Chapter 10: Clandestine Operations
Potterverse
Draco, like most aristocrats, primarily used his teeth as instruments of gritting, i.e. for purposes of lying through them. His first instinct upon suspicion of wrongdoing was to forcefully deny, deny, deny.
"What Elder Wand?" he persisted boldly, aiming for bewilderment with a touch of disbelief, and Harry, probably rightfully, punched him swiftly in the face.
"Fuck," Draco swore, stumbling back slightly as Harry released him, shaking out his fist and muttering with disapproval. Draco drew a hand to his mouth, glaring, and in response, Harry gave an outrageous lamenting sigh, as if he had been the one artlessly wronged. "What the honest to god fuck is your problem, Potter?"
"I don't like lies," Harry said stubbornly, "and I don't like liars."
"Well, brutality is hardly the answer," Draco mumbled, wondering if a return throw would be worth the effort. Probably not. He'd likely break his nimble pureblooded fingers on Harry Potter's thick morally-righteous skull.
"Let's skip the part where you say you don't know what I'm talking about, and I tell you I absolutely do," Harry suggested drily, "and just cut to the chase. You have the Elder Wand, which is supposed to be with You Know Who." He paused, grimacing. "Well, more accurately, it's supposed to be with Dumbledore, but—"
"Even if I allegedly had some sort of Elder Wand," Draco cut in brusquely, "what difference would it be to you? It's not like it's," he began, and then faltered, frowning. "The wand isn't what you've been looking for all year, is it?"
"No," Harry said, and Draco, who was equally fluent in snobbish conceit and baldly flagrant lies, permitted a theatrical roll of his eyes. "Fine," Harry muttered. "Tell me how you got the wand and I'll tell you how I know about it."
"No," said Draco.
"Fair," Harry replied, having apparently realized it was a stupid bargain. "I could always ask Hermione," he determined, abruptly changing tactics, and Draco froze. "After all, you had to have taken that wand somehow while we were at Malfoy Manor. I saw him, you know," Harry accused, challenging Draco to question him. "I saw You Know Who figure out where the wand was right before we got taken to your house, and then when I woke up, he was furious. Doesn't take a genius to put it together, Malfoy, and seeing that something happened to get Hermione to trust you—"
"I—" Draco hesitated, not wanting to draw attention to the topic of Hermione. "Maybe it does take a genius, Potter," he sniffed, opting to simply fall back on old habits, "which is why you're still aimlessly flailing around—"
"Fine. I'll go ask her myself," Harry said, turning towards the dorms, and Draco shot a hand out, grabbing his arm. It was only when Harry turned, a half-smile playing across his face, that Draco realized he'd been well and truly played for a fool, caught in yet another of Harry Potter's ill-conceived and stupidly effective gambles. "Ah," Harry noted, grinning widely. "I take it you'd rather tell me how you got the wand than what happened between you and Hermione, then?"
Draco grimaced. "I took it," he said slowly, "because the wand is rightfully mine. I'm the one who disarmed Dumbledore. Therefore the wand answers to me."
"Cool," Harry acknowledged disinterestedly, "and who told you that?"
"I—" Draco faltered. "I figured it out."
"No, you didn't," Harry said, crossly folding his arms over his chest.
"Fine," Draco grumbled, exasperated. "Someone told me. I thought we weren't getting into specifics?" he snapped, and Harry shrugged. "I have the Elder Wand, yes—fine. I took it from the Dark Lord, and that's why I can't go back. That's why I'm dead if he finds me."
"But you aren't," Harry pointed out, "are you? I mean, you have an unbeatable wand."
"I—" Oh. It seemed revelations would never cease. "Well, obviously it's not actually unbeatable," Draco countered gruffly. "Dumbledore's dead, isn't he?"
Harry flinched but persisted, lifting his chin. "Yeah. Wonder how that happened?" he prompted in something of a lashing taunt, and Draco grimaced.
"I obviously can't do anything about that now," he informed Harry, though he wasn't quite able to meet his eye. "And look, I'm just trying to survive, okay? I hardly need to be reminded what I've done. I've gone along with all your harebrained plots, haven't I?"
