A/N: An early update! All of your lovely reviews are so inspiring that I sat down and worked this one out and got it out a few days early for you dear readers! I hope you enjoy it as much I enjoyed ALL of the beautiful reviews y'all left!
A large thank you to AdAsttra (Tina) for betaing this chapter and doing a remarkable job of it! Thank you!
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Soundtrack- "Hit the Ground Running" by Frank Zummo feat. Landon Tewers and "Circles (based on Ludovico Einaudi "Experience") by Ludovico Einaudi and Greta Svabo Bech
SEVEN
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"Harry, please- just listen!"
Hermione spun around, tears already pooling in her eyes. Harry was staring at her, eyes wide behind his glasses and unblinking. Draco was gone. Ron was gone. She couldn't lose Harry too. No no no no no no!
She held up a shaking hand, hoping that he wouldn't start yelling or curse her or shove her outside the tent and into the dark, cold night. Hermione took a few tentative steps towards him, barely daring to breathe.
Harry blinked once. Twice. And didn't say anything. Her heart clenched in her chest, beating painfully. Would she ever go one day without it splintering?
"It's not-" Hermione started, trying to find a way to explain to Harry now that Ron hadn't left her any choice or even the opportunity to start the conversation in a manageable way. "It wasn't-"
Her lungs failed her, forcing the air out with every word and tightening so she couldn't breathe in.
"Hermione, it's okay," Harry said. Said. Not yelled, not shouted. Said. "I know. I already know."
His face swam for a moment as Hermione lost her balance.
"Woah! Hermione!"
She caught herself on one of the poles and leaned heavily against it for a moment before Harry's hands steadied her. He walked her over to one of the chairs, sitting her down carefully.
Hermione's ears were ringing. He… he knew? Harry knew?
He knelt down in front of her, keeping his hands on the arms of the chair, probably to make sure she wasn't going to fall out of it. Based on the loose feeling in her arms, the cold rush still running over her, and the high pitched noise that was very slowly fading, Hermione thought he might be right about that.
"Hermine, are you alright?" Harry asked, thick brows pulled tight. He was worried about her. Harry knew about Draco and he was worried about her.
"H-how?" Hermione gasped. "How long have you…"
Harry looked down sheepishly and shifted his weight a little. "Well," he cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up. "Since the night on the tower."
Oh my goodness. Harry had known for months! All this time and… The ringing started to come back.
"Do you want some water?" he asked nervously and Hermione nodded, unable to form words.
Harry walked into the kitchen and pulled a mug out of the small cabinet. Hermione watched him. He was walking around, doing normal things, just like he always did… but he knew. He knew and he wasn't freaking out or asking her how or blaming her or wanting to know everything all at once.
Harry knew and he was fetching her water.
He handed her the mug and Hermione took it carefully. Her fingers brushed over his and for a moment she thought she should pull back, like she would with Ron, but Harry just gave her one of those small little smiles he had over the past few months and she gently took the mug from him.
"Drink that, I'm going to clean up the mess in the kitchen."
Hermione did nothing but nod and watch as Harry went back over, vanishing the burnt fish with a small stream of swears under his breath that sounded vaguely like, "fucking did all of that and he just goes and burns the shit out of it."
The pan clattered loudly and Harry mumbled a quick, "Sorry" under his breath as he gave up on trying to shove it into the cabinet and waved his wand, expanding the shelf so it would fit. He wiped his hands on a small dish cloth and smacked it down on the counter, reaching up to adjust the locket around his neck.
Hermione looked away, giving Harry a moment to compose himself and took a sip of the water, realizing how thirsty she was from all her screaming at Ron. Oh God, Ron…
The mug nearly fell from her hands.
Harry was back, pulling the other chair across from hers and sitting down awkwardly on the edge of the seat. He pulled his glasses off, cleaning them with the dish towel before shoving them back onto his face, awkwardly looking around the tent and then to her hands holding the mug out in front of her.
Hermione's mouth went dry again. Plucking up her Gryffindor courage, she figured it was better to get this over with than drag it on. She didn't want a repeat of the fiasco like the one she had with Ron another six months down the line.
She peered up at Harry who looked… drained. He had only been wearing the locket for ten minutes and it was already affecting him so strongly. It seemed to be wearing him down more these days. Hermione held out her hand. "Take off the locket. Just-" she stopped when Harry's bright green eyes cut back up to hers. "Just for a little while. Until we both calm down."
Plus, she didn't want to have this conversation while he was wearing it. Harry nodded tiredly and slipped the locket from around his neck, setting it on the table beside them. In seconds, there was a slight rush of color back to his face and his shoulders sank down in relaxation. It made her feel a little better too. Not much, but a little.
Hermione hid behind her mug for a moment longer, then said, "Harry… What happened on the tower?"
Harry sighed and then took a deep breath, looking straight into her eyes and said, "I told you most of what happened. Malfoy came up, disarmed Dumbledore right after he immobilized me and then the other Death Eaters came up and Snape killed Dumbledore."
Hermione watched Harry's face tighten. He never talked about the night on the tower or what it was like to watch Dumbledore die right in front of him. The next day, Harry had been very quiet and she had always thought it was just him grieving, and she was sure that was why, but… he had also found out about her and Draco that night. She hated the thought that while Harry was trying to grieve over his lost mentor, he was also thinking about how she had been hiding such a big secret from him.
She had been so concerned with Ron's reaction in the aftermath of the attack that she hadn't even really thought too much about Harry's lingering looks while they sat in the hospital wing. How he asked her if she was okay, over and over. She thought it was just because he had found her out on the grounds, covered in dirt and crying about how sorry she was.
Godric, he hadn't even asked her what she was sorry for. Because he didn't have to. He knew what she had done. Oh God… what had Draco said?!
"Harry, I-"
"Hermione," Harry interrupted her. "I am not going to pretend like I understand how it happened or what actually went on between you two, but… whatever did happen- it stopped Malfoy from killing Dumbledore."
Harry reached out and grabbed the mug as it fell from her hands.
Completely lost in the moment, Hermione whispered, "Good catch."
Harry's lips turned up. "Seeker, remember?"
Hermione didn't say anything. She couldn't. There were no more words in her head, just… nothing. No Draco, no thoughts, just… nothing. All she could do was stare at Harry and hope that sounds would come out soon and that they might be able to be interpreted as words.
Harry took pity on her and, setting the mug down, went on. "Malfoy disarmed Dumbledore, like I said. And he could have killed him, right then and there. But he didn't. He said he wanted to talk."
Hermione's heart suddenly raced back into action, beating hard enough in her chest that the rush of blood into her head drowned out the ringing.
"Talk?" It barely came out as a whisper.
Harry nodded. "Malfoy told him everything. How he let the Death Eaters in through the cabinet, about the poison Ron drank and the necklace Katie touched." A jolt ran through her and down her arms. Hermione could feel her eyes growing wider, knowing what was coming next. Harry paused, then added, "I saw his mark."
His mark. His mark. His mark. Harry had seen Draco's mark. Of course he knew Draco was a Death Eater, but there was a difference in knowing and seeing. Hermione was well aware of that.
