Wow hi everyone! Long time no see! I'm so sorry about the four month delay on a new chapter...I moved country and started graduate school so I've been super busy. And honestly I didn't think anyone really cared about this story. But then I logged on yesterday and saw the kindest review asking for this story to keep going and well...it meant the world! So sorry this is insanely short compared to other chapters, and maybe not great. I wrote it all probably too quickly. But here it is! And I'm going to try my best to finish this! It just might take a bit longer than I anticipated aha

So yeah if you're reading this still, then thank you for sticking with me and I hope you like this 3

"Hermione c'mon, this can't keep going on." Perhaps it was the fact that it was Neville who had finally spoken up, or perhaps it was that he was the first who hadn't raised their voice during this entire discussion, but his words hit her hard.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner about his mum?" Harry looked pained at the head of the table.

"I…" she hesitated, "I wasn't sure. I had my guesses from everything I'd heard from you and Theo and Draco himself," Half the table winced at her use of his first name and she struggled not to sigh in frustration, "but I didn't feel it was my information to tell, not until I was sure."

"What happened to her?" Ron had finally ceased yelling, his patience with her and Draco's relationship ultimately breaking when she physically pushed him from bursting into the traitor's door the night before.

"I'd rather not say, I think it's a private matter." The red returned to Ron's face with full force, but he kept his mouth tightly shut after a rough kick from Hannah under the table.

"I have a few theories." Said Theo darkly.

"Imagine the worst and then keep going." Hermione struggled not to let her bottom lip tremble as she recalled Draco's retelling of the memory, of the horror, of the pain.

"It doesn't change the fact we need information from him, we need clarification that he isn't going to leave again, that this truly happened, that he isn't currently spying on our every move." Harry had taken on his authoritative voice, "How can we even be sure he told you the truth Hermione?"

Every head immediately swiveled in the brunette's direction with a certain level of betrayal in their eyes. It was true; she had no concrete evidence that Draco wasn't lying. But she knew, she knew in her gut and in the way he'd broken in her arms, a shell of the once proud boy who roamed the halls of Hogwarts.

"What if I got evidence that he's trustworthy?"

Padma snorted, "How on earth would you even get that?"

"I can get some of his memories. In case you forgot, I'm the most accomplished Legilimens the Order currently has." Hermione spat icily. She was growing truly tired of Padma and Dean's constant judgment. She understood where it came from, but hadn't the war turned them all into monsters? What made one beast worse than the other?

"Hermione," Theo began, "He will never allow that. I don't know a single person he has ever let in, and I'm sorry to be blunt love but he's a better Legilimens than you…than anyone really. Except perhaps Voldemort."

"If she says she can do it, then I say we let her try." Ron piped up with the support he'd been struggling with the past month. Although, she wasn't sure if it came out of a place of support or a place of needing to disagree with Theo.

"I can ask him tonight." Her statement seemed to end the meeting as the sound of chairs pushed against the wood floors and chatter filled the room.

"'Mione can I talk to you?" Harry called over the noise and led her into the tapestry room. She knew what questions her friend had, and she resolutely stared at Sirius' burned out mark on the wall instead of into Harry's brilliantly green eyes.

"I know you want to afford him some privacy, and Hermione, I'm trying here I really am. I'm trying to understand and be a supportive friend, but I also have a war to lead and win." She slid her gaze to his features as the sudden realization of how grown they'd become hit her at full force. How had they gone so quickly from dashing across the grounds under an invisibility cloak to discussing their place in leading a war? She felt sick at where life had taken them, at where they may end up.

"Harry," She began,

"I just need to know what you know, I won't pass it around. I'll afford him all the damn privacy he wants, but I need to know in my gut that I'm trusting the right path here."

"He thinks he is to blame for his mother's death." Her voice felt far away, like a strangers.

"Is he?"

"No. But I don't think there will ever come a day he believes that." She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. Discussing Draco's secrets felt like an uncomfortable itch spreading across her body. Despite all he'd done, she despised the idea of betraying his trust. "She's the reason he was able to escape, the day I first found him. She kept her allegiances a secret from Voldemort himself, until the end."