Harry considered this a moment, fingers drumming against his thigh. "True." He paused, grimacing. "Well, fuck," he exhaled, abruptly dragging his attention to Draco's furrowed glare. "If that's the case, then we're going to have to work together."
"On what?" Draco demanded. "Your suicidal tendencies? Thanks ever so, Potter, but I hereby decline—"
"Look, I've got a plan, but Ron's not going to like it," Harry pressed. "Nobody's going to like it, actually, because it involves a lot of directly disobeying instructions. And possibly death," he added as an apparent afterthought.
"Well, I hate it already," Draco said vehemently, and paused. "What do you mean Weasley's not going to like it?"
Harry opened his mouth, hesitating, and then sighed. "Something's clearly happened to Hermione," he said in a low voice. "Whatever happened, the two of you did something, and…" He broke off again, his fingers now brutally percussive against his thigh. "She is Hermione," he asked slowly, "isn't she?"
Draco silently offered praise to the inequities of semantics.
"Of course she's Granger," he insisted. "Who else would she be?"
"Well, I thought polyjuice at first," Harry said, as Draco's intestines shot up somewhere towards his throat, "but she seems… mostly herself, so then I thought maybe she'd been tampered with, somehow? I thought you might have modified her memory, actually," he admitted, leveling a gaze at Draco. "She trusts you more than she used to. But if she was somehow involved with you getting that wand—"
"She was," Draco said quickly. "She was there, when you were—" He hesitated again. "You were unconscious for quite a few hours. We went through a, um. Something of a traumatic experience together."
That, at least, was true enough. Even if she mostly was the traumatic experience.
"I haven't said anything to Ron," Harry warned, "but I will, and once I do—"
He trailed off, glancing pointedly at Draco. He didn't need to finish the sentence. Draco had seen Ron Weasley's penchant for stubbornness and immovability many times before.
"I have something I need to do," Harry continued after a moment, eyeing his hands with something of a rigid tension once Draco had registered his intent. "Whatever happened between you and Hermione, she's very, very helpful right now. More amenable than she was, and I admit, it's working for me." He glanced sharply at Draco again. "You swear it's her?"
"I swear it's her," Draco said firmly, thankful again for the delicate art of phrasing. "She's Hermione Granger, through and through. I'd swear it on Veritaserum if you want," he offered, "or make me take the Vow, whatever. I swear that's Hermione Granger."
"Huh." Harry glanced down at his hands again, frowning. "Well, whatever happened between you two, you can keep it to yourselves, if—" His gaze flicked up. "If you help me find the rest of the Deathly Hallows."
Well, Jesus H. Salazar Fuck, Draco thought.
"Why?" fell out of his mouth. "Shouldn't you have some horrifying plot to escape death by the skin of your teeth ready to go by now without needing to acquire a veritable bouquet of impossible objects?"
"You'd be surprised just how severely the answer to that question is no," Harry replied, smiling grimly before pressing on, "The thing is, You Know Who can't die. He can't actually be killed, not as he is. But he can be…" He paused, and Draco frowned, sensing trouble. "Temporarily halted."
"What?" Draco demanded.
"Well, he was gone for what, fourteen years?" Harry reminded him, as if Draco could have been anything short of acutely aware. "We could buy ourselves that much time. Maybe less, but even then, I doubt we'd need it. Presumably it wouldn't take too long to find the resurrection stone," he murmured, his damned twitchy fingers moving faster now. "How hard can it be, right?"
"That's assuming it even exists," Draco reminded him, growling in disapproval. "Your life has been too fucking charmed, Potter. People don't just go stumbling on mythical fonts of death-defying magic every damned Tuesday, and furthermore, there are three Hallows—"
"I have one," Harry cut in. "You have one. Simple maths, Malfoy."
"You have o-" Draco sighed heavily. "You fucker. You have the cloak?" It explained everything in a way, of course; Harry fucking Potter and his unending parade of lucky breaks. "Never mind," he grumbled under his breath, "of course you do."
