This chapter is dedicated to my best friend Jack, who has always supported me even when I couldn't support myself.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter
Thirteen Days. Thirteen days, twelve hours. Thirteen days, twelve hours, and six minutes.
He knew it down to the second.
It had been nearly two weeks since Hermione had left on whatever mission Dumbledore had left the Golden Trio before his death. Two weeks since she had walked out of his room, desperately trying to wipe away tears, probably hoping he wouldn't notice.
Two weeks since he had realized how far he had fallen in love with her.
That's the thing about diving off a cliff. You could teeter towards it forever, inching closer and closer to the abyss. But once you trip, stumble, willingly throw yourself into the unknown, once you are over, there's no going back.
All you can do is fall.
Distance had not dampened his memory of how that moment had felt. Since he was still imprisoned in his bedroom, he had nothing but time to dwell on it, to remember, to imprint it into his memory so deep that no obliviate could ever take it from him.
He had fallen in love with Hermione. Was he surprised? Not necessarily, not after everything the world had sent their way. Was he happy? He did not know.
Was he certain? Absolutely.
He understood it now, in a way that he had not when they were younger, in a way that he got to see up close since arriving at Grimmauld Place. How people just gravitated towards her, how people fought for her.
How people loved her.
He stared at the ceiling, head on his pillow, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling, wishing they were tracing the curves of her hips.
He knew they all loved her – this whole bloody house – in different ways. She had brothers, parents, friends, former lovers in the Order of the Phoenix.
But none of them could even hold a candle to the wildfire he felt for her.
And it would never stop burning.
He closed his eyes, imagining that she wasn't trapezing around the countryside with the World's Most Unhelpful Chosen One and Weasley King. That she hadn't gone, taking what little energy he had left with her.
Thirteen days. All he had done was lie in this bed and imagine she was here with him.
He had eaten. He thought he had drunk water. He knew he had slept.
That is when the nightmares came.
Always the same now. Losing her, watching him take her away from him. Being too late. Being unable to save her. To protect her. Wasn't that his job now? Protector?
He had known fear before, he had thought. He fucking lived with the Dark Lord himself for years. He had fought in battles before, within an inch of his life. He had been scared, terrified, cried himself to sleep over it (not that he would ever admit it).
But he had never felt fear like this.
He took a deep breath. Could you only feel real fear when you had something real to lose?
And he had beyond something.
He had everything.
Or at least he had, for a moment, with her lips moving so slowly against his.
Maybe it was the effect of being apart from his Other for two weeks. Maybe this room was starting to get to him. Maybe it was the overwhelming reality of war, or the fact that she was with the two biggest buffoons he had ever met.
But he had a bad feeling.
And it was shaking him to whatever core he had left.
The door to his prison cell slammed open, breaking him out of his reverie. He opened one eye to look at his interrupter.
"Not in the mood, Blaise," he muttered, glancing at his old school chum.
"Seems like you're not in much of a mood for anything these days," Blaise replied, sauntering into the room regardless.
"Can't imagine why," Draco muttered back. "Real mystery, that one is."
"Is it that you've been trapped in here in basic solitude or that your magically bonded soulmate has ran off with two other men?" Blaise asked, cocking an eyebrow at him, leaning against the door.
Even though he knew, he knew, that Blaise was kidding, that Hermione would never… the mere implication of her being physical with someone else caused him to growl.
Blaise gaped at him for a moment.
"Okay, so you are in a mood."
Draco could only stare back.
Blaise glared at him in response. "Look, I understand that you're upset."
"Upset?" Draco could only hiss back. "I've had my other fucking half ripped away from me."
"I never thought I'd hear you refer to Granger as such."
"She's not a Granger and you know it."
"As you knew," Blaise pointed out. "When you fell in love with her."
He paused. "Don't call me out like this."
Blaise stared at him for a moment, before breaking out in laughter.
"Don't lie to me, Draco. We're past that."
He could do nothing but stare.
"Why are you here?" he asked, gaze shifting from his best friend to the wall. "It's been two weeks. Two bloody weeks, Blaise. You haven't even shown up…"
"It's not like I didn't want to," Blaise snapped back. "You've forgotten that you are stuck here, that you are a prisoner."
"I haven't forgotten at all," Draco muttered, staring at his intertwined hands.
"You have," Blaise interjected. "Because you don't give a shit about that, about being stuck. You only give a shit about her."
Draco glanced up again. "What's your point? You knew this already."
