A/N: Since at the time I began writing this, the 'vote' was a tie, I decided to combine my two options. You'll get the full chapter, but the first part (Malfoy Manor) will be from Draco's POV.

Also, I am very sorry this chapter is a day later than expected, but I fell sick and was unable to write over the weekend. Originally this chapter was a little bit longer, but I've decided to cut it and upload the next part on its own as a shorter chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or its world. Some lines are taken directly from HP&DH. I do not own those.

Chapter 11: Reunion

The train ride back to London, unlike most years, was quiet. No one dared laugh, play or shout for fear of repercussion. The two Death Eaters who accompanied them on the morose journey had short tempers and a cruel streak to rival Bellatrix Lestrange herself. No one dared bother them. Not even one Draco Malfoy, who was currently sitting alone in a compartment towards the end of the train. Funnily enough, he remembered this to be the compartment the Golden Trio usually rode in. He had no idea why he had bullied his way into this particular compartment, but he did. And he had wanted this one and none other.

He hadn't wanted to return to the Manor for Easter Holidays. He hadn't wanted to go home for Christmas, either, but his parents had commanded. The Dark Lord had commanded. And so he was, once again, en route to meet that… that thing.

He briefly wondered if the Trio's influence was affecting him through the compartment.

He heaved a sigh. Truth was he wanted out. He wanted out but was too much of a bloody coward to escape. And really, who wouldn't? When you had to see someone die and then be eaten by a snake over your Christmas Pudding… It gave you both a reason to leave and a reason to stay.

He silently thanked his Aunt Bella for her lessons in Occlumency. If any of these thoughts were to be caught by anyone, he'd be in deep trouble. He also thanked, in a way, the Dark Lord for being so disgusted by him that he didn't look at his face anymore. Ever since he had failed to kill Dumbledore, the Dark Lord had withdrawn that 'privilege'.

Thank Merlin.

His musings were cut short by the sudden lurch that indicated the train stopping. With a swish of his wand he had his luggage shrunk and in his pocket and he made his way out of the train.

No one stopped him or bothered him. They all knew who he was and no one dared.

A few days later he was in the drawing room, having made excuses for not joining dear Aunt Bella in whatever sick pastime she had found to amuse herself that day. He was keeping his father company while he raved about Draco's responsibilities as a Pureblood heir and follower of the Dark Lord. They were interrupted by the doors opening and his mother, followed by what appeared to be a band of Snatchers, came in.

His father rose from his chair. "What is this?"

"They say they've got Potter. Draco, come here"

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Please don't let it be Potter. Don't let him be stupid enough to get caught. He barely realized that he didn't want Potter to be caught. He raised his head to look almost fleetingly at the group. Sure enough, there was the Mudblood Granger, the Ginger Weasel, that Thomas bloke, a goblin and what appeared to be someone who had taken a Stinging Hex to the face. He'd recognize him anywhere, though. You don't spend six years making each other's life hell without learning to recognize your adversary. It was Potter.

"Well, Draco? Is it? Is it Harry Potter?" The gleeful tone of his father's voice disgusted him. He should've expected it, though. Lucius was too far gone.

"I can't—I can't be sure," he tried to look everywhere else except at them. Damn them for getting caught. Damn them for putting him into this situation. He fibbed a bit more when his father made him examine Potter's scar, going to stand by his mother beside the fireplace. His father kept on and on about how everything would be forgiven and they would rise again in the ranks of the Dark Lord if they were to hand him Potter. Draco could see even his mother looked disgusted by her husband and her sister's attitude. For her, family came first, always. This attitude they had of putting the Dark Lord above everything and everyone went against everything she was.

His mother looked on in disgust at the scene in front of her. "Why won't you recognize them? You know it is them, Draco." She didn't sound mad, just curious.

He looked at her in the eye. She was always better than Lucius at understanding him. Maybe she would see what her husband had failed to notice: he didn't want this life. He was not a killer. Identifying them would be as good as signing their death warrant. "I'm not quite sure, Mother. You wouldn't want to call him if it turns out we're wrong, do you?"

Her baby blue eyes pierced his stormy grey ones. With a subtle nod, she let him know she understood. "Of course, son. We wouldn't want that."