"I went to Dumbledore," Hermione cut in. "I told him about Draco once I saw it. I tried to tell-"
"I know. I mean," Harry took another breath and Hermione gulped. "They talked about you too."
On the outside, Hermione was frozen solid; unable to move or even blink as she listened to Harry, but on the inside everything was racing and running and tearing through her, pushing blood and heat and thoughts too quickly through her head for her to even focus on one before another took its place.
"What- what did he say?"
She thought about some of the things Draco had shouted at Ron after he had caught them. Did Draco say the same kind of things to Dumbledore too? Her stomach flipped over nervously.
"Malfoy told Dumbledore to run, to get back on the broom and 'fuck right off'. He said he'd get rid of the Death Eaters and destroy the cabinet so they couldn't get back through."
Harry looked down at his clasped hands and some of his messy hair fell over his face. Hermione felt almost sick with anxiety. What? What? Ever since that night she had been trying to harden her heart to Draco, to force herself to see him as the Death Eater he was, not the man she had learned to love in stolen moments.
She believed him when he said he was going to fix it, then had her heart broken with the realization that his way of fixing things was to go through with his original plan. But… it wasn't. Draco had tried to fix things. Just like he said.
He hadn't broken his promise at all.
Harry looked back up at her. "Dumbledore wouldn't leave though. He wouldn't leave the school. He said Malfoy was still one of his students, that's when Malfoy pulled up his sleeve and said he wasn't anymore, and then Dumbledore smiled. I didn't fucking get it. I was standing there, unable to move or do anything, and I had no fucking clue why Malfoy was trying to help Dumbledore escape."
Harry looked back up at her.
"None of it made sense. Then Dumbledore said he could help Malfoy, protect him and his family, even offered to help his Father in prison, but Malfoy didn't give a shit about that. He just said he wanted you and wanted out."
Out. Draco wanted out. Draco wanted her. Wanted to go, to leave, with her.
"I'll come for you, Hermione. I promise."
"But Dumbledore kept trying to convince him to switch sides, saying it wasn't too late for him to be saved. That's when Malfoy started yelling at him and said some weird shit and said Dumbledore was a demented old fool if he thought there was any way any of the Order would survive this war. He said…" Harry's brows pulled together again. "He said every Death Eater could defect and it wouldn't make a difference."
He might have said that, but Draco said lots of things in anger that he didn't always mean. His actions always meant more and he had tried to help Dumbledore. That had to mean something. Hermione gasped. "Do you think he knows about the horcruxes?"
Harry shook his head. "How could he? Even Lucius Malfoy didn't know what the diary really was and he was one of You-Know-Who's most trusted."
Hermione bit her lip, thoughts racing, but all coming back to Draco. "If he doesn't think the Order can win then why was he trying to help Dumbledore?"
"I was thinking the exact same thing when Dumbledore asked if "Miss Granger had been able to change his views at all" and Malfoy… Hermione, Malfoy went off. Shouting that he loved you. He fucking shouted it. Said Dumbledore didn't care about you, only that you were smart and that you were going to help me and he said he wasn't going to let anyone use his girl."
His girl. Hermione felt like she was floating out of her body. Was she still sitting in the chair? She couldn't even feel it underneath her.
"Is that…" Harry turned the mug around in his hands. "Is that true? Is that what you were?"
She was unceremoniously shoved back into her body and everything came back into sharp relief in a single beat of her heart. Her lungs were empty, her mouth was dry, and her blood was too warm, sitting still in her veins as Harry waited for her to answer him.
"Yes," Hermione whispered. "I mean, I was. We were… Harry, you have to understand I never planned this. It wasn't like I wanted or expected this to happen, but it did and I know it sounds crazy, but Draco isn't- I mean, he is, but he doesn't want to be-"
"Yeah he made that clear on the tower too." Harry blew out a breath. Hermione's hands numb and she was glad she wasn't still holding the mug. Harry was confirming everything she hadn't dared to hope for all these lonely months. "I think his exact words were 'I don't give a shit about that twatless cunt'."
"He said that about-"
"Yeah." Harry shook his head, thick brows raising up into his messy hair. "He was a bit upset at that point."
Hermione made a high pitched noise in the back of her throat.
"Dumbledore just kept trying to get him to lower his wand so he could go get his and Malfoy wouldn't let him move anywhere but back towards the brooms. Dumbledore said he just wanted to help Malfoy fight the Death Eaters and he would take him under the Order's protection, but Malfoy said he didn't need the Order's protection and that Dumbledore didn't know what he was capable of and… I don't think Dumbledore did. I don't think he was expecting Malfoy to have brought in reinforcements."
Harry tightened his hands around the mug and Hermione glanced from his face to his hands and back, trying to take in every little detail of Harry's expression and body language right now.
"Malfoy started to threaten Dumbledore, saying if he didn't leave he was going to throw him off the tower, that they couldn't find him up there. That he would fuck everything up if he didn't leave right then. And Dumbledore told him he wasn't leaving and Malfoy needed to make a choice about his future."
Then Harry paused and Hermione realized she had been holding her breath. The ringing in her ears was starting to come back.
"Malfoy said he'd already made his choice." Harry blinked, looking right at her and Hermione felt her lip trembling between her teeth. "He said he chose you."
Tears spilled over onto her face, running down her cheeks quickly and splashing onto her knees. She thought they should have been warm, she had been holding them in for so long, but instead they felt crisp and cool. Like rain.
Months and months of holding them in and even longer of hiding this from Harry and worrying that he would hate her if he found out and here he was… talking to her about it and telling her… telling her that Draco had tried to fix this. He had tried to save Dumbledore. After everything he had done, everything he had tried to do, she had asked him to be with her and he had tried.
In his own way, which was the way he had always done everything.
Yes, he had tried to take her and yes, she was still really not happy about that, but if she would have known what he had done on the tower… maybe things would have gone differently that night. Maybe between her and Harry, they could have explained to the rest of the Order what Draco had done and that he wanted… to try.
It wouldn't be easy, but it could be done, right? Snape had done it. And even though Draco said there was only one to stop being a Death Eater he had changed his view on larger issues than that. Goodness, he told her he didn't care that she was a Muggleborn when he took the Veritaserum and in the Room of Requirement she had asked him to choose to be with her and he had.
Maybe he wasn't out there turning Muggleborns into Umbridge because he believed in it, maybe he was fighting in this war the same as her, just trying to survive to make it to another day. She had seen the real Draco that night in the Room of Requirement when his smirk slid into a smile and his eyes faded from their hard granite to a hazy rain grey. He hadn't been a Death Eater then or a Malfoy. He had just been Draco. Her Draco.
There was so much she didn't know or understand about him, but at the same time, she felt like she knew him better than anyone. She knew him well enough to know that he hadn't given up, that he was out there, waiting for her. No, not waiting. Hunting.
Harry was right, Draco had made his choice that night. And now she was making hers.
"Harry, this is going to sound crazy, but-" Hermione paused and bit her lip. Hard. "I want to find Draco."
.
His hearing was the first thing to come back. There was a tick-tick-ticking somewhere and it echoed loudly inside his head. No walls. There were no walls anymore.
