Twelve
Day: 1221; Hour: 5
Hermione and Neville eye each other from across the expanse of the living room, and Hermione knows that he knows what it is she had done last night. Or, who, really.
"You're gay."
"You're having sex with Draco Malfoy."
"Even, then?"
"Secret, then?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Good."
"Great."
Day: 1224; Hour: 16
"I thought this war was almost over three months ago."
"When it's over, you'll know it."
"Who do you miss the most?" Hermione focuses her attention on his reflection in the window rather than what's going on outside of it, though he doesn't seem willing to respond. "I miss my parents. At least I hear from Ron and Harry sometimes, and know they are safe and okay. But my parents..."
"Your mother thinks I have beautiful teeth."
"What?" She isn't sure if she heard him correctly, though if she did, her voice sounds astonished enough for it.
"At Kings Cross, after...Fourth year? Fifth, maybe. She told me I had beautiful teeth, and asked me what wizarding procedures I use."
"Oh, Jesus." Hermione covers her face, imagining just how Draco must have acted toward a Muggle at that age.
"You look a lot like her, you know," he mutters as an afterthought, and she slides her hand down enough to look at his reflection again.
"I know. My family tells me that that is what I have to look forward to."
"It's not bad, for an older woman."
"Find my mother attractive, do you?" Her laugh bubbles up no matter how much she tries to shove it down.
He glares at the back of her head, she sees, before looking back at her reflection. "I meant that you don't have much to be self-conscious about, even old, despite how adamant you are about being that way now."
"I am not self-conscious."
"Right."
She looks back at the trees, whipping around in the wind as if they might topple at any second, searching for a change of topic. "Well at least you don't have to worry about graying. Your hair is already white."
"Ha ha."
She hadn't meant it as an insult, and speaks before she can think about not. "I like it."
When she got up the nerve to look at his reflection again, he's staring thoughtfully back at her. He tucks his hands into his pockets and crosses the three steps to her, his shirt just touching the back of hers.
"See those two stars up there? Directly ahead, up...see them? Larger, and the smaller one diagonal to the left of it?"
"Yes." She was hesitant, unsure where he is going with this.
"They call the larger star Hestia, and the smaller one Salvatore. The story goes that Salvatore was one of the first men to be tried for witchery in Great Britain, and he was locked away after finding him guilty. He was supposed to be burned that night, when Hestia, a Muggle deeply in love with the concept of magic, snuck down to his cell and broke him free. Salvatore took shelter in the woods, Hestia promising to bring him food for his journey away from the town. When she never showed, Salvatore snuck back into town under the cover of night."
"Why would he risk it?"
"He thought there must have been something wrong, and there was. The towns' people found out that Hestia had released him, and sentenced her to the stake herself. Salvatore tried to stop them, but he was overpowered despite his magical capability, and was placed on the stake they erected beside Hestia. Knowing that the girl would die in vain, and all just to save his life, he felt he owed a Wizarding Debt to the Muggle."
"But he was losing his life. They both would die anyway."
"Hmm. The story says that Salvatore performed a spell, of old magic, and so powerful that they were birthed as stars before the fire ever reached their bodies. Legend goes that Salvatore vowed to look after Hestia and all Muggles in her honor, for the rest of eternity. The Muggle," he points to the larger one, pushing against her now, and then raises his finger to the smaller, "and The Great Protector."
"The protector of Muggles?"
"Indeed." She is silent, leaning back as nonchalantly as possible to rest against him, and he lowers his head to whisper into her ear. "Granger...Moody keeps files on all the Muggles they have hidden. I'm sure if you want to see how they are, you might be able to find a way within that story."
She turns her head, looking at what she can see of him in surprise. "Are you serious?"
"No. I driveled on about that for absolutely no reason at all."
"So you know the password?"
"I might."
"What is it?"
"A secret."
"But you already..." She leaves it be when the annoyance flashes on his face. He has already given her more than he should, and she does not want to seem less than thankful for that. "Thank you."
He shrugs, backing away. "I suggest you do some research. It's not that obvious. People and places share names."
She is about to question just what he means by that, but it's a hint she thinks, and resolves to read up on the story as soon as possible. When she turns around, he is already gone.
Day: 1225; Hour: 18
"You know what I think?"
"That's an impossible question." He looks up at her from his bowl as she not-so-secretly steals a handful of his popcorn.
"I think it's the smaller things in life that change us the most. That are the most profound. Like me meeting Harry and Ron, like you meet all people in life, or how my mum bought me a simple book that I adored and learned how to love reading from. Just the small things."