"Right, well, look," Harry continued, ruthlessly unfazed, "once we have the Hallows, then we'll be able to—"
"Hang on," Draco said, appropriately alarmed by the presumptive use of we. "If I'm going to agree to this—this nonsense," he spat in the most derogatory tone he could manage, "then I want to know what the fuck you're talking about. All of it," he warned, when Harry's mouth opened in a way that promised something short of useful information. "You're saying he can't be killed. Why the fuck not?"
Harry started to speak, then broke off with a grimace. "I can't tell you."
"Well, great," Draco ruled, spinning crisply on his heel. "Bye then, I'll just be taking my supremely valuable wand back to the merpeople and the giant squid to see if they're up for a little clandestine plotting—"
"For fuck's sake," Harry said, lunging forward to grab his arm. "It's—look, I haven't told anyone, Malfoy," he hissed, "and this is—it's—"
"What?" Draco prompted, pivoting impatiently. "It's a secret? Well color me shocked. A secret, like stealing an unbeatable wand, or seeking out mastery of death, or having visions nobody else can see? Or no, wait, tell me—Is it dangerous, Potter?" he prompted irritably. "Is it perhaps as dangerous as being chased down by a madman who apparently can't die? Because I don't know about you," he snapped, yanking his arm free, "but I don't particularly feel up for being part of something where I'm not told what I'm actually getting into—especially not when it involves me risking my life."
Draco was babbling, he knew—reducing gradually to a rambling tirade of panic—but whatever he'd managed to say coherently, it clearly hit home. In fact, it seemed to trigger something of a temporary paralysis in Harry, who gaped at him for a moment; several moments. And then—
"You Know Who has horcruxes that keep him from dying," Harry said flatly, and Draco blinked. "Objects, mostly, which hold pieces of his soul. They're taking longer to destroy than I thought they would, though…" He glanced idly over his shoulder, frowning into space. "I wonder if he kept any at Hogwarts—"
"So what are you saying, then?" Draco demanded, dragging him back to the point. "If you kill the Dark Lord, he can come back?"
"Yes," Harry confirmed; without nearly enough chagrin, in Draco's opinion. "Haven't quite gotten around to destroying all the horcruxes yet."
Of course he hadn't. Draco had certainly seen him procrastinate often enough. Who had possibly been stupid enough to put Harry Potter in charge of rescuing the wizarding world? Dumbledore, obviously, who must have been even more incompetent than Draco had suspected.
"What," Draco exhaled furiously, "is your plan, then?"
"Kill him," Harry said with a shrug. "His current form, anyway, since he's almost certainly coming to Hogwarts. We set a bit of a trail for him, didn't we?" he remarked, as Draco realized with a jolt that against all odds, perhaps exploding the Hogwarts Express had not, in fact, been a salient idea. "He's looking for you now, Malfoy. Which you can't exactly get around," he added slyly, "seeing as he has reason to believe you're with me."
Draco curled a fist, beyond irritated. "And?"
"And," Harry continued emphatically, "obviously it's going to take me longer to find the horcruxes than it would for you to use your little unbeatable wand and stop him right here, right now."
"Here?" Draco echoed. "Now?—WAIT," he realized, and half-shrieked it: "ME?!"
Harry shrugged. "Well, You Know Who's probably going to—oh, I don't know. Kill Snape first?" he guessed, tilting his head. "He's a little peeved, as far as I can tell. Not too happy with everything that's going on. Lucky thing about him, actually. He's always got time for a little murder expedition before just getting on with it—"
"This," Draco yelped, "is NOT. HELPING."
"—but then yes, he'll be coming here," Harry concluded, "to us. And since you very much possess a way to be rid of him…"
Someone should really murder Harry Potter, Draco thought firmly. Just to improve the state of the world.
"Look, I'm going to lose the race against the clock, Malfoy," Harry said, looking strangely vulnerable as he confessed it. "I'm not going to find the horcruxes in time; not before he gets here. But if you kill him now, we not only have time to destroy the other horcruxes, but we can find the second Hallow, too. We can have all three Deathly Hallows." At that, his green eyes were stupidly sincere. "We could make ourselves ready to face him, Malfoy. We could be invincible, and end all of this before he even has a chance to come back."
