Chapter Five

Practical Thinking

Harry frowned as he neared the edge of the Forest. The edifice appeared as he last remembered it . . . before the battle had torn out whole sections of wall and gutted the landscape with craters, of course. But that somehow only made the memories of what had transpired—and the pain that accompanied them—sharper. Shaking his head, he forced a sniffle and pulled the cloak tight around him.

He crept out of hiding, eyeing the wizards and witches traipsing about outside the main gate. The sight of such dark-hearted beings acting like carefree children disturbed him, twisting his stomach in knots as he inched forward.

Harry kept his wand at the ready beneath the folds of the cloak, just in case. He didn't trust that a stray wind wouldn't lift a corner of the fabric at the wrong moment and show disembodied legs wandering toward the castle.

Pausing, he forced a gulp, his eyes drifting closed. He'd faced Voldemort and he hadn't been as nerve-wracked as he was in this moment. He reminded himself, however, that defeating the Dark Lord had been a matter of both destiny and necessity.

And everything he'd fought for was lost, now.

Almost everything, he reminded himself. He still had Hermione, and she still needed a cure. And she was the only thing the war hadn't torn away from him.

He nodded to himself and opened his eyes; that was the source of his fear. If he failed Hermione, none of them knew what would become of her.

"C'mon, Harry, you can do this," he whispered under his breath as he neared the entrance.

He took pains to soften his footfalls as he passed reveling Death Eaters—a single misplaced sound during a random patch of quiet might be enough to get him caught. Squaring his shoulders, he steeled his resolve as he reminded himself that all he needed was the get past the entrance of the Great Hall, and he could bolt for the library, and from there, the headmaster's office.

His heart hammered against his ribs, and every noise he made echoed harshly in his ears beneath the sounds and chatter of the dark wizards around him. He kept his gaze trained ahead of him, warily monitoring his periphery so he didn't stumble, or collide with anyone.

As he eased into the castle's massive foyer, he stopped short of breathing a sigh of relief. He couldn't allow himself lulled into a false sense of security.

Tightening his grip on his wand—so much that his knuckles turned white—Harry held his breath and crossed the open threshold of the Great Hall.

Yet his curiosity got the better of him. He couldn't help turning his head to peer into the spacious chamber. The sight that greeted him made him stop in his tracks.

Lucius Malfoy sat, looking disturbingly regal—as though his fall from grace had never happened—in Dumbledore's chair.

Harry's jaw clenched, green eyes narrowing. A searing anger twisted though his gut, and it took everything in him not to stalk into the Great Hall and curse the man.

For a few, agonizing heartbeats, Harry stood, his feet glued to the floor as he glared, unblinking. By snatching the leadership left unclaimed in the wake of Voldemort's death, Lucius Malfoy became the embodiment of everything and everyone he'd lost.

And yet . . . .

The very thing that filled him with such blinding rage his limbs trembled, was also exactly what reminded him why he was here. If he didn't move, now, he might be discovered and then he risked losing the only thing he had left.

As he tore his gaze from Lucius—in some hushed conversation with Narcissa—his attention skirted the floor before the dais. Harry's heart fell into his stomach and his spine stiffened as he realized what that mass of battered flesh and tattered, bloodied cloth was.

"Kreacher," he mouthed the name, a bit of hope leeching from him. "I'm so sorry."

Without the house elf's aid, they were cut off from any allies who might be in hiding. They were truly on their own, now.

Sealing himself against the doorframe, he glanced about, searching for a way to save his servant. But as his gaze fell to the small figure once more, Harry realized Kreacher wasn't moving. . . . Wasn't breathing.

Biting his lip hard, Harry shook his head. Kreacher may have been a miserable old codger of a thing, but he didn't deserve whatever the Death Eaters had done to him.

Their only chance at survival now was to escape the grounds entirely. He needed to return to Hermione and Malfoy, and apparrate as far from Hogwarts as Hermione's afflicted system could handle.

But not empty-handed, if he could help it.

Harry turned, securing his cloak around him as he bolted toward the library.

Draco bounced up to his feet and paced, wiping a hand down his face. His legs ached from crouching, and Granger hadn't stirred at all. He wasn't even certain how long they'd been there.