"Well if they are such profound impacts on your life, then wouldn't they be counted as the 'bigger' things? It's not judged by how extreme it is, it is judged by how much it affects everything."
Hermione chews thoughtfully on her popcorn. "I haven't got the theory all worked out yet."
"Right." He gives a short grin, as if he were about to laugh but it didn't reach his mouth, and turns back to the television.
"Know what else I think?"
"That stealing my popcorn is a good idea? Because it isn't. I spit in that."
She gives him a look before going back to chewing happily. "I think you'll always be a prat."
"Because I won't let you have the remote?"
"Just because you are."
"Good. Because I think you'll always be a bitch."
She ignores him. "But at least I can tolerate you more now."
"I think the intonation of your voice will just grow more tiresome the longer I know you."
"I think you can't live a second without insulting someone."
"I think you can't inhale without thinking you're better than everyone else doing it."
She snorts. "I think you can't go a day without your little facade, and brooding."
"Facade? I think you can't go a minute without analyzing everything to death, or jumping to wrong conclusions and believing them wholeheartedly."
"I think you're a-"
"I think this bickering just further proves how immature you are."
"Me? I was being nice. You're the one who started it." He gives her a meaningful look, and she rolls her eyes at him.
"And I didn't start it, actually. What was that again? You think I'll always be a prat? If that's your idea of a compliment, love, it's no wonder men are scared to date you."
She glares at him, ramming a finger into his arm. "Men are not scared to date me - talk about jumping to wrong conclusions. And the way you parade around like an utter prat all the time, I would think you would take it as a compliment. No one does something so much when they're ashamed of it. If we're taking low blows here, you-"
"So you're proud of being bossy, annoying, and judgmental?"
"I am not judgmental."
"Fine, let's say you aren't - which you are - you're proud of being bossy and annoying?"
She is silent long enough to let him smirk smugly at her. "Well?"
"Touche, then, Malfoy," she bites.
"You know, you wouldn't have been so offended with the comment on dating if it wasn't the truth."
She was offended. A person does not go as long as she has without dating men and not thinking there might be something wrong with her. She is sensitive to the issue, like a nerve, and he stomped all over it.
She glares at him and stands up, content to head for the bedroom she is staying in and continue reading the book she found on constellations. He makes a sound behind her, too close to amusement not to anger her more, and the bowl of popcorn scuffs against the table when he sets it down.
"Is this how you handle confrontation? Walk away?"
"I don't feel like sitting next to you anymore," she replies, because she was more hurt than angry, and too much showing of either will just prove to him how effected by it she was.
He grabs her wrist, which makes her jump, because she hadn't even heard him get off the couch. He tugs her back when she keeps walking, trying to pull her wrist from his grasp, and his other hand comes around to grab her hip. He turns her back around, eyebrow arched.
"Since when do you walk away from your problems?"
She lifts her chin. "I don't feel like talking anymore, Malfoy. I have things to do."
"You said you were tired of reading."
"I said I was taking a break. I have."
"It takes a certain sort of person to deal with you, do you know that? Most men don't want to date you, because you're intimidating."
"Then maybe you should let go of me."
He smirks, dipping his head. "You don't scare me, Granger."
"I have free access to your private bits right now," she warns.
"Yes," he whispers, hot breath on her lips, "you do."
She blushes as he kisses her, glad he can't see it, but she makes him work for her to kiss him back, because she's still angry. He pulls her toward him, and she feels him hardening against her stomach in anticipation of what he wants. It propels her to raise her free hand to his hair, and she kisses him back with more anger than she feels, just for the sake of taking it out on him.
When he finally releases her mouth, she's backed against the back of the couch, his hand up her shirt and her hands throwing his own shirt to the side after he had half lifted it off him in the first place.
"I like you like this, Granger. You lose control in a way I've never seen. I think because you keep everything bottled up, and you can't when you're like this - especially close to climax or when you come. Does wonders for the male ego, you know."
"Like you need yours any larger." She tries to play it off, but she's blushing again; it is one thing to have sex with him, and a complete other to talk about it.
Malfoy likes to talk a lot she has noticed. He likes to talk during foreplay, during sex. The only time he's more mum about things is after. Then again, one of them usually leaves while they are both still reeling.
He grabs her head, kissing her again, and she pulls back just long enough to say, "Room."
"Mhm," he hums, his hands creeping to her bum to pull her against him again, and he begins to lead her on a hazardous and blind stumble toward the nearest empty bedroom.
