Ten

Day: 1203; Hour: 5

She sits beside him, and he does not move. She shifts, the wood uncomfortable under her, and brushes her arm against his. He stares at the bottom step of the porch below them, or at the patch of dirt, but she doesn't think he sees anything. It was long minutes or short hours before she heard the sound of his clothes against the porch step, and she met his eyes as his head turns toward her.

Her hands are as cold as his cheeks when she puts them on either side of his face, his lips chapped when she kissed them. He breathes out in a gust of warm air, but he does not kiss her back. She pulls away slightly, meeting the grey of his eyes that match the color of the current cloudy day, and is encouraged with the slight hint of red, of warmth, across his cheekbones.

"Happ-" he begins, but she knows what he means to say, and it is not the time for birthday well-wishes.

"You did the best you could."

It is the wrong thing to say despite that she wouldn't change it if given the chance, and he pulls away from her hands, standing. She turns her head, blinking at his boots as they step out of her sight, before standing and facing him.

"Draco, you're a damn good strategist. There was nothing you could do!"

He whips around, the wind harsh against their frozen skin, and his hair flies up with it. "I could have done everything! Because it was me who wasn't good enough. I failed. I fucked up. I'm not the one who needs to be told everything is fucking all right for that! Tell that to Smitts's family, or Chang lying in fucking hospital right now without her fucking fingers!"

"But it's not your fault! You can't predict what would happen! You did the best with what you had! You were under-informed. It was obviously a bad situation, and you still managed to get four of you out of there alive! Anyone else, and you would all be on your way to the cemetery plots off Kieser Avenue! No one blames you. You can't blame yourself."

He stares at her and shakes his head, stares more and shakes it again before turning and storming into the house. She makes it two steps inside before she hears a door slam shut, and she knew there would be no getting through to him tonight.

Day: 1204; Hour: 10

She had breakfast waiting for him that afternoon when he finally ventured out of the bedroom after he retreated there the night before. She thought it was the smell that has led him to the kitchen instead of back into the room from the bathroom. He is never really one to hide.

"Eggs are all we have." She shrugs and he takes a bit to decide on eating the scrambled eggs left in the pan.

He takes a seat across from her, though she thought he would have left, but he eats in silence and she lets it stay that way.

Later, long after he had left the room and she had done the dishes, she finds him staring out at the woods on the back porch again. He talks about change and controlling his life, and how he never could do either right. How he saw it like the ease of water for some, fluid and seamless, but he was always jilted. She listens and doesn't speak for a very long time.

"It's like plants. How plants need light to grow toward. And I've been winding and winding, but I still can't fucking find it. I don't have anything I'm digging for. Survive the war - and where will I be after that?"

She steps up beside him when she realizes that this is a question he wouldn't care if she answered or not. She brushes her thumb against his pinky and takes three of his fingertips, ice cold, in her hand. "With the rest of us."

He is quiet, not responding to her touch but not pulling away either. His warmth seeps from his blood, through his skin and into hers, the touch spreading warmth into both their frozen digits.

"I'm the car crash, Granger," he whispers. "I'm the fallout."

They stand there for a while, in a silence that should have been uncomfortable but wasn't. They watch the last of day fade, give, then flow into night, and when the temperature drops even lower and the wind is freezing them to statues, he moves away and back inside.

Day: 1206; Hour: 19

She gives her virginity to Draco Malfoy on a cold day in late September. The light is as pale as he through the window above the bed, the muted sun catching the lightness of his coloring and tinting it with shine above her. Her skin is slightly darker, and she watches the contrast of their skin tones as she slides her hands up his chest, feeling the pull of muscles, bone and skin beneath her palms. She had never thought she would lose her virginity in the day, though she supposed it doesn't matter because she never thought she would lose it to this man either. Despite all her opposition toward sex outside of a relationship, it was something she wanted to give to him, and that she wanted him to take from her.

She does not think and analyze it more, because he tried to teach her how to do things because she wants to, and this was something she tries to learn. All she does think about is the way his hand had balled up her shirt and he had kissed her like he needed to, because she thinks sometimes that she needs this too.

He presses down into her, resting his weight on his elbows as he cradles her head and devours her mouth, but his skin is touching hers in all the right places. She tries to commit every sensation to memory, so she can remember how good it felt just to have a naked man on top of her own naked body. She could just lie like this for a very long, and this would be fine. She likes his hardness in contrast to her softness; his chest to her breasts, his stomach to her slightly rounded one, and his arousal pushing against the heat of her.

