I

May 1997

It took another hour for Ginevra to stumble her way back into Honeydukes. Draco had enough time to buy some sweets for himself and Sugar Quills for Granger, as though she wasn't big on sugared foods, she loved to suck on them while studying, which was a great way to end their study sessions as Draco became quite distracted.

"You went shopping?" Ginevra said, disgust thick in her tone as she saw him slip the bag of sweets into his pockets.

Draco crossed his arms defensively. "You took twice as long as I said to, Ginevra, what was I supposed to do in this basement? Twiddle my thumbs?"

"Maybe you should have checked inside the Shrieking Shack, it'll give you something to do."

"As a matter of fact, I did," he said, stepping closer to her with narrowed eyes. Her face was the picture of confusion, brows drawn in a harsh 'v' and mouth agape.

"You're shitting me," she finally said, "I'm not even sure I'd go in there, despite knowing its secrets." Draco opened his mouth to ask about said secrets but decided against it. Hermione was probably involved, and he'd get the story out of her one way or another.

He probably should have asked more about her shenanigans with Potter and the lesser Weasley. Of course, hearing all these stories where she was in mortal peril and could have died before they fell in love did bad things to his heart, which was why he hadn't asked sooner.

Plus, he was a little afraid that repeating Potter and Weasley's name as she told her stories would summon them, just like the legend of bogeyman Savage Savahge. Personally, Draco through the ghost's name was rather childish, but that hadn't stopped his mother from threatening to summon him if younger Draco hadn't gone to bed on time. Now, the summoning of the bogeyman was for the annual tradition of scaring the piss out of first-years. Unfortunately - or fortunately, as Draco preferred never having to meet Savahge - he had never appeared, leaving it up to the upperclassmen to cause lights to flicker and glass to shatter.

In any case, Draco liked hearing Hermione's voice, and asking about her antics was a surefire way of getting her to talk.

Draco realized Ginny was waiting for him to respond, and he rolled his shoulder back sheepishly. "What do you want me to say?"

Ginevra opened her mouth and closed it several times, and just as Draco moved to duck back down the tunnel and forego the conversation, he was halted by a hand on his elbow.

"I've been in love with Harry for six years, and I hate to say this, but I don't know if I love him as much as you love Hermione. And maybe I do, but this feels different. I can tell, even by looking at you and seeing what you're doing. It's... it's nothing against my feelings for Harry, I'll have you know, it's just... this kind of love is usually only found in fairytales. I'm glad she has you around."

He glanced at her hand and weighed her words. Her weary sigh as she spoke, the way her shoulders slumped, suggested she was being truthful. "There is no one way of loving someone. Whether the extent of your feelings is different from mine or if you just haven't fully explored them yet, that's up to you. But own what you do feel. I'm glad she has me around too," he tried for lightness, but it fell flat between them, so he added in a more serious tone, "She makes me better. And wanting to be better."

That was the magic of Hermione Granger. He loathed being a Death Eater. He loathed his task. And, most of all, he loathed himself for being too cowardly to take her advice and get help.

She slowly released his elbow, but they stood in silence for a beat until it was too uncomfortable for him. Had he - in a very convoluted fashion - professed his love for Granger to Ginevra Weasley? She had made it clear she ran with the gossips of Hogwarts, and to make matters worse, her family was also family to Hermione. If she spread whatever it was he admitted-

"Are you saying my feelings are magical?" He smirked, dropping into the tunnel and lighting his wand with a nonverbal Lumos.

Ginevra groaned as she followed his lead. "You're an idiot."

"You're a bitch," he shot back, and her stunning jinx caught him in the back of the neck.

Draco whipped around, one hand on the burn and glaring at her. She shrugged innocently, looking pleased.

He hated to admit it, but he rather liked Ginevra. He was glad she would be in his corner when - if? - he and Hermione went public.


The walk back to the castle was once again filled with silence, both in the tunnel and in his mind. Hermione's twinned voices, one screaming obscenities and the other sobbing loudly, were quiet, whether it was because he found the courage to do the most he could in his search for her, or because he realised he wanted a way out of his situation, he sighed in relief at the peace.