Then faint voices, muffled and talking in the distance. But not the distance; they were close, it was Draco who was far, lost inside the darkness in his own mind. The voices swirled into the forefront of his mind and phrases began to come through.
"Keep him restrained. Had to immobilize him for his last dose of blood replenishing potion and even then we barely got it down."
"I know how he can be."
Tick. Tick. Tick.
"I've taken care of him before."
Tick. Tick.
"Good luck. He's a-"
"I know what- who he is."
Tick.
Draco opened his eyes.
White fucking light, too bright to be candles or lamps, flooded in and he quickly shut them again, trying to sink back down into the darkness where it was still and silent. Ow. Ow. Shit, why did his face hurt so much?
"Draco, can you hear me?"
Blaise.
He knew him by his voice and when Draco blinked open a single eye, the blurry form of his friend swam in front of him, just as it had so many times before in their dorm after a particularly rough night. Draco quickly closed his eye again.
"I know you're awake."
Shit. Why did Blaise always have to be so bloody observant? It was borderline creepy; the way he just knew things. Like how he knew about Granger. Draco still wasn't entirely sure how that happened, but had been grateful that he had someone to yell at when Granger kept pissing him off at the end of term. Blaise had listened. And tried to help.
Not that it mattered now.
Draco groaned, certain that Blaise was going to ask him about Granger and how he was doing and how things were going for him and why the fuck he was here and fighting werewolves and Draco didn't feel like explaining shit.
All he felt was- shit.
"Draco."
"Fuck off."
A pause. "I am a junior Healer now so you can't talk to me like-"
"I said," Draco opened his eyes again. No, eye. Singular. Why was his other eye not opening? "Fuck. Off. Blaise."
His vision cleared a little and he was able to look around. Pale green walls the color of dog sick surrounded him and the ticking noise was getting louder. Draco looked over to see a strange clock-like device next to the bed he was lying in. In St. Mungo's. With Blaise fucking Zabini looking disapprovingly down at him.
Draco wanted to curse the ticking machine and sat up, reaching for his wand. It wasn't on his thigh. Nothing was on his thigh except thick white gauze with a faint red shadow leaking through.
Draco remembered what had happened to his leg. Fenrir had dug his fucking claws into it when he couldn't get to any other part of him and torn at the muscle there in a desperate attempt to get Draco off of him.
It hadn't worked. And Draco had broken Greyback's jaw for it.
But now his leg was fucked.
"Don't worry, it can be healed, but I need to know what caused it because it's not responding to healing charms and I didn't want to use any potions in case it's cursed or been magically wounded."
Draco pulled his boxer briefs down on his thigh as far as they would go, trying to cover the bandage, but only made them slip dangerously down his torso in response. His shirt was gone too; chest and arm bare, showing the world, and Blaise, exactly how fucked up he really was.
But even the torn up skin and black brand were nothing compared to the ruin of the fallen walls in his head.
Draco tucked his arm closely against himself and stared down at his chest and stomach for a moment. Fuck. Why did people keep taking his clothes off when he was unconscious? He glanced up at Blaise who was watching him with a slightly annoyed expression and arms crossed over his puke-green Healer's robes.
Even in that disgusting attire, Draco figured Blaise looked better than he did right now.
Draco watched as Blaise looked at him appraisingly, calculating eyes practically counting the different lines across his chest before flitting down to Draco's forearm, pressed tightly to his side. They rested there for a moment, dark and wary.
Draco struck out his right arm, Malfoy ring catching the too-bright lights, and pulled the white covers up, slinging it onto his left shoulder like a cape and letting it fall over his body, hiding his mark and his scars. Fucking Salazar, did everyone have to see them now?
It was bad enough that he had to show them to the wolves, but now Blaise too? Shit.
"Pomfrey did a good job on you."
"Eat shit."
Blaise ignored him. He walked over to the ticking machine and tapped it a few times with his wand. The ticking slowed and Draco glared at the back of Blaise's head until he turned around and stared patiently down at Draco.
"Are you going to tell me what happened to you?"
"Where's my wand?"
"You'll get it back once you're healed and ready for release."
"Ready for release? You think you can keep me here?"
Blaise's eyes blared with a dark fire and Draco could almost hear him grinding his teeth in agitation. Any remaining semblance of the Healer in training vanished and Draco's old dormmate was back in full force. "I think you need to tell me what the fuck happened to you so I can finish saving your fucking life."
Draco ripped the white blanket back. His skin was almost the same shade, pale and bloodless, but that didn't stop him from shoving his arm up; baring the ugly black brand under Blaise's stupid fucking face.
"I don't have to tell you shit. Now where is my wand?!"
He wanted out of here. He knew where Granger was recently spotted and he had his wolves back. This was the closest he had been to her in months and he wasn't about to let Blaise stand in his way because he wanted to play at Healer and actually got to have a future and all Draco got was this fucking mark on his arm and another scar to add to his collection.
And Granger. He would get Granger too.
As soon as Blaise stopped being a dick and finished fucking fixing him, that was.
Blaise stood calmly beside the bed, but firmly asked, "What happened, Draco?"
"Nothing happened." When Blaise didn't respond, Draco snapped, "Where are my fucking clothes?"
Blaise opened the drawer in the table beside the bed. Draco snatched out his white undershirt first. It was thin, but it covered the pale scars. He was more worried about people seeing them than the mark now. It didn't matter anymore. Everyone knew who and what he was now and, in the months since Dumbledore's death and the fall of the Ministry, being branded by the Dark Lord was an honor and something to be envied.
He had even heard of some people trying to glamour the dark mark onto themselves. Fucking idiots. They didn't know the half of what carrying this mark meant.
Grabbing his trousers, Draco hissed in pain when he bent his leg to pull them on. He wasn't sure if he was seeing things or if the red shadow was growing larger under the gauze. Maybe he should let Blaise heal him. His hand fucking hurt too; Draco had thrown it into enough walls to know when it was broken and looked down at it and his last finger was bending in the wrong direction. Fuck.
Draco gave up on the trousers. It was useless and the left leg of them was torn to shreds. He threw them to the ground and gingerly placed his hand over the bandage on his leg. It was warm and when he pulled his bruised hand away there was a thin coat of red over his palm.
"Want to tell me what happened now?" Blaise sounded so fucking smug and if Draco's hand wasn't already broken, he'd put Blaise in a bed right next to him.
Not that Malfoys didn't have private rooms, but he would request Blaise in here so he could admire his handiwork.
Actually, no. He didn't like to see what he'd done. He liked to drink to forget. And he didn't really want to hurt Blaise.
Well, only a little.
"None of your fucking business."
"You know I am supposed to notify the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when someone comes in in a state like this, but…" He glanced down at Draco's mark again then quickly tore his eyes away, pretending to read over his clipboard.
"But they can't do shit since I have this, can they?" Draco was surprised at how bitter his own voice sounded. For a moment he was glad that he was here, getting to talk to Blaise. Even if it was about this. He hadn't seen him in months and Blaise had always been the one Draco vented to in school. He had always been his… friend.
Blaise's dark eyes slid back to the mark and his shoulders dropped, adopting a professional air for formality, but Draco could notice the tension rolling through him. Blaise was nervous around the mark. Around him.