Every moment that ticked by was another moment that left him convinced Fenrir would tear through the cave's entrance any second, now. That gnawing sense of impending dread was enough, on its own, to stretch each heartbeat into an eternity.

He jumped at a shuffling sound behind him, whirling on his heel with his wand raised to strike.

Granger shifted against the cave wall, murmuring something.

Heaving a sigh of relief, he stepped back to her. "Merlin's beard, Granger," he said, a nervous chuckle coloring his words.

She didn't appear to hear him, only shifting once more as she went on murmuring.

A worried frown gracing his lips, Draco sat on his heels before her. He lowered his head, bringing his ear close to her mouth.

"Never again shall we forget."

Brow furrowing, he leaned closer, still, certain he misheard her. Yet she repeated those same five words, over and over, like she was chanting.

Something about the whispered sentence chilled him and he straightened up. But then, she'd said being out of contact left her numb. Perhaps that loss of sensation had brought on some bizarre dream?

"Granger?"

When she simply continued on, muttering as she slumbered, he reached out—against his better judgment—and cupped her cheek.

Hermione shuddered, gasping as her eyes snapped open. Instantly she brought her hands up, her fingers locking around Draco's wrist.

"I'm . . . sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you," he whispered, fearful that raising his voice might cause an echo through the cave that would alert one very angry and territorial werewolf to their location.

She seemed to understand his urgency, replying in an equally low voice as she caught her breath, "You didn't. I just—I just forgot for a moment."

Grey eyes rolled fractionally at that. What in all that had happened the last three days could she possibly not remember? "Forgot what?"

She smiled sadly, her expression pained as though she was embarrassed. "Touch," she said, lowering her head and clearing her throat. "I . . . forgot what the sense of touch felt like."

His shoulders drooped as he shook his head. "Granger, listen . . . ."

She lifted her gaze to watch his lips. She could see that he was still speaking, could hear the whispered words, but the syllables were all jumbled and tangled as they met her ears.

He was so close . . . her mind was fuzzy, and she couldn't understand his nearness, but he somehow seemed far, at the same time. His grey eyes flicked back and forth minutely to search hers as he spoke, and she could feel the breath of his words brush over her lips, yet she knew she could only feel that because he was holding her. That acknowledgement made her suddenly and acutely aware of his skin pressing to hers.

Perhaps if she touched him more, she would feel more?

Draco frowned again. He'd explained everything, reminding her of their escape from the Forest manor, describing her ever-so-helpful fainting spell that caused her to be utterly useless for an indeterminate period of time, and their need to find a way to reach Potter. Yet she only blinked up at him, those silver eyes hazy as she tilted her head and held his gaze.

"Granger! Have you understood a thing I've said? We need—"

Hermione lurched forward in his grasp, pressing her mouth to his.

Draco was so caught off-guard by the movement that he toppled backward, with Hermione still on him. He gently nudged her jaw, pushing her face back enough to meet her gaze. "What, um, what are you doing?"

She braced her palms against his shoulders, reluctant to move as she shook her head. "I'm . . . I'm not sure, exactly. I had a hunch, and . . . thought I would try something."

His dark eyebrows shot up into his pale, mussed hair. "You kissed me because of a hunch?"

She tipped her head to one side, his hand cupping her face, still. They were both painfully aware that her continued lucidity was due to their uninterrupted skin-to-skin contact.

Given that mutual understanding, Hermione didn't feel the need to put her aforementioned hunch into words. "That was hardly a kiss."

Her face was so close, and they was she was pressed to him . . . . Draco forced a gulp, feeling his cheeks warm. Was she suggesting . . . ? "I don't know what's going through your head, but this is hardly the time or place for this."

She tilted her head lower, so that the tips of their noses nearly touched. "As I understand it, I will probably continue to dwindle, and eventually die if we can't find a cure. Harry might be caught by Death Eaters and actually killed this time, and you might be torn to shreds by a werewolf who'd gladly use your bones to pick his teeth just because you're in his way. There might never be a time and place for this."

Draco could feel her breath on his lips. Was she actually making an argument for snogging in the middle of running for their lives? However . . . . "That's a strangely pragmatic sentiment."

"I can be a strangely pragmatic person." Hermione swallowed hard, frowning as she darted her gaze away from his for only the briefest moment. "Especially now. All that we've lost . . . sort of throws the only things we have left into sharp relief, don't you think?"

