I personally felt unsure about the last chapter, apart from the Seamus stuff because that I had already planned, but I thank you for your enthusiastic response. I'm beyond flattered, guys, by all your support. It's tremendously overwhelming because this story is just one amongst so many! I'm sure if you liked the last chapter, this one should be just as good (at least I liked the way it ended up). As always, adult themes ahead. I also wanted to make mention here that this week starts a change in my work schedule (I was promoted) and so if you notice my posting slow down, it's just because I need to readjust to my new life. I still plan on working on this, but I just need to figure out how it's going to work with more work hours, a different shift, and different responsibilities. Plus I'm working on a prompt for the InterFest on Live Journal, which should be up soon, but it takes away from this story a bit too. Anyway, on with the good bits, yes?

LCailan

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

She knew that the world was different now. Each day, Hermione had been reminded in small, strange ways. But this, the fact that this man – Draco Malfoy – was weeping in her arms, seemed the starkest reminder of how everything in life had changed. Never had there been a stranger sound than his choked sobs, and the way he muttered her name, both soft and roughened on his parted lips. Never had she felt the strange feeling of having him against her, the hard, unclothed parts of him against her nude softness. And, in all her life, an apology had never seemed so sincere, and, at the same time so uncertain and terrified.

Though she struggled against feeling sympathy, Hermione felt tears brimming in her eyes, and the soft murmuring of her whispers filled the silence in the room. Gone was his sudden bout of violent rage, the fury with which he had handled her, his near violation of her. He was limp against her, his hands clasped around her neck, not tightly but not loosely, and she felt their heaviness along her nape, winding the curls of her loose hair around his fingers.

She let him cry, knowing how sometimes, that was all one could offer – a shoulder to weep on. At least, she decided, this could be the knowledge that even though the feeling of loneliness reigned supreme, the touch of another could be a faint reminder that all was not lost.

Hermione was unsure of how long he cried, sitting that way against her, but soon enough he stopped trembling, and his hands unwound themselves from her and he sat back. It was too dark to see his face, and maybe, that was part of the reason why he had been able to lose himself in tears. But Hermione was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to see his face.

"The lights?" she whispered tenderly, reaching over him towards the small lamp that was standing on a wooden table nearest his side of the bed.

It bathed the room in a warm, yellow glow and Hermione looked around at their opulent surroundings. Then, she looked at him, as he wiped the remnants of his tears away.

For a moment, the silence was heightened with tension, and then he groaned and fell back onto the pillows. Hermione was aware of his turmoil, for every inch of him seemed tense, but the woman in her responded to the fact that apart from the shirt he wore, the rest of his body was in plain view, and she couldn't help but look.

Blushing, she finally tore her eyes away from him, swallowing hard.

He offered no conversation, and she began to grow anxious. What next? What now? Would he back away, try to renegotiate on their agreement? What would happen to Lily? At the same time, a completely different part of her began to stir. Why had he stopped yet again? What did it mean? Why did she feel guilt over only worrying about her situation, when he was obviously battling with his own demons?

And why in Godric's name was she worried about a man she hated?

Because, you don't hate him the way you think you do.

The cold reality rose up from within, crushing her under its weight. She snuck a look at him, biting her bottom lip in consideration.

Though her heart was beating normally again, and the touch, the violation of his fingers was no more, still she felt him upon her, the way he had kissed her, his touches, his all consuming fire – all of it made Hermione dizzy. Never before had she felt such loathing, yet, such hunger for any other man. Never had she wanted a man's touch nearly as much as she feared it. Even if she told herself over and over that she didn't want him, why had her body betrayed her each and every time he was near?

It's maddening!

Confused, Hermione stared down at her hands, where the wedding ring that belonged to his wife still glittered upon her finger. Sighing, she removed it, and then turned her gaze up at him. He was already watching her, the look in his eyes unreadable. His gaze strayed from her face, along her body, and down to the ring she held in the palm of her hand. Something about his unabashed scrutiny made her blush and her body awaken.

"D-do you want it back?"

Hermione's first words were whispered and tentative, as if she wasn't sure what to say, or how to say it. She watched as he sat up, and sighed.

"I suppose I'll need it."

Malfoy's words were flat, without emotion, and she felt an overwhelming sense of sadness settle within her. She watched as he reached out quickly, snatching the ring from her hand and then settling against the pillows on the bed. His face was pale, even in the golden light of the lamp, and subtle signs that he had been crying were still evident there.

