Hermione wasn't sure how long she had sat by Draco's side gently holding onto him as he cried into her shoulder. She hadn't even realized that a few of her own tears had prodded themselves into the mix again until she brushed a hand against her cheek to wipe a trickle of what she thought was sweat from her cheek. Hermione had seen her worst fears come to life in the dream-like fog, playing every terrifying nightmare she had ever experienced when it came to the safety of her family. Now, sitting beside Draco, she knew she certainly hadn't been the only one. Whatever he had seen had been truly horrific, and nothing she could even begin to fathom. After all, she hadn't experienced the life and terror he had living in the same household, shadow, and santuary of Lord Voldemort.

Each time he had tried to recapture his put-together stature and talk about whatever it was, another wave of whimpers and sobs overcame him. Hermione said nothing the entire time and simply held onto him like she had done with Harry all those years ago in the graveyard of Godric's Hollow. She knew the pain it had caused, and the emotions he had felt. In the end, she had settled for saying nothing and being the shoulder he needed to cry on.

Hermione felt in the same situation now as Draco's whimpers slowly dwindled into mere sniffs and his silver eyes became less puffy and red. Many minutes passed before she heard his steady breath coming back bit by bit and his body didn't shake as violently as it had. She noticed, however, he never released his tight grip on her sleeve, his knuckles blaring a milky white paleness. Something about the way he gripped her so tightly like she would fade away at any moment pulled her heartstrings to the point she thought they would snap.

With the arm that wasn't wrapped tightly around his shoulders, Hermione wiped away the glistening trails of tears on his shallow cheeks for what felt like the hundredth time that night before handling the few still leaking down her own. At the moment, she didn't care what people would think of him, or her for that matter. She guessed the Death Eaters were having a laugh at the sight of the two working together; her friends would mostly be gobsmacked when she hadn't laughed in his face or left him to deal with his own struggles. She knew of the tension between her belated Gryffindors and the pesky Slytherins, but it seemed a formality now when she had seen, for the first time, the walls of Draco Malfoy crumble.

Summoning what little courage he had, he quietly muttered, "If you're still holding that offer, Granger - I'd be willing to talk."

"Draco if you're not ready, don't feel like you have to open up." Hermione countered feeling guilty. She hadn't wanted him to feel pressured to tell her anything, especially when it came to the nightmares he constantly had or the horrors of the silvery mist still hovering on the edge of the hill. "I know it's difficult to talk, especially when you don't feel comfortable talking about something like - well like that. I just didn't know if you wanted to get whatever it was off your mind…"

"So that's a no then." he mumbled, turning his silvery gaze back to the ground. Realizing he must have assumed she didn't want to have to bear whatever it was he had seen on her own conscience, Hermione released her hold from around him and sat down cross legged, her annoyed stare turning soft when she saw the confusion in his eyes. Folding her hands together in her lap, she looked up and didn't take her eyes away from his face. Getting a decent look at him now, she noticed small things she hadn't when she first walked over: a sheen of sweat covered his forehead even as a soft breeze blew through, the pink scar line from the manticore attack seemed to jump off his abnormally pale features, and he kept tracing the forearm over his left sleeve where the faint outline of the Dark Mark tarnished his skin.

Hermione waited for him to start whatever he needed to get off his chest as he became rather enthralled by a long stalk of grass, twirling it around one of his fingers. Not meeting her pleading eyes, he inhaled a shaky breath. "It went back to the night I was supposed to kill Dumbledore" he choked out. "And when you were brought into the Manor."

Simply nodding, Hermione waited for him to continue as the minutes ticked by.

"The first, erm, dream I had was when I went up to the Astronomy tower. I didn't really know what I was doing when I followed myself up the stairs. There I was, acting all high and mighty with a wand to his throat while he sat defenseless on the other side of the wall." Draco scoffed at his own actions before his expression turned dark.