As they climbed out of the one-eyed witch statue, it seemed the rest of the castle was in one of the last classes of the day, which meant they had to hurry to their next location before they were caught. Crookshanks was waiting on the stone statue's head, blinking at them as if asking what took them so long.

"Right," he said just to fill the silence, "well, we'd best get a move on. More places to look, and all."

Ginny hesitated, and he finally lifted his head from where he had been gazing at Crooks to assess her shifty stance. "You're not coming, are you."

It wasn't a question.

"No, I've got - I've got things to do. I'm sure she's fine, though," the ginger said, but her expression and the slight waver to her voice suggested she wasn't as confident as she wanted him to believe.

"Right," he said sarcastically, narrowing his eyes at her. "Keep telling yourself that."

"What do you want me to say, Malfoy?" She snapped, crossing her arms and tapping her wand against her arm angrily, a spray of sparks emitting from the tip.

"I don't care what you do or say, Weaselette, but it's clear how worried you are for your friend when I'm the only one looking for her. Thanks for checking your House and half of Hogsmeade, I guess," he muttered, storming past her and stalking down the corridor, not caring which direction he went. Crooks gave Ginevra a reproachful look as he passed her, following on Draco's heels as they passed through hall after hall.

"Malfoy," the She-Weasel hissed at his back, sounding exactly like Crookshanks when the beast was pissed with Draco and only proving that the creature had been hissing his name the whole time, "I just-"

"I don't need your explanations," he said, looking over his shoulder just so she could see his glare. "But if you find Granger-" he forced out a sarcastic laugh, eyes narrowed, "that's right, you're not looking for her. Never mind, you won't be the one to find her anyway, so I won't bother to pass my message along with you." He could tell the temporary peace between them was shattering with every word, but could stop.

"As if I'd tell her," Ginevra said, but he could hear the waver in her voice. Squashing down the voice that sounded like Hermione calling him to fix things between her best friend and himself, Draco turned the nearest corner, trying desperately to get away from Hermione's so-called best friend and cursing her under his breath.

Goodbye, love.

Murderer!

The voices were back, louder than ever. Maybe he was going barmy.

With a curse, he upped his pace, hoping to drive out the echoes with every step he took. Crooks meowed behind him, and he slowed just a bit to let the demon get ahead, letting images of booting it in the arse with his steps carry him to wherever Crookshanks was headed.


Draco followed Crookshanks to the courtyard, but broke away from the cat to see if Hermione had wandered to the students' communal garden to inspect - ensure - the proper quality of fertiliser was being used. It wasn't the first time she had that drill sergeant attitude when it came to the planter box - the one commissioned after students requested a "safer" garden than the one located in Greenhouse number three and all its… wonderfully alive plants.

Granger had to have stopped by at some point, he noticed the cucumbers that were trying to strangle each other a few days ago had been set to rights. But she went this way whenever she visited Hagrid, so it was possible she went there-

Rising from his crouch, Draco winced as his knees popped. "I'm too young to have old joints," he grumbled under his breath as he made his way to the wooden bridge to head to Hagrid's cottage. Crookshanks had disappeared, hopefully doing his own sleuthing, but Draco decided he was already outside, he might as well keep going rather than turn back to the castle. It felt like there wasn't a classroom or broom closet alike that he hadn't checked for her.

As he passed halfway through the bridge, he stepped to the side to let some fast-moving Ravenclaws pass him, giggling and whispering to each other without even caring that they were bowling over some poor pair of first-years. As he waited for the group to pass, and for the Hufflepuff nearby to take pity on the first-years and help them up, he glanced over the edge, swallowing reflexively at the sharp drop.

Once, when he and Granger had grown more comfortable with one another to take nighttime walks to "clear the mind," as he put it, which was just an excuse to snog around the grounds, she had pretended to push him over the edge. It was a harrowing experience, mostly because he hadn't expected her shove while she didn't expect him to lean so far over, and his life had flashed before his eyes before she could tug him back to the safety of the wooden planks under them.