"Get dressed," he muttered, turning away from her. "We'll portkey back to the alienage."

The sadness swelled and grew as Hermione swallowed back tears. At some point she had imagined not going back to that alienage – at least for that night, anyway. She had thought she would spend the night with-

"Do you love Astoria?"

Hermione's question stopped him as he stood up on the other side of the bed, reaching for his discarded trousers.

"What kind of question is that, Granger?"

Hermione, he had called me Hermione.

She could hardly speak, wondering if that moment had even happened. Since the fall of the Ministry to Voldemort, she had not heard a sound more beautiful than her name on his lips.

Hermione, I'm sorry.

She knew that once she was back in the alienage, under the covers of her bed, shivering from the night's coldness, it would be that memory which would warm her.

"-what I said?"

His words were clearly tinged with irritation and the stirred Hermione out of her reverie.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"What I was saying is that…well, what do you think? You know what she's like. Do you think she's easy to love?"

Hermione wondered at the question for a moment, and then looked at him, reaching for the sheet in front of her to cover her body with.

"I don't know her," she replied solemnly. "I don't know her secrets, her fears, her desires. I don't know anything about her. She is your wife."

He stood in front of her, dressed only in unbuttoned trousers. He had removed his shirt to mend it quickly, and spoke without looking up.

"I don't know her fears, her secrets, or her dreams, Granger."

"If you loved her, then you'd know," she muttered, marveling at his indifference.

"I suppose then, you have your answer, don't you?"

Hermione looked away from him, a frown on her face. Yes, she supposed she did. She heard the sound of his footsteps for a second and then nothing. His voice, strained and quiet, broke the silence.

"So, I imagine you loved Weasley, then?"

She didn't miss the disdain in his voice.

"Of course I did," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. "I miss him everyday. I could never have married him otherwise! You have to love the person you-"

She hesitated, realizing what she had just said, and glanced at him, her mouth closing. She saw his sneer, though it faltered on his lips for a brief second.

"Well, then it's quite fortunate, isn't it Granger? That your life has been so perfect."

Once more, the contempt was clear in his voice and mannerisms.

"I figured that one pureblood was as good as any other," he continued, and Hermione found herself surprised that he would be so open. "Astoria was no worse than the other girls my father had arranged."

Hermione glanced down at the intricately embroidered comforter that lay between them, afraid to say more, though she found herself interested in what he had to say. A long silence fell upon them and finally, she sighed and stood to get dressed, wrapping the cotton sheet around her body tightly.

His next question stopped her in shock.

"What happened, you know, after the battle at Hogwarts?"

Hermione didn't turn, afraid that all the terror and pain she had felt that day would be painted upon her face. He had already seen her at her worst, after all.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"What happened?"

Irritation crept into his tone as he continued.

"Remember that day at the alienage, when Pansy went after James? You had the gall to call me a coward, Granger. I suppose from where you and the almighty golden duo were sitting, it may have looked like that. Had it never crossed your minds that I was just as frightened as you all were?"

She whirled on him, the fire of indignation burning in her eyes.

"You, afraid?" she mocked. "When you saw how many of ours had fallen, Malfoy? When you knew Voldemort had won?"

His grey eyes widened in surprise.

"And how, pray tell, would I have known that, Granger? That war raged on for months!"

Hermione shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. It had seemed like years to her. Years of fear and running and the hopelessness…

"We ran," she muttered flatly. "We wanted to regroup, to try again. We couldn't just have given up."

Malfoy offered a soft snort and when she looked up, he was gazing out at the darkness, and not at her.

"Hope springs eternal, I suppose. Though I've always found that sentiment to be a bunch of rubbish."

She found herself secretly agreeing with him – after all, all hope had been lost when Harry had died.

"So, you ran?"

"Yes, and we never stopped."

"Potter managed to have kids," he pointed out gruffly.

Hermione's head snapped up at the strange quality of his voice, but still he faced away from her so it was impossible to guess at his emotions. Something in that voice however, irked her. It implied that in spite of every horror that they had endured, Harry should have been grateful that he had been blessed with children.

"Would you have taken that from him, too?" she mocked, swallowing back another hateful reply. "We went through months, even years of hell! Do you begrudge us the small and insignificant moments of joy we were able to share with each other? Are all of you truly so callous?"

Her tear-filled words stirred him from his place by the window, and as Malfoy turned, he threw out his hands.

"Is that what you think? Well, I'll let you in on a fact, Granger. This life hasn't been so peachy for me either!"