Maybe they weren't friends anymore.
"Just tell me what happened so I can treat you and you can go back to whatever put you in here."
Draco leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling with its too bright light that did nothing to temper the gross green color painted on it as well. Still, it was better than the cold darkness and broken walls in his head. His Granger was gone and it felt just as empty as his chest did now.
"Werewolf."
Blaise's dark eyes went wide.
Draco rolled his eyes. "It's a waning crescent, closest to the new moon you can get. And he didn't bite me."
He had to say, he was a little impressed. Blaise took the information in stride and checked a few things off on the clipboard before looking over the top of it back at Draco. "Just cla- hands? Nails?"
Draco swallowed and nodded. Fuck, his face hurt. His hand too. As soon as he got out of here he was going to down a bottle of Ogden's because right now the only thing keeping him together was the bloody wrappings on his leg. That, and the fact that Greyback was worse off than he was.
"Greyback," Draco rasped and watched Blaise stop moving instantly. Except for his mouth, which fell open in shock.
"Fenrir Greyback did this to you?" he asked breathlessly.
Draco smirked. It hurt. He did it anyway. "You should see him. Actually, you probably don't want to. The lower half of his face is gone."
Blaise's clipboard hit the floor.
Draco rolled his eyes- no, eye. The other one was still swollen shut. He hoped Blaise would get on with it soon. "Well, not completely."
Looking down at his hand, Draco could make out the exact outline of the silver brass knuckles bruised across his fingers. "He'll be fine."
Blaise said nothing. Draco felt the heavy silence creeping across the vast expanse of his wall-less mind. There was still some rubble left on the ground. He could rebuild the walls. In time. But right now he had something more important to do than stack up shards of broken walls in his head. He had to find Granger.
"Aren't you supposed to heal people in here?" Draco snapped, pulling Blaise out of his thoughts.
Blaise picked up the clipboard from the floor, straightening the papers on it. "Yes, but-"
"Get to it!" Draco snapped his fingers and grit his teeth against the pain that shot up his arm. "I've got a job to do and it doesn't include lying about in a hospital bed."
Blaise pulled his wand out of a pocket of his Healer robes and then he stopped, hesitating.
"What now?" Draco snarled.
Blaise pursed his lips. "When you came in, I ran the diagnostics on you-"
"Blaise, now is not the time to tell me to cut back on the drinking. I know, okay? I will. I just-"
"What happened to your arm?"
The muscles in Draco's arm jumped and tightened, betraying his stoic expression. "Nothing."
Blaise's brows fell heavily over his eyes, casting them in shadow. "Just like your leg, if you tell me what happened I have a better chance of treating you correctly."
"I don't need treatment."
"The nerves in your arm disagree."
"Whisky helps them stay in line."
"They're not staying in line," Blaise countered. "That's the problem."
Cold panic gripped his insides. What was happening to them? He knew the curse was affecting him more strongly now and it took longer and longer for his magic to come back, but it came back. It always came back.
Blaise moved closer to Draco. "Is it your Father?"
Draco exhaled sharply. "No."
Blaise shifted the clipboard to his other arm. "Is it… you know…"
Glaring up at his friend, Draco curled his lip. "No. And don't ask about him."
"Okay," Blaise said quickly. "But, Draco-" Draco sighed heavily. "Whoever it is… whatever it is-"
"Shut the fuck up, Blaise, okay?" Draco leaned back against the bed again. "I know. I fucking know."
Blaise stood there for a moment and Draco closed his eye, hoping that Blaise wouldn't push it. He didn't want to fucking hear it. He didn't want to tell Blaise what he was doing. How it was the only thing that helped when the burned out hole in his chest became too much and not even the liquor could fill it up. He didn't want Blaise to feel sorry for him.
He didn't want anything but Granger.
"I need to get some Essence of Dittany for your leg, but now that we know it's not the same curse as whatever affected your arm, I should be able to fix the rest of you fairly easily."
Blaise spent the next few minutes alternating between casting small healing charms and sprinkling drops of dittany over Draco's leg as the skin pulled itself together. He looked down at the deep gouge, all dark blood and red meat. He was looking inside himself and fuck, he was disgusting.
The skin closed over; soft, pink, and swollen.
Another scar. Fucking great.
Blaise made quick work of his face and Draco blinked a few times as his eye opened up again, making the room even brighter than before. The walls didn't look any better out of two eyes than they did one and now that his leg could support his weight, he wanted to walk out of here and never look back. Fuck this place and everyone in it.
Except Blaise. He should be nicer to Blaise. But Blaise was being an annoying little shit right now.
No. He wasn't. He was trying to help him and Draco was being an annoying little shit. Not even a little one. He was being a gigantic fucking-
"FUCK!"
"You're the one that broke it, not me," Blaise said noncommittally as the bones in Draco's finger snapped back into place and welded together. The dark bruises over his fingers faded and his skin looked like a parody of a rainbow as it faded from purple to red to green to yellow finally to his normal shade of pale white. Draco flexed his hand and tightened it into a fist. Still worked.
"That fucking hurt," he grumbled, making sure he did not sound thankful at all. He could see the tight expression on Blaise's face as his eyes darted up to Draco's mark again. Blaise's family wasn't like his. He wasn't a legacy, he got to actually pursue the things he wanted.
Draco had never even thought of a career past his daydreams of playing Quidditch professionally. And even those had ended the summer he returned home after his fourth year. He was Malfoy and that meant something. Draco looked down at the ring on his hand. His family's signet sealed his fate almost as much as the mark. Malfoys had a place in society and a name to uphold. If anyone ever found out he was fucking a Mudblood for more than a warm place to come he would be ostrasized, disowned.
Possibly killed.
Still, Andromeda had done it.
He hoped she got out again.
Draco looked down at his arm. He never would.
He'd just have Blaise put him back together again until one day Draco would die in his Master's service. How many times had Blaise already set his hand? How many times had Blaise brewed him potions to sober him up or cure his hangovers? How many times had Blaise just sat with him, in the dark of their dorm, while Draco stared at the black wood wall, slowly building white marble ones in his head?
"We will need to keep applying this over the next couple of days to make sure that it heals internally. Werewolf wounds are cursed so-"
Draco rubbed his hand over his thigh, feeling the line of fresh, hairless skin there. "I know. There's nothing to be done about the scar."
"I'm sorry-"
"Stop," Draco ordered, his voice lowering. "It's done." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled his trousers on before pulling his outer shirt and brigandine on.
"You really should stay-"
"No, I need to go."
"Draco, you've only just woken up."
"Yeah and I've been wasting time here listening to you bitch. How long have I been here anyways?"
Blaise faltered, mouth opening and closing.
Draco's heart skipped a beat. "How much time, Blaise? How long have I been here?"
Blaise gripped his clipboard. "Your wounds were extensive and without knowing what kind of creature or curse made them we were limited as to how we could treat them until you woke up-"
"GODDAMN IT, BLAISE!"
"It's Christmas Eve."
Christmas Eve. Christmas fucking Eve.
Draco had been here for two days.
And Granger was still out there, getting further away with every passing second.
