That night, as the wizard clock struck twelve in their living room, Draco had left Hermione for a mission that might cost his life.
The War Against the Dark Lord.
Ever since Harry Potter's fourth year at Hogwarts, Voldemort had lain low, bading his time, gathering his resources, planning, calculating. It had been impossible to track him down, much less capture, or kill him. It was known to the wizarding world that the Dark Lord would show his presence when he was ready to conquer the world. And it was known that no wizard or witch except his most faithful followers would be allowed to live.
Dumbledore had acted quickly. Gathering everyone who was willing to help. Talking them into it. Organized tough and tiring training sessions for the greater ones. And all along Draco had been beside him, assisting in any way he could. He knew he was in grave danger, of course, as he had betrayed his father and Voldemort, but he had been put under the Fidelius Charm with Dumbledore as his Secret-Keeper therefore he was not as frightened as he had imagined himself to be.
It felt great working on the good side. Alongside with Harry Potter, Ron Weasely, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin. It was amazing, in fact, that there were still so many decent wizards and witches in the world. Draco had been very surprised at the turnout of voluntary helpers. They were willing to risk their lives, to die, all for the noble cause of defeating Voldemort, and he was proud to say that he was one of them.
The only thing he regretted as he joined the task force was having to part with Hermione.
He loved her. To the point of dying for her. It had torn his heart apart, that night. They had received the orders from Dumbledore that fateful evening; Voldemort had been spotted, war was to be ensued. The first task force was to set out. That included him, Harry, Sirius, and Dumbledore himself.
He understood the importance, the danger, the risk of the whole thing. He was willing to die for the cause, too, but he pained to know that he would be leaving Hermione. Hermione, his one, last, true love.
They shared a sweet kiss on the porch that night. Both knew in their hearts that this kiss may be their last ever, and both hurt because of this knowledge. The kiss had started gently at first, Draco pressing Hermione to him, softly, tenderly, but the passion grew and soon they were breathing hard, unwilling to part. It was almost scary, this desperate need they had for each other.
However, as the clock struck twelve, Draco forced himself away from her
"I'll see you in one week's time," she said softly, her eyes sorrowful but her voice containing a trace of hope.
Draco nodded. He did not trust himself to speak.
"See you then, my dearest."
Then with a sweep of his robes he was gone.