Draco let out a strangled groan that had the nearby students look at him funny. Even thinking about memories with Granger made him miss her, despite the near-death incident.

"Get lost," he snapped, and soon he was left by his lonesome on a bridge he almost lost his life on. Granger didn't find it very funny when he tried to imitate the incident a few weeks ago, but how else was he supposed to cope with the trauma if not through comedy?

His fingers gripped the railing, holding so tightly they were white, just a hint lighter than his normal shade. He had always been pale, but after the stress of this year, it seemed like the colour in him had been slowly draining. As vain as it sounded - which Hermione stressed every time he complained to her - his hair was losing its luscious shade, and his silver eyes felt dull and were not flattered by the large circles constantly around them.

But what really irked his vanity was the black ink on his left arm. He glared down at the spot despite it being hidden from view by his sleeve.

Not only was it ugly and evil, but it also showcased his wonderful ability to always say and do the wrong thing. He was a mean, arrogant bully - how had Hermione put it one year? A foul, loathsome, cockroach - had been, for years. He'd open his mouth and feel a rush of anger spill out with a vicious, snarky comment, and he'd feel a mix of self-loathing and gratification at the reactions, which then made him feel worse.

This year, despite the threat of impending death hanging over him and every rotten emotion that came from working for his Master, at least keeping away from the other students meant he had nothing cruel to say. If presented with the opportunity, he probably wouldn't be able to force out anything worse than a sarcastic comment or two, not with the exhaustion that had permanently settled in his bones, and, honestly, he didn't want to be seen as the cruel Death Eater anymore. Even though, technically, that's exactly what he was.

It was more of a shock to him than it was to Hermione that he was able to be, well, good enough for her to like him as much as she did. He once joked that he had decensitized her to his cruelty in their first few years, at least enough so she could put up with him now, and then had to spend the next week pleading for forgiveness for both the joke and his past actions. After that, she swore not to hold the things he said and did in the past so long as he - with some help and guidance - swallowed up hurtful comments until that ingrained, callous part of him had shrivelled up.

Hermione was clear in her wording that she wouldn't hold his past actions against him. The unspoken words - we'll see what you do at the end of the term - mocked him as they shook on their deal and sealed it with a too-quick kiss.

Those words still mocked him. He wasn't any closer to consciously making a decision than he was all those months ago. Hell, the answer was to go with Granger - it was always the answer - but he was just so afraid. He was turning his back on his family already by being with - loving - a Muggleborn, but full-scale disobedience was… stressful at best. Fuck, he wanted to take her hand and tell her he'd switch, he wanted to be able to run off into the sunset and marry the fuck out of his witch, but Draco had survived for almost sixteen years not getting what he wanted. (Quite a lot of it was Potter's fault, to be honest.)

He was afraid of Voldemort, sure, but he was also afraid of what it would mean, who he would be if he wasn't Draco Malfoy, descendant of the Sacred 28, a result of too many years of inbreeding and blood supremacy.

"Have you lost something or are you looking to see if any will-o'-wisps are out? They normally appear more at sundown, so you might be waiting here for a while." Draco didn't even have to turn to know Luna Lovegood had stepped up beside him, though it did surprise him he hadn't noticed her arrival. But losing his train of thought to focus on his brand always did well in distracting him from his surroundings.

"Hello Lovegood," he mused quietly, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her shoot him a grin.

"Hello, Draco," she parroted in that dreamy tone of hers.

"I have lost something, actually, though it's more of a someone and she'd kill me if she heard me refer to her as a thing I have misplaced," he chuckled, and Luna's throaty laugh echoed his.

"I'm sure Hermione wouldn't mind too terribly if you're this worried about her." He didn't even bother asking how she knew he was worried for Granger; he had too many strange encounters with this witch to be able to hide much from her.

"You haven't seen Granger around today, have you?"

Luna shook her head as he turned to face her. "I'm sorry, Draco, but the last I saw her was during breakfast yesterday morning. She looked rather pale when she left, I'm worried the Wrackspurts were getting to her. They are attracted to people with high intelligence, just like you, I'm sure."