Tick. Tick. Tick. He really fucking hated that noise.
Draco shot to his feet, ignoring the residual pain in his leg and towered over Blaise, glaring down at him. "Give me my wand. And get the fuck out of my way."
Blaise met his gaze steadily. "You are hurt, Draco. You need rest; you need to heal."
"I need-"
"You can't keep going on like this. I mean look at yourself!" Blaise's voice rose and Draco wasn't sure if he had ever heard his friend shout like this before. He wasn't exactly wrong either; Draco felt like shit. His leg was throbbing under the new skin and even though he had been healed, he was far from a healthy condition. "Like it or not, you are one of my patients now-"
"I am the Dark Lord's servant," Draco snarled. "Not one of your fucking patients."
Blaise's expression fell flat. "So, what? You're going to knock my face in then? Going to curse me? Going to kill me?"
He didn't want to hurt Blaise. The shock of that fact rocked through him. For the first time in weeks, he didn't want to see the person in front of him screaming in pain. Fuck, he didn't want any of this. He didn't want to be out there, fighting werewolves or trudging through the cold and turning his wand on anyone who stood in his way.
All he wanted was her. How much longer was he going to have to keep searching? Another week? Month? Year?
He'd do it. No matter how much he hated this, he wasn't going to stop. What else did he have to do now? Serve the Dark Lord? It was this same exact shit and at least this way he was getting something out of it. He didn't have school anymore. He didn't have Quidditch anymore. He didn't even have friends anymore.
But he would have her. One way or another, he would have Granger again.
Draco pulled on his boots, his foot sliding down into them and landing with a soft thud as he pressed his heel into the floor, staring down at it while sitting quietly in the darkness of his mind, picking up a rough rock and tossing it into the emptiness.
He wouldn't be empty once he had her. He wouldn't be hurt once he had her.
"Here." Blaise held out his wand. At the sight of it, Draco greedily snatched it from him. Running his fingers over it and making sure it was unharmed, Draco glanced up to see a flicker of disappointment on Blaise's face. It was the first time they had seen each other since the summer and who knew when they would see each other again?
Draco pulled his cloak around himself and headed for the door.
"I- I've got something I need to take care of, but maybe," Draco paused. "Maybe you can come over one evening and we can… play chess."
Blaise's lips twitched in a smirk-like smile. "Sure. I'm free on Thursday."
Draco nodded. "See you then."
.
The white snow crunched under the weight of his black boot and Draco pulled the collar of his coat up around his ears. Fuck, it was cold out here. But he could bear it because it wouldn't be long before he had Granger warming his bed for him and he could sink himself down into her hot cunt, forgetting the bitterness outside and indulge himself in the soft sweetness he had been denied for so long.
The thought alone was enough to make his blood thicken and hot arousal to surge through him in a downward direction.
Easy boy, I know; she's close.
The woods were quiet, the layer of snow muffling any sounds and made the tall trees look even darker under their dusting of white. It seemed as if the world had stopped moving under the blanket of snow, like for just a few moments everything was where it was supposed to be, still, quiet, and cold.
But it wasn't because if everything was where it was supposed to be, Granger would be pressed up against the nearest tree and he would be burying inside of her, making her moan out his name in a hot breath against his neck.
He was going to fuck her senseless once he got his hands on her. Around her. In her. And he was never going to fucking let go.
She'd be his Christmas present to himself and he was going to play with her until he wore her out then he'd let her sleep in his arms and fuck her the second she opened her eyes back up. That would make tramping around these cold-ass woods on Christmas day fucking worth it.
Goddamn it, he needed to find her. Now.
"Over here, boss!" Fergus called and Draco's head snapped in the direction that Fergus' thick accented voice came from. He was picking something up from the ground and shaking the snow off of it.
With a crack Draco was beside him, snatching the item away from Fergus and digging his fingers into it. A coat. Her coat.
Draco held it up to his face and breathed in deeply. Fucking hell, it smelled just like her. Vanilla and cinnamon and holy shit it was her and it was real and it was here, in his hands. Draco's heart contracted hard in his chest, tight enough that it hurt to beat.
He crouched down and ran his hands over the thick roots. Granger. Granger had sat right here at the base of this tree. What had she been doing out here? Had she been thinking about him? The snow was fresh, but he was sure it had been freezing out here; why had she taken off her coat and left it? Had she gotten too warm? Had someone else made her-
Stop. No.
No one else had touched her.
She wouldn't do that.
She might have run and left him and hidden from him. But she wouldn't have let someone else-
"Is that her? The one we're after?" Fergus sniffed the air between them.
Draco pulled her coat closer to him, holding it against his chest, and sneered at Fergus. "The one I'm after."
"Yeah," Fergus said blandly as Donovan joined them. "That's what I said."
Draco curled his lip over his teeth and felt the cold air hit them as he folded Granger's coat and tucked it inside his, under his arm.
"I found this." Donovan tossed a torn pink scarf over to Draco who caught it easily, clutching it in his gloved hand. "But there are two scents on it."
"Two?" He swung his head back over to Donovan who was adjusting the fur ruff of his coat. At least with the snow on the ground it prompted him to wear a fucking shirt this time.
"Yeah, a bloke and a girl." He shrugged. "What did you get, Fergus?"
The wolves discussed their findings as Draco ran the scarf over his hands. Two scents. Granger and… ugh. He didn't know who it was, but he had an idea. A fucking awful idea of what he was going to do if he ever came across that ginger prick again. Draco shoved the scarf inside his pocket as well. Hanging Weasley with it might make him feel a little better about the fact that her fucking scarf had Weasley all over it.
Soon enough, Granger would have him all over her and he'd leave more than some stink on a scarf to prove that she belonged to him. Fuck, he was going to cover her in bruising kisses until she writhed and mewled and he took pity on his poor kitten and licked her soft skin where he had marked and bit it, soothing her before pushing her to the edge of her sanity and tumbling down with her.
He looked around the white woods and let the winter chill cool his heated blood. Draco pulled out his wand and sent out magical tracers, trying to pick up if any heavy spells had been used in the area and… yes. There had been something. Wards. Barriers. Protection and concealment. They overlapped- concealment charms covering the protection wards and shielding charms guarding the disillusionment spells. Only Granger would be smart enough to weave them together so they interlocked and strengthened one another.
"Clever little witch." Draco smirked.
The sun was setting quickly; it didn't stay up long these days and Draco looked around, grey eyes catching the barest movement of a bird flitting through the trees. A chill wind blew past him, but Draco didn't feel it. He didn't feel anything but the rising heat inside him again. For the first time in so long the burnt out feeling in his chest didn't feel like a wound that wouldn't heal. It felt warm and hot and… alive.
For a moment it felt like he was back in the Forbidden Forest with Granger, lying on the mossy ground, kissing him softly and tracing her nails over the tendons of his neck and up into his hair as she pulled him close to her, pressing her body against his. The daylight shining down on them had sparked inside him, igniting itself into the inferno that had left his soul scorched and charred.
Granger had done this. Granger had made him feel this… love that just wouldn't fucking go away. And if it wouldn't, then she didn't get to either. She wanted to be with him. She had said it herself, that she never wanted to leave him again. She loved him. She loved him. And he loved her.
