Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Hopefully you can all enjoy time off from school, work, or whatever stuff you usually do and don't want to be doing on a holiday. ;) This next chapter was really fun to write so I hope you enjoy it. I introduce a few "new" faces and give a bit more background on Astoria's situation. Plus, there's Dramione at the end. I hope you enjoy it and thanks so much as always!
LCailan
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The single, gold galleon was clutched in the palm of his sweaty hand as Blaise stood within the protection of a central London park, his eyes sharp as he looked from side to side at the people who drove and passed by him. Beneath the trees and as the night fell, shadows swathed him so that he was nearly invisible even without the shelter of the heavy, black cloak that he wore tightly wrapped around himself.
Beyond the canopy of shadows and trees the sky was a heavy blue gray as day took her bow and night began her romp on heaven's stage.
Blaise shivered and tucked more tightly against the howling wind, shifting from foot to foot. He hated himself for having been stupid enough to leave the shelter of the hideout to come back to London. And for what?
Draco is in the same place I was only a few months ago!
Still, did that warrant leaving behind a family he had just found again? What if he got caught? What if the Ministry was able to trace those they were searching for? It seemed impossible, really with the sheer volume of wizards and witches that lived in London alone. But still…he had held a high position within the Ministry and perhaps they had found his abandonment of their causes a greater slight than most.
Blaise didn't know.
From his left there was a skittering and then the moan of the wind. To his right headlights illuminated the wet, cobbled street and highlighted the tiny, icy flakes that fell from the sky. For a moment there was just the inky darkness and then another Muggle car zipped by, the sound of the tires whooshing across wet pavement.
Then there was a cough slightly to his right and Blaise turned to see Draco watching him in the darkness. His face was gaunt and pallid…strangely sharp and menacing in the moonlight.
"Finally," Blaise hissed his breath pluming in a billowing puff before him.
"I couldn't get away," replied Draco. "I'm afraid they're…"
Blaise found himself understanding and as he tucked the galleon in the depths of his robes he nodded.
"I know."
"Lumos," whispered Draco.
The small space between them bloomed with a soft, white light. Blaise studied Draco critically.
"You look peaked, mate."
"Why didn't you come when I tried contacting you before?" asked Draco, his voice tight with anxiety. He chose to ignore Blaise's seemingly pointless comments on his appearance. "We need out of this city!"
Blaise hesitated and was uncertain in his reply.
"I…"
"You forgot once you had your little family together again, is that it?"
Blaise could not be sure in the dim light but he suddenly believed that Draco's eyes had filled with tears. It was unnerving and the taller, dark man turned away.
"It's not how it seems."
"In that, I do not know if you tell the truth."
Draco's voice was hard and bitter.
"But I helped you rescue Lavender and now you need to pay it forward. I need your help."
Blaise remained silent, his face a hard mask of nothingness as the emotions that lay just beneath began to churn tumultuously.
"At the risk of my family?"
Never before had Blaise seen the light that suddenly sparked in the eyes of the other man. Even in the darkness there seemed to be a burning fire within them.
"A family you would have never been able to reunite with if it weren't for me!"
His wand was raised and Draco took two steps forward daring Blaise to disagree; in fact, daring Blaise to do anything but back away with caution.
"Put down that wand."
"I need your help," repeated Draco.
Finally after a tense silence, the tall, dark man relented. Sighing, he swallowed hard.
"There's a small town in Wales, right near the coast," he began in a low, strained voice. "I've heard that some of the Muggle-borns escaping England go there. Voldemort may be powerful but he hasn't gotten all the control that he wants."
There was a pause and he let out a sigh of relief when the hatred melted from Draco's wan features and the trembling wand was lowered.
"Where?"
"There's a hospital there. A wizarding hospital, second only to Mungo's," he continued. "You remember Longbottom?"
Draco paused. That he did. Longbottom was the kind of bloke that one remembered. He had been too tall and lanky, too awkward, shy, clumsy, uncertain, forgetful…
And yet…
He's braver than I ever was. He faced his fears; he fought against Voldemort again and again while I cowered like the fool that I am. I made fun of him all through school and yet I only wish I had half his courage.
