Last Time

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the Harry Potter books,movie...etc, they belong to J.K Rowling.

A.N: Heyyy! Thanks to the people who reviewed, and I have a question to you guys...how much longer should I make it, how much more do you guys want to read? And if you have any other comments/suggestions, just leave me a message ;-) Well hope you like! xx

Hermione's head was reeling.

What the hell was Viktor Krum doing here?

"Her-mi-oh-knee, how have you been?" He asked in his thick Bulgarian accent.

Hermione, trying to bite back the disappointment in her stomach, choked out some phatic bit about what had brought him to the house.

"Vell, I vas going to ze training, and I just stopped by here, to zay hello to you!" He explained brightly, moving to pull Hermione into a friendly hug. Hermione merely stood there, too shocked to reciprocate and too disappointed that it was Viktor's arms around her and not Draco's to feel much of anything. Fortunately, Viktor was oblivious to Hermione's aversions.

Tonks however, was not.

The minute Hermione had come into the hallway and caught sight of her visitor, the bright smile spread across her pretty face had fallen, leaving her void of all emotion. Hermione almost appeared disappointed with the surprise, and so Tonks was quick to make an excuse to whisk Hermione back to the kitchen.

Hermione, glad for a reason to leave, walked back towards the kitchen, smiling gratefully as Tonks explained to a baffled Viktor Krum, that 'now was not the best time to come for a visit'. Hermione walked back over to the sink and picked up the discarded potato, preparing to peel it once and for all. She was not sorry to hear the door close as Viktor continued on his way to the training, but she did feel kind of bad for her flippancy. She had been so disappointed at not seeing Draco standing there that she had seemed to loose all functioning abilities. Hermione sighed to herself and resolved to apologize to him if they ever ran into eachother again.

Hermione was so involved in her own miserable musings that she didn't even notice Tonks' return until the woman was right behind her, hands on her hips.

"You have some explaining to do young lady," Tonks began in a jokingly-condescending tone, "I thought you two had a thing for each other."

Hermione turned to face her, sighing dismally to herself. Ever since she had realized her feelings for Draco, she had longed to share them with someone. Harry and the gang were out—they would assume that Draco had put some spell over her or something. Her parents too were out as Hermione longed to tell them the details of her private life like she longed to be thrown into a cage of hungry lions. Besides them, there was really no one else. Not to mention that everything felt trivial compared to the war. She was bursting to tell someone how her heart was aching for him—and it seemed as if this was the perfect chance to tell Tonks.

So she did.

I wonder what she's doing now, Draco thought to himself, stretching out on the empty common room couch. After an exceptionally boring day of reading he had actually managed to finish the book and was now left with nothing to do.

Draco had never truly been alone and he found that he didn't much enjoy it. Between the Manor where his mother and various guests of his father were permanent fixtures and school where there had always been hundreds of people hanging around—even if none of them were actually his friends—he had always been around people. Even on those rare occasions from his childhood when his parents had both gone off some reason or another, there were always nursemaids and other staff members bustling around the house. And now, Draco was experiencing something completely different.

Loneliness.

It wasn't so much that he hated not having people around—the silence was actually a nice change. The problem was that the solitude had a tendency to inspire thought and his thoughts kept returning to Hermione. Hermione, who was really the only girl he had ever truly cared for, and how just when he had her, she had left. Granted it wasn't her fault—they knew they were supposed to be parting ways long before they even thought about eachother as anything more than acquaintances—but that didn't eliminate any of the pain at losing her.

Draco's stomach hurt from how much he missed her. He was sick with the realization that at any moment, while he was lounging around the castle devil-may-care, Hermione could be hurt or sick or attacked. Or, Draco realized, his stomach sinking even further.

She might be dead.

Hermione couldn't believe that it was almost Christmas.

There were no decorations, no holiday cheer, and no promise of festivities. In fact, with the war tension growing every day the last thing in the house was joy. Everywhere around her, all Hermione could hear was talk about the war and when it would finally happen. And as if to put the final black spot on Christmas day, the war was slated to start Christmas morning. How everyone seemed to know this bit of information, Hermione would never know. It was the unofficial commencement of activity, although Hermione guessed it would be less than jolly.