His brow furrowed as he watched her expression. "You think of me as something you have left?"

"Well," she said, her voice softer than even the rest of their hushed conversation, "aren't you?"

As he was about to answer, she leaned into him, once more pressing her mouth to his. Before he realized what he was doing, he slid his hand from her chin into her hair. He tipped her head to one side and parted her lips with his tongue.

Hermione felt a bloom of warmth and sensation at his entry, kissing him back eagerly. For a breathtaking moment, she thought she could feel every centimeter of her skin again.

She shifted against Draco, holding more tightly to him as she caressed his tongue with her own. All the while, the back of her mind worked to untangle his whispered words from a few minutes earlier.

They needed to get to Harry, Harry was in Hogwarts . . . they were in a cave that led under the forest floor. Perhaps this cave wasn't a cave at all. In fact, if she was judging correctly, then opposite direction of the cave's entrance led toward Hogwarts.

Breaking the kiss, she asked as she caught her breath, "How far have you gone?"

Draco's jaw fell slack as he stared up at her. Did she have any idea what she'd just said? "What?"

Her brow furrowed. "Into this cave. Are you sure it's just a cave? Could it be a tunnel?"

Though he'd not realized he'd tensed at her initial—poorly worded—question, he was acutely aware of his body relaxing beneath hers. "Merlin's beard, Granger. I—I don't know. I suppose."

She slid one hand up, cover his and tugged it from her hair to interlace their fingers. "C'mon," she said as she scrambled to her feet, pulling him with her to stand. "We should go see where this leads."

He frowned, still a bit disoriented from that unexpected moment, but brought his wand up, illuminating the tip and holding it out for her. "It could be a dead end, and then Fenrir could catch up before we manage to get back out. I'll die, you'll get turned into a werewolf."

Hermione replied without glancing back at him as they walked, "You really are a pessimist."

"You're right," Draco said with a deliberately exaggerated cheerfulness, "he could just decide to bite us, both! He's probably looking to make more of his kind, anyway."

"That's not what I mean." She tugged his arm forward a bit more, to clasp her free hand around their entwined fingers. "I have a hunch—"

"Another one?"

Silver eyes rolled. "I think this might actually lead to Hogwarts . . . or at least near enough that we can sneak in. We know where in Hogwarts Harry is going, we might be able to intercept him." Her voice dulled as she added, "If he tries to return to the manor, he might run right into Fenrir."

Draco couldn't help but notice how her steps slowed for a moment as she said that. His lips still tingled from her kiss, and there was an unpleasant twisting sensation in his gut as he realized something. "It could have just as easily been Potter, couldn't it?"

Hermione halted mid-step and turned to face him. "What are you talking about?"

Scowling, he lifted their connected hands. "This. That kiss was just because you can feel me, wasn't it?"

She shifted, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. "Well, yes, but that wasn't all. I just thought that—"

"So if it was Potter here with you instead of me, you'd have kissed him."

Her brow furrowed, should couldn't understand why he was getting short with her. Perhaps that was the blood's affect on her ability to comprehend emotion rearing its ugly head, once more. Once, she would have automatically responded that Harry was her best friend—like a brother to her—but at the moment, she wasn't so certain how she felt toward him.

"I . . . I suppose, maybe, but I just—"

"You know what? Never mind." He shook his head, recognizing that he was being ridiculous. He had no ownership over her, nor could he comprehend the bond those two had, and this mess with the unicorn blood was the worst unknown variable imaginable. Maybe thinking she could see him any differently after everything that had gone on was pure and simple foolishness on his part. Granger was brave, Potter was brave . . . and he was an admitted coward.

He didn't fit.

"You don't owe me any explanations, Granger, let's just go."

Hermione's face fell as she watched him take the lead. Holding his hand between both of hers, still, she waited until his forward motion tugged her into step behind him. The hope that this path would bring them to Harry distracted from the strange tugging in her chest at the idea that she'd just hurt Malfoy. And the strange tugging in her chest at the idea that she'd just hurt Malfoy distracted from the hope that this path would bring them to Harry.

She realized she didn't know what she felt about anything. For a terrifying moment, she questioned if that might mean that she didn't feel anything at all.