It had been a year. One full year. Every day of that year had been tight, unwanted, over exposed. Every moment had been forced; it exceeded her limit and drew on her senses. She hated it. She hated every minute of it. The worst part was the raids. She could feel them tearing at her very being every time she uttered a curse, or took a life with her magic. She felt dirty, used, stripped.

At the moment, Hermione Jane Malfoy stood at her window, looking out over the grounds. She found it calming, staring out over the maze, the forest. Especially now with the summit meeting drawing close. It was to be a meeting hosted by the Dark Lord's right hand, and attended by Deatheaters and Order members alike. In the case of this particular summit, Malfoy Manor was going to be the neutral ground on which the two parties met. Draco would welcome the Order members into his home and they would discuss the terms of the new treaty. If no agreement could be made, then they would meet again and again until they finally felt that both sides had been treated fairly. Of course, as the Dark Lord's most trusted Deatheater, Draco was now trusted in seeing that everything fell into place according to the Dark Lord's plan. In cases such as this summit, that entailed doing everything in his power in order to obtain the highest ground against the Light. In cases such as these, Hermione made a point of not being in the room when the summit began. But that might prove more difficult than thought.

There was a knock at her door before Draco opened it slightly and peered in. "Hermione? Are you here?" His voice was very soft, delicate, and she somehow found it soothing her grating nerves.

"Yes, I'm by the window." She heard him open the door and move into the room, heard his footsteps fall lightly on the floor as he moved towards her. When he stood next to her and shared her view over the grounds of the Manor he spoke.

"Pansy and Blaise are here. They've come for dinner, I hope you don't mind—"

"Not at all. Shall I dress casually, or will it be a formal affair?" Her eyes never left the horizon that drew out before her.

"Formal, if you wouldn't mind. I believe they've invited a few people as well. Most of us will be discussing how best to deal with the summit next week. Quite frankly I don't know—"

"That's wonderful. If you'll excuse me, I have to get dressed." Turning away from the window, Hermione moved to her closet and stepped quietly in, closing the door behind her. She leaned against the door, breathing hard. She found it nearly unbearable to stand beside him, found she could hardly breathe when he was within reach. And now, with him just beyond the door, just beyond the threshold, was almost intolerable.

Pushing away from the door she moved to the row of dresses hanging on her right. Her hand drifted over the fabrics, feeling the silky smooth of each dress as she moved further into the closet. Her hand finally rested on a pale yellow gown of regency style. Pulling it from the rack, Hermione admired the flow of the skirt, how it fell softly, the chiffon folding delicately over her fingers. She pulled it off its hanger and unzipped the back. After laying it down on the duvet in the middle of the room, Hermione quietly undressed and slipped into the dress, settling it lightly around her. Pulling on a pair of cream yellow heels, she left her dressing room only to find she was not walking into an empty room.

"Oh, I though you'd left." He was seated at the foot of her bed, long legs stretched out before him, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were focused on his feet, but she knew that all his attention was intent on her every move. She turned from him. "Would you mind?" Glancing over her shoulder, Hermione saw him stand leisurely and move towards her. She felt his hands brush against her lower back, felt his breath puff lightly across her neck, and when the zipper was done, she felt his hands press gently against the back of her neck, his lips graze softly on her skin. She pulled away. "Thank you."

Hermione then busied herself at her dressing-table, applying a light powder, soft blush, and just the faintest hint of eye-shadow with her wand. She then reached for her jewelry box only to find it was already opened, her pearls missing. Before she could question where they were, she saw them pass before her eyes and settle around her neck. His hands were back on her skin, and it was more than she could bear. She stood. "I'll go welcome our guests. I'm sure they don't wish to be kept waiting." Without waiting for a reply, Hermione left her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her. It wasn't until she'd reached the foot of the stairs that she could breathe again.

There was something boiling in him, and he felt that very soon it was going to overpower him. And there was nothing he could do about it. It was a strange feeling that rose in him now. Every time she entered the room he felt something warm implode within his body. Every time she left him standing alone he felt a devastating freeze sweep through his bones. It was this feeling that swept over him now. Even as he stared at his reflection in her mirror, he couldn't stop the ice from piercing his heart.

