Chapter 18 – The scent of roses

Watching the last embers of the fire die, Hermione plays, deep in thought, with a strand of her hair. It has been a few days since she discovered Draco is the heir of Voldemort, and it has been a few days since she decided to try to convince him to switch sides. With a soft sigh, she lets go of her hair. She still marvels at the fact that it feels soft and has curls in it.

Tiredly, she rubs her eyes as she tries to find a new way to try and convince Draco. Grimly she remembers again that she still hasn't succeeded in just talking to him, recalling the morning after when she discovered everything.

XXX

"Well good morning, my love, don't you look beautiful this morning," Draco says as he pulls her beneath him. He is just about to kiss her when she stops him.

"Draco, we need to talk."

"Whatever you say, my love," he mumbles, leaning in again and kissing her breathless. He releases her when she gasps for air, and moves lower.

"Draco…" she breaths.

"What's wrong?"

He is just kissing around a breast, making his way to the nipple and, taking it in his mouth, he makes Hermione gasp and unable to speak for a moment, while he fondles her other breast with his hand. When Draco looks up at her, grey eyes piercing bright blue ones, she finds her words again.

"You can't keep postponing our talk!"

Not so unbelievably to her, he smirks at her words before leaning in and giving her one of his sweet, slow kisses. Then he hovers just above her face, whispering, "Of course I can, I just keep doing this. I prefer it anyway."

He leans in again, the kiss starting slow, but it doesn't take long before he deepens it, making her slick and ready for him. Draco, aware of this, is already gently pushing her legs wider so he can fit between them. Hermione doesn't put up a fight anymore, knowing full well he would win anyway.

XXX

If only she had a chance to talk to him… But from the moment she opens her mouth around him, he kisses her and makes her forget everything. She hates the fact that he can do this and even blames herself for him to succeed so easily.

Hermione has long given up trying to escape, knowing it is useless, but it has also been a few days ago since she has tried telling herself she wants to get away from him. The pain she feels to even think about leaving him is no longer only because of their Veela bond.

Hermione knows this and it is a feeling that scares her. She has become so scared that she forbids herself to think about it.

Sighing while leaning with her chin on her hand, she stares out of the window at the full moon. The fire has died completely now, and had actually only been lit for cosines and light, it being the middle of summer.

It is late again and still Draco isn't home. Hermione almost despises herself because of the restless feeling it gives her.

Later that night, Hermione wakes up when she feels his hand slide around her stomach. Nearly falling asleep in the upstairs sitting room, she had finally decided to go to bed. After placing a soft kiss on her cheek he lies down behind her, his face buried in her hair. It is the first night that he hasn't said anything, though he knows she is awake. Somehow he always knows when she is awake or asleep.

Closing her eyes, she refuses to give in to that worried feeling. It doesn't take long before she fails.

"What's wrong?" It isn't more than a whisper, but he will hear her. When no answer follows, Hermione turns in his arms and faces him. He is looking at her, his grey orbs shimmering in the moonlight that shines in from the open window.

"You know you can tell me."

Somehow, though it is too dark for tell certainly, she knows he is smiling.

"Yes, I can tell you everything and you would listen. But I don't know how to tell you this."

Sighing, Hermione knows what is bothering him. Having finally learned the truth, there are not many secrets left anymore. He would now discuss things sometimes openly with Blaise when she was around, giving Hermione a sight on how the situation is.

The end of the war is near and Voldemort has grown more and more restless. He had heard about a book with old dark magic, magic so old nobody remembers it. The book is supposed to contain a series of enchantments to give the person casting the spells unlimited power - greater, even, than Voldemort's means. Draco was given the task to find the book, using whoever he wanted and doing it whichever way he wanted.

The people he had ordered to steal the book (after Draco had finally discovered its location) had failed - this had been the conversation Hermione had heard.

Now, as Voldemort grows impatient, Draco is under greater pressure and is asked almost every night to inform him of his developments.

Hermione also found out that Draco has been ordered to torture a lot of people and has learned to read the signs of his face that shows how much he suffers under it. His face now showed these signs.

"Is this the world you want to live in, Draco?" she asks, her voice tender. When he says nothing, she pushes on. "Think about it. All this war and fighting. This killing of anyone who doesn't obey you. This punishing of someone if they do something wrong." She pauses, letting her words sink in.

"What if Blaise does something wrong? You must keep your authority high. You can't treat him differently because he's like a brother to you, and even if he was and he did something wrong, could you punish him the same way as you punished that man this afternoon?"

Draco growls at this. When he answers, anger is clear in his voice. "I had to do that. I was ordered, and it has nothing to do with what I want."

Aha, that is a first response in a few days - and his answer intrigues her.

"What has it got to do with then?" she wonders, lightly stroking his hair.

Draco stays silent for a long time. Hermione doesn't even think he will answer her when he at last says, "Staying alive."

