Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.


News travelled fast in Grimmauld Place. Of course, that fact wasn't news to her.

Within hours of Hermione's discussion with Harry and Ron, the whole house knew that the three of them would be leaving again to finish the mission that Dumbledore had left them years beforehand. People had knocked on her door, asking what had caused the boys to return so quickly. She shrugged off the questions, trying to avoid igniting another argument, especially when it came to Ron.

Her fiery best friend had not spoken to her since storming out of the kitchen several days prior. Fred had told her he had been sulking up in his room, grumbling anytime anyone tried to coax him out. Hermione had no response to that and had not bothered trying herself to make up with him. There was no point, she knew it. When Ron got something in his head, the only solution was time.

Even if time was the only thing they never seemed to have.

It had been two days since the conversation, the decision, the quick turn in the direction of her life. She was leaving. Sitting in the room she had shared with Ginny for nearly three years, she could not bring herself to feel emotional about it. This was not leaving Hogwarts, or her childhood home.

This was leaving her war safe house, that she had been forced into for what felt like centuries at this point.

This was not tragic, it was liberating.

But she knew that only true liberation would come when they finished the goddamn war themselves.

She was finishing packing when she heard a knock on the door. Trying to decide how much she needed, and how much she could fit into her extendable bag was turning into quite a challenge. Picking between the first and second editions of Hogwarts; A History, she turned to see Blaise watching her.

"Need help there, Hermione?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and glancing at the items she had thrown haphazardly around the room. "Are you packing for a mission or a two-month vacation?"

Hermione scoffed, deciding on the second edition and throwing it into the bag. "I don't know how long this mission is going to be. Better overprepared than under."

Blaise shrugged, and walked in, closing the door behind him. The gesture was slight in action, but monumental in intention. A trickle of nervousness ran down her spine.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, turning away from her bag. "Is there something that I can help you with, Blaise?"

He paused for a moment, taking his sweet time to sit on Ginny's bed opposite her. "I come as a messenger," he said slowly. "So, don't shoot."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Messenger for who?"

"Like you even have to ask."

Silence suffocated her for an instant.

"And what does he want you to say?" Hermione asked, trying to ignore the rapid beating of her heart, and all the blood she could feel rushing towards her mark.

"Well, nothing," Blaise muttered. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he sighed. "He didn't send me."

"So, you're not the messenger?"

"I mean, no, I am the messenger," Blaise clarified.

"Blaise, please. I'm too tired for riddles."

"He didn't ask me to come and talk to you," Blaise continued. "Or, he did, but that was a general ask. Before we all knew you lot were leaving. He hasn't asked since."

"Does being cryptic really do it for you, or something?"

He sighed. "But I have known Draco almost my entire life, and I know that he wanted to ask. He just felt like he didn't have the right."

"He doesn't," Hermione replied sharply, desperately ignoring the feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Maybe so," Blaise conceded. "But I do have the right to come talk to you for him."

Hermione closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. "So, what do you want to say?"

A moment of silence stretched into eternity.

"The fact that you're leaving is killing him."

Whatever she had been expecting Blaise to say, it was not that. "What?"

Blaise sighed audibly. "I told him that you were leaving when I found a couple days back. Hermione, I can't even explain how pale he got. It was like whatever life he had left drained out at the very idea."

Hermione opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and stared at Blaise. "Me leaving is none of his concern."

"Please, Hermione," Blaise replied, rolling his eyes. "We are far past this point, I think."

She did not respond.

Blaise continued. "I know that he doesn't want to admit anything to me, and it's not like he's on speaking terms with anyone else in this home. I mean, for fuck's sake, the man is still locked up."

"You're talking about him as if we didn't all recently find out he's a turncoat and murdered one of our members."

"I can't argue with you there," Blaise nodded.

"Then why do you seem not to care about that anymore?" Hermione asked, genuinely wondering how Blaise had gotten over the central issue in her life within a week and a half.

"I think it's easier for me because I've known Draco forever and I didn't know Thomas," Blaise conceded. "But to be quite honest, I haven't been able to get over the fact that when push came to shove, he chose this side."

Hermione scoffed. "He didn't choose this side."

"You're right, Hermione. He chose you."

She shook her head. "So, what are you asking me? To not go because the idea of me leaving Draco behind will destroy him? I'm sorry to break it to you, but destroying Voldemort is more important to me than Draco."

The words hit the air without conviction, and she hated them for that.

"I'm not asking you not to go," Blaise said. "Whatever this secret mission is seems central to ending this war, and I'd never ask you to not fulfill it, especially for Draco of all people."

"Then what?" she demanded, feeling heat in her cheeks. Frustration overtook her. Was it directed at Blaise, or Draco, or the whole situation? She was unsure.

Blaise glanced up, his eyes searing into hers. "All that I'm asking is you say goodbye."