Draco Malfoy closed his eyes and tried to breathe. It was minutes before he could do so without strain. When he finally had regained a tense calm, he left her bedroom and moved to join Blaise and Pansy in the parlor. However, when he got there, he found himself utterly alone. He moved quickly through the halls into various rooms and found that Blaise and Pansy, let alone his wife, were nowhere to be seen. It was only when he found himself in his study did he hear the faintest sound of laughter emanating from the terrace. He smirked faintly to himself. He should have known.

As soon as he stepped out onto the terrace, he was bombarded by the dreadful sound that was Pansy's laughter. "Drakey! You'll never believe what Blaise just said! He said that you're going to be heading the meeting between the Deatheaters and those filthy Potter-followers! Is this true?" She looked up at him from her perch by her husband's chair. Hermione sat apart from the couple, her eyes gazing out over the grounds. He looked back to Pansy.

"Yes, Pansy, I'm heading the meeting. Now, please make yourselves comfortable in the parlor, I must have a word with Hermione." Placing his hand on Pansy's lower back, he guided her towards the main doors back into the house, Blaise following silently behind. When the doors had finally clicked shut behind them, Draco turned his attention to his wife. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione spoke first.

"What is there to talk about, Draco?" She wasn't looking at him. She was still staring out into the night. He breathed deep.

"The summit is drawing close. The entirety of the Order will be in attendance, along with the majority of the Deatheaters. You are expected to be there, as a follower of the Dark Lord, and as my wife." He felt her tense. "You will be seated at my right side, Blaise shall be on my left, and the attending Deatheaters shall be seated according to rank. The meeting will take place in the ballroom where a large dining table shall be set to accommodate the large number of witches and wizards attending. Seeing as my mother shall not be in attendance, it is up to you to see to the arrangements. Am I clear?" Something dropped into his gut, like tar and rocks. He waited for her answer. It didn't come. "Hermione, are you listening to me?" She finally turned to look him in the eye.

"I'm not your wife." The words cut deeper than he'd thought. "I may have married you, I may have sworn my allegiance to the Dark Lord, and I may have done everything that has been asked of me since I set foot in that godforsaken thrown-room, but if you think for one minute that any of that makes me your wife, then you are sorely mistaken." Her voice was steady, she never yelled or ranted at him, and he felt something dying inside. But if he knew her at all, he knew that the Hermione he once knew was somewhere locked away in this broken shell of a woman.

"That is exactly what I think!" He moved towards her, she sunk deeper into the chaise on which she reclined. "When you married me you swore an oath to me, and to the Dark Lord whom we both serve!" He moved closer, placed his hands on either side of her, she cringed and looked away. He exhaled, crumpling to a crouch before her. His arms followed, finding their resting place, hands wrapped gently around her wrists. It was at this exact moment that Draco Malfoy let go of something he'd been guarding for years. "I just want Hermione back." His forehead drooped and landed on her knees, eyes closing on tears he should never have shed.

There were hands in his now. He opened his eyes and let his head drift up. He saw her delicate hands entwined in his, holding them together, pulling him forward. As he raised his head, he saw her tears, saw her sorrow, saw everything he felt openly displayed in her eyes, eyes that were drawing ever nearer. And then her hands were on his face, delving into his hair, gripping the nape of his neck, pulling him ever closer.

"I never left." Her lips crashed with his, tongue and teeth fighting for control, fighting for release. His arms wound around her, drawing her up with him as he stood, pressed her supple body against his hard planes. She came to him willingly, her lips molding against his, arms entwining about his neck, pelvis grinding against his own. He moved his lips against hers, traveling down her jaw to nip lightly at her neck, inhaling her scent as he did so. Her lips pressed against his neck, her body calming in his arms. He felt her disappearing again.

"Don't." His arms tightened around her, the idea that if he could just hold her there, if he could somehow make her stay, implanted firmly in his head. Her hands moved through his hair to rest lightly on his shoulders as she began to pull away. He tried to hold on, tried to keep her there, with him, but it seemed within seconds that she was feet away, looking out over the grounds again.

"Pansy and Blaise are waiting for you. I'll join you in a moment." Her hands gripped her arms, her breath coming in long gasps. He moved behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, pressed his thumbs into her back. His lips brushed the nape of her neck, inhaling the smell of her perfume, her hair as he drew away.