Fucking hell, he loved her. He loved her so much it consumed him, it possessed him. He had been willing to do anything to keep her, even turn Blood Traitor and use the Imperius curse on her. He had tortured people, maimed people, kidnapped and sold people. He had done all of that, so none of it would happen to her.
Granger was counting on him. Granger needed him. And fucking Salazar, he needed her. He needed to kiss her, feel her soft lips open up and taste the sweetness inside. Needed to run his hands through her curls again before sliding over the slender curves of her body and touch every fucking inch of her. Needed to wrap her legs around him, have her hands on him, hear her breathe out his name and tell him every dark thought he had for the past six months was crazy, just insane, and that she loved him loved him still fucking and always would love him.
Draco turned away from Donovan and Fergus and closed his eyes, feeling the sting of the cold air on his face. It contrasted sharply with the heat and the need and the fucking feelings rising up in him like flames licking at a stone wall. She still loved him. She had to. She just… fucking had to. Granger was a good girl and always did what she was supposed to. She could do this too. Even if she thought she didn't love him anymore, Draco knew she still did. And he would show her, just like before.
It would be just like before.
Better because now they wouldn't be sneaking behind the stacks of the Restricted Section for a fast fuck. No, now he would have the entirety of his bed to stretch her out on and strap her down to so he could take his fucking time with her. All his time. Fuck, the only reason he'd leave his bed would be to make her crawl on her hands on knees towards him.
Well, that and his duties to his Lord. He would still be bound to his service, but… it would all be to protect her. To end the war so they could move on with their lives. Granger was smart, she would understand. She would realize he was doing all of this for her. To keep them together and to keep her safe.
Granger was counting on him and he would not fail her.
Draco held up his wand, pushing out and trying to find the edge of her barrier. It was faint, barely still there. She had already moved on. A tight knot balled itself deep inside him. He was too late, she had gone. But Draco hadn't come all this way just to let her slip through his fingers again.
But he knew what her wards felt like now, knew how she hid them. His wolves had her scent and would be able to track her no matter where she ran. A frost-covered branch snapped under the weight of his black boot. He had found out how she was hiding, he could do it again. And this time, he would catch her.
.
The snow made it harder to run, sticking to her shoes and making every step a slippery one, but Hermione did not stop. She couldn't. One moment of hesitation; one false step and he would be on her. He would catch her.
She sucked in a breath of cold air, feeling it freeze in her lungs. Her throat burned with the force of it and she tried her best to take short breaths so the cold did not steal the warmth in her chest. As she ran on it seemed impossible to keep up this pace and refuse her body what it needed at the same time.
Hermione almost crashed into a tree, grabbing onto it to steady herself for only a second before pulling her feet up over the roots barely peeking out from their blanket of snow and starting off again. She had no idea where she was running to or even if she was running away from him anymore. Normally, she could hear him behind her, chasing after her. Sometimes, when she dared to chance a look over her shoulder, she'd catch a glimpse of his metal mask, but tonight he was nowhere to be seen.
She could still feel him though; heavy and covering the whole forest, like the white coating of snow glittering in the dark woods, he was here. Everywhere. Inevitable.
It didn't matter, she wasn't stopping now. The woods were dark and the trees seemed to spring out of nowhere, jumping into her path and blocking her. They were closing in, turning darker, making a corridor with one entrance and one exit. Hermione ran faster, harder, pushing herself to the limit of what she was capable of.
Then she saw him. Up ahead of her, merely standing there with his hands clasped behind his back, legs in a wide stance, and a thick black cloak falling around him. His metal mask shone like silver in the gloom of the woods.
"I told you I'd come for you."
It sounded like he was right next to her even though she could clearly see him in the distance. She should stop running. She should turn around. She should do anything but take another deep, gulping breath of icy air and keep running towards him. Even if the sight of him made her heart jump in a way that had nothing to do with her punishing pace.
Hermione looked right and left; there was a small opening between two trees and, without thinking, she turned, running through it. In a second, she could hear him behind her, heavy footfalls in the snow. She was running as fast as she could but the snow was falling, getting thicker by the second and before she knew it she was slowing down, fighting against the drifts.
"Mine."
His gloved hands closed over her and Hermione went tumbling down, the Death Eater's body weighing heavily on her. He rolled, carrying her with him to dispel the momentum of their fall, cradling her body with his so that she was not crushed against the ground. She could feel the strength in his arms, thick and powerful, holding her carefully while guiding their bodies together until Hermione was pressed into a soft drift of snow with her Death Eater hovering over her, silver eyes gleaming behind his mask.
"Draco…"
The mask was gone. So was the snow. So was everything, everything but Draco.
He smirked down at her for just a moment then pushed himself inside her, filling her. Hermione's body came alive under his. Her high pitched moan mixed with his groaning growl as he pulled back to surge into her again.
Everything was just how she remembered it. His hands heavy on her body, grasping at her face, pulling her hair. His breath fanning out across her lips as his head hung down over hers. The weight of his body and the smell of his skin… soft and thick like fresh parchment. Everything she had missed, here, all at once.
"Fuck, Granger, I've missed your tight little pussy," Draco breathed out. "All warm and wet for me. And it is. It is for me, isn't it, kitten?" he asked in a hoarse voice, lids heavy over his mercury ringed eyes.
She whimpered, unable to form words. Not now, at least. Not when he was here and, oh God, he felt so good and it had been so long since she felt like this. This wonderful mindless feeling and rush of heat and blood and sparks shooting off that only Draco gave her.
Only ever Draco.
"Tell me," he grunted, sheathing himself completely in her and rocking his hips back and forth. "Tell me it's mine. That you're mine."
Her head fell back, eyes closed and mouth open, gasping in air as Draco pushed himself deeper inside her. He was so far she wasn't sure how they could ever be separate after this.
"Tell me, oh shit, Granger- fucking tell me that you're still mine."
"I am," she breathed out, blinking her eyes open to look up into his soft rain grey ones. "I only ever want you, Draco. Only you."
Draco slammed himself into her and Hermione screamed as he let out a primal roar, weakening as his thrusts strengthened. She took a breath, ready for the wave of pleasure that was about to hit and-
Hermione jerked awake, inhaling sharply and pulling her head up from the book she had fallen asleep reading. The magical charm book, the one she had packed just in case. Just in case she missed him and wanted to smell the creamy parchment scent that had hung to his skin. She had pulled it out tonight, reading over it and relaxing with each deep breath.
She was out of breath and her forehead was damp with sweat. She hadn't actually been running or… doing that, but her chest was still heaving and she could feel her flush of heat in her face. And other places. Goodness. She had many dreams over the past few months, but none like that.
Maybe it was the fever. The Draco in her head had been right after she left her coat in the woods and when she woke up the next morning it was to an achy body, chills, and a sore throat. Harry had helped, making her tea and taking extra turns on watch and she was slowly starting to get better. She thought about brewing a Pepperup potion, but their supplies were running low. She had suffered through colds as a child in the Muggle world, she could do it again.
