Shades of Grey

Chapter Fifteen: The Plan

"The color of truth is grey."

- Andre Gide

The first time Hermione Granger had ever been kissed was by Viktor Krum. It was in her fourth year, of course, when he was visiting for the Triwizard Tournament, and the two had spent a great deal of time together. Viktor was older and experienced-though attractive and kind-hearted, he lacked that which Hermione held in abundance of the mind, and with it being her first kiss, it was memorable but not...preferable. If anything, the young Witch could only recall that it was very sloppy; her hands had been clammy and she hadn't quite known what to do with them, and the entire time she was fretting over whether or not she was doing anything right (Was she supposed to tilt her head more? Should she open her lips a little like she'd seen in so many Muggle movies, or would that be considered inappropriate?) It had been sufficient as far as first kisses go, of course, but Hermione Granger simply didn't understand what the big deal about kissing was. Surely Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were exaggerating how much fun it could be! If anything, it involved too much saliva and breathing against one another!

The second boy she'd kissed was none other than Ron Weasley. She'd harbored an emotional attachment to him for quite a while by the time they'd finally got around to committing the act, and she had been so unsure as to whether or not her love for him extended far and beyond the realms of friendship. But there they were, in the midst of a battle, and Hermione Granger had known perfectly well that her hopes of getting out alive weren't as optimistic as she might have liked to believe. And then there was Ron, and that comment he made about the House Elves caused her heart to swell with gratitude and pride, and with adrenaline pumping through her veins and a fear that she'd die without knowing what it felt like to kiss her redheaded friend's plump, slightly chapped lips caused a surge of emotion to course through her, and Hermione had simply...pounced. It was all teeth and dry lips, and with the force in which Hermione's mouth had slammed against Ron's, she swore she could feel her teeth rattle. If it had been any other time, she would have taken the time to pull away and wince at the bruises she was certain were left on her rather...frantic and eager lips, but they were in the climax of a war, and she simply couldn't afford such a thought. But yet again, Hermione Granger didn't understand what all the fuss concerning kissing was about. Needless to say the kiss in itself had been a bit of a dud...reflecting back on it, it was very much like kissing a brother she'd never had, and Hermione cringed whenever she thought of the toothy, clumsy kiss she had shared with Ronald.

After that, Hermione Granger didn't make much of a habit of kissing boys. There was no need, really; she was a woman on a mission-determined to dedicate her life to her work, and she really didn't have any time to deal with ridiculous notions like kissing boys (she would leave that to people like Lavender and Parvati). After all, she hadn't had the best of luck with kissing thus far, and she didn't really see what the big deal was.

But then she and Draco had shared their first kiss together in that little tent out in the woods, and it was as though every kiss before then ceased to exist; they meant nothing to her, and she had almost been certain that she'd never feel the same way about kissing someone as she had with her childhood nemesis. Kissing Draco Malfoy was an art, and Hermione enjoyed indulging herself in the pleasure and beauty of it whenever she could. Where she was uncertain of what to do with Viktor, she grew and learned with Malfoy. She learned his mouth; studied it and memorized it like she had so many books in the past. She knew every crevice-every curve and dip of his mouth, from inside the warm and wet cavern of his mouth to his soft and supple lips. She took great pleasure in learning this; it was like she was absorbing a bit of him every time their lips pressed against the other's. And where the kiss had been nothing but teeth and cracked lips with Ron, it was soft, warm, and inviting with Malfoy. There were moments when his kisses were harsh; like he was trying to tear her lips off with the force of his own-they could be hungry and ravenous, but they could also be tender and curious. For every moment that his kiss was rough and desperate, there was also another where they just barely grazed against her own; the kind of kiss that sent shivers up and down her spine and had her craving for more. The kind that left her dizzy and breathless.

There were a million different sort of kisses to be had, Hermione realized, and she would gladly have spent the rest of her life discovering each and every one so long as Malfoy's lips were the ones she experimented with. Whether she was pecking the corner of his lips as they stretched into a smirk or he was working his kiss-swollen lips down the sensitive column of her throat, she wanted it all.