Hermione couldn't help but feel isolated from everything, even if she was staying in the middle of everything by staying at headquarters. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she really wasn't devoting herself to the cause as much as she would have liked. It was just so hard to make sure there was enough food and that all the potatoes were properly peeled when she hadn't heard from Draco since her untimely departure.

When Hermione had explained her story to Tonks, she was filled with an indescribable relief at having finally told someone. It was as if it made the whole situation real, and not some figment of her overzealous imagination. And best of all, Tonks had understood. She had smiled, comforting Hermione in regards to Draco's safety. Despite her efforts at remaining cheery about it though, Hermione could tell that Tonks was slightly baffled about the fact that it was Lucius Malfoy's son who Hermione had chosen, but, to her credit, she never said a word about it. It was the last thing Hermione would have wanted, and so instead of questioning that bit, the two engaged in a girlish exchange that was dampened only when Molly came in, demanding to know whether or not the soup was close to being finished.

Draco was getting restless.

Three days had passed and all he could think about was Hermione. It was driving him crazy—all he wanted to do was be with her. He needed her so badly. According to the mental calendar he had been keeping in his head since Hermione's departure, he only had one more day of solitude before his father collected him, and although he couldn't wait to get a chance to see Hermione, he knew he wouldn't really be able to at all. For days that had been his only comfort—the promise of reuniting with Hermione—but now that it was drawing closer he realized that he really had no actual chance of that happening. The war would end—and then what? Worries plagued Draco's head. Who would win? Would Hermione die? Would he be caught? Would she find out? And even if the war did turn out okay and everyone returned to finish the year at Hogwarts—would Hermione even want to be with him again?

For the first time in his privileged little life, Draco was feeling insecure.

For his entire life, Draco had know what he was destined to be, whom he would be with, and how he would live his life. Now though, he was at a loss. Everything he thought he had known had been shattered in the course of a few weeks. And that terrified Draco. He had one day until his father came to collect him, and then he would be powerless to stop the events from cascading from there.

The beginning of the end.

The tension in the house increased as the days rolled by.

Everyone was ready, or at least they thought they were, but each day seemed to prove how unprepared they really were. No one had a clue what they would be up against, and judging by the looks of their faces, it didn't look too good. Hermione however, found that with each day she was worrying less and less. It didn't seem real to her—as if the entire thing was some elaborate ruse meant to ruffle a few feathers. It couldn't seriously happen, could it?

Glancing outside, Hermione smiled at the snow drifting softly down to the ground. She closed her eyes, and thought about how things should have been. She should have been spending the holiday with her parents, relaying every minute detail about school life and her various adventures, or Harry and Ron's latest endeavor. It should have been lovely.

Thoughts about her family caused Hermione to wonder about their safekeeping. Had someone thought to notify them? Surely if Voldemort was keen on hurting Hermione, he wouldn't have ruled out slaying Muggles to achieve his goal. Too anxious to think about it, Hermione shook the thought from her head and turned back to the soapy dishes as Remus Lupin walked into the previously-empty kitchen.

"Hermione," he began quietly, his voice laced with concern, "are you ready for tomorrow?" His posture was relaxed and his face looked calm but his eyes easily gave him away. They were laced with worry and flicked anxiously around the room.

"Tomorrow," Hermione repeated, as if getting a feel for the word in her mouth. It was the day she'd both dreaded and waited for. It was when she would go to war, but it would also give her a chance to see Harry, Ron, and Ginny. And maybe even a certain fair-haired Slytherin. Remus didn't seem to notice the nostalgic veil that had suddenly fallen over Hermione's eyes, so he continued with his spiel.

"Well, I have to tell you what will be going on then. Most of us are already," he paused, jerking his thumb towards the frosty window, "– out there. But me and a few others will be escorting the rest of the fighters out there. We will leave early tomorrow morning, so make sure you're ready," he warned. Hermione bit her lip.

"Will I see Harry—?" Hermione began, but was promptly cut off.

"If you see him at all it will be during battle. There will be no time for chit-chat when we arrive."