Harry's eyebrows shot up, "How the hell did she do that?"

"I don't really know. He hasn't told me everything. I'm not even sure how she was killed, but Harry…it was bad."

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and sighed, "You need to figure out what happened Hermione. I know you care for him…more than I think you even realize." His green eyes locked onto her brown ones and the truth seemed to nearly pour out of her, just how far she'd fallen for the broken man upstairs. "But it doesn't erase his crimes, how he's hurt members of the Order, how he betrayed even you…there needs to be an explanation or I won't hold the other's off for much longer."

"I know." She looked up to the ceiling where Draco undoubtedly still remained in bed four floors above, "I'll speak to him."

"Hermione," Harry called after her retreating figure, "remember who you are."

"Don't you mean remember who he is?" She smirked and disappeared through the doorway, leaving Harry alone to gaze at the burned mark of the closest thing he'd ever had to a father.

Another two weeks had passed with little to no contact from anyone outside of Hermione. He'd been too embarrassed to mention his moment of weakness, and she'd had enough tact to let it remain a silent issue. Soon after he revealed to her, or rather confirmed, what had happened to his mother, he'd heard a third world war drift from downstairs. He had a guess that she'd further put her foot down on anyone questioning him and for that he was grateful, but was growing tired of needing protection.

His mother hadn't died for him to remain cowered in his room for over a month, eyes itchy from the ever-constant tears that seemed to haunt him. The problem was, he wasn't even sure where to begin. Where did you patch up the pieces when every inch was broken?

"Draco." Her voice startled him from his thoughts and he turned to see her in the doorway, concern knit into her features. "We need to talk."

"Oh goody. That's what every man loves to hear when being greeted." He rolled over in bed and pulled the cover over his head, which Hermione promptly tore off with a wave of her wand.

"I'm serious."

He busied himself with summoning a shirt as her eyes desperately tried to look anywhere but at his exposed chest and his pajama bottoms that were sitting far too low on his hips. He caught her faze after putting on a shirt and smirked slyly.

"My eyes are up here, Granger."

She ignored his comment, "The Order doesn't fully believe me, about your mother, about what happened."

He feigned ignorance, "You mean to say the group of people who hate my guts don't believe a word I say? This is tragic, truly."

"Draco I've been kind with you, but I'm on my last bit of patience." She snapped, "I still don't even know what happened exactly, and I haven't pushed because…" she quickly shut her mouth to stop her next words from tumbling out. With a deep breath, she continued, "Because it's a hard thing to process. But if I can't prove what happened to you…if I can't prove you're not just a Death Eater spy…Draco they're going to question you. They're going to get answers, whether you want to give them or not."

"Really love how you lot call yourselves the 'good side' of this bloody war." He scoffed.

"Don't you dare," her voice dangerously low, "you've seen what the other side is capable of, you've committed those crimes just as they've been done to you. Don't you dare try and paint us as the villains for demanding truth. I am through defending our actions to you and your twisted logic!" He opened his mouth to interrupt her but with a raise of her wand, he was silenced, "No! I am speaking. And I am not done. Your time of being morally ambiguous is over. I'm bloody exhausted of this fight, and I'm done defending your attitude to my friends. You can either learn to cooperate, learn which side is actually interested in your well being, or you can go back out on the street. War has made monsters of us all, but who will still be able to tame themselves once the war is finished? Will it be your precious friends? The ones who were eager to murder before the battlefield gave them a proper excuse? Enough Draco. Enough." She whipped her wand up again to release the silencing spell but he made no effort to speak. For several minutes, the silence wrapped itself around their necks, choking out any words from reaching the surface.

Finally, he cleared his throat, "Granger."

"I need your memories. I need to know what happened. I need to be able to go back to them and assure them that you aren't here to get us killed. If you can let down your walls then hold this in your fist –" she tossed a galleon at his feet, "and think of me. If you can't, then I'll throw your arse onto the pavement myself. You have a week." She slammed the door behind her and he found himself, somehow, feeling better than he had before she'd come in.

