Chapter Two

Hidden Hearts

Stone walls and steepled towers rose, so dark he could barely see more than the building's outline as first, against the backdrop of tall, gnarled trees with twisted branches. Harry approached the structure cautiously, swallowing hard as he once more shifted Hermione's unconscious form in his arms. The black, crumbling manor stood in—by Harry's estimation, given how very long he'd walked—what was likely the very heart of the Forbidden Forest.

In fact, the vines and roots erupting from the base of the manor gave him the unsettling impression that the building was the heart of the Forest. He had the feeling that no one knew this was here; not even Dumbledore, who possessed seemingly infinite knowledge of Hogwart's secrets.

As he watched the ball of light bob ahead of them, so close to the wall that its illumination reflected dully off the pocked stone, he couldn't help but wonder when the last time was that someone had stumbled upon this place. If not for the death or departure of so many of the Forest's denizens, he doubted he—or Draco, assuming he really was here—would have made it far enough in to discover the large, if decrepit, dwelling.

Now that he had a moment to reflect, he considered it a wonder Fenrir managed to find a unicorn to slaughter. Poor creature might've been the last one in the Forbidden Forest, for all anyone knew, though Harry highly doubted that such a thought would've stayed the werewolf's hand.

"I suppose things could always be worse," he muttered to Hermione, comforted by the fact that he could still feel her breathing against him, as he shook his head. "He could've been hiding out in a cave, or something."

The orb appeared to be waiting for him and he forced himself to walk toward it. As he moved, the ball of light drifted around a corner of the structure. He paused, listening for anything which might be lurking, only to once more be unnerved by the endless silence of the dark woods surrounding them.

He kept his wand at the ready, still. His entire arm ached and trembled with the tension, but he held tight; he couldn't drop his guard and couldn't slacken his hold on Hermione.

Grand, cracked stonework steps came into view as he rounded another corner. The orb hovered, again seeming to await him patiently, before it zipped upward. His gaze trailed it to a second story window from which he thought he spied a flickering light . . . probably candles?

But then the orb jetted inside and Harry held his breath, stifling a pained groan as he shifted Hermione's body to point his wand at the window.

There was a quick popping sound—like the filament of a bulb bursting—followed by the candlelight going out. In the sudden darkness, Harry could just make out the point of a wand emerging from the window.

He thought, or perhaps hoped, that he saw a glint of silvery-blonde hair amongst the shadows. Harry decided to take the risk; if he waited any longer his arms would give out and he'd drop Hermione.

"Lumos." As he said the word, he kept his gaze trained on the window.

". . . Potter?"

Harry heard his name a moment before Draco Malfoy poked his head out.

Grey eyes darted over them, but Harry couldn't help observing that Draco seemed to give a start when he realized who Harry was carrying. Harry had intentionally covered her face with her hair, hiding the stain of silver on her mouth, but he knew the long, bushy brown locks would be recognizable to anyone who'd ever met the girl.

"Merlin's beard, what happened?"

"Can we discuss that when we're inside? Get down here and help me before my arms give out!"

Though he thought he saw Draco roll his eyes, the other young man disappeared from the window. A moment later, he appeared at the yawning double-doors atop the steps.

He descended slowly, holding his arms out, his expression wary as though he expected she'd awaken any moment and hit him with a curse.

As Draco drew closer, Harry noticed he looked as terrible as they probably did—skin ashen, eyes sunken. He gingerly handed her over, watchfully eyeing Malfoy as he did so.

Harry's arms dropped to his sides and he let out a grunt at the responding pain that shot through his limbs.

"What was that?" Draco asked as he turned and led Harry back up the steps. "How did you find me?"

After a moment of silently trailing through the depressingly broken building, Harry finally muttered, "A trick Dumbledore left us. How'd you find this place? Did you know this was here?"

As he preceded Harry up twisting staircase, Draco shook his head. "No, I . . . I just ran."

"You ran," Harry echoed bitterly. "Of course you did, this is you."

"No, I mean yes, just . . . not like that. I was fighting, right beside Longbottom, if you can believe that. But then . . ." he halted at the landing, glancing over his shoulder at Harry. "But then you killed Voldemort and nothing changed. The fighting kept on, and we were losing."

He faced forward, again, the sound of him forcing a gulp down his throat practically bouncing off the walls. "We were losing—everyone was dying—so I ran. And I didn't stop, not until I found myself here."

The room he led Harry into wasn't anything like what Harry'd been imaging. Everything was clean, shiny and brand-new looking, probably medieval in décor, but shiny and new in appearance nonetheless.

Draco delicately set Hermione on the bed, all but jumping back from her.

"Nox," Harry whispered, the illumination from his wand no longer necessary as Draco lit candles set into a holder upon a nearby dressing table. "Bloody hell, Malfoy. Had time for spring cleaning, did you?"

Draco furrowed his brow as he glanced around. "Of course not, I used magic. Didn't expect me to stay in such unlivable conditions, did you?"

Now Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course not," he repeated.

"Everyone else is dead, aren't they?"

Harry gave a mirthless laugh as he lowered himself to sit beside Hermione. "Dead, hiding, or following your father."