She didn't seem to notice the way Draco cocked his head at her comment - had she meant he had high intelligence, or that he was - like the Wrackspurts - attracted to people with high intelligence?

It seemed Luna had moved on, however, as was typical with the blonde witch. "Have you tried the library? Well, I'm sure you would have, you most likely slept there last night waiting for her," she mused, and Draco raised a hand to stop her this time.

"How did you know I slept there? And that I waited for her at the library?"

Luna gave him a secretive smile, and for a moment, he worried that she wouldn't tell him. "Oh, don't worry, I'm sure I'm the only one who knows. I found you one morning when you both were asleep in that back alcove - I was looking for a book on Charms, to find a spell to speak squid. I asked Professor Flitwick, and he told me the best place to look was the Restricted Section."

Draco didn't know where to begin with her. "Why would you want to speak squid?"

"Don't you think the Giant Squid gets a little lonely out in the lake by himself? With no one to talk to?"

"I'm sure," he hastily agreed now that he had his explanation and not wanting to open another can of worms or embrace a topic distraction, "we fell asleep in the back alcove?"

Luna gave him a funny look. "Either that or you both died for a bit. I was only there long enough to look for any books that could help, but when the first one I picked up screamed at me, I couldn't respond with my normal method without waking you up," she caught the look in his eye, "oh, I normally just scream back. It tends to shock them into opening up. But I disillusioned you two as I left, though I suppose the noise from the book was loud enough to wake Hermione."

Draco distinctly remembered that day; they had stayed up talking as neither one of them wanted to return to their dorms. He could recall Hermione frantically shaking him awake hissing "we slept in, we slept in" and having to sprint back to his dorm and shower to make it in time for breakfast. Still worth every second.

"Thank you, Luna," he told the eccentric witch, and she smiled, tilting her head as she grinned so the bells hanging from her ears rang lightly. "I like your earrings," he added, mostly because he didn't want to comment on the brooch made of carrots.

"Thank you!" She said brightly, "my dad made them when I told him I missed the sound of the Clocktower's bell over the summer. Do you want one for Hermione?"

"I'll wait to think about it until her birthday comes around. Otherwise, I might misplace them, but thank you for the offer. I do have to run, I want to hit Hagrid's cottage, and I've heard he's normally free around this time. I'll talk to you later?"

"It was fun speaking with you, Draco," she waved as he jogged away, "I hope you find your Hermione. I will let you know if I hear anything - let's hope it wasn't the Wrackspurts!" He felt a smile grow at her bright tone; she was so fucking fun to talk to sometimes, it made him severely regret teasing her before - and made him want to hex anyone who tried now.

Hagrid's cottage was as ramshackle as always, though he could smell something delicious wafting out of the open windows as he drew closer.

Draco stayed far away from the pen near the cottage, not wanting to run into any creature without the Care of Magical Creatures Professor to act as a buffer. He had experienced enough creatures in his third year, thank you very much, and he was not going to let it happen again when he could avoid it.

He hesitated for a brief moment on the top steps - Draco knew that Hagrid had an enormous mouth and would spill every detail of this encounter to Potter and his gang, and also that the ex-gamekeeper had every right to turn Draco away at the door.

It was almost a relief that he didn't answer when Draco knocked.

With a groan, Draco stood on the stoop for a moment. Was Hagrid with Hermione? Is that why he didn't answer the door?

He got his answer as he turned back to the castle, hearing the sounds of the professor talking with someone as he returned from the Forbidden Forest. Draco hesitated, wondering if he should wait for Hagrid to be done and ask him where Hermione was, but saw Hagrid was speaking with Slughorn, and was quick to escape before the Potions professor could write him up for not attending class the other day.

Draco didn't get why his professors were still trying to get him to attend most of their classes - he'd skipped quite a bunch over the course of the year, and it was already almost over, why should he care now?