Hermione coughed a little to clear her throat and stood up, slightly annoyed that she had woken up before the dream had finished, but it was late judging by the low level of the candle sitting on the table in front of her. Harry must have been on watch for hours now and he deserved to get some rest too before he came down with the same cold she had. And they were both still recuperating from the events at Godric's Hollow.
Harry had agreed to help her try to somehow try and find Draco if she agreed to go to Godric's Hollow with him to visit his parents grave.
"We very well might get killed. This is something I want to do-no, have to do," he had explained and Hermione agreed. She knew Harry had wanted to go to Godric's Hollow since they started their search and she had to admit, it might have some clues as to where the sword was or could be. Besides, it wasn't like they had any other options and so the plan was made, taking every precaution that they could.
It hadn't been enough.
She felt foolish, following Harry into Bathilda Bagshot's house; letting him go upstairs alone with her. Hermione was supposed to be the brightest witch of her age, why hadn't she seen through the ruse that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had put in place? Of course he would use someone like Bathilda Bagshot. Someone who had been close to both the Dumbledores and the Potters. They should have known, they should have seen it coming.
They had paid dearly for their miscalculation. Hermione's hand felt oddly empty as she walked outside the tent, looking around for Harry's dark hair against the snow covered landscape. They were sharing her wand right now and even though they were sharing well enough, Hermione knew the loss of Harry's wand hit him hard. She could only imagine how helpless she would feel if left wandless and having to rely on the mercy of another person to do magic for her.
With so much snow on the ground, they had decided to move camp less frequently. It was difficult now, with just the two of them and even more so with just the one wand. At least Harry, like herself, had grown up with Muggles and didn't rely as heavily on magic as someone who grew up in a magical household did. She was purposefully not thinking of anyone in particular and definitely not saying any names in particular in her head.
Hermione tucked her hands under her arms and walked a little farther out, sniffling a little and trying to see where Harry had gotten to. Since they weren't moving camp tomorrow, she thought maybe they could practice with some wandless magic; testing out simple spells and charms. That might cheer him up some and it wouldn't be too physically strenuous on her. Maybe she would try and pull out a few magical theory books and read them tonight after she switched with Harry and went on watch. He would be exhausted by now and although her dream had been pleasant, she wasn't ready to revisit it or the ache in her chest it had left behind.
Where had Harry gotten to? Hermione looked further into the forest; it was dark tonight, only lit by pale starlight. They always made sure to camp a little closer to towns on full moons, just in case, but with the new moon she had chosen a place deep into the Forest of Dean where they could hide away for a little while. Tonight the forest made her think of her Mum and their camping trip out here years before. Hermione wiped her nose with the sleeve of her sweater and tried not to think about how her Mum would make her freshly squeezed orange juice when she was sick.
The last time she and Harry had a full meal had been days ago. Maybe when they got out of their hidden camp in the woods they would be able to sneak into another Muggle supermarket. It was getting more dangerous out there though and after their close encounter in Godric's Hollow, Hermione was glad to be hidden deep in the dark woods where no one in their right mind would think to look for them.
But the blackness of the night had turned against her. How was she supposed to find Harry in darkness like this? And without a wand to light her way?
"Harry," Hermione muttered, exasperated that he was making her trudge through the snow to find him. A large flake fell on her lashes and Hermione blinked quickly, making it fall to her cheek where it melted against the heat, leaving a cool kiss against her skin. She felt a rush to her head and wondered if her fever was rising.
A flurry blew up in front of her and Hermione shivered as white surrounded her, blurring her vision for a moment. Once it cleared, she saw faint footprints in the snow and jumped forward to follow them.
They led directly to the boundary of their protection spells.
And crossed over into the frozen forest.
"Harry!" Hermione called out into the black night in a scratchy, hoarse voice, but no one answered. She didn't expect him to; the wards she had placed around their campsite muffled any noise from within. She could scream at the top of her lungs and even if he was standing on the other side it would sound no louder than if she was talking calmly about her plans for the new year.
Not that they had any plans. They still didn't have the sword or any real clue as to where to look next. Finding Draco seemed just as impossible as the sword right now. After Harry had told her about the tower, she had been sure that if she could just speak to Draco again they could pick up right where they left off. He had tried to help Dumbledore after all, surely that meant that he had a change of heart?
But she had been so sure of that before too and the truth had broken her heart into so many pieces, she had no choice but to pile them up in the back of her mind and try to ignore the shattered, empty feeling losing Draco had left inside her.
And just for a moment tonight, that aching had gone away, when he had been back, even if it was just a dream. But it had felt so real. She guessed she had the fever to thank for that. Hermione shivered again, and this time it was not from the cold.
She waited at the barrier, rubbing her legs together and tucking her hands further under her arms against the cold before huffing out a breath of white air and boldly stepping through it. Her Gryffindor courage rose up in her and she tossed her head back, shaking her snow-covered curls out of her face as she quickly walked through the trees, glancing around for any sign of where Harry went. She knew it was risky, walking out here, but it was just the two of them now and what was she supposed to do? Stand there and wait when Harry might need her help out there?
He wasn't the kind of person to leave her behind.
She followed his tracks in the snow for a little while, but when thick evergreen trees surrounded her, the faint light from the stars above was blocked. She pushed her way through the snow laden branches, emerging on the other side to crisp, untrodden snow.
She had lost his trail.
"Fiddlesticks!" Hermione hissed and then coughed as the cold air hit her burning throat. She was about to turn and head back into the thicket when she heard something echo in the empty woods. A low, humming growl. Hermione spun around, trying to find where it came from, but she couldn't see far in the dark and after two and a half turns, all the trees around her started to look the same.
A familiar twisting feeling inside her tightened and Hermione tried to keep her cool like she used to in the Restricted Section when the stacks moved and changed, trying to confuse and trap her. She just had to stay calm and think logically and she would be able to find her way back; her way out.
Before she herself was found.
Hermione backed up as slowly as she could, hearing the snow crunch under her shoes much louder than it seemed to just a moment ago. Her whole body tensed with each step. She was out here, alone, and without a wand. But she wasn't too far from the protective wards. If she could just get back to them and behind them, she would be hidden.
What in Godric's name possessed her to come out here on her own?! If Draco was still in her head, he would be snapping at her, shouting at her. Then he would tell her in that deep, commanding voice to get back in the dark trees, away from whoever was out here, and keep her calm as she searched for the trail back to the tent.
But Draco wasn't here and she was on her own.
Hermione cautiously lowered her arms to her sides, getting ready to run if she needed to and carefully turned towards the cluster of dark trees she had emerged from.
Right before she headed back in their direction, she saw someone walking out of them. A large man, with a fur lined coat and shaggy brown hair. He breathed in deeply, running his hands over the branches she had pushed her way through and bringing his fingers up to his nose.
Hermione froze, snow falling softly around her. He hadn't seen her yet. She didn't even dare to breathe in case the movement of the puff of air caused him to look in her direction. But she had to do something. She couldn't just stand here and wait for him to find her. She had no way to defend herself and he was blocking her way back. There was only one option left to her.
Run.
She knew she couldn't outrun him or outflank him in her current state and get back to camp, but she might be able to get to Harry. This person, or people more likely, were probably after him too and she and Harry had to stay together if they wanted any chance of getting through this. She needed Harry and Harry needed her. All they had now was each other and she wasn't letting someone else she loved go; Harry was all she had left.