"My father?"

"Oh, were you not aware that he'd jump at the chance to seize control?"

Draco held up a hand, shaking his head as though he didn't understand. "My father took over?"

"After the dust settled, yes. It was the first thing he did. And after your mother . . . ." Harry paused. He knew that telling Draco what had really happened might, instead, send him running back to his parents, looking to reclaim his position as the revered Malfoy heir, but Harry needed to know, sooner rather than later, if he was going to have to seek aid for Hermione on his own.

"After your mother told him you were dead."

"She said—"

"Yes."

What little color was left in Draco's face drained, but he only nodded. "Why did you come looking for me, then?"

Harry's eyes narrowed as he met Malfoy's gaze. "You're not going back to them?"

"I've learned a few things about myself during all this, Potter. First and foremost," he scowled, looking away, "I'm no killer. I'm hardly a good person, but I don't have it in me to kill someone. If I go back, that's exactly what they'll make me become."

"That's why I came to find you," Harry mumbled, thoughtfully. "We need your help."

"For what? We've lost already, haven't we?"

Sighing heavily, Harry closed his eyes for a long moment before opening them again and leaning over Hermione to sweep her away from her face. "For this."

Draco cautiously leaned over, his jaw dropping at the sight of silver on her lips. "Is that . . . ?"

"Unicorn blood, yes."

As Harry watched Draco's face, he realized he'd taken exactly the right approach. His observations about the other boy had not been mistaken.

"How did this happen? Granger would never have—"

"Of course she didn't do this to herself! It was your buddy Greyback; I think he was trying to torture her, or something." Harry frowned darkly, shifting his gaze to look out the window. "Ron and Ginny are gone, and Hermione is cursed to a half-life."

"I'm sorry, you're expecting me to help you do what, exactly?"

Resting his elbows on his knees, Harry clasped his hands in front of him. "We're going to figure out how to break her curse."

"We're . . . oh, you have lost it, haven't you?" Draco paced anxiously as he spoke, "In case you've forgotten, the only cure for her condition is an elixir created by use of the Sorcerer's Stone. A stone which, by the way, your buddy Dumbledore saw destroyed six years ago."

"There's got to be a way, and between you and me, we're going to be able to figure something out, I know we are."

"You realize what you're asking?" Draco sat down heavily on the other side of Hermione, pressing a fist to his mouth for a long moment before saying anything more. "If there is a way, how are we going to find it, hmm? You said it yourself, anyone else you could've turned to is dead or hiding or . . . lost. We'd be risking our lives just trying to 'figure something out'. After everything I've done to survive, what makes you think I'm willing to do that?"

Harry glanced pointedly at Hermione's face before returning his attention to Malfoy. "Because you owe us that much. And because you're not as subtle as you think."

Draco's posture stiffened, making the lanky young man appear taller as he stared back at Harry. "I'm not sure I know what you mean, Potter."

Even with all that had happened, with all they'd lost, and all they'd lived through, Harry couldn't help but simply laugh. "She's my best friend, you're one of my worst enemies. You really think I wouldn't notice how your face changed whenever you looked at her? You act like you hate her, but you couldn't watch Bellatrix torture her. I saw where you were when Ron and I came in to save her. You were in a corner, with your head down. Your mother was comforting you!" Leaning back, Harry covered his mouth with his hand as he rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling—how had he not realized this sooner? The signs were there, but he'd been so distracted troubling himself over the bigger picture that he'd just not noticed. "It shouldn't have bothered you if you loathed her as much as you had everyone believe, or, at least shouldn't have bothered you so much that you needed comfort."

His gaze darting about, looking everywhere but at Hermione, Harry observed, Draco shrugged. "Maybe I'm just not the sort that can watch something like that."

"Maybe you're right. So I suppose it wouldn't matter to you that as much as she seemed to hate you, she was the one who noticed stress taking a toll on you when you were restoring the vanishing cabinet last year." Harry paused, his expression clouding over as he considered what he was saying, as he considered something he'd never have paid mind to, if not for circumstance forcing him to think on it. "She said you'd looked pale and like you were sick, and I didn't listen. Did you know I was down below when Snape killed Dumbledore? I heard everything."

Draco met Harry's gaze, but remained silent.

"And I told her. Do you know what she asked me? She asked me if I thought you could've done it. If you would have been able to kill Dumbledore if Snape hadn't stepped in." Harry's eyes drifted closed for a brief moment. "Never occurred to me to wonder why she'd even ask that."

"Why are you telling me this, Potter?"

Harry reached over, gently lacing his fingers through Hermione's. "Look, if you won't do it to repay us for saving your life, then maybe, just maybe you'll do it because she needs this."

Malfoy's shoulders drooped. "Fine, fine. I'll help. But Granger's never to know we had this conversation."

Standing, Harry rolled his head on his aching neck. "Why not? I mean, don't you someday want to find out from her why she wanted to know if you were capable of taking someone's life?"

Draco didn't respond to that, only watching Harry walk toward the door. "Where are you going?"