Draco gaped at him. "But—but that's—"
He broke off, and abruptly, he could see why Harry had not pushed the issue of Hermione's change in behavior. There was no way the Hermione Granger currently floating around in a parallel universe would have approved of this particular plan. However, so long as she supported Harry's negligent ideas—and as long as Harry continued to believe Draco's insistence that she was who she claimed to be—then the one currently upstairs with Theo was far more useful.
She was also the one Draco was fairly certain he was going to need if he planned to make it out of this alive. But even if Draco were capable of killing the Dark Lord, how long before Harry sorted out the truth?
And, in a new and frightening addition to his concerns: Just how invincible did Harry Potter ultimately plan to be?
"Don't tell Theo," Draco determined eventually, and Harry made a face. "Not yet."
"What's the deal with you?" Harry demanded. "I thought you were friends."
"I thought you and Weasley were friends," Draco pointed out, and Harry grimaced.
"We are. But things happen," Harry said, not quite looking at him. "Circumstances shift."
"They certainly fucking do," Draco agreed under his breath, which was probably how he'd gotten here to begin with, making an absolutely idiotic deal with a reckless bespectacled maniac. "But still, I—"
"Oi," Theo interrupted, popping his head down from the stairs to the boys' dorm. "Thought I heard shouting. You two killed each other yet or what?"
Irony of ironies, Draco thought grimly.
"Not yet," Harry replied, taking the stairs to the dorms and glancing pointedly over his shoulder at Draco, warning him unnecessarily to silence. "Hermione up here?" he asked Theo.
"Yeah," Theo said, gesturing. "Drying off." His gaze flicked to Draco and then back to Harry. "Draco looks a bit worse for wear," he noted, fixing Harry with a sharply questioning glance. "You hit him?"
"Only a little," Harry said, as Draco rolled his eyes.
"Well, my gratitude for the service to mankind," Theo drawled.
Harry shrugged. "No problem," he said, and continued up the stairs as Theo met Draco's eye, arching a brow.
"What's going on?" Theo asked under his breath, pausing Draco before he passed.
"Nothing," Draco said. "Everything's fine."
Everything was not fine, seeing as the Dark Lord would be arriving in the castle at any given moment, but if Theo had more questions, he didn't press the issue. A habit, Draco assumed, bred into the two of them from birth.
"Well," Theo began, "in that case—"
"DRACO MALFOY," came an eerily incorporeal whisper-shriek that scraped against Draco's inner ears, "WHERE ARE YOU HIDING?"
"Oh, good," Theo said, watching Draco double over in pain and clapping him on the shoulder. "And here I almost suspected you of telling the truth."
Grindelverse
"No," Harry said flatly.
"Oh, I don't know," Theo murmured, pausing behind Harry's chair to rest his chin on Harry's shoulder, brushing his lips with coaxing ease against the side of Harry's neck. "Maybe yes? It's a delicate balance, really, between the getting of the thing we want and the doing of something vaguely despicable to get it. Both equally appealing," he clarified, with a sly grin at Hermione. "Truth be told, there's a certain flair for theatrics involved that I'd really hate to pass up."
"You can't just say no," Draco added to Harry. "You're the one who wants the stone. It's this or nothing."
"Is it?" Harry countered doubtfully. "Because I dislike being made to run someone else's errands to get it. Last I checked you weren't a fan either, Draco, and frankly, I wouldn't rule out the possibility Hermione has her own agenda."
His gaze traveled indiscreetly to hers, and Hermione tightened a fist, irritated.
"Either you trust me or you don't," she said flatly. "If you don't, there's certainly no need for me to risk my life helping you with this."
"There's no need for you to risk your life either way," Harry pointed out. "When you got here, you wanted nothing to do with Tom Riddle. Now you're fine with letting him send you blindly into one of the most well-protected locations in the world?"
"It wouldn't be the first time," Hermione said flatly, and beside her, Draco's gaze cut curiously to hers, something like approval mixing with intrigue and alighting on his brow. "And besides," she countered, "you want the Hallows? This is how you get them."
"Or," Harry said, "we just kill Tom Riddle. Take the ring off his finger." He shrugged. "Easy, isn't it?"