Angry words bubbled to her lips, painted in a mixture of disbelief and sarcasm.

"Oh, I feel so sorry for you! Living off of your daddy's money! Sitting in your posh office at the Ministry, and living in that grand house! I'm sure that must have really been a difficult six years for you, Malfoy!"

They were pitted against each other, both holding back a barrage of words meant to wound. But neither spoke for a few seconds, though sometimes a look conveyed much more than any words could.

"I never implied that your life hasn't been hard!"

His words were pointed and sharp and his eyes narrowed until his they were molten silvery slits. Hermione clenched her fists.

"You know what, Malfoy? The problem isn't your implications, or lack thereof! The problem is that your mouth is still moving, and, if there was any fairness in the world, you wouldn't get to say anything! Do you hear me? NOTHING! Not a word, until you have to watch your wife die in front of your eyes, and you lose your whole family and your life in the blink of an eye, and you suffer pain and humiliation at the hands of people who are no better than you are! What do you have to say for that, huh? Do you really think I could possibly sympathize with any of your petty issues when they pale in comparison to all the things that you've done-"

He hesitated, breathing heavily.

"That have been done to me," she finished weakly, overwhelmed suddenly with the urge to break down and cry.

But she was afraid that he might not be there to comfort her, and instead, she simply stood, head down. Even though she still raged with injustice, Hermione also knew that it wasn't Malfoy who had harmed her. Not ever, and she wouldn't lump him with the others.

His reply was cold, and the words clipped.

"Change doesn't just happen on one side, Granger. When change happens, it's…it's everything, and everyone."

There was a tense pause.

"Everything happened so quickly, you know. The fall of the Ministry, my father was so desperate! I saw what happened, I saw what was going to happen, and there's always been this side of me that's know it was wrong, but it all just started to snowball-"

Hermione heard a break in his voice, and saw his fists were clenched tightly as he spoke, though she had to step forward to hear him.

"Didn't you do everything you could to survive?" he asked plaintively. "What I did, it was to survive, Granger."

She found herself helpless.

"At the expense of all those that fell around you? It makes no sense!"

His face bloomed with color.

"Tell me one thing that makes sense anymore! Not what's happening out there! Power has turned to greed. There was once a vision, you know. Even if you didn't believe in it, all this started with a vision. It might have been skewed, and prejudiced, but whatever it was, it's not what it used to be. It's diseased now, like a cancer, growing, changing, and erasing emotion and conscience."

He had sat down on the bed, and Hermione joined him, because she couldn't ignore his obvious pain.

"Nothing makes sense, Granger. Too many deaths, too many heartless decisions, too much hatred now. We've only done what we have to for survival."

She couldn't look at him, and her reply was wrought with pain.

"Survival at what cost, Malfoy?"

He touched her, his hand too warm against her face.

"You tell me, Granger."

Those grey eyes were too knowing, she realized. They gazed into her own, as if searching her soul. Her mouth fell open, but she couldn't speak.

"What are you doing here, if it's not paying the highest price for your own survival, and that of the ones you love?"

Tears sprung to her eyes, and Hermione felt a shameful blush color her face.

"I don't know," she whispered in reply.

"Don't you?"

"I…it's about Lily."

"You gave up your dignity in hopes of saving her."

His voice was a soft murmur and her reply was as soft as a sigh.

"And I came to you because I believed you might help me. You're not like the others, I know that. I'm not stupid. I know you could turn me in anytime you wanted. I never believed Seamus could save me, not the way-"

She fell silent, looking away from him, her heart pounding furiously. She felt his heated touch once more.

"Look, Granger. This thing, this deal between us doesn't make sense. I know it. In any other lifetime, and any other circumstance, we wouldn't be here like this."

She took a chance, and looked up at him, her breath catching.

"I know," she whispered this time and reached up to cup his face in her hands, feeling the slight roughness there.

She felt him shudder slightly and then he clasped her fingers with his own, bringing them to his lips and kissing them in a move that Hermione found was unexpected, and it melted her heart. There was something beyond astonishing in the way he gazed at her.

He can't care about me, can he? Of course not, that would be madness. It's just, this world is so messed up, and somehow, there's something between us now. Something that helps with the pain, and sometimes, I just want the pain to end…

"Maybe we're both just mental?" he said with a choked laughing sound, kissing her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and even those small caresses seemed to melt everything within her.