"I watched myself stalling until my Aunt Bella and the rest of the lot made their way up, Snape following right behind them like he had done. I knew what was coming next, and I didn't want to see it again so I tried to lunge for my own wand. My hand went right through like I was a ghost. And I couldn't do anything when my aunt started to scream at me to hurry it up. I shouted and grabbed and tried anything to stop myself from inching closer to him. In the end, it wasn't Snape who finished the job either…."

Draco trailed off on his sentence replaying the scene that had unfolded, his eyes taking that same far off look she had seen after he had woken screaming from a nightmare. Placing a gentle hand on the one winding up the shriveling blade of grass, Hermione looked up into his frightened silver eyes and gave a gentle squeeze to his hand, urging him to continue. Barely nodding, he continued with his story while he averted his eyes down to her hand still resting on his.

"Once that was out of the way, the memory changed again to the time Potter was brought up to the Manor while I was there over holiday. This time I wasn't the one watching, though. It was - well, me. I could move and talk and actually touch things, and before I had time to realize what was going on, the memory continued and my father was calling me over to identify if it really was Potter or not - "

"Why did you?" Hermione interrupted suddenly. The question had boggled her in the back of her mind ever since they had escaped with the house elf, Dobby. She remembered momentarily staring dumbfounded unbeknownst to anyone else at Draco when she could see the lie behind his terrified eyes. He knew it was Harry even with his jinxed face, but for some reason she hadn't been able to explain, he had denied knowing it was him and shrugged it off. "Why did you deny it was Harry even when you knew it was?"

Draco looked back up at her, a sentence forming on the tip of his tongue before he swallowed it back under as if ashamed to admit it. Hermione squeezed his hand again in reassurance. Before she could tell him he really didn't have to talk if he didn't want to, the words suddenly tumbled from his mouth so quietly that she almost didn't catch what he had said.

"It might come as a bit of a shock to you Granger, but I didn't want the Dark Lord there anymore than you three did."

Hermione stared at him, his words sinking in and her common sense finally coming into play. His trembling figure, the way his eyes darted around the room, the reluctance to admit it really was Harry. Her cheeks lightly tainted a faint blush as she hadn't realized it sooner. The two sat in a tense silence before Hermione finally broke the invisible strain.

"What, er, happened after you said it wasn't Harry?" she asked, snapping him back to their conversation. Draco's brow furrowed as he looked away again, seemingly lost in thought.

"The events played out about the same, leading up to when Potter and Weasley were taken down to the cellar. After that, it - it all came crashing down." Hermione fought back her own tears at the memory of what had happened next.

"My deranged aunt threw you to the floor and tortured you for answers about that sword." Draco took a deep breath and choked on his voice. "I couldn't talk, couldn't scream. It was like every part of my body was frozen to that spot near the fireplace. You were crying that you didn't know how you came across it and that you hadn't taken anything from her vault, but she wouldn't listen. Your screams only stopped for a minute when she went to go down to fetch the goblin."

At this point, it was taking every ounce of willpower for Draco not to burst into another array of tears. Hermione was struggling just as much as she swallowed again, trying to keep her composure up even for the sake of the satisfaction of the audience watching them. She didn't remove her hand from off of his and waited patiently until he was ready to continue.

"Even when she went down I couldn't move. The only one who did was my mother, and what shocked me was the fact she had moved towards you. She - she bent down and whispered something to you, though I'm not sure what. You only nodded and said you'd do the best you could. My father was just as dumb struck as I was but didn't say anything when my mother started cleaning up the word my aunt had carved into your arm. When Bellatrix came back up with the goblin, she was furious to see her sister helping a Muggle-born, much less one of who was a friend to Harry Potter's."

"She had taken out her wand, and it happened so quickly, I couldn't count the seconds it had taken for my mother to fall to the floor. My father had tried to grab hold of Bellatrix, but she threw him back with some sort of stunning spell like he was a rag-doll. She pointed it back at my mother, and I'm not even sure how long she had kept her on the floor with that bloody curse."

