out your name a couple of times, but you didn't respond."
"I'm so sorry, Neville! I thought – well, maybe I didn't – I- I'm sorry."
"It's quite alright. Bloody hell must be some lucky bloke you're expecting." He said, taking in her appearance, grinning.
"I- I wasn't…wait- what?" Flustered, Hermione ran a hand through her hair.
"I went by your flat and heard you floo here through the door. I had to talk to you, but I don't want to keep you if you're busy." He shot his hand over his shoulder, pointing to the door with his thumb.
"No, I wasn't expecting anyone but you." She muttered.
Neville cleared his throat. "Hermione, I'm flattered, but I don't think-"
Sensing how her words must have sounded, Hermione quickly added. "Oh God, Neville, no! I meant for our review." She quickly sat down at her desk and flipped through several folders, feeling Neville's gaze on her.
"Aren't you going to sit?" She asked, smiling.
He cleared his throat and sat down. "Do you know anything about the last major Muggle war?"
"Do you mean World War II?" Hermione furrowed her brow at his acknowledgment as he nodded. "Why do you ask?"
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag. He held it out in front of her; she reluctantly took it and examined it between her fingers. It was –
"A bullet," Neville said. "When you didn't show up yesterday, I looked for you and found this in your flat."
Startled, Hermione handed it back to him. A reassuring smile crossed her lips. "It's fine. I just had a small accident with one of my handguns."
"I don't know if you're in trouble, and I'm not here to lecture you. But this wasn't shot by any weapon you own. That I can assure you. There are only three remaining that could have discharged that bullet. None which belong to you." When Hermione didn't answer, Neville leaned with his hands on her desk and continued. "I examined the lands and grooves personally. The bullet belongs to a .45 Luger, a rare and highly sought-after collectible." He paused, straightening. "Lucius Malfoy is the only known wizard to own it."
She could feel the fear in her chest clawing to take over. "Neville, what day is it?"
"It's Monday."
She rested her elbows on her desk and placed her eyes on the heels of her palm. She heard Neville approach and sit down in a chair opposite her. She looked up and saw concern evident on his face, and Hermione didn't blame him. She was just as confused as he. She knew that to avoid pressing questions, she had to be the one to speak first.
"I feel like our whole meeting here has gotten off on the wrong foot. Honestly, I'm just exhausted. I've been having these nightmares for a while now since Sirius' death actually" – she rubbed her eyes – "and they are practically robbing me of sleep. I guess it's just catching up with me."
"Occasionally, Luna gets them too."
Her throat was dry.
She didn't want to be here. Not like this. They had won the war, but everything around them screamed defeat. She knew about Luna's struggle, similar to her own. But she knew she couldn't wait until life was hard anymore before she decided to be happy. She had to push through. Joy was more vital than fear. Sometimes it took her longer to find, but it pushed her on. Everyone knows fear, sinners, and saints in the same way, but not everyone knows joy.
She tried her best to comfort Neville and work on their review without her mind smashing to smithereens. She was too deep in thought a couple of times, and Neville had to grab her attention again. Giving him a reassuring smile seemed to comfort him. She hoped she could get through the upcoming meeting with her boss without any hiccups.
And they did.
Hermione was grateful that Neville did most of the talking. He seemed satisfied and let Hermione and Neville go, taking the notes they provided with him. Since Friday, there were no more attacks, and since their meeting, she and Severus hadn't gotten any further with their concoctions.
But still, she needed to clear her head.
She canceled any meeting she had for the rest of the day, and Neville and Hermione said their goodbyes, and Hermione promised to stop by for some tea sometime the following week.
But all she wanted to do was scream.
She wanted to run.
To be anywhere else in the world.
She walked straight out of the Ministry and didn't falter her pace when she reached muggle London. Water on the sidewalk from an earlier rain shower had moistened her shoes, making each footfall louder than the next. It didn't slow her down. She didn't know how long she was walking until she was a block away from Regent's Park, an uneasy feeling welling inside.
A breeze brought an overwhelming scent of greasy fries and sausages towards her while leaning against a stone wall a few steps into an alleyway. All the blood rushed from her head, and the back of her hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes flooded with tears as she slid down the stone wall in defeat. It wasn't fair how good witches like Luna were struggling with the war while Lucius Malfoy threw parties for the elite. Innocent witches and wizards were serving terms in Azkaban, but where was their justice?
And why the fuck was nothing making sense?
Hermione raised her head slightly as she heard the splashing of water. Swiping at her nose with the back of her hand, she saw a man dressed in jeans and a grey sweater reflecting off the water, his image blurry from the water surface breaking.
The morning sun shone on the wet pavement illuminating his face. He looked defeated. Standing with hunched shoulders in a ripped shirt and stained pants. There was no sneer on his face, and the softer edges of his youthful face had hardened. He didn't look like a Malfoy. If she had passed him on the street, she would have assumed he was homeless.
She blinked. Her mind went into overdrive. She immediately straightened, flattening her back against the wall.
"What are you doing here?" She hissed.
"You look like you needed rescuing. Come, I'll get you somewhere warm." He held out his hand, waiting for her to take it.
The warning bells in her head were louder than a steam engine. She knew she shouldn't take it. She should be anywhere, but next to whomever he was, she couldn't flee.
She had more questions, and she needed answers. Curiosity soon had their steps at a synchronized pace. It was reaching lunch, and the rush of people took over the streets, but they were more attentive to their destinations to pay them any mind. He took her to Kings Cross, where they boarded a train, getting comfortable in a private cabin.
"Where are we going?" Hermione found her voice as he let the glass door slide closed behind them with a click.
He sat down opposite her and dropped his bag at his feet. "Don't use magic unless I tell you to." Glancing at her right side, which concealed her wand, he warned her. She didn't have to speak. She just hoped that her wand was quicker than the gun that protruded out of the back of Draco's waistline.
"Will you at least answer my question?" Hermione was starting to become cross with him.
"I will, but first put this on. I can't have you getting sick." He held out some muggle clothes and shoes. "I'm sure I got the size right."
Hermione fingered the cotton.
When she didn't move, Draco smirked. "Either you can do it here or in the loo at the end of the car."
She blushed and exited the cabin. The loo was just a few paces from where they sat, and Hermione locked herself into the small space. She stood frozen, staring at her reflection in the smudged mirror.
She could apparate and never have to worry about seeing him again.
Deep down, she knew she didn't want to lose him again.
It fucking hurt the first time.
A second time, it would shatter her.
She would speak with him and make a decision afterward.
She peeled off her black dress just as the train pulled out of the station. The clothes Draco gave her were exactly her size. She tossed the other clothes in the rubbish bin and walked back.
Hermione found Draco lying across one of the seats, one of his hands tucked underneath his head, his ankles casually crossed. His eyes closed. He was asleep.
She sat down opposite him, watching him sleep. She took in his soft rising and falling of his chest, how his hair fell softly over his forehead, and his perfectly kissable lips parted.
She clenched her fists, looking at anything but him.
Her gaze fell upon his bag on the floor.
She shouldn't.
Her hands opened the first compartment coming up empty.
She really shouldn't..
Draco was still sleeping as she discreetly zipped the other open.
She really fucking shouldn't..
She popped the top off the flask she found inside the bag, and immediately she was catapulted back to her second year.
It was polyjuice potion.
Their eyes locked, the silver barrel of his gun peeking out of his sweater.
"Tsk, Tsk. Don't you know that curiosity kills the Gryffindor?"
"Who the fuck are you?"