Though sitting for his N.E.W.T.s without much instruction wasn't a good idea, as Hermione liked to point out every other day. But not everyone needed to be studying for these exams in primary school like Hermione Granger, and he was naturally gifted in everything, so-

Even in his internal monologues, he called himself on his bullshit. But that was a problem to deal with after Hermione returned from where she was.

"Malfoy? What're you doin' at my house?" He heard the booming voice of Hagrid call behind him and he sighed, tensing his shoulders before relaxing, letting the tension roll off him as he prepared for this conversation.

"Er, good morning, Professor Hagrid," Draco turned back to face the giant man. Well, half-giant. He did regret telling Skeeter the sordid details of Hagrid's history, that was neither fair nor his business. Hagrid turned to the Potions professor and said a hasty goodbye, loping up toward Draco with only a few of his large steps. Slughorn tagged along, nodding at Draco with a glare and pursed lips as he pushed past to walk back toward the castle.

Draco was lucky Slughorn didn't give him detention. If Granger wasn't back by the evening, Salazar knew he wasn't about to sit through a few hours of detention unable to look for her.

"Skulking 'round my house are yeh? Yeh need any more details of me dad and mum fer your bug friend?" Hagrid squinted suspiciously at him. "Or are yeh tryin' to fin' another innocent creature ter kill? I lost one friend this year, I won' lose another."

"I'm sorry about that, I really am," Draco started, "but speaking of friends, you haven't seen Granger recently, have you?"

Hagrid was squinting so hard Draco could barely make out his eyes. "What do yeh wan' with Hermione? Don' think fer one secon' I'll let yeh insul' her again-"

"No, no, I'm not," he rushed to assure Hagrid, silently thankful the half-giant was incredibly kind and looking out for Granger. She had told him of the few times he'd been one of her only friends, especially when Pothead and the Weasel were acting like morons again and refusing to speak with her.

"How am I suppose' ter know if yer tellin' the truth?" Professor Hagrid crossed his arms, hiding the dustpan-like hands from view. That helped calm Draco's nerves the slightest bit. Draco wouldn't hold up in a test of strength against the half-giant, but if for whatever reason they came to blows, Draco was fast and could hopefully book it across the grounds before he was smacked into oblivion.

Granger always said Hagrid was "gentle" and "naive about creatures" but he "wouldn't hurt a fly… unless they insulted someone he cared about," so maybe it was a good thing Draco had several escape plans formulated.

"I just… I need to know if you've seen her recently, and if you have, anything she might have said and acted like. She's been missing since yesterday, didn't even attend any of her classes yet-"

"What?" Hagrid roared, taking a threatening step forward and Draco quickly raised his hands, palms toward the half-giant whether to plead for mercy or try and calm him down. "What d'yeh mean she's been missin' her classes?"

"It's just that we share quite a few of the same classes, and I've been sitting in them while she… hasn't," Draco said dumbly, not sure what part Hagrid wanted him to elaborate on.

"No' tha', where is she?"

Draco shrugged. "I have no idea, that's why I asked you."

"Well, who- who's ou' lookin' for her? Dumbledore?"

"Last I heard she met with Dumbledore and McGonagall yesterday morning and hasn't been seen since."

"I've seen her cat, Crookshanks, he wandered through my cottage - brought my allergies with him, the nasty thing - bu' no Hermione." Hagrid gave him a strange look, and Draco once again was subjected to the once-over of why is he looking for Hermione.

Draco figured he'd better escape from the conversation before Hagrid pressured him into spilling some secrets - or invited him back to the cottage for rock cakes and tea. "If you see her, let her know I'm looking for her, will you?" He requested. "I… McGonagall wants her to help me with Transfiguration."

Hagrid grunted, lost in thought, and Draco gave him a half-wave before walking away.

Draco made it halfway across the grounds - bloody hell, did Granger really trek this far every few days to visit Hagrid? No wonder her legs were gorgeously - deliciously - toned. He paused to catch his breath, though if anyone asked he just dropped something and needed a moment to find it, and heard the sounds of a whistle and cheering.