"I tried to move or scream or do something to help her, but I only watched when Bellatrix finally released the curse and made her way towards my mother. She was sobbing and clutching her stomach begging for the pain to stop. Much like Bella had done with you, she carved "traitor" into the arm of her own sister, and all I had done was stood by and watched...WATCHED!"

Draco meant to scream the word as he threw a fistful of grass to the whistling wind, but it came out as a hoarse cry. He curled in on himself, burying his face in his hands as salty streams leaked from the corners of his eyes again. He looked lost, defenseless, and broken, trembling beside his partner who still hadn't uttered a single word. Apparently taking this as a sign of the worst, Draco didn't look up at her as he choked on his next question.

"H-How can you even stand to look at me, Granger? How can you bloody do it?"

Hermione hadn't expected that, and sharply snapped her head up to look at him. Opening her mouth to throw a retort about how ridiculous he was being in saying such things, he cut her off before she got the chance to.

"After everything I've done; the people I've tortured, the things that I've said, the bloody oath that I took - " He roughly pulled up his jacket sleeve to reveal the faded outline of the Dark Mark. " - why do you stick around to help a Death Eater?"

Hermione didn't respond, mulling his question over and over in her mind as she stared down at the symbol embedded into his forearm. Aside from the promise she had made to Narcissa, why hadn't she just left him the first chance she had got? The two had started with nothing but a strained tension, thrown insults, and constant bickering. She remembered times during their training she was doubtful she would be able to restrain herself from trying to strangle him or just up and leaving. Their incident outside the maze hadn't helped his case, nor did it answer the reason why she had forgiven him for calling her such a foul name. Since then they had faced a manticore, survived near starvation, and avoided bumping into any surviving tributes with an unspoken treaty.

Though it was peaceful and friendly, their past still hung in the air between them, both from their days on the battlefield of the Second Wizarding War and inside the walls of Hogwarts. Hermione belonged to the proud house of Gryffindor alongside her two closest friends; Draco stood with his Slytherin cronies and an ego the size of Hogwarts. A feud of some sort had emerged the moment they stepped into the Great Hall of their first night, abolishing any treaty or friendship as the year progressed. So why had she helped the ferret-like boy from her year?

Her answer came to her like a punch to the stomach. She glanced down at him to see he had begun to shrink away from her the longer he waited for an answer. Hermione swallowed and answered his question in a hoarse whisper.

"Because I know that isn't who you really are."

Draco finally looked up at her to see if there was any humor or laugh about what she was saying. Instead, he saw only the truth behind her deep, hazel eyes.

"I know you were manipulated at every turn and you had almost no choice in what you did. I know you were ordered to kill our Headmaster for the sake of keeping your parents alive, and I know you didn't do it because that's not you. I know you had to torture and kill and took it upon yourself just to stay alive with each day."

He turned his hurt gaze away from her, and the motion was not missed. Hermione moved her hand from his and brought it up to rest on his shoulder and continued even through her rising tears. "But I also know you didn't identify Harry that night we were brought to the Manor for the sake of keeping Voldemort at bay. You kept him alive in the Room of Requirement even if you didn't realize it. Since then you've avoided all contact with the Death Eaters and tried to make up for what you've done, and even if you won't admit it to yourself, I've seen it through these past few weeks. You've changed from the boy you were to the person you are now."

The moments she had seen that flicker of hope raced through her memory all at once: their small arguments had turned from bickering to light teasing, more than once she had caught the corner of his lips turning up into a genuine smile, and he seemed more relaxed than she had ever seen even if they were still caught in the elaborate arena.

Glancing down to the Dark Mark, still on display to herself and the world, Hermione hesitantly extended her fingers towards his pale skin. Brushing the edge of its mangled body, she gently held his wrist as she laid her palm across the serpent's head, covering it's vicious fangs and bone-chilling snarl.

"Why did you stick around, Granger?" he asked, repeating his earlier question. "Even before the war I'll admit I was an egotistical, stuck-up Slytherin."