"Don't be long." He left her there, and as the door clicked shut behind him, the thought of what he was going to have to do sank into his gut like iron, and the poison of his duty seeped through his blood, the finality of his decision weighing on a conscience long forgotten.

As Draco entered the parlor to meet with Blaise and Pansy, he saw the majority of Deatheaters that were to be attending the Summit had already arrived. Their eyes focused on him as he came in. "Welcome. If you'd please follow me into the dinning room, we have much to go over before the meeting next week." He gestured out into the hall and began to leave. A voice called him back.

"We've been talking, Draco." He turned on his heel. Blaise's eyes pierced his own. "There has been some question as to the loyalties of your wife." Draco could just barely detect the devious smile hidden in Blaise's words.

"How ever do you mean?" Draco turned to face the collective group and met each of their eyes. "What concern is it of yours to question the loyalties of my wife?" He felt his voice raising as his temper flared. "By questioning the loyalties of my wife, you question the loyalty and obedience of this very household, this family! Now, I have said this before to you, Blaise, and now I say it to you all; the Dark Lord deemed her worthy of his mark, deemed her worthy of this family's name and power, and if anyone dares challenge His word or His law, then I shall call him here immediately!" The group flinched away from him, their eyes darting from one another and back. "My wife is as loyal to the Dark Lord as I am, and you will treat her with the respect her title deserves!" He tried to breathe, tried to calm is inner fire. "This all being said, I believe it is time we discuss the matters at hand. A meal has been prepared and awaits us in the dinning room." He left the parlor without waiting another second.

As he turned the corner and down the hall to the dinning room, he saw her. She was just coming in from the terrace, closing the door quietly behind her. The top of her Mark flashed darkly above her dress. "Hermione, you're just in time. Please come join us." He held out his hand and she gracefully fell into step beside him. They moved into the dinning room and waited for the others to file in. When everyone was assembled, they took their seats and the meeting began.

The night was warm, which was odd considering it was December. It was only a few hours before the Summit and Hermione was busy seeing that all the arrangements had been seen to. Everything was in order, and Deatheaters were beginning to arrive. Draco was greeting them all in the foyer, shaking hands, welcoming them, and telling them where their room for the evening was. None of the Order had yet arrived. Hermione was growing anxious.

Having checked the arrangements in the ballroom, she moved to join her husband at the entrance to welcome their guests. Just as she stepped into the foyer, she heard a voice she had not heard in over a year. "Well Ferret, how nice of you to offer your home as a meeting place. I hope you know we're not going anywhere in this place without our wands, not even for the Summit. It's bad enough being here with you, I'd much rather not dwell on the amount of Deatheaters that are no doubt already here."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She stepped out of the room and listened quietly by the door. Draco spoke. "Weasley, it's good to see you again. Potter, it's been a while. I see you brought the wife-"

"I am a member of the Order, Malfoy. Besides, I'm here to make sure my brother doesn't get himself into trouble. Now, where are our rooms?" Hermione had to catch herself from crying out. She waited for Harry to speak; only it was Draco who picked up the silence.

"Your room is just up the right hand stairs and to the left. It's the first door; it has your name on it. Weasley's is next to yours. The Summit will begin in just over two hours. Please, make yourselves at home and relax before we meet again."

"Thank you, Malfoy. That's very kind of you." Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Harry was here. "Actually, I was wondering if I could have a private word with you after the Summit. Would that be manageable?"

"Of course, Potter. We'll meet in my study this evening, or would tomorrow morning be better for you?"

"After the meeting is fine." There was silence followed by footsteps. "Fred, George, good you're here." Hermione moved away from the door and through the halls to the small staircase at the back of the Manor. It was dark and dusty from lack of use.

"Lumos." Her wandtip glowed softly as she made her way up the stairs. When she reached the top, she made a beeline through the halls towards her room. It was only after she'd entered her room, closed the door behind her, and sank to the floor against it that she let her tears finally overwhelm her. They poured out in uncontrollable sobs that wracked her body until she no longer had the strength to cry anymore. She breathed softly for what seemed like minutes before she finally stood and moved to her closet to get ready. As she reached her closet door, a voice from behind made her freeze.