And that terrified her.

But Hermione Granger was a Gryffindor, and fear was not to be had.

Things had changed between the former Gryffindor and Slytherin the night before-by following her into her room and kissing her, Malfoy had finally let a few of the cracks in his carefully-crafted walls show; he'd let someone in for the first time in Merlin knew how long, and it had felt...nice, even. She didn't know what this meant for the two of them, but it had to be something significant. They'd both given and taken something from the other last night, and while that was petrifying, in a sense, it was also relieving. Malfoy had stayed with her all through the night, and when they woke up spent a few moments trying to adjust to the fact that they were voluntarily curled up next to one another. But she didn't shrink away from his touch, and he didn't pull away from hers. They were merely...studying one another; trying to make sense of what had been a confusing night for the both of them.

The morning after the incident with Dolohov, Hermione slept with Draco again. He had been half-asleep when he started kissing her, his bright hair sticking up at odd angles and his brilliant grey eyes clouded over with a drowsiness that made him look irresistible, and Hermione couldn't have stopped herself from kissing him even if she'd tried. They spent several moments snogging each other senseless until Draco had curled his fingers around the bed sheet surrounding Hermione, tugging her petite form on top of his. Hermione was surprised to note that her feminine build seemed to mold against Malfoy's lean, masculine one almost instantly; she could feel every inch of his skin pressed intimately against her own, and in that moment it was as though the entire world had stopped. There was nothing but him and her, and she was determined to convince herself of as much until they were forced to leave the comfort of her room.

Positioning herself on top of Draco's body had been a bit more difficult than she had originally thought. Her arms wobbled slightly as she brought herself up into a sitting position, pressing the warm palms of her hands against his chest. Her thumb, incidentally, scraped against one of his nipples, and the strangled hum that fell from Draco's lips in response was almost too delicious to handle. She'd been nervous-terrified, really-but Malfoy had been surprisingly...understanding about it. He helped her through the new experience, filling in the gaps where she was otherwise naive and ignorant. She would always recall the way it had felt to have his heated, slightly-callused hands pressing against the delicate curve of her waist; how he had brought her arms down from where they were covering her breasts, informing her that she had nothing to be ashamed of.

As odd as it was to admit as much, Hermione felt that if it hadn't been for Draco's patient and soft guidance, she wouldn't have been able to pull it off at all. She hadn't exactly been skilled-by the time she finally managed to get a grip on his erection and slide down on it slowly, testing the waters out, she was almost certain that she was the most unappealing human being in the entire bloody world. How could he be attracted to her when the basic instincts of sex seemed to evade her? Just when she'd convinced herself that she had somehow failed even the most basic aspect of human nature, Malfoy had been rotating his hips beneath her, urging her on. She was slightly sloppy in her movements, her hips coming down on him often times in an uneven and near-desperate manner, but he didn't seem to mind; he didn't even complain when her grip on his chest slipped slightly and she came down on him with an almost bruising intensity. And for all her inexperience was worth, Hermione really enjoyed it; it felt good to hold the reins for once-to ride him and feel his cock nudging inside of her tight, wet entrance, probing at her slick cunt from entirely new angles. More than once she wanted to cover her breasts, which were bouncing as she rode the Slytherin beneath her, but she forced herself not to. She focused on him, and only him-the way his eyes twinkled with lust as they slid up and down her bare form, the way his lips parted on a silent cry of ecstasy as she came down on him just right, how his hips would lift to meet her thrusts and his fingernails would accidentally dig into the soft skin of her sides, leaving crescent-shaped grooves in their wake. But most of all, she loved the way he looked when he came; his eyes would widen significantly, his jaw slacking as he forced out a stuttering cry of pleasure. She could feel every muscle in his body tense beneath her; could feel his fingers quivering as she rode him and aided her lover in his climax. He was always most vulnerable like this-it was when he reached his height that Hermione felt the most connected with him. Almost like if she tried hard enough, she could send those walls he'd built to protect himself crumbling down. Like she could be close with him.