Hermione swallowed, leaning up to kiss him too, tiny butterfly caresses against his chin. She realized with a growing fear that she was getting used to the way he felt against her skin, the way he smelled, the comfort of his warmth-

"This whole world is mental," she murmured, leaning in to kiss him properly, forgetting that she didn't really want him.

It was hard to think about who she was, and who he was, and how impossible it was that they were in each other's arms this way. She reached out to smooth his hair in a tender gesture.

I'm way in over my head.

She saw desire flicker in the depths of molten gray eyes for a moment, as he leaned down to steal another kiss, brushing his lips against hers in a maddeningly slow fashion.

"I want you, Granger. Even though nothing about that makes sense, still, I want you."

Hermione took in a sharp breath, feeling her whole body respond to his husky admission. Her eyes fluttered closed just as he squeezed her fingers.

"No, I want to see your eyes."

When she opened them, Hermione took in the handsome face, from which all anger and contempt was gone. She was glad that he no longer looked cruel. He reached down, running his fingers along the smoothness of her cheek. His touch and the seduction in his eyes drew something deep and dark within her, making her body come alive, as if by uncontrollable magic.

This kiss was different than the others they had shared, and Hermione knew that it would be tonight, now. And it filled her with a cold fear, making her shudder just as his tongue ran along her lower lip in the most tantalizing fashion, begging for entrance. She acquiesced with a sigh, and melted into him, feeling the sheet wrapped around her slipping so that soon she felt nothing but the muscular heat of him and the crisp white shirt which she removed with trembling fingers.

It wasn't so bad, she knew. It could have been worse. It could have been with a man more cruel and sadistic than Draco Malfoy. Hermione knew she didn't hate this man, and she knew that his touch awakened something within her that helped mollify all the fears and sadness in her life, and even if it was now, just for a few moments, she was willing to give into the bliss. His kiss was like a call, a faraway call that she desperately answered with her own.

His fingers twisted deliciously into her hair, and she moaned into his mouth, whimpering her desire, which fueled his own, and their kisses grew more passionate, their bodies more frantic for each other. Hermione had forgotten what this felt like, being close as skin to someone else, to feel the out of control heartbeat, to smell the musky scent of passion painted flesh. It had only ever been Ron, and her experience was limited, but in Draco's arms, and in that moment, it didn't seem to matter much.

His lips nibbled down her flesh, teasing her, making her writhe against him.

"Please…"

"Granger, how many chocolate éclairs did you have? You taste like pastry cream."

Her response was a half laugh, half groan of need.

"Must you jest at a time like this?" she whimpered, her trembling fingers dancing uncertainly along the muscled planes of his body, searching, exploring unchartered territory with increasing desire. "Can't you just touch me?"

This time, he groaned, pulling the sheet away from her completely, and running his knowing fingers down her body, making her cry out against him.

"Like this?" he chuckled, meeting her eyes.

She wondered why he had to smell so good, and feel so divine. She wondered why she couldn't get enough of the way his face felt against her neck, her breasts, the exquisite feeling of his lips against her nipples. Merlin's beard, she was terrified of what she was feeling! It wasn't fair, it wasn't right. But Hermione fell too easily into not thinking and allowing the man in her arms to use her in whatever way he wanted. The sheet was gone, and his trousers quickly went the same way, and she blushed at his perusal of her body.

"You are…there are no words," he finished, his voice choked, and Hermione nearly died at the tone in his voice, the need, the passion.

"Draco-"

He silenced her with sweet, intoxicating kisses, and soon, she could find no words, only whimpers to express what she was feeling. His body, and the evidence of his need pressed hotly against her thigh, and Hermione felt him trembling as she opened her arms to him, offering herself willingly. Except that she realized she didn't feel like a prisoner anymore, or like his mistress. She felt…chosen.

Her fingers ran along his body, thrilling at the feel of his skin, velvety and warm beneath her fingers. She was unsure of what to do, of how to please him, for it had been a long time for Hermione, and it had never been with Draco, ever. Like the touch of his hand, this man was unexpected; he was nothing like she had imagined he would be. She moaned at the tender way his fingers skimmed the most secret parts of her; those parts that not even Ron had touched- as if he knew exactly what to do, to make everything in her sing with pleasure.

"Draco, please-"

He groaned at the sound of her voice, burying his face against her neck, and his breath caused her to shiver. Then he reached down, grasping her hips and pulling her tightly to him in a move that was so possessive, it drove her mad with need.