Bellatrix's voice rang through the parlor. "STOP!" She was almost panting, her face a mask of rage and fear. "Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!" The sole thought of him made his stomach turn. Draco watched in silence as Bellatrix went ballistic over the sword the Snatchers were carrying. After ordering the prisoners be taken to the cellar, she kept Granger back.

It took all his strength to pretend forcefulness while taking the hysterical group to the cellar. Truth was that, while he cared nothing for her, he didn't want to hear Granger's screams of torturous pain either. It was bad enough when it was any random person. It was worse when he knew the victim. Rivalry or not, he didn't wish his Aunt Bella on anyone.

Her screams tore through the Manor and Draco thought they were the stuff of nightmares. He pushed Potter and his friends into the same cellar that had the wandmaker and the Lovegood girl. Misery loves company, they say. Maybe they'd figure out a way to escape and he wouldn't have to hear them scream. Wouldn't have to watch them die.

It was a feeble hope, but it was all he had. His lacking courage prevented him from aiding them. With a last wistful look at the door, he made his way back to the drawing room.

~oO*Oo~oO*Oo~oO*Oo~oO*Oo~oO*Oo~

Harry had described it as red-hot knives piercing your skin at the same time. Bones being set on fire, molten metal on your skin. The pain was unlike anything else. Unbearable.

Hermione wished for death, for in death there was an escape from pain. If death wouldn't be forthcoming she would settle for insanity. Insanity meant reprieve from pain, for she would be of no use to Bellatrix then.

She screamed and screamed, Bellatrix's questions rolling off her, unheard in her agony.

The pain stopped and through her pain-filled haze she heard Bellatrix's cold, insane voice. "I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?"

She couldn't think, couldn't make anything up. "We found it—we found it!" The pain was back. "PLEASE!" Her eyes rolled back in her head, pain ripping through her body. Seconds were hours. Minutes were years. The pain seemed unending.

"You're lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!" In a tiny corner of her mind, Hermione wondered how was it possible for her to continue to scream. It seemed as if her voice had to be gone by now. It had been so long, so long. Bellatrix continued to fire questions at her, but under the pain of the Cruciatus, Hermione couldn't answer.

Bellatrix apparently realized this, for she relented before asking again, yet her voice was as loud and as insane-sounding as ever. "How did you get into my vault? Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?" The few seconds free of pain were enough for her to concoct a story that would buy her a few minutes.

"We only met him tonight!" She was sobbing, in fear, in pain, it didn't matter. Her voice was strained and raspy and she could barely get the words out. "We've never been inside your vault… It isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!" Dazed, she couldn't understand what was going on anymore. She saw Malfoy leave, terror and disgust in his features. Her fragmented thoughts, intent on taking her to a happy place to escape he horror of her present, led her to Fred. She saw his deep blue eyes again, his laughing face and cheeky grin. Her memory comforted her unlike anything else.

Her reprieve didn't last long.

Goblin to confirm her story or not, Bellatrix continued her torture. Hermione could do nothing but scream until her voice was gone. In the few seconds between one casting and the next, she wondered if she would ever be able to speak again or if her voice was gone for good. Fred had said he loved her voice, once.

Focusing on the little things let her keep her sanity. Focusing on Fred let her keep her mind.

She was once again spared the pain when Lucius' panicked voice interrupted Bellatrix's concentration. Hermione didn't care. She was way past caring. In her mind, there was only Fred. Fred and the pain.

Her eyes saw the goblin talking to Bellatrix and her ears heard him say the sword was a fake, but her mind didn't register any of this. She felt neither shock nor relief when Ron burst through the door leading to the cellar, a wand in his hand, taking Bellatrix's in the process. She didn't process it when Harry stupefied Lucius Malfoy and she didn't notice how both Narcissa and Draco held back, neither helping nor hindering.

There was no reaction when Bellatrix held her up, a knife to her throat while Draco reluctantly gathered the wands her friends had dropped. Nor when Dobby dropped a chandelier on her head or when Ron grabbed her almost inert form and Disapparated them to somewhere that smelled of the sea.

Ron's whisper of "You're safe" was the last thing she heard before fainting.

"Is she awake yet?"

"Shh! You'll wake 'er!"

"But it's been hours!"

"I said quiet, Ronald! Now leave! I will call you back when she iz awake."