For once in her life she feels very much like a woman - the smaller, more fragile one of the sexes - and she does not mind it. There is something to like about feeling safe, so close to the strength of a man, and she allows herself to not try to be stronger this time. She feels protected in the boundaries of his arms and body, and this was a feeling she could get used to.

She pulls her lips away from his, pushing her head back into the pillows, and grasps the top of his arms. His muscles bunch in awareness and reaction as his lips dip low to her neck, and she wonders what was taking him so long. She had been in a state of high arousal five minutes after he laid her on the bed, and this must have been fifteen minutes ago, at least. It is not that she doesn't like it, but she would like to rid her bones of the anxiety as well as help dissipate the ache that is making her hands tremble.

She pants for breath, staring at the ceiling, and when she notices his lips have been away from her too long, she brings her head back down to see what he's doing. Looking at her, of course, and there she had been lost in her thoughts of all horrible times to do so. He does not seem too bothered over it as he had been in the past, continuing to look at her strangely, one hand fingering her curls. His other has left her hair, and he glances down at it to watch it curve over the swell of her breast, and she blushes heavily. She does not know if she would ever get used to someone looking at her naked, and knowing her imperfections as much as she knows them.

He looks back up at her, his nail scraping over the nipple he had hardened minutes, and minutes, and minutes ago. It takes her some time to realize he is waiting for something, and even longer to guess what it might be.

She runs her hands up to his shoulders, tugging him down, and strains up to kiss him. He kisses her back hotly, and when he pinches her nipple and she arches her hips, it seems to be all that he needs to know.

He is quick, and then waits, her eyes squeezed shut and her head tilted back again into the pillows. She thought he would continue going on, but he, at times, is the epitome of what she does not think he is. She isn't sure if she would rather the continued pain of him going while she was already hurting, or the embarrassment over being in pain, and likely having him watch her while she is.

"Breathe," he whispers by her ear, though she can't recall him moving toward it, and his fingertips slide against her bottom lip to pull it from her teeth.

She does, sucking in, exhaling, sucking in, and it's better now, fading into the feeling of being filled up by him. It was very odd to know one has someone else inside of their own body, but it feels less like an invasion and more like a fulfillment, so she does not panic over it.

"I'm on a contraceptive pill," she says, and it's probably not the best time, but it's too late for in the beginning.

She has been on it for a few years now, since she thought something might happen with Ron, which God knew they had been close to. She had stayed on it after their breakup due to the ease it gave her during her monthly cramping, and she is thankful for that now. She opens her eyes, his face hovering over hers. "It's a-"

"I know what it is."

"Oh." He moves his hips in a slow circle, examining her face. "Oh."

He is pleased with this response, and pulls himself almost completely out of her before slowly sinking back in again. His face was strict with concentration, and her breathing was already speeding up. It was one of the most lovely sensations she can recall feeling, and she quickly changes her mind on the just laying in bed idea. This can be done at the same time, she decides, and it is so much better. Elevated in a way she could have never imagined it could be.

"You can go a little faster." She breathes, gripping his shoulders still.

He huffs a laugh, the lust-hazed eyes she had just committed to memory now shining with amusement when he looks at her. "I knew you would be bossy here as well."

It is a testament to her mental state that she had nothing to come back at this with, and doesn't even want to. She moves her legs instead, raising them to plant her feet on the mattress, and when he sinks deeper they both moan. The sound, the tangling of their two voices, sends a jolt to her womb, and she has to kiss him again just to vent the emotion.

He does as she had asked, speeding up, his fingers digging deeper into her hip the longer they go. He speeds up gradually with time, until her breasts are bouncing rhythmically against his chest, and the sound of skin slapping skin joins the echoing of their moans and grunts.

"Oh," she whispers against his lips. "This feels...this feels... Oh."

He pulled up, his face red and beginning to shine, his eyes dilated and tracking her facial expressions. She forgets to care about how his attentiveness makes her feel like ditching her skin, and studies him back. She enjoys the movements of his muscles and bones, watching the strength under his skin as he continues rocking into her. She traces the movements of his shoulders with her hands, her eyes following down his neck, chest, and to where his pelvis was repeatedly meeting hers. She knows she must look quite mesmerized by it, but frankly, she was. Hermione Granger has found suddenly that she likes sex. Sex with Draco Malfoy. And this made her feel less wrong and more liberated than anything.

She thought she was making too much noise, breathing grunts and incoherent words she doesn't even know in her throat, but she cannot stop. Her hands journey every inch of him she can reach, squeezing hard into the top of his arms when he lowers his hand from her hip to flick his thumb across her clit. She lifts her hips, awkwardly at first before quickly finding his rhythm and making it theirs.

