Notes: I continue be amazed by all of you. Thank you. It is so good to hear from so many of you (new voices and old voices alike). You are truly an inspiration and I thank you for all you do to support me.

For those of you in the United States of America, I wish you a happy, safe and socially distanced 4th of July. Please don't blow up your neighborhood as we celebrate yet another year of our enduring experiment in democracy.

This next chapter is pretty short (comparatively), but it's also pretty sweet. After this things get pretty intense again, so it's a moment of fresh air and light before we plunge once more into the breach.

~*~ Twenty Nine ~*~

"Good!" Hermione lauded, pacing down the line of Grindelwald's recruits. The sound of spells littered the air as they skirmished in small groups, defending and attacking in equal proportion. The air was charged, the crackle of magic thick. Each breath she took was a sharp reminder of the battlefield and all the blood, sweat and soul shattering horror it entailed. In a way she was thankful for the time training, the slow immersion into the abyss.

"Non-verbal only!" Malfoy commanded from beside her, keen eyes scouring the ranks.

They made an odd pair. Perhaps not to their pupils who only saw war-hardened instructors, chosen by their leader for their innovative style and prowess in battle. But beneath that guise stood an infamous Death Eater and an Order member, united in the perpetration of a war neither believed in. It was morally reprehensible. It made her stomach churn and her skin crawl every time she allowed herself to acknowledge the truth of it. She was training these wizards to fight in a war to enslave Muggles; it was everything she hated, everything that had driven her to stand beside Harry, everything she would never compromise. And yet here she was, training them, assisting in the oppression of her people. It didn't matter that she knew Grindelwald didn't win, that he even repented before his life was taken. In the course of this misadventure to the past she had betrayed absolutely everything she held dear.

The pit in her stomach was becoming harder to ignore, the urge to vomit incessant. She took a ragged breath and tried to focus, to see the shapes moving, to see beyond the haze of spells that promised bloodshed.

"That's enough for today," Malfoy called, his voice distant despite his hand resting on her forearm. The storm of magic abated and for a moment she was able to draw a labored breath. Malfoy's grip on her arm tightened and then their feet were moving, the voices of Grindelwald's supporters fading to a distant murmur. It was some time before Malfoy let his warm hand fall from her coat with a quiet rustle.

"What's going on, Hermione?"

What wasn't? She had no idea how he could be so calm and collected. She suspected it had something to do with the magnitude of trauma he bore already. Shaking her head, she focused on the snow-capped alps in the distance. "I'm fine."

"You're clearly not fine," he replied, weary now. "Is it Riddle?"

"No." No. She'd been very careful to keep her Occlumency at maximum since arriving at Nurmengard. Threats existed around every corner and she would not allow Tom to complicate an already delicate situation. But there was a facet of her return to active duty that did gnaw at her, reminding her of how vulnerable she truly was. "Malfoy, have I lost time at all since you found me at Riddle House?"

The storms in his eyes grew frantic, as if he'd just remembered how exactly they'd ended up here. "I…" He paused, head tilting, platinum bangs falling to obscure his turbulent stare. "I don't think so. We had you out during the trip most of the time, but when you were awake you never seemed unaware."

"Did I ever seem disoriented? Like I knew where I was, but couldn't remember what I had been doing?" It was the easiest way she knew to describe the experience. She always had a sense of missing something, but it was never concrete, never detailed enough to make her sure.

"No. I don't think so and I have been watching for the signs, Hermione. I would have let you know if I thought it was happening again. If anything, you seem healthier than… well, than I can remember." She understood what he wasn't saying, that she had been a disaster for most of their recent acquaintance.

"I didn't think so." She took a deep breath, focusing on the crisp mountain air, not the acrid tang of magic still tainting her mouth. "But with our being sent to fight in a matter of days, I worry. It started during the war, what if it comes back full force again? At the worst of it I think I was losing time daily."

"I'll have your back."

It was a deceptively simple statement that meant so much more. "But what if I do lose time and he gets back in?"

Malfoy abruptly shifted, his large hands grasping her shoulders firmly, but not so tightly as to hurt. He ducked his head until their eyes were level, the sharp angle of his cheekbones lit dramatically in the late afternoon sun. His pupils were fathomless, but the tempests in his irises were calm. "I will not allow that to happen, Hermione. I promised you I would free you from him and I will not go back on my word."

Hermione wondered if he'd promised his wife he'd keep her safe too. It was a cruel thought, born of terror. She forced it away, acknowledging only the determined set of his jaw. "War already destroyed me once, Malfoy."

"Draco." He wavered minutely closer to her, his hair brushing softly against her cheek. "My name is Draco. Malfoy is my father, his father, every other blood purist arse that came before me."

She blinked, turning the name over on her tongue silently. She didn't think she'd ever thought of him by that name, not even during their years in school together. He'd always been one of those blood purist arses until now. Looking into those eyes that still closeted so much agony, she could not deny him this. "Draco."

His lids fluttered shut, long lashes clear against his pale skin. They had spent the last few weeks in the sun and his pallor had improved from ashen to pale bronze, making him look far less like the marble statue she'd often imagined him to be. He took a shuddering breath, his fingers slipping down the lengths of her arms to clasp her hands in his. "I will not fail you, Hermione."

She understood his vow to be much more than it seemed. She returned the pressure, hands twining firmly with his. "I know."