Notes: So here we are, on the brink of the end. Can you believe it? I almost can't. This one is a bit on the short side (apologies), but it packs a punch far above its weight class.

I appreciate all you wonderful readers and look forward to finishing this journey with you on Saturday.

~*~ Forty Five ~*~

Raw agony, so sharp it cuts through her bones, vivisecting her, tearing apart her soul.

A boy with eyes as blue as luminous sapphires and lips as dangerous as sin.

Blood, everywhere, on her hands, in her hair, in the sodden mud.

A loss of control so total she can barely breathe, her will warped by another.

A wedding in a red satin gown that's splattered in blood.

A connection so deep it remakes her as the dark boy takes off her gown, feverish eyes watching her in a mirror.

A man with midnight hair that fades to platinum.

A curse dark and ugly against his pale skin.

Stormy eyes that undo her soul and then mend it, pulling valiantly at her broken pieces.

A jet of green light that breaks her heart.

A vow of love, a promise of a second chance.

Hermione awoke gasping, the jumble of images still ricocheting through her mind. It had hurt so much; there had been so much suffering, so much loss, she could hardly imagine any one person bearing it. She rolled to the side, dislodging Draco, who shot upright beside her.

The sun had set, the light of the moon the only illumination in their cozy hotel room. Even still, she could see the depths of horror written across his features as he stared down at her, jaw working silently.

She swallowed around the growing lump in her throat. "Did you…?"

"Dream or see or whatever you want to call it?" His voice was different now, laden with an edge that was not his to bear. "Yes. I saw. I think… I think I was a murderer. A torturer. An instrument of evil."

"I killed my husband because he was a monster."

"I became a monster to save my wife, but she died anyway."

"I fell in love with you."

"I fell in love with you."

Silence fell, the horror still hanging between them, a thick fog that would not clear. Hermione's head dropped back against the pillow as she desperately tried to forget everything she'd seen. It hurt too much to remember; it couldn't possibly be real.

"What was it, Draco?"

He dropped down beside her, his lips skimming her forehead. "I'm not sure."

"I don't want to remember it." She knew that more surely than she'd known anything else. Even the wounded, broken woman in her dream hadn't wanted to remember.

"I don't think we have a choice," he admitted softly. "It feels like… a ghost of a memory. Even if we were to try to use memory magic to erase the dreams, they wouldn't stay away. Not if they're actually a part of us."

Hermione shuddered. "Why would they be a part of us?"

"Something happened to us today, Hermione. Something bigger than we can understand. I woke up in the middle of the Alps, head over heels in love with you. I may have liked you before—wanted you, certainly—but I wasn't in love with you. Emotions don't just change overnight. People don't just lose time and wake up somewhere else." He slipped out from under the covers and reached into his robe pocket. A shimmering silver cord emerged with a delicate hourglass dangling from it. "And I found this in my pocket."

A time turner. Hermione emitted a low gasp, extending a hand to grasp the dainty—but powerful—instrument. Draco let it drop to her palm. The Ministry of Magic did not allow these to fall into just anyone's hands. If they were in possession of one, it meant he was right. Much more had transpired than a mere blackout and relocation. Which meant he was also likely correct about their dreams. The horror still echoing through her might have been real. Had she lived those moments? Endured that agony? Made those terrible choices? It was utterly incomprehensible, but seemingly undeniable.

She blinked up at Draco, unmoored and searching. "What do we do now?"

"We live. If what we saw is even partially true, we both sacrificed everything to get to this moment. It would be a travesty if we didn't move forward, if we didn't move on." He sank down on the mattress beside her, his fingers stroking gently across her cheek. "We can't squander this. Not after everything."

"How do we live with what we did? With all that suffering?" It seemed impossible to overcome. She knew she'd been willing to die by the end, that she'd found it preferable to the eternal struggle and suffocating guilt.

Draco caught her chin, forcing her to stare directly up at him. "We did not do any of it. We went to Hogwarts together. We were friends. There was no war and no monster. We never traveled to the past. Astoria did die in my life too, but that's the only tragedy I have lived through. Those lives we remember? They aren't ours. They're an echo of what might have been. We cannot let them define us."

"So should I stop loving you?"

"If that's what you want." His expression was soft, softer than such a declaration deserved. "I don't think I want to stop loving you."

"I don't either," she whispered, hand rising to intertwine with his. "So…"

"So," he echoed, pressing a kiss to her wrist.

Hermione flushed, but didn't chase the tide of desire as it rose. Draco settled on the bed beside her, their shoulders brushing as they stared into the dark night together. She didn't understand what had happened, least of all the horrors her dream had foisted upon her, but she knew she didn't want to be anywhere else, that despite everything she was home as long as he was with her. For now, it would be enough.