XXX

Late afternoon light shines through the open window of the summer room. The French doors stand wide open, letting the gentle breeze flutter through the room and the leaves of the flowers rustle against each other.

The room is filled with flowers and it is, as Hermione has learned, the favorite room of Narcissa, as she cares for the flowers herself.

Nestled on the window sill, dressed in a soft white cotton summer dress, leaning against the window and so having a view of the lake as well as the room, Hermione enjoys the moment of peace and tranquility in the house. Even though she knows Draco has gone fighting, seeing him leave in his Death Eaters robes, she tries her best to ignore the fact that she sits here stuck, not doing anything while somewhere a fight between the light and the dark rages on.

Closing her eyes, leaning with her head on the window and breathing in the scent of roses -which stand behind her- she imagines to be somewhere else.

Hermione hasn't felt or reacted like herself lately. She hasn't noticed it before, but she began to see it while reflecting on things that had happened as she was trying to find ways to convince Draco to switch sides. Struggling with a past she has come to know, memories which play up and a love she now feels for Draco, she reasons it is enough for a person to change. She has changed but so has he. Hermione can see the weight of the war nearly pulling him under, but every time he sees her, he lights up and becomes this person she loves. Draco isn't the snarky, smirking, irritating boy of school anymore. He has grown up into a man who takes care of her and and this reflects the memories she has the boy who had taken care of her.

At the worried sigh of Pansy, Hermione opens her eyes again to look at the girl sitting at the table on the other end of the room.

The table stands against the right side of the room, surrounded by green plants and flowers such as jasmine, lily and tulip. They all bloom at the same time thanks to the help of some magic.

Seeing Hermione look at her, she throws the magazine on the table.

"I don't know what's taking them so long," Pansy sighs, worry evidently shining in her muddy brown eyes.

Suddenly Hermione realizes that it is not only on the light side that loved ones stay behind, worried, but also on this side. People who have nothing to do with the war yet are still victims of it. Just at that moment, there is a commotion in the hall outside. Pansy jumps up in relief but falls back into her chair when a Death Eater Hermione doesn't know enters, in bloodied robes.

"Oh no," she starts to wail as the Death Eater's green eyes slide over Hermione and lock on her.

"Adrian, don't tell me Blaise…" Before she can finish, tears already streaming from her cheeks, the Death Eater shakes his head.

"He's still alive but getting healing as we speak. Lord Malfoy has sent me to take you to him," he says with a grave deep voice, as though he had seen too many dead.

"Oh thank Merlin! Let's go!" Pansy jumps to her feet and without giving a second glance to Hermione, she follows the Death Eater into the hall.

Being confronted with the wounded on this side of the war, Hermione's heart constricts painfully as she thinks about all the lost ones on her side of the war. She prays silently that everyone is still alive.

Taking a deep breath, she gets up and goes into the hall, hoping to find Pansy and try to comfort her. The girl has done so much to help Hermione, she wants to do something in return. But although she has only left a minute ago, there is no sign of her anywhere anymore.

As Hermione crosses the main hall a loud crack bounces of the marble walls before heavy footsteps make their way towards her. Turning around, she comes face–to-face with an emotionally broken Draco. His black robes are covered in blood and mingled with what looked like plaster and his face is the color of ash.

Shocked by his appearance, Hermione stands frozen while he takes her in his arms and holds on to her as if she is the only thing keeping him alive - which may have been true at that moment.

"Draco, what happened!?" she finally manages to say.

"I don't know for sure," he whispers back, his voice muffled by her hair.

"Somehow," he says, pulling back enough to look at her, "we walked into a trap. I don't know how, the Order was losing and then there were more than we had anticipated. The walls of the building collapsed and many got wounded, especially the light side as they were standing nearer to the crumbling walls, so both sides started to retreat."

Hermione, not wanting to think about how many people on her side might have been lost, starts brushing away the white ash from Draco's face, only to realize that Draco's face isn't only white from the ash.

As he stays silent, Hermione dares to ask her question. "Draco, is Harry…?"

"He's fine," a sneer appears on his face and his silver eyes turn into a hard grey with the change of topic. "He even gave me this before I Apparated out of there."

He pulls the robe back from his shoulder, showing an angry looking cut, the blood still dripping from it.

"It hurts like hell," he winces before pulling his robe back over it. "Guess he found out about you," Draco smirks then, stealing a kiss from her.

"Draco, that should be healed!" Hermione is so relieved Harry is still alive that she can focus her attention on other things.

"I know," he winces, "I heard you were good at that."

"Not without a wand," she remarks back.

"You can borrow mine for a split second then, but first I want to take a shower and you're going to accompany me."

Draco takes her hand and tows her behind him towards the stairs. "We should give Potter something to be jealous about," he smirks at her before ascending the stairs.

XXX

With her hair still dripping wet and just a towel around her, Hermione applied the white healing salve, which would help the flesh around the wound to recover, equally over the wound. She had cleaned it first and healed it with Draco's wand, which he had taken out of her hands the second the spell had been cast, earning him a punch in the good shoulder and a sour look from Hermione.