"So," Hermione began, trying her best to fully concentrate, "we get there and we just—,"

"I suppose we just get straight to it," Remus supplied wearily and Hermione could tell he had never been trained for this. He was a scholar, not a warrior.

The pair sat in silence, ignoring the persistent thought that this may be their last time together. Hermione was beginning to see the reality of the war and faced her own mortality with a nervous stomach. She began to reflect on how much each of her friends meant to her, and how much her family meant to her. Every time she thought of them being gone forever, it made her want to cry. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt herself feel more upset and depressed about the whole situation until she couldn't stand it any more. She wished the war would never come, and now that she understood there was no way getting out of it, she couldn't wait till the storm would pass over.

"I guess we should be getting to bed now," Lupin began half-heartedly, taking a stand. Hermione sighed.

"I suppose so."

Hermione stood up to leave, heading straight for her bedroom.

Her heart felt heavy, as if she was going through the motions one final time. This could be the last time I brush my teeth…this is could be the last time I brush my hair…this could be the last time I sleep in a bed.

But when she curled up in her bed, and tried to fall asleep, she couldn't help but think.

This won't be the last time I cry.

Draco was pacing up and down the great hall.

He had said that he was coming at nine thirty, but now it was closer to nine forty and there was still no sign of his father.

Draco hadn't managed to get any sleep last night, and he was desperate to get out of this eerie castle. After four days of no noise, and solitude Draco felt himself going slowly insane. It was like being isolated in a cage, but the door was open. He could leave—but not really.

Walking up and down again, he heard a pounding on the door.

"Draco, are you there?"

He swung open the door, and there he was. His father.

"You ready?" Lucius asked with the trademark Malfoy smirk.

"Of course," Draco said, trying to mind his temper at his father's mocking indifference. He had always done this type of thing but that didn't make it less annoying every time.

"Then let's get moving."

Together, the two Malfoy men trudged out of the castle and over the freshly fallen snow. And despite his newfound hatred for the old castle, Draco couldn't help glancing back and wondering whether he would ever return.

Fortunately, he didn't have much time to be sad, because once off the grounds, Lucius spun around to face his son.

"We apparate from here and then we will separate. We are there for the Dark Lord, and ourselves. Don't risk you life for another, unless it's our master. We won't be working together Draco—every man for himself. So when we arrive, we find our own directions. This—this will be the last time we will see each other before the war."

Malfoy's weren't really the best people with dealing with emotions (save for Narcissa who could pitch a fit with the best of them, although she was really only a Malfoy in name, so she didn't count), but at that moment, Draco could sense how proud his father was of him, and how he would miss him if they were never to see each other again.

Slightly embarrassed and a little too stiffly, the two embraced each other, something Draco was not entirely used to. It didn't last long, and before Draco fully had time to understand the gesture, Lucius straightened up and pulled away.

Funny the things war could make you do.

"Everyone ready to leave?" Kingesley Shacklebolt asked, addressing the rather impressive crowd.

Everyone nodded dutifully, staring stone-faced towards the front of the room. The silence was nerve-wracking, and it made Hermione feel uncomfortable. She noticed she was the youngest one there. It didn't help her with her self-esteem.

"As ready as we'll ever be," someone called out, eliciting terse laughter from the crowd.

"Ok then," Shacklebolt continued, not missing a beat. "Everyone pair up with somebody, and we will tell you when you can go outside."

Hermione looked around, but before she could choose someone, a witch in her thirties took her arm. She looked like a strong and independent woman, and Hermione felt a rush of reassurance as she looked up at her.

"You look a little bit lost," she commented softly, then, with a smile, she shrugged, "but I suppose we all do." Hermione smiled weakly.

"You two," Kingsley boomed over the hall, pointing at Hermione's group.

Hermione scuttled forward, the witch following her.

"Hermione, Angelina, you will work outside, and once you have stepped on to the pavement, you will be transported."

The witch took Hermione's hand and squeezed it.

"You'll be fine," she whispered. Hermione wasn't so sure. But she couldn't let Angelina know her fear. So, with a determined gulp, Hermione nodded.

And together, they walked outside.