"You know, the way you have him wrapped around your finger amazes even me, Hermione." The voice was cold and manipulative. Hermione turned slowly to face it.

"Blaise…"

"I've always found his fascination with you borderline disturbing, but this new development of his loyalty to you goes beyond." He stood and stalked towards her, his voice penetrating her senses as he moved. "I wonder just how far you're willing to take this charade before your actions cost him more than his loyalties." Hermione tried to breathe, but his next words chilled her to the bone. "I wonder how he would respond to your tears of deception, the ones you so desperately try to hide from everyone around you." He smiled, flashing pure white teeth, before spinning away and closing the door softly behind him.

Hermione closed her eyes, fingering the ring on her finger, and waited for her heart to calm. When it finally had, she went into her closet and proceeded to get ready. However, when she returned to her bedroom, she was enveloped in a bright green glow emanating from the fireplace and suddenly, she was not alone.

It was time. Draco had never been so nervous before in his life. He was standing outside Hermione's door, hands pressing over his dressrobes again and again out of habit. Finally her door opened and he was thrown back to that first night, the night this all began. She wore a long black gown, and as she turned to close the door, her Mark swirled with life against her flesh. The low back of her garment allowed for perfect view of her Mark, the dark life burning within it crawling into his body and settling there with a cold fire that blazed against his bones. He swallowed, offered her his hand.

"Is everything prepared?" His voice was cold.

"Yes, the ballroom has been arranged, and each room has been prepared for their respective guests. I think you'll be quite impressed with the decoration of the ballroom." A hint of a smile played at her lips before disappearing before his eyes. He stopped in their movement towards the grand staircase. She turned back to him. "Are you alright?" He stared into her eyes. Something churned beneath the surface, dancing darkly behind the innocence of her eyes. He moved closer. Even as she stared up at him, her eyes glinted, their color swirling green within their natural golden hazel. She blinked and it was gone. "Are you alright?" He snapped back.

"Yes. I'm sorry, we should join our guests." He resumed walking, Hermione falling into step beside him. They descended the stairs and into the foyer before turning into the hall that led to the ballroom. As they approached the doors, a house elf apparated before them.

"Master Draco, all the guests have been seated, their wands held in this cabinet here." The house elf motioned toward the cabinet by the door, which indeed held twelve wands. Draco recognized Blaise's and Pansy's immediately. No doubt Hermione could tell Potter's and the Weasley's within an instant. "I shall announce you." The little elf apparated into the ballroom and his voice suddenly boomed through the house. "Lord and Lady Malfoy." The doors opened.

For some reason, as soon as her hand had slipped into Draco's, she'd been calm. She knew what she was going to have to do, but now it just didn't seem to matter. Even as they moved closer and closer to the ballroom, even as she saw Harry's wand, Ron's wand, even as his hand gripped her tighter and the doors swung inward, presenting them to both Deatheaters and Order members alike. They stepped inside. Her face became a mask of indifference.

"HERMIONE!" She didn't flinch, her eyes didn't dart to look at him, she just kept moving with Draco to their assigned seats. They had to move around the table, and when they reached their seats, Draco pulled her chair out for her before seating himself. When they had been seated, the Deatheaters all took their seats as they had been instructed. Pansy sat beside her, Blaise beside Draco, and Crabbe and Goyle beyond. Unfortunately Fenrir Greyback sat beside Millicent Bulstrode who was on the other side of Pansy. Just being this close to him made Hermione's stomach cringe. Draco spoke to the Order members still standing.

"Please be seated, there is much to discuss." They Order members sat grudgingly. Hermione folded her hands in her lap, spinning the ring on her finger round and round. She looked to her husband and waited. It was going to be long evening.

Draco knew that as soon as the Weasley saw Hermione he would lose it, knew that as soon as Hermione didn't acknowledge him he would break. It was apparent in the way he slumped into his chair next to Potter and stared down at his hands. Draco chanced a glance at Hermione and found her looking at him, her eyes full of…something…he couldn't quite place it. He breathed deep before speaking. "So, I know that we all have issues with one another, and that we'd all like nothing more than to throw this Summit out and fight right here and now, but that's not what we're here for." He stared pointedly at Greyback before continuing. He met the eyes of each Order member as he spoke. "It has been one year since the treaty was signed by both Harry Potter and our Dark Lord. We meet here tonight to revisit the treaty and all that it entails. Mr. Potter, if you would please speak on behalf of The Order and what you wish to see become of his meeting." He placed his hands on the arms of his chair and looked at Potter. Something touched his hand and stayed there. Glancing down he found it to be his wife's hand, her wedding ring sparkling in the candlelight. Potter spoke.