Hermione heard the door close a little too loudly for someone who was supposed to be keeping quiet. She forced her eyes open to see Fleur, no longer heavy with child, smiling down at her. She tried to speak, but no sound came from her abused vocal cords.

"Ah, 'ermione! Shh, do not speak. 'ere, take thiz." She handed Hermione a cup with a honey-colored potion, which, funnily enough, tasted like honey. When she swallowed, she could feel the healing properties of the potion soothing her throat enough so she could rasp a weak 'thank you' in Fleur's direction.

"Now, you should avoid speaking for a few 'ours while the potion takes effect. Best sleep it off, chérie. 'Ere, take thiz potion, eet will 'elp you sleep. You'll wake tomorrow afternoon." She handed her a cup filled with what Hermione recognized as enough Dreamless Sleep Potion to knock her out for a full twenty-four hours. Before drinking it, though, she tugged on Fleur's sleeve.

"Yes?"

Hermione hesitated then mimicked carrying a baby. Fleur's face broke into a smile.

"Oh, leetle Victoire was a tad early. She was born last week! She iz beautiful, like 'er father. You can meet 'er tomorrow." She turned to leave but Hermione tugged her again. Fleur turned around to see Hermione's anxious face and didn't need to see her lips mouthing 'Fred' to know she was asking about him.

"Bill will call 'im. You'll see 'im tomorrow. Now sleep." She gently kissed her brow before making sure she downed the whole cup. Hermione was asleep before Fleur closed the door.

Hermione woke up late the next day feeling refreshed. Thanks to the Dreamless Sleep Potion she had rested better than any night of the previous four and a half months. She doubted she could've gotten any sleep without the potion, though. The previous day's torture was clear in her mind. She shivered when she remembered Bellatrix's insane zeal as she casted the Cruciatus curse on her, as she glided her cursed knife over her skin.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she resolved to try and move past the events of the previous day. She had more important things to do.

Like defeating Voldemort and taking a long, warm bath. Not necessarily in that order.

She made her way to the bathroom where she found that Fleur had already set a change of clothes for her, as well as a bottle of Hermione's shampoo and conditioner. How she knew which ones she used, Hermione would never know, but she appreciated the gesture.

After taking a long, relaxing bath, she got out and toweled her hair as dry as she could. She spared a thought for her wand which was now in the possession of the Snatchers who had caught them. She hoped Harry and Ron had managed to get a spare wand for her when escaping Malfoy Manor.

She tried out her voice, noticing she had most of it back. "Shouldn't strain it too much anyways," she said out loud. She opened the door of her room and walked out, heading towards the stairs, figuring that whoever was here would be in the kitchen. Wherever 'here' was.

Deep in thought, she wasn't paying attention when she collided with someone at the top of the stairs. She landed on her bum with a thump, her sensitive body hurting more than it usually would have. A hand appeared on her line of vision to help her up.

She'd have recognized that hand anywhere. She placed her own in his, raising her eyes to his face. "Fred," she breathed, standing up.

Silent, he helped her up and looked at her. She saw how his gaze followed every bruise, cut and scrape, from head to top and back up. When he met her eyes again, she saw something expected but unwanted: fury.

"Fred, I'm—" Before she could let all the words out, he turned on his heel and went back down the stairs. Hermione could feel her eyes tearing up. Why won't he let me explain? He said he missed me! I heard him! She dabbed angrily at her eyes. She'd make him listen whether he wanted to or not. She owed him an explanation.

Firm in her resolution, Hermione thundered down the stairs, following the only path there was to the kitchen. She barely noticed the people at the table. Her eyes were on Fred, who had his back to her, at the other side of the table. She stemmed Harry and Ron's cries of "Hermione!" with a raised hand. Luna, Dean, Bill and Fleur opted to stay silent.

"Look at me." He remained still. "I said, look at me!" So much for not straining her voice. He slowly turned back to her, his eyes dry, but his expression a mixture between angry and hopeful.

"You left."

"I know, I'm—"

"You left, and you—you'd promised you'd stay!"

Her voice cracked. "I—I had to. I'm sorry, Fred, really sorry. But the mission—"

"I don't give a damn about the mission! Look at you! You're hurt. You could've died." He was yelling at her and had taken a few steps towards her so now he was on the same side of the table as her, only a few paces between them.