In the wintry darkness Draco found himself recalling the last time he had seen any of his classmates before the wizarding world had fallen to Voldemort. All of those fighting against the Dark Lord had been brave, he knew. It was the cowards who had sided with him, not the courageous ones. The courageous ones had to face horrors nearly as great as those of Muggle birth. Voldemort had taken the snub of purebloods like Neville, who had firmly sided with Harry Potter, personally and had pitted them against himself. They were to be shunned nearly as much as the Muggle-borns.
"What about him?" Draco found himself asking mildly, his voice barely audible above the rush of the wind.
Neville Longbottom.
The last thing Draco recalled from the day Hogwarts had fallen to Voldemort was the way that Neville stood against the dark wizard, bravely lifting his chin and defying him-
"He runs the hospital," Blaise replied. "He's a Healer now, you know. One of the best in Wales, and he takes care of all the refugees that seek safety outside of England."
Neither man had to speak; Draco was aware that the hospital would have taken in all the Muggle-borns fleeing from England and hoping for a better life somewhere else. But where? How far would they have to run to find the peace they wanted? So Neville was still giving all his time and his life for others.
Fucking saint he was.
"The A. F. Memorial Magical Clinic."
Draco lit a cigarette, the end winking and flaring in the winter chill.
"Is that so?"
"He provides the underprivileged with herbs and medicines of all kinds. Helps the local Healers and apothecaries with supplies. He's a regular walking Jesus Christ. His grandmother left him loads of money when she passed and he named the clinic after his parents. I heard his mum was transferred there just before she passed. Da's been dead I while I reckon."
Draco made a sound in the back of his throat and then took a pull on the cigarette.
"So that's where the Muggle-borns go? The ones that the Alliance rescues?"
"That and a few places, but yes, mostly."
There was a silence as Draco finished his cigarette and dropped it onto the ground.
"You want me to send Hermione there, yeah?"
Blaise shrugged noncommittally.
"I plan on heading to Wales myself, soon. Then Asia, maybe, though I heard North America…"
He stopped, clearing his throat.
"I want to start a new life for Daisy and for Lavender. I was going to be off next week, actually. I suppose if you want her out of London earlier, you could talk to Luna Scamander."
Draco nodded without commenting and Blaise continued.
"She acts as a liaison between the Alliance and those in Wales and beyond who are helping the cause, Neville being one of our benefactors and the one that…well that we rely on the most, I suppose you could say."
He sighed.
"Being pureblood, she can hold up the act and get places that most others can't. She's out there each month and Neville provides us with medication, bandages, healing potions…"
He shrugged.
"I think your…Hermione…would do well there. She was always top notch in potions, wasn't she?"
Draco nodded. That and many other things. A strange feeling of loss washed over him and he shivered. Loosing Hermione was the unthinkable; he was afraid that something would tear them apart but he sure as hell wouldn't go down without a fight.
"I suppose then we go with you. Next week it is."
Blaise nodded. Then Draco's eyes shifted to the left towards the Ministry Headquarters.
"Before that though, I need one more thing."
The snow fell in large, white flakes from the darkened sky and sat atop Astoria's luxurious, dark hair, like white frosting on a decadent chocolate cake. She looked away from the wet, cobbled street, frowning. It was evening true, but not that late and the streets of Diagon Alley were already near empty.
It had been like that for months now, perhaps even going on over a year and most of the time Astoria had told herself not to think about it, that life changed and things never stayed as they were but-
The Ministry is destroying wizarding existence, isn't it? Slowly but surely there are less and less of us…
Things would never be as they had been when Astoria was a girl; those years the streets of the Alley had been filled with witches and wizards, resounding with laughter and conversation and the air redolent with the scent of food. She had loved this part of London as a girl but now she loathedthe world beyond the walls of her mansion in Kensington.
Most of the shops along the main drag were boarded up. Some for years now, really, and each year more and more stores were closing their doors due to the hardships pressed upon them by the Ministry. No more Muggle-borns roamed the streets and those who had been fortuitous enough to own property in Diagon Alley had been chased off or even worse, killed. All the businesses that still thrived were owned or run by either the Ministry or those purebloods that showed unwavering loyalty to Voldemort.