When Draco had reached his point of orgasm, oddly enough Hermione had been struck with the thought of Astoria Greengrass. She wondered what it would be like if the younger Witch was to walk in and see her boyfriend being straddled by Hermione; would it break her heart? Did she even love Draco enough to care about what he did when she wasn't around? She was immediately ashamed of herself for harboring such thoughts, and even more humiliated by the fact that...that sleeping with another woman's man didn't scandalize her nearly as much as it should have. She had always been a strong believer in morals and faithfulness and loyalty, but...being with Malfoy offered her something she'd never had before. It made her feel entitled to be selfish, in a sense, because she knew that Astoria had something that Hermione never would-not fully, anyway. Sure, Malfoy might have...suggested otherwise the night before, but by the time they were finished with the mission and returned back home, it wasn't Hermione that Draco would be going home with. It wasn't Hermione he'd be falling asleep next to every night. It was Astoria Greengrass.

And for that, Hermione would always be jealous. Not because someone else had something she wanted, but because they had something she needed. And whether or not she would admit it to herself, much less anyone else, she needed Malfoy. He'd never told her she was beautiful-Hermione couldn't even recall if he'd ever once said she was pretty-but he made her feel that way. He made her feel protected, even when he was yelling at her and telling her something she'd done was stupid. Malfoy was horrible with words, that much she knew, but his actions spoke volumes. They told stories with the way his hands lingered on her, with the way his eyes studied her closely as she was bent over a map, scribbling something down. It was in the way that he spoke to her sometimes, and how every now and again, those soft pink lips would quirk up into a knowing smirk. It was in the way he acted rather than the way he spoke, and Hermione understood that about him. Maybe he might not ever be able to tell her that he thought she looked beautiful, and perhaps he would never be able to properly articulate his feelings, but she understood him.

Sometimes, she wondered if she understood him better than she did herself.

The recognition of that was a powerful and terrifying one to come to terms with. What did it mean-for her, for him, for the both of them? Hermione wasn't sure, and that was all the more infuriating. She wasn't used to having such loose a hold onto a situation; she was familiar and comfortable with maintaining control. But with Malfoy...control was the last thing she held possession of. Being around him was dizzying and mind-boggling, as were the emotions and thoughts that accompanied his presence. She thought that maybe-just maybe-she should try to distance herself from him, but despite all of the strength and courage she possessed as a Gryffindor, she couldn't manage it. Maybe she was weaker than she'd thought-not in terms of loyalty or sticking to her morals, of course, but...with matters of the heart.

Oh, Merlin, what was Malfoy doing to her?

She didn't know-not in the slightest-but these were the thoughts that came to her after having departed back to her own suite and preparing for the day. They didn't have very big plans, what with the setback that Dolohov provided, but Hermione Granger was determined to get a hold of Harry, even if it was the last thing she did. Malfoy had opted to staying in his own suite for the afternoon, claiming that he needed to write a few letters. Hermione had strictly warned him against sending anything (look at what had happened the last time she had tried to send someone an owl?!), but Malfoy was persistent. He promised he wouldn't send anything risky, and while Hermione wanted to push the subject further and demand an explanation as to what sort of letters he planned on writing, she knew better than to keep prodding. Malfoy could be a very...private sort of individual; perhaps it had been one of the reasons she'd been so hesitant to trust him since he'd joined the Order.

Well...that and the fact that she had every reason not to. Or...did she? Things had changed for Malfoy-and for her-since their years in school together. Whether or not Hermione was willing to admit it, he was a different person. Something about the war had transformed him, and now the young Gryffindor didn't know what to think when she spoke or looked at him. It wasn't with malice or detest for what he'd done and who he had been, but...something else.

She dared not say it, though, for fear of her confession solidifying and becoming far too real.

So just for today, Hermione would take care of things alone. She hadn't really realized until she'd set off for McGonagall's office just how much she had relied on Malfoy for things. True, she was a bit of a...a bit of a "control freak", as Ronald had called her a time or two, but Malfoy had been shockingly helpful since they'd been assigned as group partners together. When had Draco matured so much? It was almost like he wasn't the same person anymore. She supposed he wasn't, actually...as she'd stated already, things had changed him for good; the war, his role in the Order, his family...everything. Hermione was forced to acknowledge that as rotten as he could be, things had been tough for Malfoy, too.