"You know there's another way," she says quietly as she applies the green salve (this helped the wound not to scar).

"It's not that simple," Draco sighs, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. He is so tired lately; the continuing war has asked a lot from him.

"But it is," she smiles while turning the lid back onto the salve.

"How then," he asks, intrigued and cracking one eye open.

Hermione gets up and walks to the cabinet in their bathroom containing the potions.

"You just have to let me get into contact with Harry. I'll explain it all to him and the war could be over with a little bit help from you."

"Hmm," Draco truly smiles now, "if only it were that easy."

"But truly think about it, Draco. You know so much about You-Know-Who. If you would work together with Harry, the war could be over and we'll have peace again and isn't that what you want? What we all want? No more killing," Hermione goes on, walking back to him, sitting on a chair leaning against the wall.

"Sure love, but," he says, pulling her into his arms, leaning back again and closing his eyes, "why would I let you go to Potter? Who says you will come back to me? You should know I'm not that easily fooled. I really thought you would come up with a better idea for me to let you go."

Hermione snorts, "Really, that's not the point."

"What is the point then?" Draco asks sleepily.

She bites her lip and stays silent for a while before she answers. "The bloody war to be over and the world to not ruled by You-Know-Who. There have been too many dead."

Hermione turns her head to Draco but seeing his closed eyes and still form, she presumes he has fallen asleep. Waiting a bit longer, she stands up and makes her way to the bedroom. There is no way she could ever convince him like this, but she still feels a little smug knowing it is the first time he has let her try to talk him over.

While Hermione chooses clothes to wear, Draco sits in the bathroom, thinking things over, watching the Dark Mark slither on his arm. He hates to admit it, but she is right. The war has to stop and not be ruled by Voldemort. Being so close to the man, he knows what he is capable of and he doesn't like it. Lucky for Draco, he is good at legimency so he can keep his thoughts hidden.

Staring at the door where his mate just left, he knows he has to do something, and as he sits there an idea starts to form in his mind.

XXX

In the hours of the early morning, while everyone else lay still sleeping, Harry sits at the kitchen table of Grimmauld Place. It is a grey day, clouds making it even darker than it should be on this hour in the beginning of August. The tea that he made earlier sits cold and untouched before him.

His green eyes stare into space through heavy-lidded eyes. Black bruises are visible beneath his eyes and people who might be watching him might think he'd fallen asleep - except that he can't. His best friend is still missing, even though the Order have tried everything to locate Malfoy Manor. Harry had pushed the Order endlessly till Ginny put a stop to it. Everyone is tired and needs some rest, which Harry won't give them. He is frustrated and despaired. The longer it takes them to find Hermione, the longer she is under Malfoy's power. Ginny had done some more research about male Veela's and found out that their power grew over their mate the longer they were together. Harry tiredly rubs his hands over his face and then into his hair, making it even messier. He has grown mad with worry and the worst part is that he can't do anything about it.

His best friend Ron has taken up dating Lavender again. When seeing everyone's shocked faces, he had reasoned that Hermione wasn't staying loyal to him either. Four Order members and Ginny were needed then to withhold Harry from killing Ron. Never in his life had he been so mad at Ron, and he still refuses to talk to him.

Worst of all is that the number of Order member's was dwindling down to one of the lowest numbers it has ever been, thanks to the failed trap a week ago, which means Voldemort is winning. Harry, sitting with his face covered by his hands leaning on the table, tries to come up with something to tell the resting Order members in the meeting scheduled for later that day. Everyone depends on him knowing what to do. The thing is that Harry himself doesn't know what to do anymore but he can't tell anyone, not even Ginny, as spirits are already so low.

The tap of an owl against the window wakes Harry. The sun just breaks through the clouds as the clock in the hallway strikes eight. He must have fallen asleep on the table trying to figure out what to do. Harry looks around, dazed and a bit disorientated. When the owl taps against the window again, Harry looks at it, surprised. It is an owl he has never seen before, sitting there on the kitchen window sill looking quite indignantly at Harry for taking so long. Without doubt the owl is a beautiful high class owl, with grey feathers that almost look silver. Bothered that Harry is looking at him, the owl taps hard on the glass, making it shake in its frame.

Finally snapping out of his daze, Harry puts his glasses back on and gets up to let the owl in. It bites him as he takes off the letter and flies away without another glance.

Not caring about the bite, which is bleeding, Harry opens the parchment curiously. As he opens it, a Muggle coin falls out of the folds, hitting the ground and rolling away under the table.

His blood freezes in his veins as he recognizes the handwriting and looks at the initials at the bottom of the letter.

"What?" he wonders, taking a seat and reading the short note.

Potter,

We need to talk.

In private.

Meet me at the location where the Portkey will take you. Come alone, as I will be too.

I promise on Hermione's life it is not a trap!

D.M.