The old Apothecary still stood, selling potions and ingredients, herbs and other such things from behind a dusty, wooden counter. The old owner had passed and now it was run by an older Ministry official who kept close tabs on who came and went and who was buying what. It was a sick form of control.
Down the street stood a large building that had once housed the many robes sold by Madam Malkin. Rumor had it that the old biddy had gone crazy after being run out of her shop by the Ministry three years before. No one knew where she had gone or even if she was still alive. Astoria still recalled the little, plump woman who had never been anything but kind to the people that entered her shop.
Joy banished and then snuffed out.
That's what the Ministry did best.
No one had spoken about Malkins' sudden disappearance and if anyone grieved her Astoria had never known. She only knew that the proprietor of Twilfit & Tattings had never even batted an eye. The elderly, well-dressed wizard had taken over Malkin's location as if nothing had ever happened. It was said that his business began to increase simply because he had once or twice dressed Voldemort himself. And that was how anyone got anywhere in the world now, Astoria realized. Voldemort's favor was required; no one had freedom because it had been long taken away from them.
The old, imposing marble building that housed Gringott's still stood, however, along with the goblins that worked within it, the Ministry also wielded a strong presence. And now to keep anything within its walls, a wizard or witch had to prove themselves worthy.
It's not like a Mudblood has anything of worth…at least not anymore.
Beyond the bank stood the headquarters of the Daily Prophet, the wizarding paper which wasn't really a source of valid information any longer. Everyone reading it knew that to be true but no one ever said a word; the Carrow twins did a spectacular job of filtering information, removing that which was unimportant and twisting that which was necessary so that Voldemort's message was loud and clear. The paper was no longer a voice of the wizarding world; instead, it was a massive vessel which the Dark Lord used to control everyone around him.
The once bright and bustling eateries and cafes stood side by side, mostly dark and foreboding now. As Astoria passed by quickly, shivering from the cold around her, she could see the faint flickering of candles in the windows; a sign of life within. No one really patronized the cafes within Diagon Alley anymore; many of the Ministry officials preferred the restaurants of Muggle London. She knew why; the atmosphere here was oppressive and hopeless. Why would anyone want to be there?
As a child, she had loved Florean's ice-cream shop and the little candy store that stood alongside it. But like Malkin, Florian was long gone…closing up shop just as Voldemort had taken over the Ministry. Now his little store had been turned into a sleazy pub.
And just like Malkin's and Florean's establishments, several others no longer stood. Ollivander's had long ago shut its doors along with the Menagerie. Astoria did not know why; perhaps the Ministry had other sources for wands. The Emporium still stood and Flourish and Blotts was still known throughout wizarding Britain though it no longer was the bustling business it had been seven years before.
"Missus Malfoy!"
The strangled voice came from the beauty shop just down a bit from the bookstore. Astoria turned plastering a cold, unfeeling look on her face.
"Yes?"
"Good to see you it is, Ma'am. You came at a right time, too. I've got a whole new collection to show ya!"
The proprietor seemed over eager as she motioned Astoria towards the little, well-lit shop. It was the only storefront that seemed alit and that made it all the more depressing.
"I…"
Astoria faltered a bit as she crossed the wet street and then paused along the sidewalk.
"Perhaps another time, but I do thank you," she replied, trying not to wince and appearing as kind as she could. The little witch's face fell.
"Right, I is sorry, ma'am, perhaps I was a bit too enthusiastic, yeah? Do come soon, I…"
It was evident in the lines of the face and the brightness of eye that the woman was desperate for customers; perhaps she was doing as poorly as the rest of Diagon Alley. At least thispart of Diagon Alley anyway. Without so much as a good-night, Astoria turned and rushed back towards Gringotts and took a corner, slipping into the shadows there.
A moment later she saw the glimmering candlelight from the windows of mostly all the shops along this alley. Everywhere else life and business seemed to be dying, but here, in Knockturn Alley, things were right jolly. Here there was the sound of gruff laughter and the breaking of glass and the smell of cigarette smoke. Just down the way, Borgin still ran a profitable shop (Burkes had died in a mysterious accident, or so Astoria had heard). Near to his shop stood several small, run-down buildings from which two mangy-looking proprietors sold a variety of goods, calling out to possible patrons in the near darkness.