And realizing that he was more than likely still suffering over what he had witnessed caused her chest to ache. Merlin, what was happening to her?

All thoughts of the blonde-haired Slytherin aside, McGonagall had kindly offered to go and retrieve Harry and bring him back to the school personally through the Floo system-the last thing anyone wanted was another incident like the day before. Hermione mentally reminded herself to write her former professor a thank you note or something once everything was said and done with-she'd been so incredibly helpful since Hermione had arrived at Hogwarts with Malfoy. Even now, when her school was potentially at risk, the elder Witch was going out of her way to help the Order.

Minerva McGonagall was truly an extraordinary woman.

After declaring the password that would allow her into the headmistress' office, Hermione fixed her blouse and stood straighter, moving to step up the flight of stairs that would lead to the lair that Hogwarts' head administrator dwelled. It was...eerie, in a sense, to have entered the office twice now and not seen Dumbledore's aged, kind face smiling at her from behind the desk. Though Hermione had no real reason to come to the Headmaster's office much back when she was in school, it was still unsettling to be in a place that he had inhabited for so long and acknowledge that he was never coming back. And if it was difficult for her, she could only imagine how disturbing it was for Harry. Poor Harry-her heart ached for him; he'd been put through so much for years now. He had to be exhausted-tired of the games and charades; of war and death and the scent and emotions it left behind. Death was a powerful sort of thing; it consumed you the moment you turned your head-it wrapped its thick black fingers around you, suffocating you and denying you the one thing you so desperately crave: life. Death killed more than just one victim or two-it destroyed the lives of everyone surrounding. It had consumed Hermione's life for so long now, and if her grief was one thing, her friend's was another.

But she wouldn't pity him. If Hermione knew one thing about her friend, it was that he didn't want anyone's pity. He could say what he liked about himself-about his connections to Voldemort and the past they shared, but there was one thing Hermione would always be sure of: Harry was a good person. Through and through, he was the best sort of individual. To the very core of his being, he was a Gryffindor-and he was her best friend. Surely he of all people would understand her reservations about Bellatrix; about the war and everything that was happening to them. Ron had a short fuse and was likely to get in squabbles with her over the most ridiculous things, but...perhaps Harry would listen. Maybe he would understand her emotions better than she did.

Well...only one way to find out.

By the time Hermione reached McGonagall's office, she was pleased to find that both she and Harry were occupying the area. Unable to help herself, Hermione's lips spread into a wide, relieved grin, and she hurtled herself towards her friend. It felt like years since she'd been able to see him, and his presence was both comforting and relaxing. She gave him a friendly hug that he reciprocated, pulling away just long enough to ensure that he wasn't hurt. Heaving a relieved sigh, Hermione stepped away and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, beaming from ear-to-ear.

"Harry, thank Merlin!" Hermione exclaimed, flushed and breathless. "I was so worried that McGonagall wasn't going to be able to contact you! You're alright, aren't you? And everyone else? Holding up, I trust?"

"Yeah, yeah-we're all doing just fine, Hermione," He assured her, giving her a nod of his head and smiling in return. Hermione glanced over at McGonagall who was smiling politely at the both of them. The elder Witch gave a slight nod of her head before gathering her bearings and maneuvering around the desk to stand in front of them both.

"Mr. Potter wasn't quite as difficult to get ahold of as we'd fooled ourselves into believing, Ms. Granger," McGonagall said primly, glancing own her nose at the both of them. "I trust that you know the next course of action, Potter?"

"Yes, err-Professor," Harry managed, clearly struggling to determine what he should call their old teacher. Hermione glanced between the two, waiting for Harry to speak. "I guess things are much more crucial than I thought they were; I suggest that you try and-I dunno-try and make sure the students are safe? The last thing we want is any unnecessary casualties, and if Bellatrix or the others think they've found a window of opportunity at slipping into the school, you can be sure she'll pounce on it. They're desperate now; they've lost their leader, after all."