"What?" she demanded, confused.

"Were you going to say goodbye?" Blaise asked. "Before you left. You haven't spoken to him since right after the Malfoy Manor raid, and that was what, a week and a half ago? You're about to leave for an indefinite period of time, and Draco didn't even hear it from you. I had to tell him."

"Why are you talking about this like I owe him something?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms. "Do you not remember what he did to me, to all of us?"

"Of course, I remember," Blaise replied.

"Then why are you trying to guilt me into feeling bad for not speaking to him?" Hermione snapped, losing her patience with the situation. "I'm not the one at fault here."

"I'm not trying to make you feel guilty," Blaise said. "I'm sorry that it's coming across like it." He hesitated, seeming to grapple with the words before he spoke them.

"I'm asking for you to show mercy."

"Mercy?" Hermione cried. "That's worse, Blaise. I'm not the one shoving him towards the gallows. He did that himself."

"Not mercy for him," Blaise continued. "Show mercy for yourself."

Now she was completely lost at sea. "Okay, Blaise. I have genuinely no idea what you're talking about."

He pursed his lips, appraising her for a moment before beginning the explanation. If this could be explained, she was unsure.

"If Draco, a man who I would've argued three months ago had never felt feelings before, seems to be crumbling into dust at the idea of not being within one hundred metres of you for the foreseeable future, whether because of the mark, or the bastard is trying to figure out how to win you back, well, honestly, then I can't even imagine how you're feeling about leaving Draco."

She wanted to argue. She wanted to scream, and tell him that he was wrong, that it was a mistake, that she could not ever feel anything for him, especially now, not ever.

But she could not. And she knew that.

Her mouth fell open and tears started to leak out the corners of her eyes. Emotion rushed over her, everything that she had been forcing down, forcing out because of the betrayal, because of Dean, Dean, could no longer be contained. Like a volcano, lava pushing against the surface, she finally collapsed.

And she felt her heart erupt.

Tears streamed down her face wordlessly as the weight of how she felt about him overtook her. Trying desperately to pull herself together, she wiped away the salt-water traitors, gasping gently for air.

Blaise looked at her with pure pity etched across his face. "You don't need to explain it to me. I'm not Potter, or Weasley, or even Fred. I get it. And I'm not here to judge you. I mean, I love the bastard too, not despite all the terrible things he's ever done. Actually, slightly despite, but mainly for all the good things."

"Like what?" she choked out, trying to calm herself down.

Blaise smiled sadly. "When it came down to it, he chose you over everything he had ever believed in. He basically laid himself at Voldemort's feet to make sure that you didn't have to. He sacrificed himself for you."

"He didn't sacrifice himself for me," Hermione argued. "He's still alive."

"But he didn't know that he would survive, now did he?"

Blaise's point stood, as his words bounced around her brain. She found herself without a response.

She felt like she was on fire.

"Just say goodbye," Blaise pleaded. "I'm not asking you to forgive him yet, or give him another chance, or anything. But you owe it to yourself to say goodbye. You don't need to admit you love him…"

"I don't," she spat, without conviction.

Blaise shrugged. "You don't need to admit it to me. But allow yourself to feel something for him. It's killing you to hold everything back for the sake of… Potter, I guess? I don't know. But please, for your sake if not his, say goodbye."

She looked at Blaise for a moment, trying to find the words to explain how she felt, but when nothing would come out, she did the only thing she could in that moment.

She nodded.

Blaise smiled; relief evident on his face. "When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow," Hermione said, surprisingly herself at how soon it was.

Time was the only thing they never seemed to have.

Blaise nodded. "I'll see you out tomorrow morning then. I know I'm not your magically fated soulmate, but if you don't say goodbye, I'm also going to be offended."

Hermione let out a watery chuckle. "I'll see you in the morning."

Blaise nodded before standing up and heading to the door.

"Don't force yourself to not feel for him, Hermione," he said, leaving. "Potter has bigger problems, if that's the issue."

Hermione laughed fully. "If that was the only issue, we'd be golden by now."

Blaise smiled. "Oh, Hermione. You're always been golden."

She stared at the door, desperately trying to push her anxiety down.

It was a few hours after Blaise had come to talk to her. She had forced herself to finish packing, to double check with Harry what their departure time would be (eight in the morning), tried at last to talk to Ron (unsuccessful), discussed some protocol with Remus, and had finally found herself at Draco's door.

Blaise was right. She couldn't just up and leave indefinitely and not say goodbye.

Pulling together all the Gryffindor courage that she had, and all the madness she had as well, she knocked on the door.

Courage and madness. That's all it took.

She heard a generalized noise of assent from the other side of the door. Grabbing the knob, she turned and pushed it open.

Walking open-armed into her own hell.

Or heaven, depending on how you looked at it.