"I'm just…" Blaise hesitated for a moment, before taking a deep breath. "I'm tired of everyone talking about you like you're unpredictable, like you could do anything at any point. You are entirely predictable. I understand you. I know where your thoughts lead."
"Real mystery," Draco repeated, clenching his hands together until they were white.
He watched his childhood best friend's face flicker through a flurry of emotions before landing on what he could only assume was pity.
"Are you okay?" Blaise said quietly, his eyes fixated on Draco's.
"Am I okay?" Draco responded, nearly laughing. "What do you fucking mean? I am here, stuck, waiting, for her… always her. To get back."
Blaise appraised him for a moment. "You're more open than you've been previously. More open than ever."
He nearly hissed. "What do you want me to say, Blaise? That I'm depressed? That I'm fucking wilting without her here? That I have no idea what to do? That I've given up? That I know I'm in love with her?"
Blaise paused, his dark eyes staring into his soul.
"I mean I guess the last one."
Draco laughed, emotionless. "I love her, you already knew that, you knew before me. That doesn't matter. She doesn't love me."
"You don't know that," Blaise pointed out.
"She knows," Draco muttered, ignoring the pain in his chest. "That's not it, not what's destroying me."
"Then what bloody is?" Blaise asked.
Draco paused, taking a moment to stare into the abyss.
"Something is about to go wrong. I bloody know it."
Hermione stared at the manuscript for what felt like the one thousandth time in these past few weeks, looking over every line for a hint, a clue, any direction that he could have given them.
Dumbledore was not that kind.
She was sitting in her portion of the tent, curled up in an armchair she had transfigured. The Rita Skeeter manuscript was at the forefront of her mind, taking over every part of her thoughts.
Well, not every part.
She was trying not to think about him, not think about the last moment they had had together. The way his eyes had traced over her face, like she was a diamond in a sea of coal. She'd seen something there, behind those silver orbs. But she could not think about it now. There are more important things, aren't there? That's what she had promised Harry. That her emotions came second to the war.
But now that she was there, she wasn't sure that she could fulfill that promise.
Forcing the emotions down made it worse. Every once in a while, her mind would drift, ignoring her attempts at ignorance, and he would appear – she would think about him. She did not want to. There were more important things.
Weren't there?
"Hermione?" a voice said, glancing into her section of the tent.
She looked up and saw green eyes.
Green eyes that now matched her own.
"Yes, Harry?" she responded.
"Are you alright?" he asked, the worry evident in his voice.
Harry had never been good at hiding his thoughts or feelings.
She nodded, forcing a slight smile onto her face. "As good as one can be, while looking for Horcruxes."
Harry sighed, glancing behind him momentarily before stepping into her section of the tent.
"I wanted…" he started, before dwindling off into nothingness. She watched his apple's Adam bob. "I mean, I wanted to check in with you."
She stared back. "I mean, I'm as good as I've been good recently."
"Look, 'Mione," he started, his eyes glancing at the floor. "We've been here for two weeks."
"Two weeks where we haven't achieved anything."
"You're right," he admitted. "But also two weeks where you have stayed in your part of the tent, looking over that damn manuscript, ignoring me and Ron."
"It's not like he particularly wants to speak to me."
"He's angry," Harry shrugged, taking another step into her section of the tent. "He loves you, he does. He just doesn't understand how you could have been with him in the time that we were gone."
"Well, things change," she spat back, not wanting to raise the issue of Draco with Harry and Ron of all people.
Harry shrugged. "They do. But I'm sure you understand how confused he is."
She did.
She felt the same way.
"I'm sorry, Harry," she muttered, adverting her eyes from her best friend. From the person who knew her the best, or at least, had at one point in their lives.
"Don't be sorry," he replied, his eyes still trained on her. "You're thinking about him, aren't you?"
"What?" she started, desperately trying to put her walls back up. "No, I'm not…"
Harry shrugged. "You don't have to lie to me, 'Mione. It's okay."
She gaped back at him.
He shook his head quickly, before glancing down at the manuscript. "Anything good in there?'
"Nothing that comes to mind," she replied, trying to still her beating heart. "There's some stuff about Dumbledore and Grindelwald, you know, the dark wizard."
"Oh?" Harry said. "What about him?"
"I'm not sure," Hermione muttered, glancing at the book. "Something about their combined wish to get something. I'm not sure… it might be important."
Harry frowned. "Can we trust the book?"
"I'm not sure," Hermione said. "There's definitely something true in here."
For the first time in two weeks, she heard a familiar voice speak out from the other side of the tent.
Ron poked his head around the flap. "Are you talking about the book?"