The heads of their audience swiveled from one to the other following the speaker. If it went on much longer, they'd all end up with neck pain the next morning. "But I didn't! Fred, please, listen to me!"

He was becoming more and more incensed. "No! You left and you got hurt! How could you… how could you be so stupid!" Those sitting at the table winced. One did not call Hermione Granger stupid unless one had a death wish.

She was livid. She took a few steps towards him and poked him hard on the chest with her finger. "Stupid, am I? I was on the run for four and a half months, survived by scavenging, kept the Death Eaters from our backs as long as I could when I was with the most wanted person on Britain and I'm stupid. My intelligence just left me overnight, did it?"

"No! I—I didn't mean that! I was just worried about you!"

"And this is how you show it, is it? Yelling at me? Why? Why would you do that?" Tears ran freely down her face and Fred looked close to following.

"Ugh! It's because I love you!" You could've heard a pin drop in the kitchen. Everyone had been following the argument with a mixture of interest and amusement, but this was… unexpected to say the least.

Hermione, on her part, looked shocked. She opened her mouth twice before finally being able to speak. "You—what?"

"I yelled at you because I was worried sick and I was worried sick because—because I love you." He finished with a sigh.

"Oh, Fred!" She said before launching herself into his arms and firmly planting her lips against his. Shocked as he was, it only took him a few seconds to respond to the kiss, their audience forgotten. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, their kiss sending much missed sparks throughout their bodies.

He buried his hands in her hair, devouring her mouth with all the pent up passion of the last few months. She took a few steps back and hit a counter. She was about to hop up to sit on it when she heard Luna's dreamy voice breaking their illusion of privacy.

"This is the fault of the Blitzhoggers, they cause extreme mood swings in couples who are deeply in love." A few chuckles came from the people around the table, but the couple had once again forgotten their presence.

Between peppered kisses to her jaw and lips, Fred whispered softly on her ear. "Come with me, love, I have something for you."

She nodded with a smile and took his hand, following him out of the kitchen. Both ignored the catcalls that followed them, lost in their own two-people world.

She walked behind him, following him out of the house, through the garden, past Dobby's headstone and to the cliff that overlooked the ocean. Not that she noticed any of this, focused on him as she was.

When they got to where he wanted to go, he wrapped his arms around her, resting his head over hers. She could see the sun was setting over the horizon, making the sea and the sky look all yellow and pink and orange. Realizing she still hadn't said anything back to him she raised her head and pressed her lips to his. "I love you, too."

He tucked a rebel curl behind her ear. "I know. I got your note." After a few moments of just holding her, he continued. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I've been so worried and when Bill came by and told us you were here and were fine I was so happy. And then I saw you and you're so… hurt. I lost it." He pressed his lips to her forehead.

She tightened her hold around his waist. "I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I didn't send any message other than that note. I should've—"

"Shh, love. It's okay. I understand. You did the right thing." He stepped back and dug in his pocket. He took both of her hands in his, first kissing them gently and then opening them up. "I got you this for Christmas, just in case you came back in time. I've been carrying it around ever since." He held his hand over hers, placing something on her open palms. He took his hands away revealing a silver locket. Hermione raised it to her eyes, noticing it had a rose engraved on both sides. It seemed to glint and sparkle as the last rays of the sun reflected off its surface. "Thank you, it's gorgeous." She turned around so he could hook the chain around her neck. When he was done, he put both arms around her, holding the locket in front of her face. With a click it opened, revealing a moving photograph of them both that Hermione remembered Tonks had taken sometime in October.

In the picture, he was holding her from behind, much like he was now, and they were looking at each other. Every once in a while, he would smile at her and dip in to steal a kiss. She looked over at the other side and she felt a smile spread on her face.

"Love you, Fred," she read out loud. She felt him smile against her ear.

"So you'll carry my love wherever you go."

"Thank you, I love it. And I love you, too." She turned in his arms and kissed him as the first stars of the night began to shine.

A/N: To those who have read my other fic and remember the inscription being different, that's because it is. The other *real* inscription will come to play on the next chapter. Please review! Next chapter should be out in two or three days.

Cheers,

C.