Astoria passed by quickly without making eye contact, moving towards the rowdier part of the street. To her left stood a garishly lit building housing Knockturn Alley's premier gentlemen's club. Here could be heard the sound of bawdy laughter and drunk catcalls, and Astoria took in a breath scented with cheap perfume. Just a few feet down to her right stood her destination; it was a smaller building with high windows on the upper level and brightly lit lower windows and a stark red awning above the wooden front door.
She stopped, gazing up at the sloppily painted wooden sign. It had been enchanted so that the advertisement glowed merrily.
The Werewolf's Tabernacle
Unique bitters!
Cheap fish and chips!
Best pork pies this side of London!
Moving carefully, Astoria peeked into the grimy window. The establishment was busy; she had expected nothing less. Apart from a few popular Muggle pubs, the Tabernacle was the favorite of many wizards and witches. It was always filled with patrons…and not only Ministry officials, though mostly so. The tavern had only been in business for three years, opened by a witch who had the kind of look that made others wince and turn away. She was purported to be one of Fenrir Greyback's lovers, and the name she had chosen for her establishment did nothing to quiet those rumors.
Indeed it was one of Fenrir's favorite places; he could be found there most nights.
Astoria saw him immediately. She could see towards the shadowy corners of the room and for a moment she thought he had looked up at her, those hungry eyes gleaming even in the dim lighting. She caught her breath; he licked his chapped and lacerated lips.
Astoria shuddered.
Fenrir smirked and shifted in his seat. So he had seen her. She hated it and the fact that he knew her secret. She had little time to sneak away from Kensington…at least before. Now, what did it matter?
As Astoria's eyes widened she tried in vain to look away from the wolf-like man who still lounged in the darkest corner of the Tabernacle. She fought to hide the fear that Fenrir often evoked within her for she knew he fed on it just like he fed on the flesh and blood of others. Distracted by the presence of the tall, hulking man, she hadn't taken the moment to look around the rest of the room before walking inside.
Why do I come here? Why do I subject myself to this over and over again?
Tears prickled behind her eyes but this time Astoria wasn't sure if it was from the hopelessness of her situation or from the fact that her husband was dead and she felt nothing. The sudden rush of emotion paralyzed her and as she remained rooted to the dusty, wooden-planked floor, Fenrir rose from his chair and sauntered across the room, his dark eyes locking and holding hers.
Already she could see the hint of a presumptuous smile on his weathered face, the hint of sharp, yellowed teeth.
She knew why she came here; she knew why she had been lying to Draco for months, telling him she was going to play cards or shop or whatever it was that was expected of her, all the while coming here.Here to this hot, over-crowded tavern with air that was thickly scented with ale and fried foods and the disharmonious sound of laughter and conversation.
She knew.
Fenrir stopped a few feet to her left and Astoria swallowed away her fear, lifting her chin but breaking his heated gaze.
"Here again, are you Poppet?"
His voice was dripping with hunger, the sound low and gravely.
"That's what…three times this week?"
He cocked his head curiously and Astoria snuck a look at him. Fenrir's dark eyes were bright with a twisted amusement and his dry and pasty lips were turned up in an unpleasant smile.
"My, my…if your husband weren't dead, I imagine you would raise his suspicions, yes?"
Astoria blanched and faced him, her eyes wide in shock.
"You know about Draco?"
"Doesn't everyone?"
His smile was wide and Astoria tried not to flinch at the sharp, yellow teeth.
"Well, don't look so distraught, my dear! At least now you won't have to come up with excuses as to where you've been going!"
He nodded towards the rest of the hot, stuffy room.
"This is your favorite place though, isn't it? I reckon I can't blame you."
Astoria watched the back of Fenrir's thick, matted hair as he took a step away from her and she released a breath she didn't even know she had been holding.
"It's quite the fine establishment."
He turned around again with that same, frightening grin. Before she knew it, he was behind her, his large, heated body pressing against the length of her small back. Astoria attempted not to shudder; she stood deathly still as he breathed against her ear.