Hermione turned and ran in hopes she could find Harry before they did.
It was as if her dream had come to life in the most horrible, terrifying way. She was running through the forest, branches tearing at her sweater, snow slowing her down, but she didn't let any of this stop her from pushing on. The air was colder than in her dream, freezing and ripping at her tender throat as she choked it down in heaving, gasping gulps.
It was dark, so dark, and trees seemed to jump out in front of her. Hermione was barely able to avoid them as she plunged into the blackness. She slipped on an icy patch, and threw out her hands, slamming them into the trunk of a tree, slipping against the snow on it and scraping her cheek. The jolt of her collision rocked up her arms, leaving them weak as she pushed herself back up. Scrambling, Hermione felt her ankle twist and cried out, clamping her hand over her mouth to stop the noise.
It was too late.
Voices drifted through the chilled air and Hermione hurriedly tested out her ankle. It was painful, but not unbearably so. Hermione took a deep breath of chilly air, feeling it burn in her lungs. She could keep going. Her pride would carry her on; she wasn't the kind to give up this easily.
Hermione knew what would happen if Snatchers caught her. If they brought her to Umbridge, she was sure to be recognized and handed over to the Death Eaters. They would torture her for information on Harry and if Lord Voldemort found out they here hunting horcruxes, everything they had worked for would be for nothing. The months on the run, the failure of her friendship with Ron, taking her parents' memories, and all the heartache she had suffered through… she wasn't going to let everything she had given up be taken from her now.
The trees looked thinner up ahead and appeared to open up into a clearing. Hermione glanced behind her, unable to see anything in the darkness, then turned back, trying to judge the opening ahead. It was a pond, covered in ice. She squinted, seeing that the ice was already broken. There was no way she would be able to get around the whole pond before they caught up to her, and since the ice was broken, she couldn't risk running across. Hermione turned, heading farther into the woods.
The trees were thicker here and Hermione could feel her feet sinking into the snow, hitting the frozen ground underneath with each hurried step. It was hard to breathe and she swallowed down icy breaths, ripping into the her sore throat as she wiped water drops from melted snow off her burning cheeks. Her ankle was starting to shoot pain up her leg and she felt herself unintentionally slowing.
No no no! There was someone on her left, coming towards her so Hermione made a sharp turn, grabbing onto a tree to steady her footing as she gingerly placed weight on her twisted ankle, trying to hurry. Her head spun with the quick movement and Hermione stifled a cough in her chest. It seemed her sudden change in direction had fooled her pursuer, but she knew it wouldn't be long before they caught up to her at her current speed. She was breathing hard; chest burning with the frozen air in her lungs and pain racing up her leg, making her gait uneven.
It was when she put all her weight onto her uninjured leg that she felt herself slip. There was ice under the snow, a hidden puddle among the twisted, knotted roots of the trees. Hermione fell face first down to the forest floor. Her hand sank through the snow, hitting the frozen ground, but not fast enough to keep her head from bouncing off one of the exposed roots.
A deep pain rushed over her head and the little bit of breath she still had was knocked from her chest as the rest of her body came crashing down. Oh God, everything hurt. It felt like the roots and rocks on the frozen ground had found every bone in her body and slammed against them while her tired muscles ached from the inside out. The trees swirled around her and Hermione's head began to throb with each quick beat of her heart.
She pulled herself up using the tree and rested heavily against it. She couldn't run anymore. She couldn't even breathe right or see straight right now. There was no way that she would be able to find Harry like this. And even if she did, she might be leading these Snatchers right to him. If she could hide, maybe they would pass her by. Maybe she'd be able to limp back to the tent and maybe Harry would already be back by then. Good Godric, why did she come out here without her wand?!
Hermione leaned back against the tree and let it prop her up. At least if she was taken, Harry still had a way to fight. He had the locket too. He could keep going; maybe find someone like Remus and enlist his help. She doubted Ron would be back anytime soon. Ron… were the last words he ever said to her really going to be those?
Her throat felt tight and torn from the cold air and she reached up and touched her face, feeling the bump already growing on her dampened forehead. It felt warm and swollen under her cold fingers and Hermione winced before pulling them away. She tried to make herself as small as possible, pressing hard against the bark of the tree and feeling the cold snow against her back.
Hermione couldn't hear anything but the labored sounds of her own breathing and she fought to keep it under control. As she took larger gulps of air, holding back from coughing and her vision seemed to clear a little, not that there was much to see in the darkened woods apart from the ethereal glow of the snow in starlight and the thick clusters of snowflakes falling down from the trees overhead.
Hermione's eyes widened, trying to catch a glimpse of anything in the darkness. Nothing, just empty blackness that seemed to be looming closer with each shiver of her body.
Then something moved. The snow moved.
Hermione blinked, the flakes on her lashes falling as she focused on the spot of movement. Was she delirious? Snow didn't move, not like that.
No... it wasn't the snow that was moving, it was the darkness itself.
A sharp gasp escaped her as she recognized a familiar sight. A large black boot landed on the soft snow, sinking down heavily into it. Then another. Again and again, with long strides separating the footfalls. Hermione's heart skipped a few beats her lungs seized. Her entire body turned as still as the tree she was hiding against.
A figure appeared, dressed in black, looking even darker than the forest around him. The only thing that made him stand out was the cold, metal mask covering his face.
She was dreaming. She had to be. This was just a nightmare, a fever dream, she told herself, nothing more. He wasn't… it couldn't be…
The Death Eater moved closer. He was tall and, even under the thick black cloak, she could see the outline of broad shoulders and long arms. Arms she knew held strength and power in them. Hermione's legs began to give out and she pressed her body harder into the tree, hoping it would keep her upright.
He was advancing steadily towards her, but she couldn't move and a deep chill ran down the length of her body, setting off another round of shivers. She was frozen, trapped in the gleaming silver gaze from inside the mask. A thin puff of air escaped from under it and Hermione heard a sharp intake of breath.
"I told you I'd come for you, but…" Oh God, she knew that voice. That deep, commanding voice. The Death Eater was only feet in front of her, pulling out his wand from under his robes. "You came to me, didn't you?"
Hermione's heart was beating so hard, she could feel her pulse pushing against the strained skin of her neck. A drop of sweat ran down over it, pooling in the dip of her throat. Her body was shaking, shivering, and she was worried that the movement made it look like she was nodding her head.
He brought his wand up and waved it in front of his face, making the mask slide away into a wisp of thin air and oh God! Hermione felt like she was floating or falling or something, anything. But not this. This did not seem real. Not… him. But there was no denying the face she had pictured so many times in the darkness of her mind, now emerging and clearly looking down at her.
She was delirious. She was hallucinating. But she had been imaging him for months and he had never looked this… real. Her eyes widened as she did her best to focus on the features that looked like they had been carved from marble.
Hermione watched the lips turn up in a small smirk, watched the brows ease a little as he took another step closer to her, and stared into the silver eyes she could never forget, shining down at her, brighter than any star in the dark sky overhead.
"That's my girl."
.