"I have to say that I agree with you, Malfoy. We would like nothing better than to kill you all right now, but I know that we have a higher purpose to attend to." He glared at Weasley before going on. "This treaty has allowed both sides to tend to old wounds," he paused and looked at Hermione, "and new ones. But it has also giving us all chances to repair and to replenish what was once lost." His eyes moved over the Deatheaters. Draco turned his hand into Hermione's, thumb rubbing over her knuckles as he listened. "This evening was designed to allows both sides to come to a new agreement that will last for the next year." He reached into his robes and withdrew a parchment. "This is an informal treaty which we have drawn up in preparation for this evening. I know that it is very rough and will probably be less than agreeable with the majority of Deatheaters here, but never the less, I thought it a good way to break the ice and get everyone's thoughts out on the table." He passed the parchment across the table to Draco and he took it with his left hand, giving it to Blaise to open and look over.

"Thank you Potter. I know that Blaise will take everything in and we can go from there. Now—"

"Oh can we just cut the bullshit!" Weasley's voice echoed in the room. Draco's eyes snapped to him and glared. His anger flared. "This is all bullshit! You two act like you've been friends forever! I know for a fact that the two of you would like nothing better than to tear each other's throats out right now! Hell, I'd probably join in, but this has to stop! I can't believe you!" He glared at his friend. "How can you even talk to this Ferret with even the smallest amount of respect? This is ridiculous!"

"Ron, please. This has nothing to do with how we feel about each other." Potter was trying to calm Weasley, but it obviously wasn't working.

"Bloody hell it doesn't! Do you see who's here? Are you blind as well as stupid?" Draco felt Hermione's hand stiffen in his. "Look at her!" Draco continued to glare at Weasley and wished with all he had that something very heavy would fall on his head any moment. "I mean LOOK AT HER! Do you see the way she's acting?" He was standing now, his hands gesturing at Hermione, his face burning with anger. Draco had had enough.

"Weasel!" Weasley froze and stared at Draco. "You will think about what you say before speaking that way about my wife again."

"WIFE?"

Hermione wanted very much to melt into her chair and disappear. She could feel her grip tightening around Draco's hand, could feel her eyes finding anywhere to look but at Ron. And then Draco was speaking.

"Yes, my wife." His hand constricted around hers. "And you will treat her with the respect she deserves." She felt her body relax.

"She deserves no respect! She married you!" Hermione looked up at Ron then. He was standing, he was angry, he was screaming. His blue eyes pierced hers. "How could you! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!" His hands came down on the table, the silverware and china clattering as he did. And then she saw the tears. "What have you done?" Draco's hand gripped hers tighter still. She breathed deep and stood, releasing Draco's hand as she did so. When she spoke her voice was stronger than it'd ever been before.

"I have done as my Lord as commanded." She stared him down, and when he finally sat, defeated in his chair, she turned away and pressed her lips firmly against the flesh of his neck, her hand placed over his chest, before she turned away, Dark Mark swirling with power, and left the ballroom.

Hermione found herself moving through the Manor, no destination in mind, when she found herself standing before a door she'd never seen before. Without really thinking, she turned the handle and stepped inside. She found herself in another suite of rooms, obviously a bedroom suite, and it wasn't until she saw the wand on the table that she knew where she was. She almost smiled softly at her ignorance. She should have known, by the décor alone if nothing else. The walls were a deep forest green, the hard wood floor stained black. It was like walking into a library. Each wall was lined with shelves, a green leather sofa positioned before the fireplace, small coffee-table between them covered with a variety of books and journals, all of different sizes. Out of curiosity she picked up one of the journals, feeling the weight of it as she sat. It was different from the other books and journals scattered around the room. The binding was leather, that was where the similarity ended, and the coloring was that of Slytherin, which shouldn't have surprised her. He always was proud of his House. It was tied with a leather strap around the middle, the greens and silvers swirling through the dark black of the binding. She knew she shouldn't open it, knew she shouldn't invade his privacy the way she was, but she couldn't help herself. There was something inside compelling her to open the journal, to read his deepest secrets and keep them for herself. However, when she let the tied strap loose and turned the cover, she was shocked to see her own face staring back at her. It was an image of herself she hadn't seen, or even felt, in years. The Hermione in the journal was smiling, laughing, her hair smooth around her face, her eyes alight with joy. It brought tears to Hermione's eyes.