"It's because of who's here, isn't it, Poppet?"
His breath was hot and she thought it smelled like he was rotting from the inside out. He was a large man and loomed over her so that even if she had wanted to get away, Astoria was immobile. All she could do was will herself not to move and to shut her eyes tightly.
For a moment all she could feel was the sudden, heavy hammering of her own heart and the heat of him against her.
Why am I here?
The tiny, pleading voice sounded once more from somewhere in the recesses of her mind just as Fenrir was whispering into her ear again, the sound as rough as sand.
"What would your parents say, Poppet? Would they look down on their little girl and her depraved desires?"
As she stood there helpless in the face of him, Astoria wondered if he was right.
Coming to the Tabernacle time and time again had gone against what she had been taught was proper. It wasn't right for a girl of her stature and breeding to be seen in such a tavern and with such people! Even though she knew it was true, Astoria allowed herself a moment of fancy; she let her heart pound out of control with the thrill of doing the forbidden. She felt it in every inch of her body and gloried in the rush that she always got when she was doing what she wanted and not what was expected of her.
She opened her eyes, feeling dizzy with the sudden rush of elation. There…there was the reason that she had come to Knockturn Alley. There.
"Give me just a taste, my lovely one," whispered Fenrir, still hard and hot against her. "And I'll give you what you want."
Her eyes fluttered closed. It would be too easy, Astoria knew. But what did it matter now? It wasn't like she had ever loved Draco. And now he was dead. All the more reason to give into whatever this dark, twisted thing that had captured her so long ago.
With a shaking breath, Astoria opened her eyes.
The sound of the door opening in the tiny flat sounded incredibly loud to Hermione's ears. She jumped up, rushing across the bedroom and into the small living space just as Draco walked inside, shaking white snowflakes from his hair.
At the sight of him, tension that Hermione hadn't known she was feeling melted away like the snowflakes that still clung to his long robes. He gave her a quick once-over as he walked into the main room.
"You look like you've seen the Bloody Baron," he joked and Hermione offered a weak grin. She shook her head then, feeling sheepish.
"I know it seems silly," she countered. "But I just…with everything that's…"
Somehow it was impossible to express in words what she was feeling but Draco didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to know and came closer, wrapping his arms around her small body. She felt him press his lips into her hair for a brief moment before he spoke.
"It's not silly. Bloody hell, after what you've been through…"
They stood there like that in the stark silence holding each other.
"I know it won't make sense," she murmured thoughtfully. "But for the first time since I ran off from Hogwarts, I'm alone. I mean, I've always sort of been alone, you know. Since the Ministry fell, even. Ron and Ginny…they never understood. No one does, unless they're like I am."
Draco stiffened visibly, his eyes suddenly moving down towards her. The hurt was physical.
"You mean because you're a-"
He stopped himself before the horrible word fell from his lips but when she gazed up at him there were echoes of sadness in her eyes that mirrored the sudden pain he had felt at the fact that in spite of being with him, she still felt alone.
Her lips were a thin line.
"I know you try not to think of me like that. But it's what you've thought…it's what they've all thought for so long. Mudblood. I know what I am and what everyone thinks of me."
"And no one but the other Muggle-borns know how you feel," Draco finished for Hermione. She nodded and he gripped her hand tightly for a moment.
"I'm sorry that I can't seem to-"
She silenced his torment with a touch.
"You don't have to apologize. Don't you know what I think each time I see that Mark on your forearm?"
Her face was a melding of sympathy and disgust.
"It's the same thing," she finished, shaking her head. Draco tipped her chin up tenderly.
"Why do you have to feel alone?" he asked, his words plaintive. "I'm right here."
Her eyes gazed into his longingly, wishing he would understand.
"I know," she whispered, feeling a hard aching that resonated right down to the depths of her soul. She opened her mouth knowing it would be impossible to explain what it was that she felt but Draco spoke first.
"And I love you," he reminded in a voice that was broken. "I love you and I'm going to protect you."
Then there was a changing in the lines of his face and the gleam of his eyes as determination filled him.