"Not necessarily," Hermione said. "Not if he—"
Not if he has horcruxes, she wanted to say, though that wasn't exactly her problem, was it? If they wanted to kill Tom Riddle and risk being on the receiving end of his wrath later, so be it. She didn't know them. She didn't even know them.
Experimentally, though, she pictured Harry's green eyes looking glassily up at her from the floor and found herself pained in forceful opposition.
"This is easier," she eventually sighed, gritting her teeth and determining she couldn't let him do it. No version of Harry Potter would suffer under her watch, no matter how unsavory his attitude was. "I know the castle. It's not a death trap," she insisted. "For one thing, nobody's looking for me there, so I just need reinforcements. A way in and out."
"So you want us to come?" Theo asked, perking up slightly. "I'm in."
"You're bored," Harry corrected, permitting a sidelong glance at him.
"Yes, and—?" Theo prompted. "You know how irresponsibility compels me. I simply can't be trusted to refuse."
"You need to be managed," Harry sighed.
"Yes, badly," Theo agreed, "which is why you'll have to come along, won't you?"
Harry gave something of a wordless, irritated groan.
"That's the spirit," Theo said cheerfully. "So, how are we getting in?"
"Well," Hermione began, "there's some defensive wards, but—"
"Just who the hell are you?" came a voice outside the door, and Harry leaned forward, frowning. "You can't simply waltz into my house!"
"This isn't a waltz," came a return voice, which was unfortunately very familiar by then. "Shouldn't a little rich boy like you know the difference between what is obviously a saunter and… I don't know. A banal ceremonial meandering?"
"Did you just—"
"What's going on?" another voice said, and Harry rose to his feet with a sigh, beckoning the others behind him as they made their way to the living room of James Potter's manor house. Hermione was displeased (and a little startled) to confirm this universe's Remus Lupin had just entered through the Floo, standing combatively near the fireplace as James glared at him. Sirius, who must have just walked in, looked as though he'd swallowed his entire tongue.
"I," Sirius began, and immediately faltered, staring at Remus. "You—you can't—"
"What he's trying to say," James cut in, flashing Sirius a look of unfiltered irritation, "is that you need to leave."
"Well, shan't," Remus replied, shrugging. "Sorry."
It was immensely strange, Hermione thought again, to see the differences between Remus and Sirius in this universe; not only in comparison the one she'd met them in, but in comparison to each other, as well. The Remus Lupin she'd known had been ragged and lean and tired; this one, not so much. He was clad, as he had been earlier that day, in leather and tattooed runes—almost more similar to the version of Sirius Black that Hermione had known, or at least seen in pictures. By contrast, this Sirius was practically a pureblood dandy.
"Oh, you're here," said Remus, noticing Hermione and Draco as they made their way into the room. "Good. Let's go, then."
"They're not going anywhere," James protested, looking at once paternally concerned and helplessly annoyed. "Certainly not with you."
Remus spared him a wolfish look of interest.
"Going to stop me?" he prompted, doubtfully amused.
"As a matter of fact, yes," James said, reaching for his wand, and Remus curled his sharpened claws up in reply, leading Draco to step forward with a groan.
"James, Remus," Draco said, "Remus, James. Remus is leaving," he added, staring pointedly at Remus, "as he was very much not invited."
"Sorry," Remus said insincerely. "Blame my lack of silver spoon."
"How did you even find us?" Hermione asked, and Remus' gaze, which to that point hadn't dropped from James' expression of fury, fell to hers.
"The pendant Tom gave you," he said, as Hermione's hand fell instinctively to her pocket. "It has tracking properties."
James pivoted in frustration, finding Harry in the room. "What did I tell you ab-"
"Don't look at me," Harry said brusquely, scowling. "For the record, I'm supremely against this."
"I'm just the chaperone," Remus informed James. "Your opposition is noted," he added, lips curling up slightly, "but wholly irrelevant. I'm simply doing my job."
"Just doing your—" James rounded on Harry. "What the fuck have you done?" he demanded.
"Again," Harry insisted, "I've done nothing. I'm a paragon of good behavior."
"Harry," Sirius groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Honestly, Harry, we're not mad, we're just disappointed," said Theo.