The sketch was beautiful, far more beautiful than Hermione saw herself. She turned the page and found another sketch. It was a position she was quite familiar with. The Hermione on the page was standing on a balcony, staring out over a forest. Turning page after page after page, she saw herself depicted a hundred times, in a hundred different ways. Each drawing was uniquely opposite from the next. In some she was happy, in others she found herself crying. In one she was sleeping peacefully on the same chaise she frequently found herself out on the terrace. Each drawing was perfect, each stroke deliberate and confident. She closed the book abruptly, pressing it harshly back onto the table. Inhaling deeply to stop the tears, she stood and moved around the room once more.

In a few moments, she found herself moving through open double doors at the other end of the room, and when she took in her surroundings, she noticed that the room in which she now stood was her husband's bedroom. It was a strange feeling that pooled within her now. She felt warm, she felt different than ever before. And that feeling only multiplied at the sight of a framed sketch on the wall beside his bed. It was an angle one would not normally choose for a portrait, the viewer could only see just over her shoulder and catch barely a glimpse of her face past her jaw-line and cheekbone. Her chin rested on her hand, her hair pulled up softly, revealing her back. Hermione breathed sharply. Her back was untouched, unmarred by the Mark she hated so. Her breath caught in her throat, her hand gripping the bedpost, the tears refusing to be withheld. It wasn't long before she found herself seated on the bench at the foot of the bed, arm wrapped around her middle, tears overflowing from the deepest place in her being. And when the tears had finally subsided, she stood, moved from the bedroom and out of the suite, following her feet to her own bedroom where she silently slipped into her own bed and fell into restless sleep.

It was hard for Draco not to jump out of his seat and follow her. It was hard for Draco not to turn into her lips and kiss her before the gathered assembly. It was hard for Draco to stare at Weasley and keep his burning anger from boiling over. It was hard for Draco to even speak. So Potter did.

"Why don't we adjourn for the evening and return in the morning? I know there are few things I would like to discuss in private before we continue." He glanced at Draco and he nodded.

"I agree." He voice was stronger than he'd thought. "Let us reconvene tomorrow morning at 11:00 o'clock. Agreed?" There was a soft murmur around him. He nodded again. "Good. Until tomorrow then." He stood, and the Deatheaters followed suit. Most of them were out the door, grabbing for their wands before going directly to their rooms. Pansy lingered a moment before leaving, Blaise didn't move a muscle. Draco looked pointedly at him. "Goodnight Blaise. Your wife is waiting for you." Blaise glared at him before nodding once and turning on his heel, boots sounding on the marble floor as he left. Draco looked back at Potter. Weasley spoke.

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" His face was still red, his body tense with anger. His question was directed at Potter, but Draco answered.

"Members from both sides have come together to reach an agreement on the renewal of the treaty signed one year ago by both the Dark Lord and Harry Potter, leader of the Forces of the Light. Does that answer your question?" Draco placed his hands firmly on the table, leaning forward, pressing his intention even further. Potter spoke again.

"Ron, why don't you and the other Order members go into the parlor in the front of the Manor, I'll be there shortly." Weasley looked as if he was about to protest, but Potter's firm glare silenced him. Draco watched silently as the Order silently left the ballroom and moved to the parlor. Potter collapsed into his chair.

"Don't tell me you're giving up!" Draco's voice boomed through the large room. The Boy Who Wouldn't Die glared up at him over the rim of his glasses.

"I don't think there's much hope now, Draco. You never told me about you and Hermione." There was betrayal in his eyes. Draco flinched.

"It didn't seem important at the time. It was before we were married. I didn't know what the Dark Lord's plan was for her then, I still don't know." He sunk into his own chair. "She's different, Potter. She's been different since he Marked her."