"I'm...fuck!" he whispers, and bends his head, nipping her neck as his hips grow erratic.

He is coming, the room filled with the sound of his long, deep groan that sounded as if it was shoved out of his throat. She was not put out by this, but more entranced by the way in which he comes to think about the fact she hasn't yet. He collapses onto her, absolutely still, save for his ragged breathing, for a few stutters of his heartbeat against her chest. He moves then, his thumb, circling around her nub before giving it a light squeeze. Her moan draws his head up from her, and he gives her a sloppy kiss before pushing himself down the length of her body. Despite just how turned on she was, she cannot help but be mortified at just where he was putting his tongue after he came inside of her. She was sweaty, and his seed was probably all over her, and Jesus, there he went.

Her hips buck up uncontrollably, and he meets her eyes from between her legs, giving her his classic smirk and arched eyebrow before pushing her down by her stomach.

"S-Sorry." She pants, moaning as he dives back in.

She clenches the wrinkled sheet in her hands, whimpering as his tongue traces her opening gently before tracking up the length of her. He nibbles, and licks, and sucks until she is a constant chorus of noises, and dear God, did she actually just beg him?

She is indignant with her own self, but only during the lack of time it takes him to lick back up to her clit. Then her thoughts are forgotten again, buried under the weight of need that had her body thrumming and her mouth rambling. Malfoy doubles his efforts, his hands cupping her bum and tilting her, his mouth solely concentrated on that one pleasurable spot. She feels her orgasm building like the pounding of a drum, of her heartbeat.

Her body was shoved out of the realms of control as she finally hits the edge, her body arching on its own accord, the back of her head digging into the pillow. She can hear a yell, faintly, and does not register that it is herself. The pleasure that overtakes her and robs her of anything normal was indefinable. The world was simply gone; she could be floating, or dreaming, or no one at all, and she would never know.

She collapses back onto the bed, sucking in air, and her mind slowly falling back into her head, making the transition from blackness to reality. Her body tingles, her brain whirling like sleep. Opening her eyes, she gazes at the ceiling until the colors focus, and then relaxes her head to look down the bed. Malfoy's hands are pushed against the bed to either side of her hips, his eyes attached to hers, but she was still too deep into the afterglow to be unnerved. She slowly lets her fingers and toes uncurl, and sighs deeply in satisfaction.

Lavender just might have the right mind set about all of this after all. Though, not about him. No, not about him, not even close.

It was far more powerful than she thought it would be, and this scares her now, but only just. It was incredible, and there was no denying that, even if she was already aching from their actions. She mentally groans at the idea of needing to get up now, and raises a tired arm to cover her breasts. If she doesn't move now, she was not sure she would at all.

She blushes when she fails at her first attempt to sit up without the use of her hands, and Malfoy pushes up to his knees, taking her arm and pulling her up himself. She nods her appreciation, turning redder at his proximity to her face and her spread-eagle positioning, and moves her leg around his body to join the other. She winces at the movement, biting her lips as it sends a jolt of pain up her stomach.

This was more awkward for her than any other time she had been in his presence, and she thinks that perhaps this was the reason one should only sleep with men they are close with. Nothing says trashy like rolling out of bed after sex with a man you don't feel comfortable touching because he's no longer pounding into you.

She grabs her knickers off the bedside table, making faces at her soreness as she quickly pulls them on and stands from the bed. She collected the rest of her clothes, balling them like a shield in front of her breasts, and looks back to the bed when she is done. Malfoy sits at the edge, still naked, his feet on the floor, looking at her with his eyebrows raised.

"No thank you this time, then?"

She turns brighter, and shifts on her feet, trying to decide on what to do. He does not sound as if he has meant it to come off as anything harsher than teasing, and she doesn't have a clue what to do in this situation at all.

So she does what she is getting used to doing with him, second only to arguing, and kisses him after she has reached his knees. It is brief but lingering, and she pulls away just as his knuckles brush down her bare side. She stands upright, hesitating, before turning for the door.

Day: 1207; Hour: 3

Hermione emerges from the bath, feeling slightly less sore than she had stepping in. She had been achy after yesterday's event, but it had been worse upon waking this morning. The bath had done well for her, but she figured she will need another day or two to feel more normal.