Straightening, Draco glanced over at the Quidditch pitch, catching the scarlet and gold of the Gryffindor Quidditch team's practice robes zooming through the air.

If Granger returned, she might have gone to watch her friends practice. Not that she would be watching, but at least providing moral support from her presence.


II

February 1997

Draco sat inside the Room of Requirement, shivering as he avoided looking at the cabinet.

Close, he was so close, and it made him sick to his stomach. He could taste the sourness that came before the nausea, and he hastily conjured a bin - his third this week alone - to vomit the small breakfast he had managed to choke down that morning.

He heard some voices outside, heading his way and then around the corner. He used an Extendable Ear to listen outside of the Room - which had required some specific requests in order to keep the Room hidden from prying eyes while still allowing him to hear - and cursed the fact that Crabbe and Goyle once again had detention and couldn't stand watch.

Damn that Slughorn. Damn him for re-introducing the stupid fucking Slug Club and making it a point to exclude him, damn him for constantly giving out detentions to the idiots who didn't know how to count to ten, and damn everything and everyone just because he was pissed.

When he was positive the students had passed - he'd guess they were Hufflepuffs, based on the incessant chattering and happy, peppy, excitement exuding from their pores, which he could feel despite their distance - he retraced the Ear and returned to his spot, glaring daggers at the damn cabinet.

With a frustrated sigh, he closed the cabinet and covered it with the tarp, dragging several piles of junk around it to seem even more inconspicuous. No one would care about this musty old tarp if they could be distracted by, say, a blue giant figurine in a tutu and tiara, or this very, very nicely rusted lantern that looked as if it would fall apart if one blew on it.

He closed the books he had been looking at - but gently, because he had paid a little bit of attention to Granger's lecture last month since he fucking liked her, sue him for listening - and swiftly packed his bag. He wouldn't get any more work done on the cabinet tonight, not when he was stressing over being watched on top of everything else.

Plus, it was almost Granger time. He would be early to the library - not so early she would suspect any other motive other than research or studying, but early enough that he could squeeze out a few more minutes in her presence. He wasn't able to have that luxury even in the classes they shared, not when they had to keep up appearances. And while he wasn't sending insults her way - the very thought of harming her repulsed him - the moony face he'd don whenever he could stare at her without her knowledge was a dead giveaway that something was happening.

Not that anything was happening other than his unrequited feelings for the witch, of course, but one could never hope too much.

Despite the fact that he was almost twenty minutes early - he walked too quickly to get to her, damn it - she still had him beat. Her things were already out, and she was unfurling a piece of parchment.

"Why do you get here so early?" Draco complained, all but collapsing into his seat beside her. She shrugged.

"It's not like I have other places to be," she said, not looking up at him, "Won-Won and Lav-Lav are producing too much PDA for my tastes."

"And the other two of your quartet don't care that you spend half your life in the library? I thought you all had things to do together, mysteries to solve, and all that shit."

"We're not the Scooby-Doo gang, Draco," Hermione laughed, fumbling through her satchel for her quill. After a beat when she still couldn't find it, Draco handed her his own, looking through his own bag for a spare he could use.

"Who the hell is Scooby-Doo?" Draco snorted, and Hermione shook her head.

"I'll have to make you watch the show with me sometime," she said, more to herself than to him, and he ducked his head to hide his small smile. She was planning on spending some extra time with him, and it felt great.

Of course, the feeling disappeared when his mind chimed in with the all-too-common she won't want to spend time with you once she finds out what you have to do - and once you do it.

"In any case," she continued, either oblivious to or uncaring about the mental whirlwind he was experiencing, "Ginny and Harry are too wrapped up in each other to notice much else right now. They aren't together, but… they're close. Gin just dumped Dean Thomas, too, and now they are both free to pine for each other."

"Hm," he said, shaking off his thoughts, "well, it's their loss."

She looked up at him, amusement twinkling in her honeyed eyes. "Is that so?" She crooned. "Not being around me is a loss?"

He flushed but refused to deny it. She'd get more information if he tried to backtrack than if he just went with it. "I said what I said," he declared, holding her gaze evenly as a blush grew on both their faces, "but yes."