"I won't let them hurt you again, never again. I promised you, Hermione. I've chosen you."
Tears welled up in the depths of her brown eyes as Hermione nodded wordlessly, feeling her throat dry up.
"I know," she repeated, squeezing his fingers.
A confusing rush of emotions overwhelmed Hermione. There was love and fear, confusion and hopelessness, anger and frustration and still that nibbling of shame. She pressed herself against him, burying her face into the warmth of his chest. He was soft, real and warm against her face. Her heart beat dully within her as she held him close, willing herself not to weep as she was drowned by emotion.
"I know," she repeated. "And I chose you."
The recollection of that night, the night of the fire, assaulted her and Hermione had trouble standing for a few moments. Draco seemed to recognize her sudden weakness and led her to the bed in the next room.
The images that flashed behind her closed eyes made Hermione want to weep. The flames, rising high in the icy, night sky. The way Justin's body had lain there crumbled and broken. The look of disbelief on Lavender's face as they had been so close to freedom and Hermione had-
And the worst part was the way Ginny had gazed at her, the way Lily had been crying, tears running down her tiny, soot-covered face.
For the first time, Hermione found herself analyzing her decision, turning, folding and unfolding it in her mind. She had chosen Draco; she would not have left without him. She had given up Ginny, and now she didn't know if she'd ever see her friend again.
After everything she did for me! I chose a Death Eater, didn't I?
Guilt raged within her and she got caught in its heavy web.
"Ginny's gone now, and so is Justin. So is everyone I know and…"
Love…
It had been on the tip of her tongue and she hadn't spoken it, instead searching Draco's face. Now, more than any other time since the night she had been brought to the forsaken alienage, she was at Draco Malfoy's mercy. She had chosen him, had made herself lonely and vulnerable for him and if there ever had been a time within which he could have destroyed her-
The image of her long-dead husband floated across Hermione tortured conscience. Ron, whose love she had never questioned nor doubted. Ron, whose family had accepted her without reservation and conditions. Ron…
I abandoned Ron's family! The only family he might have left!
Tears suddenly rushed to her eyes and she blinked them away, feeing the burn on her cheeks and seeing Draco's expression change, turn confused and then tight with bitterness.
She had hurt Ginny and now she was hurting Draco…Draco who loved her. Draco who had given up so much and still somehow she was afraid. Afraid that he would-
No, she wouldn't think of that even though her heart hammered wildly within her, fueled by her innermost fears. She didn't want to be hurt anymore. She didn't want to feel abandoned and afraid, and she certainly never wanted to be in the clutches of those who had been so cruel to her thus far. And here she was…
Alone.
In a moment that seemed surreal, Draco's beautiful gray eyes filled with tears.
"You could have gone with them."
The sound of his voice echoed through the tiny bedroom.
"I wouldn't have stopped you."
His hand tightened in hers just as she leaned into him. Then she felt him shaking silently and allowed the silence to prevail if only for a few moments.
"If you had gone with them our baby would be alive now."
The words were edgy and they made Hermione's heart break.
"You don't know that," she chastised.
"You would have been with the people who love you and not here with me, and I-"
Somehow it was impossible for Draco not to wallow in self-hatred though he tried to fight against the flood that wanted to drown him.
"I could have left," she said firmly. "But not without you. I'm not going anywhere without you."
She reached up so that he could look nowhere but at her face.
"So you remember that, Draco Malfoy. I'm not going anywhere without you."
There was a pause and he swallowed and nodded.
"If that's true," he said slowly. "I won't let you go out there alone. I'm going to make sure that if I can't protect you that you'll be able to protect yourself."
Her face fell. Those days were over, weren't they? It had been years since any Muggle-born could say they had the ability to protect themselves; the Ministry had taken away all possibility of that.
But just as she was burdened with the heaviness of such thoughts, her wand hand itched with desire. It had been too long.
Stop it, Hermione! Such foolishness!
She watched silently as Draco reached into the depths of his long, black robes.
"I have something for you," he murmured.
As she stared, he placed a small object, wrapped in black cloth, onto her lap.
"Blaise told me that the thing he regretted the most was sending Lavender out into the city without protection. She was helpless. I won't let you be helpless too."