"Bloody hell, you drive me insane. Say it again. Say my name…Gods-"

Hermione felt herself responding to his heated growl, and she whimpered his name, as he pressed against her, leaving a tantalizing trail of pleasure wherever his hands touched. She nearly sobbed when he stopped, hesitating, his eyes somber.

"Granger?"

The whisper was ragged and his eyes were like quicksilver as they met hers with fascination. Her own eyes responded to the emotion in his, and she had a difficult time with words.

"Hermione," she corrected huskily, her fingers splayed along his back, and one hand gripping the back of his neck. "My name is Hermione."

His heartbeat quickened against hers, and he pressed himself even closer.

"Her-mione if you don't want this, I'll – I won't. The deal doesn't matter; I don't want this if you don't."

Hermione watched as his eyes flickered across her face, searching for a sign, a moment of recognition, of acquiescence, and she knew that even though it was so wrong, she wanted him. Wanted him just like he wanted her.

Slowly her hands ran down his back, her legs running up and down the backs of his, as he nestled himself in between them. She felt him completely; his pulsing, rigid member, and suddenly, Hermione felt a need so poignant she nearly cried out.

With certainty, she wrapped her thighs around him, and pressed the heels of her feet against his backside, offering herself, giving her silent, needy permission. His hands ran up the backs of her arms, and then his palms was against hers, pressing her hands against the pillow she lay on, trapping her as he trembled for a moment above her and finally sank into her liquid heat, until they were joined together completely.

The moment was terrifying and thrilling all at the same time. Never had Hermione felt so complete, never had she felt as utterly possessed by any man as she was in that moment, gazing into his eyes as he stopped moving against her, simply watching her back in fascination.

"Hermione," he managed say, raining kisses along her chin, her lips, and her neck.

She whimpered in response, trusting herself against him, seeking the age-old rhythm, wanting to feel him moving inside of her. He did, slowly at first, and then with more intensity, and she was completely taken with him, with the moment, with the way he looked in the throes of his passion. It was the most beautiful sight she could ever remember, in such a cruel, war-torn world.

Her head fell back as his mouth found the softness of her throat, and she could feel his ragged breathing with each of her runaway heartbeats. She felt his hands releasing her, and moving down her burning flesh, in between their joined bodies, towards the core of her. As they moved in a graceful erotic dance, he helped her along, his fingers making magic Hermione had never known. Just the knowledge that a man could make her feel such pleasure caused her to come undone completely, and she tightened her grip on him, burying her face into his chest helplessly. The swirling in her belly grew and grew, intensifying as he moved against her, drove into her relentlessly. Time stopped, and she shuddered against him with a strangled cry, nails digging into his flesh.

A moment later she felt him tense and then tremble in her arms, slowing his movements gradually. Hearts began to slow, skin began to cool, and Hermione buried her flushed face against his neck, afraid to look up into his eyes, shy almost. He smelled of soap and sex, of heat and musk, and she couldn't get enough of him. Though he was heavy, she welcomed his weight, refusing to let him go, wanting just another moment of bliss, of the feeling that she was wanted again.

But he gently disentangled himself from her, despite her best efforts to keep him close.

"Granger," he muttered with a sound that may have been a laugh.

"Hmmm…"

Her hands were in his hair, and she felt disappointed that once again, she was 'Granger', when 'Hermione' was so much more beautiful coming from him. He felt so right in her arms; it was nearly painful when he finally removed himself from her embrace.

"Granger," he whispered again, this time with a husky tenderness that made Hermione's heart race. How strange this all was, she realized.

"What?"

They gazed at each other, and his fingers ran through her riot of damp curls playfully, a near smile on his face, which was still flushed with his passion. In the light of the lamp, he looked…perhaps not happy, but at least…content. Maybe, she had made him content. Why that mattered to Hermione, she didn't even know.

Leaning down, he pressed a slow kiss to the side of her mouth, sighing.

"Sleep, now."

She watched, masking her disappointment, as Malfoy moved from the bed, sitting up, and burying his face in his hands, his fingers in this too-messy hair. And she couldn't help the strange sadness that left her empty and anxious once again. For how could a man bring her such pleasure one moment and such loneliness the next?

For a long time, he did not move, and finally, Hermione lay back down, wrapping the sheet around her body, turning from him, knowing she would not sleep.

Ginny's eyes opened to the sunrise, though it was weak coming through the grime covered windows of the alienage sleeping quarters. She heard nothing stirring around her, but knew instinctively that she had been awoken by something or someone.

The room was swathed in the blue of the coming dawn, the sky still glittering with stars though the sun struggle to rise along the horizon in the distance.