"A safe distance from here to see if I can summon my house elf, Kreacher. We might be here a while, we're going to need supplies, and maybe to get messages to anyone who's hiding."

"Right, then you might want to take this," hunching over to reach beneath the bed, Draco extracted a strikingly familiar bundle of fabric.

Eyes wide in a mix of irritation and astonishment, Harry snatched the cloak from his hands. "You stole my invisibility cloak?"

"How else do you think no one saw me as I got away?"

"Unbelievable," Harry muttered unhappily as he put the cloak around his shoulders. "Just take care of her while I'm gone."

For several long, painfully silent and drawn out moments after Potter left, Draco simply watched her. This entire scenario was ridiculous. There was no way to help her. Well, there might be, but he wasn't certain they'd be able to manage.

"You're a mess," he said quietly, sternly avoiding thinking on the tear streaks that cut the dirt smudges on her cheeks.

He flicked his wand at the basin on the bedside table, "Aguamenti." Glancing around the room, he spotted a wash cloth and guided it to his hand. "If anyone ever saw this . . ." he grumbled as he dipped the cloth into the water and set to delicately wiping her face clean. He was especially gentle in rubbing the stains of silver from her lips.

"Thank you," her voice was thin, barely audible, but gave him a start nonetheless.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he put the cloth on the table. "You're finally awake. Listen, Granger, you should probably hear this from Potter, but Weasley . . . " he let his voice trail off as she gave a small shake of her head.

"I was too weak to even talk until just now, but I've been awake this entire time."

A dull knot of dread twisted in the pit of Draco's stomach. "So you heard everything?"

Her closed eyelids fluttered, but did not open. "Everything."

"You're awake!" Harry's words cut through the room.

Only as Potter bolted across the room to her bedside did Draco become aware that he'd leaned close to Hermione—too close—and he immediately bolted upright.

"She's been awake," he informed Harry in a low voice.

Harry gave a slow, pained blink of his eyes as he grasped her hand between both of his and pressed the backs of her fingers to his cheek. "Then you heard what I said about Ron?"

She nodded.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. I couldn't save him. I tried, but I couldn't."

A bitter smile played on her lips. "It's okay, Harry. None of what's happened was your fault."

"It's okay?" Harry sat up straight, looking into her face doubtfully. "Hermione, nothing is okay, you and Ron were—"

"Maybe it's the unicorn blood," Malfoy interrupted, uncertain. "Half-life and all that? We don't really know what that does to someone."

"No," she said quietly. "Well, yes, but . . . that's not what I mean. I understand everything, and it hurts. But the blood tempers it . . . like a kissed wound."

Draco furrowed his brow. "What is she talking about?"

Harry shrugged. "Um . . . ."

Hermione sighed, the tremor in her voice the only sign of her pain. "Muggle convention, but given Harry's upbringing, I'm not surprised he's not familiar enough to explain it. When a child gets injured, a loved one kisses the wound to take the pain away."

"And that works?" Malfoy's words were heavy with disbelief.

"Of course not," she whispered, laughing softly. "But . . . that's not really the point. It soothes the child, makes them feel better even though the pain is still there. That's how I feel right now. It hurts so much—knowing what happened, knowing I wasn't there to do anything about it—but I think the blood must be cushioning wound."

The boys exchanged another glance, albeit a bewildered one, this time.

"Did Kreacher come?"

Harry cleared his throat, forcing a sniffle as he tightened his grip on her hand. "Yes. He's bringing food and clothes, and then he's going to go to all the Order's safe houses to look for survivors. I think it's best we don't decide anything further until we hear news."

Hermione's other hand was groping along the bed. "That's so strange, I can't feel anything other than you."

Biting his lip, Harry again stroked her fingers against his cheek. "What do you mean?"

"There's a pressure that tells me I'm touching something, yet I don't have the actual sensation of touch, but I can feel your skin on mine."

Her searching hand landed on Malfoy's. The startled look on his face caused Harry to think it a grand feat that the other young man didn't jump away from her.

"Draco," her voice was soft, still, as she said his name, her fingers tugged at his. He made a show of impatiently rolling his eyes as he let her take his hand. "I can feel you, too."

"So," Harry began, his voice low with anger, suddenly wishing he'd done more to Greyback than just feed him unicorn blood. "This part of the half-life, too?"

"I think so," Draco replied, unable to do anything more for a moment than stare at her hand on his.

Nodding stiffly, Harry pressed a kiss to Hermione's forehead. "I'm going to search this place, see if there's anything that might be useful. You rest."

He relinquished her hand and stood. As he reached the door, Draco's voice stopped him, "Potter!" He turned back to see Malfoy leaning over Hermione, his free hand cupping her cheek.

"You're overreacting," she whispered as Harry rushed back to her side. "I'm fine."

"Look at her eyes," Draco murmured, as though she'd not spoken.

Harry's jaw dropped as his gaze met Hermione's. She only offered an exasperated frown as she looked from him, to Malfoy and back again. Hermione's Granger's eyes—the rich, brown eyes of the girl he'd known since his first day at Hogwart's—were silver. The curse had marked her for anyone to see.