McGonagall nodded, clearly understanding of what Harry was implying. She tutted in an irritated fashion, gathering her robes and walking towards the entrance to her office.

"I'll have to alert the rest of the staff immediately, then," She said, turning around once to stare at them both. "We'll make an official announcement at dinner this evening-in the meantime, though, I trust the both of you will be fine on your own?"

Both Harry and Hermione nodded; there was no need to say much else. Professor McGonagall gave them one last glance before heading out the very door Hermione had just waltzed in from. Once she had disappeared-emerald robes and all-Hermione turned her gaze back to Harry, noticing he seemed rather expectant. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the small sack she kept the Stone secured in. After a moment's pause, she reached over and handed it to Harry, who took it and rolled the small bag around in his hands.

"It's weird, y'know?" He asked suddenly, his thumb brushing over the velvet case of the small drawstring bag. Hermione gazed at him queerly, her brunette brows drawing together in a fit of confusion as she tried to decipher what he meant. Luckily, though, Harry continued. "I just mean...the last time I saw this, I was talking to my parents...to Sirius and Lupin. It feels like a world away; I should have taken it with me then. Kept it safe."

"Harry, you didn't know..."

"Didn't I?" He asked sharply, his green eyes flickering towards her. "Didn't I know that something would happen during that battle, Hermione? That I was going to die, or that Voldemort was? Shouldn't I have had the sense to pocket it and keep it hidden; to keep anyone from being the true Master of Death?"

"You couldn't have known something like that, though," She protested, taking a tentative step towards him. "Harry...no matter what happened back there in the Forbidden Forest-between your parents or Sirius or even Professor Lupin, you have to know that it wasn't your fault. None of it's been your fault, Harry."

Rather than acknowledging her protests, Harry merely shifted his gaze and cleared his throat. He gazed down at the small bag for a few more moments before pocketing it. Maybe this wasn't the best time to mention Bellatrix. Turning to face her once more, Hermione could tell that Harry was expecting more from her. But what?

"Sorry I made you go through this with Malfoy, by the way," He said finally, an apologetic tone in his voice.

Oh.

"I-don't apologize, Harry, you did what you had to do," Hermione said evasively, glancing around the room and wishing she could shrink to the size of a pea. She hoped that her face wasn't turning scarlet; oh, if Harry only knew what she and Malfoy had gotten up to since they'd been paired together as partners...she didn't know if he'd ever be able to fully forgive her. Defected Order member or not, he was still Malfoy, and he was still Harry's childhood nemesis. In all rightfulness, he should have been hers, too. But...he wasn't. She hadn't considered him an enemy for quite some time now.

Merlin, when had that happened?

"I did what I thought was best, Hermione, but I probably could have found someone else," Harry offered, giving her a sad sort of look. "I can only imagine the hell you've had to deal with being holed up with him all this time."

"It...it hasn't been that bad; Malfoy's not too terrible, Harry," Hermione defended, rather breathless and winded with their heavy conversation.

To Hermione's surprise, Harry snorted.

"You? Defending Malfoy? Maybe you have been cooped up for too long, Hermione." Harry said finally, a small ghost of a smile occupying his face. "Maybe all of this isolation is really starting to get to you."

"Oh! You-shut it, Harry Potter!" Hermione shot back, trying to be playful with him. Her heart was hammering against her chest; beating a mile a minute and so loudly that the young Witch was nearly certain that it was going to beat its way right out of her chest! She gave Harry a playful tap on the arm, her fingers shaking slightly as she finally withdrew her hand. She could tell she was more than likely being obvious in her fit of lying, though if Harry detected any dishonesty, he made no show of illustrating it. Thank Godric for that.

"Really, though," Hermione defended primly, tugging on the hem of her blouse. "I'm handling things just fine, Harry; Malfoy's nothing that I can't handle. But...what about you? Do you have any sort of lead or idea on what needs to happen next?"