While she had once thought that losing her virginity would make her relationship with the receiver of it more deeper and meaningful, she does not take it like that now because of just who the receiver was. She does feel a sense of maturity and power in her bones, though she isn't sure why - yes, she had finally reached the stage most sixteen year olds hit with light alcohol and summer nights. But it was still wonderful, and she does not want to take anything away from that. She felt a sort of elation in a way she did not expect to feel at all, especially given the circumstances. Regret was something she thought might come, but it never did.

Malfoy was banging around in the kitchen, and though there was a large part of her that wanted to hide away in her room so she doesn't stumble and stutter all over herself, she knows she must face up sometime. While she may have mentally found herself agreeing on the sex issue last night with her sexually active friends, she doesn't think she could handle the morning after with the same amount of ease.

She was silent in the doorway for a while, watching him wash the dishes, just so she can rid herself of her anxiety. It was strange to see someone naked and then see them with clothes on, or maybe this was just her, but she can't help but imagine with mental imagery what he would look like standing there with nothing on. This, of course, brings back memory images from yesterday, which doesn't help her anxiety at all. Instead, she found herself standing there with a sort of anticipation that surprised her, and she wondered when she turned into such an easily aroused person. Perhaps one couldn't be made to feel that good without craving it when they saw the source... Maybe this was normal.

She clears her throat, and the silverware he's cleaning clatters against the sink. "You know, everyone's wondering where you are. Moody told us all that if we see you, to make sure you report to Headquarters that day."

He pauses his scrubbing, the water from the tap rushing against the metal sink and drowning out the sigh she can see his body move with. "And you didn't think to tell me this four days ago?"

"I didn't think you would care to hear it four days ago."

He stays still for a moment more; because she was either right or he was irritated with her, and goes back to cleaning his dishes. "There are three eggs left in the fridge. That's all that's left in the house."

"Alright."

"You should considering returning to Grimmauld with me."

"I can't." He doesn't answer, so she explains. "Moody will know I waited on telling you since he knows where I've been, and showing up with you will tell him you were with me. Dean is also coming in two days, and I have to go with him for this...thing."

"Come a few hours after me, and then come back here when Dean is supposed to get here."

"We're not allowed that much travel, or travel without approval unless under certain circumstance."

"Like starving to death?"

"I would rather not risk Moody's wrath. I was already on suspension."

"He won't suspend you for getting food, Grang-"

"For not telling you right away."

"He won't find out."

"He will."

"Suit yourself then, Granger. I could give a shit," he snaps, dropping the last fork onto the folded towel beside the sink.

He leaves twenty minutes later, rigid and stern-faced, and she doesn't know if it's because of her refusal over his suggestion or what's coming to him when he gets back to Headquarters. Later that night, when there's a thump and clank from the porch, she turns on the porch lights to find a garbage bag at the top of the steps. She stares at it, unsure if she should even go near it or go outside, but she had always been too curious for her own good.

After scanning the area with her wand, and holding still for noise, she rushes through the coldness and hauls the bag up. Object clink and smack together, so at least she knows it is not a person's head or anything else her wild imagination had thought up on the other side of the door.

Once she was safely tucked back inside, she carefully unknots the strings and stares down at the food inside of it. She stares and stares some more, knowing where it came from, but not knowing why. She grins stupidly at the contents, the worry of what to do for food melting from her shoulders, and lugs it into the kitchen.

Draco Malfoy really is something else. Sometimes she thinks he does things just to keep her guessing at whom he is, and this certainly played into that.

Day: 1212; Hour: 17

The streets are dark and damp, but Hermione can handle this over the constant catcalls and strange laughter from the ones they had walked past to get here. Dean seems to know the way to their destination easily, as he's taken this trip dozens of times, or so he told her.

The house was old, abandoned for a decade she would guess, and every step on the creaking floor made her think she was going to fall through. She avoided the holes where other people's feet have snapped through the wood, trying to find the strongest spots in the light from her wand. The basement smells of mold, old and foul, when Dean leads her down the steps. She halts in time with him at the whimpering noise that comes from their left, and she swings her light there before their goosebumps cover the full journey of their bodies.

"Shit," Dean whispers, and it was he that was first to move, tripping over litter and rusted pipes on his run toward Hannah.

"I thought you said a package," Hermione hisses, jumping over the barricade of boxes, but it doesn't matter as this was obviously the package.

Hermione had known that it was a Death Eater of lower ranking that they sometimes manage to obtain information from, but she had had no idea that people come from this deal as well. She was just ten seconds away from reaching Hannah, bound and gagged to a series of pipes that hung between the strips of wood that make the ceiling, when she cracks her arm off something. The sound is hard and loud, and she has just enough time to register the flare of pain before she is flown backwards.