She inspected him carefully, and he held still, feeling like prey while a predator sized him up. After a moment, she nodded to herself. "Well, since we're inevitably going to be around each other - as the past five months prove - we might as well help each other out. I know you're practically failing Defense Against the Dark Arts, so we should work together."

"Why would you need my help in anything?" He frowned.

"Snape," was all she said, and he bobbed his head slowly.

"I've got nothing better to do," he said both dryly and honestly, and she once again examined him, the look in her eyes more serious than ever.

"Not your-" her voice dropped to a whisper, "your task?"

Draco immediately dropped his gaze, unable to look at her as they conversed about his wicked responsibilities.

He tried several times to respond, but found his voice would crack each time, and finally whispered a quiet "no."

She waited patiently as he tried to sort through his thoughts, which only cleared once she gently covered one of his shaking hands with her own. "I don't know what to do about it, Hermione, I can't go through with it but I have to-"

"You know where I stand on the matter, Draco," she said, tone firm, "you have a choice. You can go to Dumbledore, I'm sure he'll help, and we can look into how to protect you and your parents. But I can't make this decision for you."

"It's just- it makes me sick thinking about it, and I can't- I don't want to, but I'm, I'm so afraid, Granger, I'm terrified-"

"I'm scared, too, Draco. I'm scared for you, for me, for my friends and my parents. I'm scared for our whole world. But you have to find your courage."

"Easy for you to say," he tried and failed to smirk, "you're a Gryffindor. You have courage in spares."

"I don't think my House means I have more courage than someone else," she said carefully, "just that I'm able to call upon it easier or more often. And just because you're in a different House doesn't mean you don't have the same traits."

He didn't feel brave at all. He felt empty, the only little bit of feelings tied to where their hands still touched. He flipped his hand around, letting their palms fall together until they were practically holding hands.

"Will someone… will someone die?" Hermione asked, even quieter than they had been whispering before. They had occasionally flirted around the topic of his task, never pushing the subject until now.

There was a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he found he could barely even breathe, let alone answer. She let the silence sit until it was almost choking him before squeezing his hand once - enough for the fog to lift - and then pulling back. "Remember this feeling, then."


He did. That feeling was all he could think about over the next couple of days, and he had to stop choking down his meals as they would only reappear an hour later.

She found him in the library after hours, not in their seats but huddled against a bookshelf in the darkness. She conjured those Bluebell flames she was so well-known for, leaving the mason jar on the table before swooping down to him and holding him carefully, like he was something precious worth preserving.

Hermione wiped the tears from his face, whispering soft words to him that he couldn't hear over the chaos swirling in his mind.

It was only once he had calmed and wiped his face that she led him to the table and brightened the flames, pulling several pieces of fruit and snacks from her bag and pushing them into his hands.

"I'm not sure why I'm taking care of you," she grumbled several hours later after he had consumed most of the food under her watchful eye, but after sticking the remaining granola bar into his mouth, she swiped her thumb across his cheeks, clearing off any crumbs or tears that were left behind.

He didn't say anything that night, and she didn't seem to mind, letting them sit in silence before she pulled out a children's storybook and read softly to him, holding his hand tightly in her own, the firelight flicking shadows across her face.

He knew he'd be lost without her, so no matter the outcome of his task, he would constantly be drifting away, away, away from her, never to touch solid ground again. And he spent the next week and a half preparing for that moment, to be a wraith of himself for the rest of his life, because how could she ever forgive him?


a/n: I totally didn't do all this research towards the layout of Hogwarts only to randomly create a communal planter box. It's also harder than I thought trying to write Hagrid with the same/similar inflections in his voice that Rowling/Coltrane used. I want to do right by his character.

Also, Savage Savahge is the equivalent of Bloody Mary, and I thought it would be fun if the upperclassmen of Slytherin tried to scare the firsties with a "summoning" of the "totally real" legend. Is it stupid? Yes. But do I think it's funny? Also yes.

Next update: 7/3

- Meg