He really was beautiful, she thought without permission. He was laying on his bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. His hair was nearly white in the late evening light coming in from the small window. Almost angelic.

His eyes looked over to hers. They were silver today.

"Hermione," he whispered, his voice betraying any attempt at indifference.

She almost lost it right there.

"Hey," she whispered in return, closing the door behind her. He raised an eyebrow at the action but didn't say anything.

This would be so much easier if he weren't so beautiful.

"You came," Draco said, sitting up quickly, eyes never moving from hers. "I… I didn't think you would."

"I didn't think so either," She admitted, leaning back against the door. "But Blaise interjected on your behalf."

"Blaise?" Draco asked, eyes flying open. "I… I told him to fucking stay out of it."

Hermione shrugged. "I'm not mad, he was right. And he said some stuff that I really needed to hear."

"Still," Draco said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry that he talked to you. It's not his business."

"It really isn't," Hermione muttered. "It's no one but ours."

She said the sentence with more force than intended. Draco noticed, and she heard his breath hitch.

"Ours?" he asked.

She felt helpless.

She nodded.

A poignant silence filled the room, suffocating her. She wanted to leave, scream, grab him, kiss him, hit him, anything but stare.

He obviously felt the same.

"I heard you're leaving," he said, voice monotone, skin paler than she had ever seen it.

She nodded, unsure what else to say.

"When?" he asked. She heard barely subdued panic hidden in his question.

"Tomorrow," she answered, the word weighted heavier than it should have been.

Pull it together, Hermione.

She watched what remaining colour that existed in his cheeks disappear. He gaped at her for a few moments, and she held her arms around her torso, hoping that she could survive this moment.

"This is goodbye then," he said, his eyes demanding that she answer him.

She nodded.

She felt like she was on a lifeboat in the middle of the Atlantic. She was without bearings, without a compass, direction, safety, or any sign of aid. All she had was herself and her wit.

Neither seemed to have any clue how to proceed.

"Draco," she started, unsure where she was heading. However, before she had a chance to figure it out, Draco was shaking his head, standing up from his position on the bed.

"No," he said, voice strong. "Don't waste our time like this."

"Waste our time like what?" she asked, breathless. She felt her body start to give way and had to prop herself against the door to keep standing.

"If this is the last time that I will see you," he started, eyes boring into hers. "For Merlin knows how long, then please, Gods, don't spend it explaining how you're angry. I already know that. Don't tell me that I… that we shouldn't feel the way we do about each other. Don't lie and say it's all the mark. If this is the last moment we have, then don't waste it."

She couldn't breathe. He was walking towards her. He was so close.

He stopped about a foot away from her, his eyes searching her face desperately. What was he looking for? What did he want from her?

"You came to say goodbye," he whispered. He was close enough that she felt his words dance across her face. "Why did you come?"

Whatever was the strategic move here, she didn't know. What the appropriate answer was, she didn't know. How to get out of this situation, she didn't know. All that she knew was that she felt stranded at sea, and no matter what, this man in front of her was her lighthouse.

Summoning whatever courage she had left, she answered. "I came because I couldn't leave without seeing you, at least one last time."

He reached his hand out tentatively, testing the waters, to see if she would flinch.

She didn't.

He reached up to her face, holding her cheek in his hand. Without permission, she felt a tear slip out of the corner of her eye. He brushed it away with his thumb.

"Hermione," he whispered.

"Draco," she answered.

And he kissed her.

He kissed her as if she were his last meal on death's row. He kissed her as if he would never get another chance. He kissed her as if, at least for this fleeting moment in time, she was his.

And Hermione, throwing caution to the wind, knew that he was hers.

She knew this was stupid, that she might regret this. But the feeling of his lips on hers was intoxicating, sending electricity through the circuit of her veins, lighting her blood on fire, burning, burning, burning, only for him. She grabbed at his hair, pulling him closer, as close as time and space would allow.

In this moment. Where she could have him.

He pulled back and looked at her, his silver eyes hungry. She knew he wanted her, but she also knew she could not give him everything right now.

Or ever again.

He could read her like a book, better than anyone ever had been able to. He knew.

"Hermione," he whispered again, leaning his forehead against hers and looking down at her.

"Draco," she answered again, her body screaming everywhere he touched her.

"What are we?" he asked, eyes boring into hers.

She knew what he was asking. She knew what he wanted. But she couldn't… not yet.

"Important," she said, looking up at him. "We're important."

It wasn't the answer he wanted. But it was the truth.

Gods, it was the truth.


He watched her. He couldn't very well look anywhere else, now could he.

She was panting quietly, her lips slightly swollen, her eyes wide and bright.

Important. They were important.

What did that even mean? He was not sure. He could not put it into words.

But he did know one thing, with crystal-clear certainty, as he looked down at this beautiful woman.

He was absolutely and irrevocably in love with her.


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