He tossed the coin between his fingers, watching the sparse London sunlight shine off of its edge. His food had magically appeared for the past two days, and he'd spoken to no one. His will was crumbling as he found himself fantasizing about the way her lips felt against his, he felt the coin heat up in his hand, so hot that he dropped it, nearly burned.

She apparated outside his door and came in without knocking, "This better not be some bloody trick." Her arms were crossed and her bottom lip was swollen from having worrying it all morning. He tried not to smirk at the obvious giveaway that she clearly cared more than she was letting on.

"No tricks, Granger." He sighed, unsure if it was the trauma of the past few months or the ache in his gut to see her that had finally broken his resolve. She'd probably try and cite her precious speech she'd thrown on him a few days ago, but if anything, all that did was give him hope that maybe…maybe she still cared for him. And maybe, he cared for her? He'd been too emotionally exhausted to consider the possibility before that fight, but it was as though her yelling had finally woken him up. He'd known for a while now that protecting her, making sure she was safe…that had become his biggest priority. But the swooping he felt in his stomach at the though of trailing his hands down her thigh…that was certainly new.

A flask appeared on his bedside table with a flick of her wand, "I just need the memories of what happened to your mother…that should be enough." She dragged her eyes up from the floor and onto his gaunt face, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I'm not sure. But, I'm sorry."

"How many times have I told you Granger?" He reached out for the flask and took a deep breath to begin the considerable amount of wandless magic it would take to retrieve his memories, "I don't want your pity."

"Being sorry and pity are not the same."

"Sure does fucking feel like it sometimes." He mumbled. "I'm not your wounded puppy dog."

"I know that," she smiled slightly, "a puppy wouldn't infuriate me so much. And it would keep its mouth shut."

He pulled the stopper on the flask and released his whisps of memory into it before quickly covering them so they wouldn't spill out. He covered the length of the room in two great strides and deposited the bottle into her hand, standing merely inches from her face. He bent down and breathed onto her neck, "oh surely my mouth can be of some good use Granger?" Her breath hitched and she subconsciously rested a hand on his shoulder, bringing him closer.

"You think too highly of yourself, Malfoy."

He closed the last inch and brought his lips down onto her neck as she gasped. As quickly as he'd started though, he pulled his mouth away. "Tell me to stop." His hand trailed up her arm and went to stroke her back, pulling her body against his. "Tell me to stop, Granger."

"No." She barely whispered.

He took a slight step back, "How do you mean?"

Her eyes filled with lust as she looked up through her lashes at him, "No, I won't tell you to stop. Don't stop." He nearly growled in triumph at her words and took her face into his hands to crush his lips against hers. She whimpered against his mouth and he felt elation spread through his body at the sound. She raised her arms to loop around his neck as he lifted a hand to tangle into her hair.

In a moments notice he was backing her against the wall and she could feel his arousal against her thigh, which caused heat to settle into her abdomen. His hand reached for the bottle in her hands still behind his neck and as soon as it had begun, it was over.

He pulled his mouth from hers and closed her hand over the bottle before he brought his lips to her fingers. "When you see those…" his eyes gazed down at the swirling memories before capturing hers once more, "if you still want me to touch you like that, if you can still stomach my kiss, you'll know where to find me Granger." She opened her mouth to protest at his words but he brought one finger up to her swollen lips, "for once let me pity myself instead of you doing it for me." He chuckled and pecked her forehead. "I'm not a good man, Granger. Whatever patience and care you've had with me for the past few months, it isn't your job to fix me. And I'd never ask you to, so remember that when you watch those. I…I haven't deserved you, the kindness you've shown…and I'm trying to pick myself back up but if you see my memories and still decide…" his voice cracked, "still decide you want me…then please remember what I've done and who I am." She was forcefully reminded of Harry's words from only a few days previously. Remember. Remember.

His hand came up to gently hold her jaw and for a moment she was sure he'd kiss her again, but instead her sighed and pushed her towards the door. She heard him whisper, "please, forgive me" as the door shut behind her back. She wasn't sure if it was the memory of his touch on her skin or the words that caused her goose bumps to rise, but try as she might, she couldn't stop them. He asked her to remember…as though she could ever forget. Any of it.

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