"We don't need a chaperone," Draco cut in, glaring at Remus. "Hermione and I are just… taking a trip. Running an errand," he amended, as James and Sirius turned their heads slowly to look at him. "It hardly requires any sort of supplemental thuggery."
Sirius and James exchanged a glance.
"Is it your turn to speak to Lucius," James sighed, "or mine?"
"Either way, I'm certainly not doing it," Sirius replied. "Last time I spoke to Lucius I wanted to gouge out both of my eyes. This time I might actually do it."
"Well, it's not exactly a walk in the park for me either," James protested. "What about my eyes?"
"Better not chance it," Remus advised, as James and Sirius both paused to look at him. "What? I'm not an animal," he said, ironically eyeing his claws as he spoke. "I, like all reasonable men, hate to see a pretty face disturbed."
"I—what?" James asked, bewildered.
"Listen, clearly neither of you is going to speak to my father, and candidly, I support that," Draco ruled, shaking his head. "It's hardly any cause for concern. We're just going to pay a visit to Hogwarts for the afternoon, and then—"
"Oh, no you don't," Sirius snapped. "Hogwarts? Is that some sort of joke? Because—"
"Because it isn't funny," Theo supplied, sniffing disapprovingly. "Now, off to your rooms, the lot of you—"
"NOTT," James bellowed.
"Ah, that's better," Theo said, and shrugged as Hermione spared him a questioning glance. "I hardly know what to do with myself when nobody's admonishing me," he told her, sighing. "Drives me straight into an identity crisis I can neither abide nor afford."
"First of all," Sirius announced, fixing his attention on Remus, "you have to leave. Immediately, if not sooner."
"Can't," Remus said. "Sort of contractually obligated."
"We never signed a contract," Hermione pointed out.
"Offer and acceptance," Remus countered. "Legally speaking, doll, a contract was very clearly made."
"But this would be a new contract," Hermione insisted, as Draco flashed her another one of those glances; somewhere between admiring and… something she wasn't sure she wanted to think about at the moment, at the risk of losing her concentration. "New terms, new offer, new acceptance."
"Ah, so you accept," Remus said, and she grimaced.
"I never said—"
"Secondly," Sirius continued, "no. Just—no," he clarified, waving a hand over everyone who stood in the living room. "Right?" he added, glancing over his shoulder at James, who to Hermione's surprise looked intensely contemplative.
"Actually," James said, and Sirius withered.
"Oh no—"
"If Harry is going to continue insisting on risking his life, so be it," James said, shrugging.
"What?" asked Harry and Sirius in unison.
"If Harry can't be stopped," James repeated, "then Harry's going to have oversight."
"Great," said Remus, cracking his knuckles. "Which one's Harry?"
"I didn't mean you," James said impatiently, glaring at him. "I meant me. I'm coming."
"Oh, fun," Remus said, as Harry's eyes widened.
"You absolutely are not—"
"I'm coming or you're not going," James said. "End of discussion."
"Well, if you're going, I'm going to have to go," Sirius groaned, "which I do not want to do—"
"How did this happen?" Harry demanded. "I wanted none of this!"
"This isn't even my fault," Theo said, aghast. "Honestly, how dare the lot of you—"
"Actually, it's not a bad idea," Draco said, tilting his head. "Couldn't you both conceivably schedule a meeting with the headmaster to—I don't know. Offer funding of some sort?"
"Why?" Sirius demanded. "We went to Durmstrang, not Hogwarts."
"Well, sure, but local philanthropy and all that," Draco suggested. "It's not exactly outside the realm of possibility, is it?"
"That," Hermione realized abruptly, "is an extremely reasonable way in."
Draco's gaze cut to hers again, this time unquestionably amused. "High praise," he murmured under his breath, and for whatever terrible reason, she was forced to clear her throat, sparing a wordless nod in response.
"Done," James said, nodding at Harry. "I'll owl the headmaster now and we'll go in the morning."
"I wish you wouldn't," Harry grumbled.
"Well, then we're on the same page," James said curtly. "You can leave now," he added to Remus, who shrugged.
"See you tomorrow," he said, and James' eyes widened.