There is air rushing around her, the stench of the basement more prevalent, and her eyes wide with fear in the dark. She can just make out the shrinking figure of Hannah blinded by Dean's wand light before there was more pain, as if her back has just snapped. She can feel the explosion in her brain as her head cracks off something, and the world tilts just as darkness sets in before her body can even hit the ground.

Day: 1213; Hour: 23

There is black, she knows, though she can't figure out how long it had been there. When she opens her eyes, the world is dim, and it takes her awhile to register her surroundings. A bed, a ceiling, the flickering shadows of candles, and an unfamiliar face above hers.

"Hello, Miss Granger. You're at Grimmauld Place. You were knocked unconscious. Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"

Her head is pounding and tight, as if someone shoved an entire drum set inside and handed a child the drumsticks. She reached numbly for her temples, closing her eyes, and rubbing at them as if that will lift the imaginary palms currently squeezing her head. Her back was shooting fire up along her spine, and all she wanted to do was blackout again.

"I, uh..." She clears her throat, concentrates. "Dean. Hannah. I was hit with something."

"Yes, yes. It seems Miss Abbott couldn't see who it was that had entered, and fearing the worst, struck out. You flew into the side of the staircase, and have managed to bang yourself up a bit. Nothing a day or two can't fix though. Here, this will help your pain."

Hermione gulped the rancid liquid down, still thankful for it despite the taste. "Is Hannah okay?"

"She's perfectly alright. A little scraped up, but fine. You're lucky as well, Miss Granger. All bruises and cuts, but no broken bones. You could have been injured very badly."

Well, it sure felt like she was injured very badly.

"Takes a lot more to break Hermione." Neville, she recognizes, and turns her head to look at him.

"Hey."

"I'll give you ten minutes, and then Miss Granger has to sleep so the potions do what they are supposed to."

"Thanks." Neville waits until the Healer retreats to the other side of the room, and smiles down at her. "Dean sends his apologies and well wishes. He had to go to the Ministry to report, and then somewhere else."

"Oh. That's fine."

"How do you feel?"

"Horrible." She pretended this didn't come out as a whine.

"Taking hits from your own side now." He smiles again.

Hermione laughs, though it made her hurt worse. "I think I've taken more hits from our side throughout this war than I have the other."

He joins her laughter, nodding. "Same for me."

"We were not made for war."

"No one is," he whispers, running his fingers over the edge of her blanket. "I've been reading the Bible."

"Have you?"

"Yes. I wonder if faith comes from need or from fear, and then when I wonder if it's against God to think like that, I think it may be fear."

"We all know we are sinners, that's why. No matter our morals, throughout our lives, there are times when we are morally incorrect. When we lie, or we kill, or we betray, we are not perfect people. And we need to know someone forgives us for that, when we can't forgive ourselves."

"So for acceptance?"

She shrugged. "You know how some people, they say that God can't exist because of all the wrong that happens in the world? Well I think He does, because of all the things that happen that can't be explained. Sometimes I just look at the sun coming up, or when my cousin gave birth, or when people survive extreme things against all odds - and I figure there's got to be someone there. You know?"

"So why do bad things happen?"

"Because we are bad people, who do bad things. Because God doesn't want us perfect - he made humans, not robots. Man made robots. Metal perfection."

"So do you believe in following the Bible as the way we should act? Do you believe we're going to Hell for the things that we have done here?"

"I believe in living my life, and following what my heart tells me to follow. I don't think God is meant to constrict our lives, but to find the humanity in us when we don't want to find it. To force us to admit the things we do wrong, accept them, and try to forgive ourselves as we hope God will, but in a way that we learn from it. I don't believe in God out of need or fear. I believe in God because He's there."

"And of Hell?"

Hermione shuts her eyes, shakes her head. "I don't know."

Day: 1214; Hour: 13

How do you know when you can be forgiven for your actions, or when you have gone too far? Where was the line between defense and murder, must and mustn't?

Hermione was half asleep and dazed from medication when Malfoy walked into the infirmary, her conversation with Neville playing on the inside of her brain. And she decides, when he walks past and yanks her blanket over her cold toes while making a comment about ugly feet, that she has forgiven Draco Malfoy.

She was not a hypocrite, or at least does not want to be. She can not be a killer, and hold now faded prejudices against him. To harbor some grudge because he once, almost, just nearly killed a man himself before turning his back on old causes and trying to make up for his mistakes.

Draco Malfoy doesn't believe in God, and so she thinks that maybe it was she that was the one who needed to forgive him, so he can forgive himself.