Disclaimer and Author's note:

This is my disclaimer, dear,

I really have to put it here.

I state that nothing here is mine,

Except for the plot, which is so fine

That you have to leave a review,

Which I hope you'll surely do

Without me reminding you of it.

Besides this story is such a hit

That you can't help but go on reading.

So I shortly will be leading

You to new adventures, twists and turns,

Where our hero's heart just burns

With grief and sorrow for his love.

I'm so sorry that it took me so long to finish this chapter. I just didn't feel like writing and I didn't know how to go on. I was lost. I still have no clue what will happen in the next chapter (suggestions are always welcome therefore, too) and how the story's going to end. This chapter is not beta-read so far. I just didn't want to make you wait any longer and therefore I'll replace this chapter with the beta-read version as soon as my beta-read gets back to me.

Thank you so much for the reviews you left, they made me try harder to finish this chapter.

I'm also sorry that I can't quite stick to the genre I promised you. It seems as if this story just isn't meant to be humorous. 

Oh, and I know I am  a conceited bastard. :)

***

Married?!

Chapter 5

Revelations

***

He was sitting in the corner of the bedroom, watching her intently. She looked horrible. Her hair was a tangled mess, her face was still bruised and she definitely needed to take a shower.  A faint smile played on his lips. Yes, she did look terrible, but he didn't mind.

Draco put his chin in his hands, then leaned back against the wall. He had no idea what to make of the situation he, no, they were in. He hated to admit it to himself, but he was scared. Scared and confused by his feelings.

On the one hand, there was Hermione, who might be his wife, after all he had proposed to her and given her that damn ring, and somehow he really liked her. It felt good to be close to her and to talk to her. She was the only person he could rely on, wasn't she?

On the other hand, he couldn't get rid of the memories that haunted him. The memories, in which he beat her up and abused her. What did that mean? Why would he hurt Hermione?

Draco Malfoy couldn't even imagine that he would lay as much as a finger on that girl sleeping so innocently in the small bed in front of him. But maybe that just wasn't him. He didn't know what the real Draco Malfoy was like. Or was he the one and only, real Draco Malfoy? Hell, who was this Draco Malfoy anyway?

There were so many different and even contradicting thoughts on his mind that he just couldn't sort them out. His head hurt with a throbbing, dull pain. 

Groaning he buried his face in his hands until finally exhaustion took over and he fell asleep.

***

The small bedroom was only illuminated by faint moonlight and at first Hermione didn't know where she was when she woke up in the middle of night, but as soon as she spotted a familiar blonde peacefully snoring in the far corner, the memories of the previous day returned. There he was in tattered old robes, with ruffled hair and dirty blotches in his face and on his clothes. He really needed a bath. Draco looked fragile and surprisingly small and forlorn for a man of his height and stature. 

Hermione chuckled lightly and was reminded of the reason why she had woken up. The bathroom. Right. Swiftly she got out of bed and placed her feet firmly on the ground.

She tiptoed out of the room and opened the bathroom-door as silently as she could. She shuddered a little as she once again glanced at the greenish slime in the bathtub and the sink and she quickly decided that she would better not examine the toilet too closely.

The few hours of sleep she had had, had been enough to refresh her and she doubted that she would be able to go back to bed. Deciding that she might as well have a nice hot cup of tea for now she started of towards the kitchen. On a dusty little shelf in the corner of the bathroom she caught sight of  a few outdated newspapers and on her way out she picked them up.

Several issues of The Daily Prophet were spread out on the kitchen table in front of her. They were at least 10 months old, some even older than that. Soon Hermione forgot about the tea-kettle she had place on the stove and was absorbed in the newspapers. There  were pictures in it of herself and two boys. She could read her own name printed black against the creamy yellow of the paper. Hermione Granger. Granger and not Malfoy. She wasn't married, then. However, the issues were pretty old and the wedding could have taken place in the meantime. There were pictures of Draco, too. Draco and Lucius Malfoy.

The more she read, the more familiar became the names of her friends. Friends? Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. The Weasleys. Threats and disturbing news that warned of an upcoming war.

Hermione gulped. The tea-kettle whistled urgently on the stove, the water was boiling, but Hermione was unaware of the background noise.

***

Harry was fuming with anger. How could Hermione do that to him? Tears threatened to spill, but there was no one he could turn to for advice and help. No one to comfort him. No one to help him out of this situation. No one. Not even Ron, who had disappeared after their last battle with Voldemort. God, he only hoped that Ron was still alive. He had lost Hermione to Draco Malfoy, he couldn't afford to lose the only friend he had left. 

***

Hermione looked deathly pale. All colour had drained her face and her hands trembled slightly as she ran blindly through the forest, making her way back to the Burrow. She had to find Harry.  She had to tell him what had happened. What if he still trusted Ron?  She had to warn him no matter what it cost.

Images kept flooding her mind. Images of her past and her friends. Of Ron and Harry and Ginny. Of her days back at Hogwarts. Her parents. Crookshanks. Summer holidays and Christmas breaks.

And Malfoy.

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. Malfoy was still in the tent. She couldn't just leave him there, could she?

Draco. She could feel the ring on her hand. The ring he had given to her. The way he smiled at her genuinely and joked with her. The way he hit her across her face. The numerous times he had called her a mudblood.

She felt nauseous and her head was spinning. She had to lean on a nearby tree for support, yet her legs gave way and she sank to the mossy ground.

***

The annoying whistling of the tea-kettle eventually woke Draco. A rush of adrenaline sent him hastily scrambling to his feet and it took him a second to place the shrill noise, but his pulse slowed down and he relaxed.

His gaze fell on the bed Hermione had previously occupied. It was empty, but the sheets were still dishevelled. She had probable gone to make herself a cup of tea.

"Hermione?" he drawled still a little sleepy and staggered towards the kitchen. "For heaven's sake, take the bloody kettle of the stove."

"Hermione?" His voice wavered.

The kitchen was empty except for a mess of old newspapers on the table and the angrily whistling kettle.

Nervously he checked on the bathroom.

Empty.  No sign of her.

"If this is a joke, it's not a good one!" he called standing in the small hallway, waiting for her to answer.

A sickening feeling began to shot in his stomach.  What if something had happened to her? She wouldn't leave voluntarily, would she?

Without a second thought he stormed out of the tent and scanned his surroundings. No trace of Hermione. But before he could hurry any further he felt a hand on his shoulder, holding him back firmly and turning him around.

"Well, well, if this isn't the famous Draco Malfoy all on his own out here?" a dark man with a deep voice greeted him.

He looked familiar to Draco, but he couldn't quite place him and before he even had the chance to reply, Draco was hit by a stunning spell.