He opened the small parcel with shaking fingers and Hermione gasped. Never in all her days had she received a gift so precious. She couldn't remember how long it was, but she recognized the light brown color and the small scratch near the top from a potions snafu in third year…or had it been second?
Her heart began to race out of control as she stared.
"My wand…"
Her eyes were riveted to the spot where the vine and dragon heartstring wand lay. Then she turned her glittering eyes up to Draco's somber face.
"You…found my wand?"
His lips turned up in the all too familiar smirk.
"Well, I suppose if you want to think of it like that…"
Hermione, startled, looked up at Draco.
"What do you mean?" she demanded, her eager fingers just barely brushing the surface of the wand. Even so, she felt a sudden rush of electricity at the contact and nearly wanted to weep. It had been too long; she had been denied this one thing for so many years! Already she had forgotten the fine points of wand magic, but surely with time and…
Was it even possible?
Her lips trembled just as Draco reached down and picked up the wand. He then placed it firmly into her grasp and she wrapped her shaking fingers around it tightly.
"Promise me you won't use it until I say you can," he said very seriously.
Hermione stared at him feeling a warm, rushing feeling through her body, as if something had been released within her.
Magic…?
Draco covered his hand with hers.
"I want you to have something so that if…if you need to, you can protect yourself. But only if you need to. Hermione, they can track you with…with your wand. That's why…"
He shuddered.
"It's why you can't use it. If they…"
She set the wand aside even though it caused her near physical pain to do so. She warred with opposing emotions; one telling her that she had every right to what was hers and the other telling her that it was stupid and dangerous…
She could only gaze at him for a long moment, shocked and thrilled by what he had done.
"You brought me my wand," she breathed, a smile lighting up her face. Draco thought it was like the same light that burned within her brought to the surface. He wanted to bask in it for all time.
"If you need it," he replied, his voice a whisper. "And not for any other reason."
The warning died between them before he lifted her tiny hand and put it firmly within his own.
"We're leaving, Hermione."
The words were soft and held no firmness but there was nothing understated in Hermione's reaction. She began to shake and her eyes swam with tears of relief.
"We'll be safe?" Hermione replied hopefully.
"There's a place for us," he replied. "And I'll do everything in my power to get us there safely. But if I can't, that's…well, that's why you have the wand."
He tipped up her chin, giving her a knowing smile.
"And the Granger I remember…well, she knew how to use it."
She bit the inside of her lower lip.
"When will I be allowed to use it?" she asked her voice shaking with trepidation. It seemed too good to be true, holding her very own wand again. It was solid, cool and felt so…right.
Draco took a breath.
"Once we're out of London. They track him, you know. Voldemort, I mean. And he can't…well one can't dominate everyone all at once. He might have all of London under his control now, but there's always Ireland, Hermione. And Wales…Merlin knows there's tons of places to hide there. And Scotland! Gods, it's closer to Hogwarts, and maybe he hasn't gotten…"
He shook his head knowing that he couldn't answer Hermione's questions, at least not to her satisfaction. But she didn't look upset; in fact, she looked awed as she ran her fingers up and down the length of her wand thoughtfully.
"I didn't want you to be without a way to help yourself if ever you needed to."
She reached up, closing the distance between them.
"It's all going to work out now," she whispered with a certainty he did not feel. "I won't have to use it."
Draco shrugged without replying.
"Where did you get it?" she questioned. "I know they confiscated our wands so long ago and I was sure that…well, that they were gone?"
Her maple-colored eyes bore into his and Draco couldn't, for the life of him, lie to her again.
"Blaise helped me get into the Ministry. I knew where they kept the wands, it was just a matter of gettingthere."
Not that it had been a matter at all, he knew. He would have done anything for her.
Hermione stood, shaking her head. She was torn between being angry with him for risking his life over a silly wand and wanting to weep for joy at having found the one good thing in the whole wide world. And it was shining in the depths of his eyes.
"You could have gotten killed."
"I know."
Sighing, she went and wrapped her arms around him forgotten all the horrible things for just a few moments.
"I love you for it."
She did. And she had no clue how much he loved her.