"Not quite," Harry said with a sigh, lifting a hand and rubbing at the back of his neck. "The places that Ron and I have searched have been vacant; the Death Eaters must be using new territory for hideouts. Though where, we're not entirely sure. I think-given recent events-it would be wise to assemble a small army in defense. I'm not sure how many volunteers I can rally up, but Ron's promised he would help me. We go to the Ministry tomorrow to talk to Kingsley and see if he can help."

All of this talk of war and armies and assembling defenses had Hermione anxious for the outcome; it felt too much like war for her, and as much as she wished that she could blink and have the entire issue at hand resolved, she knew better than almost anyone else that life simply didn't work like that. So instead, she stayed true to her character and nodded, listening intently to her best friend as he rattled off possible strategies and battle plans. It was the best she could manage to do, all things considered.

"What about Malfoy and I?" She blurted out suddenly, unsure why she voiced the thought in the first place.

"Well...I'm expecting you and Malfoy to continue searching for the Elder Wand," Harry explained, clasping his hands together. "It's really one of the most important aspects of this entire battle plan; if we want to get ahead, we have to trip them up before they know what's hit them."

Hermione personally saw a lot of holes and flaws in this plan, and while she was itching to explain them all to Harry, she refrained. She knew that he wouldn't listen anyway-not when he was like this. Besides, there was still the possibility of the Elder Wand being out there somewhere; it wasn't confirmed that anyone from Bellatrix's side had found the wand, after all. So for once, she kept quiet-partially because she didn't know how to fix the problem in front of her, and partially because she was so overwhelmed that she didn't think her words of advice would even end up sounding coherent in the first place.

"I'll make sure to tell him; we'll start up on the search for the Elder Wand first thing tomorrow," She said quietly, giving a slight nod of her head. Her hair swayed around her as she nodded, and she and Harry stood in silence for a few minutes. She knew he had to leave soon, and the realization that she would be without a friendly face again so soon was disheartening; she had Malfoy, of course, but that was different. That was...complicated. So when Harry made his excuses to head back to 12 Grimmauld Place and prepare for whatever was lying before them, Hermione knew she had to let him go. Giving him one last friendly hug, she smiled at him affectionately and waved, watching as Harry picked up a fistful of Floo Powder and called out the same address that she wished she could accompany him to. 12 Grimmauld Place, for all of its faults and flaws in design, had become like home to her over the past year or so. It wasn't perfect, nor were any of the people who inhabited it on a temporary or permanent basis, but it was as close to security as she felt these days.

Or, well...until Malfoy. He'd come along and screwed up so much for her; her way of thinking and feeling-the sensation of absolute resolve she felt when she reflected on who he was and who she was and how their paths could never cross without the defense of fire and ice being involved. Everything was ripped to shreds; there was no longer any black and white when it came to Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. Somehow, along the way, they'd smeared the clear lines that defined and segregated them. Somewhere down the path they'd found themselves forcibly journeying along together, they'd smeared the boundaries that kept them separated. In a world where Hermione was so open to change and progressive thinking and everything that came with her desire for freedom and equality, her resentment of Malfoy and his for her in return had been a shining beacon of clarity in her life. It had been as plain as day and night; as opposite as black and white, and as true to form as anything she'd ever known.

But lust and desire and hushed confessions murmured in the dead of night when they were left alone had blurred that careful and plain aspect of her world she thought was mapped out for her; black and white had blended, and suddenly Hermione Granger's entire world was transformed into a million shades of grey.

And the most terrifying part of it all was that she wouldn't turn back; not anymore. Whether or not Hermione Granger was willing to admit it, Draco Malfoy meant something to her now.

Maybe he always would.

a/N: I'm so sorry it took so long for me to write this chapter! I could feed you all excuses about how I've been busy with school and other personal things-which I have-but you've heard it all before. So this is me just saying that I hope you guys are having a great 2013 so far, and hopefully it'll continue to stay that way! I consider this chapter more of a "filler" than anything; I needed to incorporate it somehow, and so I figured I'd have Hermione have a mini revelation in it. Big stuff's about to come, guys! Stay tuned! And as always, don't forget to read and review :).