Hermione nodded, nervously. "I'm trying to figure out if there's something in here that we can use."
He rolled his eyes. "Like the Skeeter book is exactly a historical masterpiece."
Hermione felt her skin prickle. "Like we have much else to go on."
Ron's eyes narrowed. "Well, it's not like all of us can call on our Death Eater's inside info to help understand the situation."
She took a deep breath, ignoring the implication. "I'm just trying to understand the situation. It really seems like there might be more here."
Ron laughed, his voice echoing off the side of the tent. "Isn't there always more going on here? You're proof of that already, aren't you, 'Mione?"
She tried not to react. They had been avoiding the topic for weeks, only speaking when absolutely necessary. But it seemed that this was the moment. Wasn't it always at the most inconvenient time?
"Ron," she breathed, trying to ignore the pounding in her chest. "Like I said, I've put it aside because of everything going on…"
"Well," he interrupted. "It should never have been central anyway."
"You know this is more complicated than anything."
"Why are you bothering, 'Mione?" he asked. She watched his face grow redder.
"I'm bothering because you're my best friend," she snapped, holding back tears.
"Don't feel like much of a best friend lately," Ron snarled, stepping fully into the tent. "I wouldn't betray a best friend like that."
"Ron," Harry said, trying to interject, to no avail.
Ron shoved back Harry, pushing into Hermione's part of the tent, covered in books, in disarray since they had landed in this part of the English countryside two weeks ago.
"Hermione, I just don't get it," he snarled, standing above her.
"You don't have to," she breathed, keeping her position on the couch. "I told you, I won't think about it until after the war is over…"
"The problem is that you thought about it all," Ron snapped at her.
"I've told you," she said, trying to deescalate. "It's complicated."
"No it's not!" Ron shouted, finally losing it. "You fucked the bastard, you decided you wanted him, and you threw aside everything for him."
"That's not true!" she answered, standing up and facing him face to face. "You don't understand everything, Ron."
"I understand enough," he huffed, two weeks of anger finally boiling over. "You screwed around with a Death Eater in the middle of a war, putting everything aside for him."
"I didn't put everything aside," Hermione cried, throwing down the Dumbledore book. She watched as Harry flinched back in the corner. Her best friend, at this point, hadn't bothered to do anything to mediate her and Ron's screaming match.
Not like much would mediate it.
"You know," Ron started, pacing slightly around before turning back on her. "We've barely spoken for the two fucking weeks we've been stuck here."
"I know," Hermione said. "And it has killed me, Ron. I want us to be okay…"
"Because I haven't been able to get over one thing," Ron continued on in his rant, ignoring her interjection. "Back at Grimmauld Place, you couldn't look me in the eye and say you didn't love him."
Her blood went ice cold.
Ron stopped, turning towards her, eyes narrowed and skin red. "You couldn't say it then. Can you say it now?"
Hermione's breath caught. "Ron, you don't understand…"
He shook his head. "I do understand. It's a yes or no question."
She watched Harry finally step forward, slapping Ron on the shoulder. "Come on mate, just leave it…"
Ron shook the hand off quickly, turning his attention back to Hermione. "I haven't been able to stop fucking thinking about it in two weeks. You couldn't deny it. It's an admission in and of itself."
She was frozen.
He took a step forward. They were almost nose to nose. She couldn't breathe.
"So, tell me," he whispered, his voice shaking. "Are you in love with him or not?"
She had no choice
She had no option left.
But she also had made up her mind a long time ago.
Without anything else to do, Draco's face flashing across her eyelids and she closed them, she answered.
She nodded.
Hermione heard the reaction before she saw it.
"For fuck's sake, Hermione!" Ron screamed.
Her eyes were still closed.
Did she want to avoid reality? Absolutely.
But not anymore.
"Do you not understand what you did?" he shouted.
"I do," she whispered, eyes still closed.
"You fell in love with one of them," Ron hissed. "A Death Eater."
"I know," she whispered.
"A bastard."
"I know," she said, voice stronger.
Her eyes were still closed.
Ron wouldn't take it. "A follower! How could you be surprised? He has the goddamn mark on his arm. He follows him! The devil…"
"Ron!" she heard Harry shout.
"Voldemort himself!" Ron roared, finally losing it.
It was as if the world stopped.
She heard the cracks in the air, surrounding the tent that had become her sanctuary.
She knew. Of course, she knew.
Her eyes opened.
Before her stood Ron and Harry. The latter met her eyes before hissing out the word she had desperately wished he wouldn't.
"Snatchers."
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