"No, wait, hold on a minute—"
But Remus had already disappeared through the Floo.
"Damn," lamented James.
"He called you pretty," Theo pointed out. "I'm not sure what you're so upset about."
"Oddly, I don't consider it a compliment when it comes from people who arrive in my home unannounced," James muttered.
"Look, context is nothing," Theo said. "Frankly, you're all free to tell me I'm pretty anytime."
"Please leave," James said.
"I live here," Theo pointed out.
"Well, fine. Then no Harry," James said.
"What, just because I said you were pretty?" Theo demanded. "James. That's just unreasonable."
"No, because Harry is going home," James said, turning to Sirius. "Isn't he?"
"Harry, we're going home," Sirius announced immediately.
"You know I can apparate, right?" Harry said.
"I keep telling you to stop reminding me," Sirius growled in disapproval, gripping Harry's shoulder and disapparating on the spot.
"Great," James sighed, glancing at Draco and Hermione. "As for you two—"
"Yes, yes, we're going," Draco said, leaning over. She waited for him to take her shoulder—her hand, her arm, her sleeve; anything else but what he did, which was to offer something of an impossibly soft kiss—and in the moment his lips brushed her cheek, he'd disapparated them both back into his house, their feet landing lightly on the carpet of his bedroom.
From the moment they arrived, it was all softness, airiness, warmth; Draco shifted, placing his hands on the slopes of her waist, and then his touch was delicate, idyllic, peaceful. Of everything in the room—everything in the universe, for that matter—he was by far the most familiar, the most welcoming, the closest thing to home, and as he drew her against his chest, she leaned back, closing her eyes, until she suddenly realized what she was doing.
She was permitting herself to get comfortable.
"Why does Theo live with James?" she asked abruptly, easing out of Draco's arms and turning to face him, and he shrugged.
"No parents," he said, leaning towards her. "James said he couldn't allow Theo to live in his house alone."
"That's—" Hermione swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden proximity of his mouth. "That's kind of him."
"Mm." Draco took her left hand in his, easing his thumb over the M carved into her wrist. "I suppose, though I'd rather not talk about James Potter at the moment, if you don't mind."
She swallowed heavily, reacting far more than she wished to as he slid his fingers between hers, lacing them together.
"I, um," she began, as he leaned forward, brushing her lips with his before angling his head down, kissing her neck. "About the, uh. About the Hallows, I was just—"
"We'll have them soon enough," Draco murmured to her, his grip tightening on her hips. "Or do you really want to spend every waking moment thinking about them?"
No. No, she decidedly did not.
Still, was this really the wisest alternative?
"Draco," she attempted, as his fingertips trailed along the side of her thigh, drawing the hem of her skirt up her leg. "If I'm not… if I'm not going to be here for long, then maybe we, um. Maybe we shouldn't—"
She gasped as his fingers shifted course, sliding under the fabric of her knickers.
"Sorry," he said, stroking a slow circle, "you were saying?"
"Maybeweshouldntgetinvolved," she exhaled in a sigh, her eyes closing as he maneuvered her back against the post of his bed. "Maybe," she attempted again, "it would be better if we just—" A swallow as he lowered himself to his knees, brushing his lips against the inside of her knee. "If we just—"
A thin slip of a breath fell from her lips in surprise as he slid her leg over his shoulder, pulling her hips towards him. She felt the heat of his breath against her, languid and measured, and for a moment—for one tiny speck of a moment—she thought she stood a chance; but then, to her heightened dismay and terrible, fervent devastation, his tongue slid out between his lips and—and, and, and—
"Weshouldprobablykeepourdistance," she blurted in a gasp, half-panting, and he glanced up, smiling his terribly persuasive smile.
"Would you like me to stop?" he asked.
His incisors scraped against her thigh and elsewhere in oblivion, she captured a breath between the trappings of her jaw, burying a gasp somewhere near the back of her throat. She bit down on a thousand wiser answers as his smile broadened, blithely carnivorous; both of them reduced to a study in teeth.
"Not really," she whispered.
"Good," he said; in a word, hopelessly convincing.
a/n: Dedicated to amr56, who always provides the most interesting reflections (but no pressure!).