"I noticed you failed to mention that as well." There was anger in his voice now. "Do you know what Ron has had to go through with her gone? We thought she was dead!" He shook his head. "I guess being dead was better than knowing what she had become."

"You don't have to live with it, Potter. I see her every day, I've watched her descent into defeat."

"And you didn't think it prudent to inform me? It would have been nice to know that your wife, my best friend, was a Deatheater! You don't know what it's been like without her."

"Yes I do." Draco felt the sorrow that bled through his voice. He felt Potter's eyes on him, felt the confusion that thickened the air. "I know exactly what it's like without her." He breathed, closing his eyes before continuing. "You saw what happened tonight." Potter nodded. "Does that look like the Hermione we knew?" He sighed and shook his head.

"No, you're right. She isn't the same. It's like she's become a completely different person. But then there are these moments," he smiled at the memory, "there are these perfect moments, Harry, perfect moments where it's like she's there, right there with me, and then she's gone again. I just don't know what to do." He rested his head in his hand, breath exhaling out as he deflated, defeated.

"You're in love with her." Draco's head snapped up.

"No!" He couldn't love her.

"You love her, Draco, and it's killing you."

"No. I can't love her." He shook his head.

"That doesn't mean you don't."

"It has to! If I love her it means that she'll never be free of this life! It means that I have the greatest weakness of them all!" He was screaming now, and he didn't care. "I can't love her, Potter! I can't! I won't!" He was pacing now, he didn't remember standing, didn't remember his heart pounding, didn't remember how he'd gotten so lost.

"Draco, stop." He froze in his tracks and stared Harry. "You have to accept the fact that you love her, that you're in love with her, or you'll really lose her. I saw her tonight, I saw what she's become Draco! You're the only one that can save her!" Draco ran a hand through his hair.

"You remember that night?" Harry nodded. "I bet you'd thought you were dreaming." He chuckled softly. "I never thought I'd end up on your doorstep. Hell, I never thought I'd actually find the place."

"I thought I was seeing things." Harry smiled softly at the memory…

It was raining, he could tell that much from the hard patter of the droplets as they hammered against his bedroom window. His arm moved tighter around his wife, pulling her in close before closing his eyes to try and get some sleep. It was then that he heard it. It was so faint he was surprised it didn't go unnoticed. He heard it again; it was some kind of movement, some kind of disruption from downstairs. Disentangling himself as soundlessly as possible, Harry stepped out of bed and drew on his robe, grabbing his wand before moving out his room and down the stairs.

His footsteps were light as he descended towards the kitchen. There was no light in the halls of Grimmauld Place, but something was flickering from just beyond the door. He moved silently, wand raised every so slightly, poised for anything. His scar twitched beneath his skin. He'd reached the door.

As he peered around the corner, he saw something…no, someone. It was almost impossible for anyone to be at Grimmauld Place now. The place was so hard to find that even Fred and George had gotten lost looking for it once or twice. This person was seated at the table, they were wearing a black cloak, the hood shaded the person's face. Harry inched cautiously into the room. Before he could speak, a voice he knew all too well echoed around him.

"You know, I had the hardest time finding this place." The drawling voice made Harry's bones itch. "Is that any way to treat a house-guest?" He drew back his hood and Harry almost jumped. The hair might have been a bit longer, the facial lines longer, but there could be no mistake. The man before him was Draco Malfoy.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?" Now is scar was burning.

"Well, I was just in the neighborhood, thought I'd come by for a chat." The Ferret actually had the gall to smirk at him! "No, actually, I'm here because there are few things you and I need to discuss." He reached into his cloak, Harry raised his wand higher. "No need to fuss, I'm just pulling my wand out." His fingers were barely touching the wand as he drew it from inside his robes. "See, just putting it on the table." He set it on the table before unclasping his cloak and letting it slide down around the chair. "Besides, it's not like I would fight you if you wanted to kill me anyway." Harry stared at him, disbelieving. "Oh, I'm not going to bite!"

Harry moved into the room, inch by inch, and when he was finally at the edge of the table, he sat gingerly in the chair opposite Malfoy. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah, yes, well, that is a question that will come later. For now, all you need to know is that I'm sorry." Harry blanched.