Day: 1228; Hour: 10
She has to wait four days before Grimmauld Place was cleared out enough that she felt safe enough to risk it. The house was never completely empty, and was deemed Headquarters by many because of its constant busy state with officials and top Order members always in residence.
The Sneakoscopes were currently locked away somewhere, which she had also waited for. Moody usually took as many precautions as he could, but whenever the Weasley twins were at Grimmauld, the detecting devices were shut out, as they constantly went off.
His office was protected by a password, but Hermione knew it because Harry did, his door always open for emergencies and just-in-case's when it concerns Harry. It is the Muggle filing cabinet that she is worried about, locked away in Moody's closet. She will have to break through the wards on the closet and the locks on the cabinet, and though she has been preparing herself for this and trusts her gut and knowledge, one never knows where Moody is concerned. One wrong move might not only get her busted, but it could very well curse her with some disease or injure her quite severely.
The wards on the closet take her seventeen minutes, and her heart threatens revolt more and more with each passing second of it. She simply stares at the filing cabinet for a solid thirty seconds before she even allows herself to breathe. She has studied, and practiced this for hours on end to make sure she got it perfect, but there is always doubt there when what she knows is not confirmed.
She waves her wand in a complicated pattern that makes her wrist ache from awkward angles and positioning, whispering the possible password as loudly as she dares. People and places share names, he had said, and he should have just told her the password for all it was worth, once she found out the history of The Muggle and The Great Protector. She found it no coincidence that the name of the town and the middle name of Hestia were the same.
She tries the handle on the first drawer with a shaky hand, and it doesn't open. She makes a small, pathetic noise before trying for the second, and grinning like mad when it pulls out. Her parents folder is in the third, the lone G's, and she isn't sure if her heart beats at all once she opens it.
Muggles who are put in hiding are interviewed once a month to make sure they are safe, stable, and adjusting, and Hermione reads like she is a child just discovering the power of words. They are fine, it seems, both of them questioning the interviewer on the magical world more than the interviewer is able to question them. They are worried about her, and this makes a knot fill up her throat, but they are safe and perfectly all right.
She savors every word like it is her own conversation with them, hastily swiping her tears as they get in the way of what she is looking at. She takes comfort in this, more than she thought she could, and she thanks Malfoy over and over inside her head.
Day: 1230; Hour: 5
She passes Malfoy and a group of Aurors in the lobby of the Ministry, and smiles that insane and pleased grin he seems to dislike so much. He gives her a look that makes her want to laugh, because it is so classically him. She wonders if he has a clue as to why he's on the receiving end of her happiness, but she knows he is more intelligent than she ever gave him credit for in the past, and he will figure it out.
Day: 1235; Hour: 16
Hermione balls her cloak into her mouth, stifling the deep coughing that overtakes her when a wave of smoke breaks into the small room. The Auror on the floor clamps his mouth shut, his body heaving with the motions of coughing that he refuses to sound. Screaming rises from outside the old wooden walls, and Hermione can see Lee Jordan drag a writhing Colin Creevey behind a shop through one of the holes.
"Bring them," the Auror pauses, coughing blood, and wheezing in more air. "Bring a team through the woods to the East. Head North thirty meters in. You'll find a cave... Exit it at the mouth to the North, and leave two there in case anyone follows. Lead the rest South, through the woods, and attack from behind."
"But-"
"They're going to corner us if we don't. We only have half a kilometer more before we hit the stone wall at the end of the village."
"Alright. Okay," Hermione whispers, and the Auror gives her a hard nod before taking the Portkey out, the light from the cracks now shimmering over dusty beaten floors.
Hermione exits quickly, throwing hexes and curses the moment she clears safety. It takes her longer than it should have taken to try and convince Katie or Neville to lead the team instead. They are unmoving; they all know that whoever goes is going to be safer, and that whoever stays with even less people have very small odds of surviving more than ten minutes. In the end she goes because there is no one else and too little of time, taking as few as possible, and all out running for the tree line.
She pushes them to be quick, knowing the others need them to be, and feels as if she might vomit the entire time. She isn't a leader. She is not used to people looking toward her for their every direction while in such a dangerous situation, and she feels the weight of lives like the biggest burden in her life.
But the Auror's plan is flawless. Three Death Eaters follow them into the woods, two of them taken care of in short order, and she leaves two members of her team behind to get the last. The rest of them break into arrow formation, running from the trees and into the village square they had last left.
It is a half an hour in time, minutes to her head, and hours to her tired body before they begin to feel the likeliness of their win burn their guts, and it is a beautiful thing - the freedom that comes with the birth of hope.