chapter 31

The air around Hermione was stifling. The morning had given them cool, fresh air, but the afternoon had turned it muggy and humid, causing Hermione's already wild hair to explode around her head in a cascade of frizz and tangled curls. She had a thin layer of sweat coating her body, and her old, dirty robes clung to her skin uncomfortably. Anxiety had bloomed in her like a unwanted cold front, causing her to hyper focus on every noise and movement around her.

Draco and her were sitting about 50 feet back from the Forbidden Forest's tree line, with a very skewed view of Hogwarts. Seeing the castle had filled Hermione with a thousand feelings, spanning from nostalgia, to longing, to fear, to disgust at what it was being used for now. Her eyes were drawn to where Hagrid's hut had been, not some sort of stone structure, in the shape of a square with wisps of smoke coming out of it. She wasn't sure what it was being used for now. A wave of sadness hit her as she remembered she would never have tea there with Hagrid again, those days were as gone as her parents, who she had mourned all this time. They were alive, probably, still in Australia, but she would never see them again. Never hug them again, never show them her marks and explain to there puzzled faces that the grades were good, and she was thriving in her lessons. So she mourned. Her eyes could barely make out the Quidditch stand not that far from where they sat, with the goal posts looming lonely in the sky. Her heart was full of water again, the drowning girl was back. In the tumultuous sea of her heart, the memories of her Hogwarts time sank to the bottom of a cold, dark ocean, painful in their vast weight and stolen wholeness. Be in the now, She mentally chided herself, forcing her eyes to focus and remebering the task at hand.

Every few minutes a cold gust of air would surround the two, and although they couldn't see them, Hermione was sure they were feeling Dementors patrolling the perimeter. She had chills picturing them, sweeping along the grass, bringing frosty and cold air with them.

"Granger, I will have to be rough with you," Draco said finally, his voice tight. He wasn't looking at her, but peering forward, towards the castle they could barely see through the thicket of foliage.

"I don't care," She answered. He couldn't possibly be any rougher than all the other Death Eaters that had attacked her so far.

"I will need to act a little deranged. If i'm too collected they will be too suspicious," He said again, so quiet Hermione had to strain to hear him. She didn't say anything. He had lived with them, after all. He would know what needed to be done.

"How long do you want to wait?" She finally asked.

Draco was silent as he mulled over her question. Another burst of cold shrouded the two, and Hermione felt goosebumps break out along her arms. When Draco still said nothing, she considered telling him about her animagus abilities. It will make things so much easier...let them take me to the dungeons and I can transfigure and search for what I need. But she held back. It felt like too big of a secret, weighing down her thoughts, but it also felt somehow wrong to share.

She cleared her throat, hoping Draco would answer her. The minutes were sliding by like melting ice cubes during summer, and she was beginning to get too keyed up. Every second they wasted was a chance to get found, caught, or killed.

"I heard your question, Granger, i'm an orphan not a dunce," He hissed back, closing his eyes. "Give me a moment to think about it,"

Hermione blanched at his sharp tone. I'm so over this moodiness. We could both potentially be dying soon and he can't find any kindness to share with me at all? She fumed silently. Normally she would send the same attitude right back, but her nerves were too shot to argue. She worried her voice would shake, and she couldn't stand to listen to that. She swept her eyes over him, looking at his disheveled head of white blonde hair, and the ghost of a beard starting to bloom across his sharp jaw bone. Hermione was reminded of the Heroin Chic phase that had been popular in the nineties, and with his sunken in cheeks and sharp, angular features, Draco was a positive call to the era. Sitting languidly against a gnarled tree stump, eyes brooding and dark, he looked like a vogue shoot for some obscure and dark men's fashion brand, and Hermione was shocked to realize she found the image appealing.

Idiot girl, She hissed at her self mentally. You're lonely and starved for affection. You won't find it there and you wouldn't want to anyways. And yet, as if against her will, her eyes swept over his long arms, and his hands, clenched into fists at his sides. She supposed they were probably soft once, when they were at Hogwarts. Pampered and moisturized, having never been introduced to hard work or labor. Hermione had always loved Ron's hands, how they were strong and self assured, calloused from working around the burrow. She bet Draco's hands would -

She cut the thought off before it formed fully. She was being stupid, and un-loyal. She may never see Ron again, but he was her one. Her only one. He had to be. He deserved it, she deserved it.

"When it's full dark," Draco finally said, causing Hermione's eyes to snap up to meet his. "And..and we need to make it look like I've been dragging your through the Forest all day to get to them," He said slowly, his words measured. "Can you create some bruises on yourself? Some cuts, some damage?" He asked, eyeing her closely.

"Yes," She answered at once. That was all part life now, anyways. Either being beaten, or looking it.

"I don't know who is here anymore," Draco spoke, sounding almost more to himself than her. "So we may both be killed immediately. And none of this would matter." He finished quietly, almost a whisper, eyes not focused on anything. Hermione supposed he was thinking of his dead parents, and if he would ever get to honor that sacrifice. Hermione sympathized because she often wondered the same. But if she didn't act, she wouldn't get the chance at least. She toyed with the idea of voicing this, but discarded it. Draco wasn't always receptive to her.

"Let's iron out the details, to a T," Hermione said, scooting a little closer to him. It was at least a few hours till sent down, and every minutes pressed her nerves more and more.