"Yes, I won't deny that," Hermione muttered. "And I can name more than once when I've wanted to slap you again. But aside from that, I've also accepted what you haven't yet done for yourself."

"And what's that?"

"Forgiving the past you've left behind."

Hermione watched his eyes widen, at first in the sudden shock of the words. Neither had officially said anything when it came to their mutual trust and slow blossoming friendship, and Draco clearly hadn't expected her to be the one to mention it. He didn't say anything, nor did he take his eyes away from hers as her words pierced through his heart. Admiration filled his eyes as well as a fleeting emotion Hermione couldn't quite place. Before she was able to make out what it was she had seen, Draco had turned away and cleared his throat. She felt her cheeks break out into a light blush as she released her tight hold around his shoulder and the silence stretched between the two. When she caught a small grin tugging at his lips out of the corner of her eye, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders as it turned into his signature smirk. Seeing him regain his usual smugness was enough for her own smile to break out even as she furrowed her brow in confusion.

"What?" she asked.

"I really was that bad in school?" he questioned. "I mean I know I was a bit of a prat, but -"

"A bit?" Hermione gawked. "You grew my front teeth out to the point they almost hit the floor in our fourth year! Not to mention the time you tried to get Hagrid fired, almost got Harry expelled in our first year, dressed as a dementor at one of our quidditch matches to scare the daylights out of him, and don't even get me started on Buckbeak - "

"That bloody chicken attacked me!" Draco retorted, crossing his arms over his chest trying to hide a smug grin under a scowl. Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes, ignoring his long speech on how he was in pain for weeks and couldn't do practically anything. In the middle of ranting on the potions Ron and Harry couldn't seem to get right to save their own skin, Hermione rose from the ground and brushed off her pant legs.

Picking up her discarded bow and sheath of arrows, she threw the bag over her shoulder and scanned the edge of the forest. Their previous campsite was nowhere to be found beneath the shadowed moonlight over the still meadow. In truth, she had no idea where they were.

Returning to Draco who had ended his ongoing rant, she gestured to a huge oak on the edge of the forest, it's large trunk and smooth branches a perfect place to set shelter for the night. Draco began the trek while Hermione stayed behind, taking one last glance over her shoulder at the dwindling silver fog near the hillside. She could still hear the faint whispers trying to lure in its next victim who would endure the same fate she and Draco had.

Hermione looked to the sky with defiance and anger in her piercing eyes. Knowing the Death Eaters were watching from the comfort of the arena, Hermione felt a wave of hatred bubble through her veins at the idea. Just as the temptation to scream into the cool, night air seemed a plausible idea, Draco's call for her to hurry up snapped her attention away.

With a small nod, Hermione ran up the hill beside him and into the clearing where they began their nightly routine. A crackling fire was soon enveloping the oak's trunk with warm heat and a cozy greeting. Their earlier choice of woodland stew was off the table, and the two tributes settled for an array of edible plants Hermione had gathered a few nights before.

Draco and Hermione continued their light and airy conversations. While she didn't admit it to herself, Hermione was more than happy to see him back to his usual "Malfoy" state, unlike the one she had seen only an hour before. Even as the conversation of earlier apologies and admittance to the new friendship between the two hung in the air, neither mentioned it but felt something had indeed changed.

As the fire finally began to die down to glowing ashes, Hermione made herself comfortable, or as comfortable as she could get, against the root of the tree. Between the song of the forest and Draco's gentle snore, she felt her eyes drooping low, the comfort of sleep finally overcoming her. Expecting to wake from a horrendous nightmare regarding the lifeless bodies of her parents, Hermione was surprised to rouse from her sleep by the gentle rays of sunlight shining through the canopy of leaves and the mouth-watering embrace of a freshly caught breakfast.

Hello my fellow readers!

Here is chapter 11 for you all, and seeing as I am currently still at home with the Easter weekend having just past, there is a double update for today which I hope you all will enjoy!

And, as always, have an amazing morning, afternoon, evening, or night!

-Summerwinds