Blinking, she rolled over, shivering under the thin, grey blanket that she had slept under. Hermione's bed was still made from the day before; her friend had never returned.

Where are you, 'Mione? What aren't you telling me? What is Malfoy doing to you?

Over passing days of autumn, Ginny had started to wonder where Hermione's assuredness was coming from, how she was holding out hope in a situation that seemed bleaker each day that Ginny was forced to live another day. She wondered what exactly Hermione did each day she and Malfoy left the alienage, and wasn't sure anymore if what Hermione told her was the truth. And she feared that Hermione would be willing to give anything to save Lily, to save any of her family, including her life.

Oh, Hermione!

There was a shuffling sound nearby, and Ginny lifted her head from the thin pillow to see Lavender watching her in the early morning shadows. So, that's what awoken her, Ginny realized.

The other woman was dressed in a worn, but clean jumper and a long, threadbare skirt. The bruises had healed, revealing a pretty, albeit worn face. The years of hardship and sadness had etched their lines into her once flawless skin. Her blue eyes had lost their luster, and were perpetually a portrait of hopelessness. When she saw that Ginny was awake, Lavender crawled across her cot to be closer to the other woman.

"Where does Hermione go?"

The question was a whisper, and Lavender lay down on her stomach, the sunshine yellow curls that had escaped her hair tie falling across her forehead. Ginny watched her former classmate with hesitation.

"What do you mean?"

"Where does she go during the day? I've noticed…she's gone in the mornings and doesn't come back until the sun starts to set. And last night, she never came home at all."

The dawn around them began to lift as the room slowly brightened. Ginny sensed a tension in Lavender, and the almost unholy thirst in her blue eyes as the bored into Ginny.

"She has a job," she replied softly.

"What does she do?"

It was evident that Lavender, although silent most of the time she spent in the alienage, and been watching her surroundings sharply.

"She…works for one of the Death Eaters," replied Ginny carefully.

The change was not a significant one, but Ginny could see Lavender's lip twitch and her jaw tense, just as she gathered herself and sat up on the squeaky cot. Though Lavender's face as a carefully placed mask, Ginny could no imagine the horrors that her companion was reliving in her mind.

Ginny believed that a person could only endure so many horrors and humiliations before they shut down completely and weren't able to share with others what was happening to them. Only Lavender would know, to the end, what she had gone through.

"It's a shame," she muttered bitterly, glittering blue eyes trained on the grimy window. "What a woman is reduced to doing for survival."

Ginny felt a cold fear flooding her at Lavender's tone, and she was unable to gather words for a reply. The other woman stood, tears gleaming on her face.

"But I never thought that sanctimonious Hermione Granger would ever lower herself to prostitution."

Although Ginny felt ample sympathy for her companion, she felt her cheeks redden with anger.

"It's not like that!"

Lavender offered a mirthless laugh.

"Yeah," she spat. "That's what they all say, at the beginning. That's what I said, you know."

She sank down, her body stiff and unyielding.

"But, the truth is, in the end you need food and shelter, and your integrity doesn't seem like such a steep price to pay. It's not so bad after awhile. One man's just like any other."

Her words were dark and resentful, and Lavender wrapped her arms around herself. Ginny, blooming with righteous anger, moved to defend Hermione.

"You don't understand what they did to her here!" she hissed, her voice low so that no others would hear her. It was bound to start issues and with Lily being in such a precarious position-

"They beat her, they nearly killed her!"

Though Ginny thought Lavender had probably been through similar or even worse, the blonde turned her pale face away, seemingly untouched.

"You don't think I've been through the same?" she replied flatly. "They took everything from me! And then, they took my baby!"

"I'm sorry about that," Ginny replied, softening a bit. "That had to have been horrible, I can only imagine."

Lavender jumped up.

"You don't get to say anything!" she hissed, her face a mask of hatred and bitterness. "Nothing, you hear?"

She rushed off, swiping at the tears that continued to fall, and disappeared through the door. Ginny felt drained, watching Lavender disappear, and suddenly for whatever reason, she felt a cold dread settle upon her heart.

"Hermione, where are you? What are you doing?"

She found herself mouthing the words in the silence of the morning, wrapping the blanket around herself to ward of the chill, though it did nothing to quell the coldness within. She gazed blankly out of the window at the whitish-blue sky and the pale yellow rising sun.

Draco Malfoy, you had better not hurt her.

Then, Ginny got up to start her day, hoping as she did each morning, that it would be her last.