"You're sorry! You show up in my house in the middle of the night and all you have to say for yourself is, 'you're sorry!' I'm sorry Malfoy, but that's just not going to cut it!" Harry exhaled deeply before setting his own wand down on the table and rubbing his forehead. "Okay, let say for arguments sake that you don't have an ulterior motive for being here and that you actually just want to—hang on a minute…how'd you get in here?" He looked around suspiciously, searching for a hidden door of some kind.

"I walked in through the front door." Malfoy pointed behind him with his thumb before placing his hand on his knee. "Look, I don't know exactly how I got here, and it's going to take me forever to find a safe place to apparate home from here, so let's just get this over with."

"Get what over with? I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHY YOU'RE HERE!" Harry sighed. "I'm not going to listen to you if you're going to speak in riddles all night." He stood to leave. "You can show yourself out, and I'll just remember this as the weird dream I had last night where Draco Malfoy stepped into my kitchen and decided he was all warm and fuzzy inside." He turned to leave, but Malfoy's next words made him freeze.

"She's alive." There was a pause. "She's alive, and she's staying at the Manor, and there's nothing you can do that will save her unless you listen to what I have to say, right now." The severity in Malfoy's voice made Harry turn back.

"Hermione's alive?"

"You can't tell anyone, not even you're precious little Weaslette wife, and especially not the Weasel." Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Malfoy stopped him. "I don't care about what you think, but you have to listen to me. I know you hate me, and I know you'd like nothing better than to toss me in Azkaban…what's left of it anyway…and throw away the key. But right now, you're going to have to listen to me, and you're going to have to try to understand what I'm going to tell you. If you can't at least try, then I'll leave knowing that I at least told you about Hermione, and that you might try to cook up some ridiculous plan to save her. However, if you do that, and you get caught, I was never here." He looked Harry in the eye. Harry nodded.

"I'll listen, but you have to be honest with me. I'm not going to help you with anything unless you're completely honest. No Slytherin pranks, no old House rivalry, just two men talking about someone they both care about. Deal?" Harry stuck out his hand. There was not hesitation before he felt Malfoy's hand grip his own hard.

"Deal."

"You know, I didn't think we were going to have to push it up this far." Harry's voice was clear now, as neutral as Draco's.

"I know, but we don't have a choice. She's fading faster now more than ever, and I can't lose her. Not like this." Draco closed his eyes before trying to breathe normally. "Look, why don't we carry this conversation out at another time. You have Order Members to talk to, and I have…other duties." He knew his voice was faltering, but he didn't care.

"Right." Harry stood. "Until tomorrow then." He nodded once at Draco before turning on his heel and leaving. Draco almost bolted out the opposite door and up to his room. The door was open when he got there. He pushed it wide and stepped inside. His books had been moved, his journals adjusted. The door to his bedroom was ajar. He felt a tingling sensation in his spine. He slowly stripped and stepped into his shower, relishing in the feeling of the boiling water against his skin. After he'd washed and slipped into his silk pajama pants, he found himself pacing through his suite. He couldn't keep still. Finally he couldn't take it anymore and he lashed out at a rather unsuspecting portrait of a lady in white resting peacefully on a chaise in the middle of a forest. However, instead of the portrait being flung across the room, as Draco so desired it to be, it merely swung open gently to reveal a rippling doorway into another room. One he recognized immediately, and just as quickly stormed into to find himself bathed in darkness and moonlight.

Hermione woke to the sound of someone moving in her room. She slowly reached for her wand and turned silently to get out of bed. As she stood, drawing the curtain from around her bed, she found herself face to face with an intoxicating sight. Before her stood a half naked Draco Malfoy, in all his glory, staring at her as if he were dying, longing, to just touch her once and flee from sight. Before she knew what she was doing, her wand dropped to the floor and Hermione found herself across the room, hands wound through his hair, dragging his lips to her own, branding him with her kiss. And then his hand were gripping her arms, pushing her away, tearing his lips from hers. His eyes gazes into hers, piercing into her as she waited. She found her hands moving over his face, tracing his features, roving over his shoulders, stopping only when he spoke.

"Don't." She looked up at him to find his eyes closed, his face hard. She pulled away, moved to leave him, but his grip on her stopped her. She looked back, found his eyes and held them, waiting. "Don't…unless you don't want me to stop."